#meat from every ancient empire

[pedge-page]

Question or what do you think kinda thing .

So this relates to mommy kinks and breastfeeding kinks other then Joel do we think any of pedros other characters would also have those kinks??

Such a random thought for 8am on a Sunday morning 😂

There are not other acceptable sunday 8am thoughts but this one. Ok here are our contenders:

Dieter Bravo: I've not seen the Bubble but from what I can gather this man is a mommy kink titty sucking fiend. Possibly the #1 most Canon concept for a pedro character and breastfeeding. He would have no shame inviting you to set, sit on his lap between interviews or shoots in his actors chair, and lap up your milk as a way of relieving any stress and getting a quick snack. No shame. You are there for him and that's all that matters. It gets him into focus and ready for a scene. He also fucks you night and day, in the trailer, sound booth, behind stage, makeup room, and lunch break. Everyone can hear him shouting "Mommy!" Followed by desperate rutting behind doors and walls, and they've learned to keep going and act like its totally normal.

Frankie Morales: 50% of Frankie is written as strong, quiet but in control, dominating, fuck machine. Then theres the other 50% that gives mommy needy boy, and I can totally see that big broad military man needing to unfurl under some breastmilk and tender care. Who in the military DOESNT need mommy touch honestly like??? Frankie is no different. It'd be your secret thing with him. Getting him restless like a needy kitten before letting him indulge his desires. He becomes very pliant, soft and gentle when he gets his fill.

Din Djarin: once again, half the time hes painted as cold hearted, steel cocked fuck boy. The other half, needy subby baby. Realistically, he is intimidating, threatening, domineering on the outside, but we've all seen what a wet pathetic crying mess of a little cat he is once they helmet comes off. Boy is LOST sexually if the helmet has to come off. BUT, breastfeeding can go both dominant and submissive for him. He'll manhandle you onto his ship and shuck your clothes off right after a failed hunt hed been at for days. And the only thing that can get his frustration out is the sweet taste of your milk. Also din doesn't exactly have a mom growing up after she died and the best he had was the armorer who isnt exactly the most nurturing. So mommy issues? Check. Next.

Marcus Acacius: we haven't even met him yet but I just KNOW this man drinks breastmilk morning, afternoon, and night. Maybe not so much mommy kink, but we already know he's a conplete simp for Lucilla. Also, a man doesn't get that beefed, that large, that good at defending an empire just from meat. Hes sucking down breastmilk, and he's always famished in an aggressive way about it. He demands milk, and milk he shall have. And since its ancient Rome and we don't have refrigeration, he needs his milking ladies by his side at all times whenever he craves it. Plus carrying a goat around all the time is less cool.

90s Poloroid Joycam Commercial Pedro: that guy. That guy combusts every time he sees titties. Guys his age are addicted to sex, drugs, alcohol, but his burning addiction is breastmilk. He doesn't have a technique, doesn't know what to do once his tongue is on the nipple, awkwardly trying to insert himself and wrap his lankyness around you, but once he tastes that first drop of milk, he's gushing in his pants and moaning with heart eyes.

[mariacallous]

From Turkey to Armenia, Uzbekistan to Ukraine, manti are a popular comfort food found in Jewish and non-Jewish communities across Central Asia and Eastern Europe. As an ancient form of dumpling, some trace manti’s origins back to the 1300s during the Mongol Empire in Turkey, while others credit the dish as a gift of the Silk Road; notably, Uyghurs from Northwest China have been making a version of bread prepared in steam known as “mantau” for centuries. Regardless of their origin, manti traveled East toward Korea, West towards the Caucuses and everywhere in between. 

While their popularity spans continents, their shapes and styles differ by region. In Turkey they’re often formed into small pyramid-like pouches, sometimes baked and simmered, sometimes boiled, often topped with yogurt, and served in a tomato-based broth or sauce. On the other hand, the ancient Bukharian Jewish community in Central Asia are known for large intricately shaped manti, generously filled with meat and always steamed — never boiled. There’s also a dairy version of Bukharian manti that’s filled with cheese and served with yogurt. 

Like many celebratory old-world foods, these hand-formed dumplings take a bit of time and effort to prepare, making them ideal for calling a helping hand into the kitchen. Historically, this dish was even a communal activity. While making homemade dumpling dough can be deeply satisfying, you can simplify the manti-making process by using store-bought wonton wrappers – a tip I happily discovered in Gabrielle Hamilton’s “Prune” cookbook. Given the labor, whether it’s with store-bought or homemade wrappers, when I make manti I often double the recipe, freezing extras for future enjoyment. 

Let me preemptively warn you, this manti recipe may not look or taste like the manti you’re familiar with. After exploring different shapes, sizes and toppings, my preference is for smaller-sized manti shaped into pouches. I serve mine in a Turkic-inspired brothy tomato sauce topped with fresh herbs and a sprinkle of lemony sumac; the sweet and sour savoriness of the caramelized tomato complements the heartiness of the delicate beef-filled manti. I’ve provided directions for steaming or boiling your manti, depending on your preferred technique. If you find yourself hoping for a larger-sized manti, the dough can be filled and shaped according to your family’s custom. Whether you stick to the recipe as written or try something more traditional to you, the joy of manti lies not in their size or shape, but in their pillowy soft tenderness, and the inherent comfort they bring to every table.

Notes:

This recipe makes 48 dumplings. 

I use Diamond brand kosher salt for this recipe, if using Morton’s or sea salt use ⅓ less.

The tomato broth (Steps 4-7) can be made several days in advance and reheated as needed. 

You can freeze your shaped manti (homemade or with wonton wrappers) before cooking on a baking sheet. Once the manti are frozen, transfer them to a Ziploc bag or airtight container. They can be cooked from frozen the same way as they are from fresh.

[loominggaia]

Question Time! Are there any extinct animals from the past still alive in Looming Gaia? Like, say, trilobites, ammonites, Ice Age megafauna, or pterosaurs? Just askin'.

There are wooly mammoths still hanging out in the Shrieking Mountains, but not as many as there were in prehistoric times (in this case meaning before the 1st Age). Folkvarans herd them across the tundra like cattle. It's dangerous work, but every dead mammoth provides a huge amount of resources, and the cold climate makes it easy to transport the meat long distances before it goes bad.

There are plenty of megafaunas like sharks, squids, giant sloths, and giant insects. (Most of the giant bugs are in Umory-Ond and eastern Evik. They used to be plentiful in western Evik too, until Zareen Empire killed them all with pesticides.)

Mr. Ocean and Solveig had a pet giant ground sloth called King Kaiva. He was supposedly the last of his kind on Redwood Island.

There are gigantic isopods in Mogdir Kingdom which are used as busses. They have not evolved in millions of years.

There are straight-up velociraptors in Lorrowey.

Most of Looming Gaia's dragons are "dinosaurs" that have not changed much from their ancient forms, especially the Evangelite and Matuzan war dragons, and the Redwings. They're basically perfect predators as-is.

*

Questions/Comments?

Lore Masterpost

Read the Series

[rpgsandbox]

So this appeared on twitter the other day, a challenge for 2023.

A blog post fleshed out the idea a bit more:

#Dungeon23

A dungeon room a day for all of 2023.

The other day I posted on twitter about a cool little project I’m working on for 2023. Essentially, I’m doing a dungeon room a day, every day, and keeping track of it in a little weekly calendar.

Why?

Well, I love dungeons and megadungeon play, but writing a megadungeon is difficult! It takes a lot of energy and it’s hard to know when to work on it and for how long. This simplifies things.

A dungeon room a day, every day, for 2023. That’s 365 rooms. I’ll do a level a month, so 12 levels. Every week is a little area of 7 rooms, so I can keep my focus small.

I’m using the amazing Hobonichi Weeks which if you don’t know is a great little notebook designed by the writer of the Earthbound/Mother game series. It’s got great paper, and the Weeks version is the smaller more portable notebook. Essentially on a single spread you’ve got seven days on the left and then an open piece of graph paper on the right. That’s perfect for a key of seven rooms and a map. Here’s another one that ship’s from the US. Got a worldbuilder’s notebook you’ve been dying to use? Now’s the time.

You don’t have to use this notebook, don’t get hung up on the details here. Any old notebook will do. I just happen to have an addiction to Japanese stationery and no real need to journal, so this is what I’m doing, dungeon as journal.

There’s some great things you can do here too: instead of room numbers, you can number them with the date. This makes rooms pretty easy to find and reference within your notebook. Don’t need a megadungeon? Try twelve small dungeons! The point is to do a little bit of writing a day. Some tips:

Don’t overthink it. Don’t make a grand plan, just sit down each day and focus on writing a good dungeon room.

Generators are your friend. The point isn’t to get stuck writing the perfect room, the point is to write a room. Randomize the monster, treasure, whatever items you need. Use “Tricks, Traps, and Empty Rooms,” by Courtney Campbell. There’s a billion d100 lists on Elfmaids & Octopi. Take rooms from dungeons you love. Just get the rooms down on paper.

If you can’t think of what to write that day just write “Empty Room,” see how easy that is?

365 rooms written like “3 orcs, 25 gold pieces.” is better than 5 rooms written like “In this beautiful hand carved obsidian room sit 3 orcs arguing over a dice game. 25gp sit on the table, each of them…” See what I’m getting at? The goal is the finish line. Just get to the finish line. Trust me.

If you want to keep up with my progress on Twitter, mastodon, or cohost, use the hashtag #dungeon23. Post your results too! Post a room a day on twitter so other people can steal it and put it in their journals! Become a collector of rooms, you don’t have to be the well.

The greatest creative advice I ever got was “have something to show for your time.” I’ve found a lot of success on always shipping projects every year. This is one of those projects, once you realize you can create a dungeon of this magnitude, your whole world opens up with what you can do. And it’s insanely fun too!

#dungeon23, I’ll see you on the other side.

P.S.

Need a weekly prompt to carry you through? Here’s 52 prompts to keep you motivated:

Ancient

Death

Sunken

Love

Empire

Heavy

Rural

Darkness

Bloom

Rust

Noise

Childhood

Time

Excess

Decay

City

Factory

Flood

Sleep

Cold

Ash

Touch

Meat

Solitude

Growth

Greed

Luck

Fall

Pit

Chaos

Laughter

Smoke

Forgotten

Library

Ocean

Song

Roots

Bones

Hangman

Blood

Prophet

Idol

Door

Light

Stars

Bridge

Mask

Cut

Sacrifice

Incense

Rise

Gold

[sparatus]

wip wsaturday

got tagged by @thetrashbagswasteland and @korblez thank youuuu

this one-shot is actually almost done BUT this bit set me on fucking fire and i need to share it before i die so this is as good an excuse as any

this is from a one-shot that uhhh got a little out of hand, it was just supposed to be a quick character study inspired by That One Quote from watership down but oops it's a backstory one-shot now, feat. ierian sparatus before he was ever the councilor, growing into the undefeated demigod of the courts he would be renowned as and earning the reputation that would carry him into xenopolitics and all the way to the council seat. little baby shayön grows up into big bad frostbite.

Teia was a year older than him, and graduated sooner. Imperial NewsNet was champing at the bit over her final project, and he was so proud of her he took her to the nicest steakhouse a law student coming up on his final year could afford. She was proud of him, too, that night – he pulled his hood down when they were seated, and didn’t put it back up until they left. He still wore it in court. Ketinus thought he was ready to take center stage himself, as soon as he got his license. He didn't know how to explain he’d rather be shot. The last year, he spent nearly every night in Teia’s apartment, poring over his books and case studies and work. It was quieter at her place, with neither his parents nor his big sister and her new friend Amulitus around to distract him. Sure, sometimes he got tired, and let Teia entice him away with hot food and cuddling and maybe something a bit more energetic, but for the most part she just stuck to her own work, or leaned against him and helped him study by asking him to explain and walk her through what he was doing. They fell asleep on the couch more often than not, and he’d wake up to the smell of kava tickling his nose and a gentle coo pulling him back to shore. Three nights before he took the bar exam, his grandmother summoned her men, all the mariners in Acalin, to a meeting about poachers in the Xiy Mnesi. Two months after he got his license and was promoted to a fully-fledged imperial xenocriminal prosecutor, he faced the poachers in court, and the officials who’d taken bribes to let them slide. Poaching killed, in Tiirtias. Their island didn’t have the resources to spare; every mouthful had to go to feeding their own, and only when the prey ran well could they even consider sharing with the rest of the Empire. When Ierian was a child, hungry between meals and begging his mother for a snack, he’d been plied with meat-stuffed hooves and heavy marrow cakes, treats that would fill a tiny belly for a day and conserve food for bigger meals later. The Department of Natural Resources schmuck, the traitorous slime his people had trusted to protect their fragile place in the ecosystem, looked him in the eyes and had the nerve to tell him Tiirtias was fine. It was one thing, he learned that day, for his teachers to call him smart, for his family to praise his wiles in the hunt, for everyone to say what a great lawyer he’d be, and another entirely to feel the heat of ancient counsel-fire blaze through his veins and set every neuron in his brain alight. Later, he wouldn’t remember when his hood came down, when his scarves and half-cloak were shed to let all the world behold the man he’d become, but the horror on Parricus Famician’s face when they fell seared itself into his retinas forever. He paced, he gestured, he spoke with the power of old gods he’d thought had long forgotten him and danced through every argument, every trap the defense tried to set, and for the first time in a very long time, he felt well and truly alive. And at the end of it all, when the judge declared guilty, when Ketinus hugged him with all her might and Teia jumped on his back and his grandmother’s men roared their praise and victory to the great open sky, Gdön’s words from so long ago came back to him, and he understood.

tagging uhhhh @manicdepressivedaisy @teamdilf @commander-krios @otemporanerys @threewhiskeylunch @cr-noble-writes (no pressure obv)

[leahnardo-da-veggie]

The End of the World

She hobbled beneath the canopy of soul-oaks. Their bone-white branches intertwined, blocking out almost all light, casting a haze of crimson onto the grove. Her body felt infinitely heavy, like she was dragging the weight of a world with her. In a way, she was.

Her golden trail of blood dragged like a snail's slime, staining the scarlet leaves with the last dregs of a god's life. Her wings drooped on the ground, limp. It was the end of her, and she knew it. Yet she continued walking, through the faint dappled light filtering from beneath heart-leaves, into the clearing beyond.

Her job was completed, her succession settled. She could lay down her arms and die peacefully. Oh, how her heart yearned to do so, and her body was falling apart with the need to take a final nap. But she knew she would never awaken, and she had one tiny task to complete.

In all her millennia of wandering through the planet, she had never found the End of the World.

The soul-trees were thinning to reveal a rocky beach, and a pitch black starless sky. Wind howled against the remaining trees, screaming a mournful harmony to a world long gone. Just a few steps away lay a precipice, a thin carcass of stone overlooking the Void. An endless darkness. Infinite. All consuming. The End of the World.

And if she had it her way, it would be her end too. No reincarnation, no restless ghost roaming the galaxy in search of a cure to its lassitude. No, she would have nothing but eternal sleep.

The wind caroused with her hair, toying with the battle braids, nipping at her exposed skin like a rambunctious child. But she had no eyes for anything save that ledge. 

Sour bile and sickness. That was what she smelled of. A dying woman. She had lived so long, so very very long. Long enough that she thought herself to be immortal.

"But the sun will rise and the mountains will fall and all things will come to an end," she croaked, reciting a trace of a poem from another age. The rest had been lost to the void, just as she was soon to be.

One step closer to the edge. Another step. The pain was excruciating, every millennia of her life weighing down on her body. 

She had been beautiful, once. Fearsome, awe-inspiring, worshiped by all. But she was old, old, old beyond belief.

And her skin, once clear and milky pale, had crumpled like paper, folding and crinkling until her face was an old map of all her travels, becoming ashen and waxy.

Her hair had once been the passionate scarlet of fire, her eyes the crimson of blood and battle-lust. The colour had been drained away from her, leaving naught but a shell of her magnificence. 

She had towered over the mere mortals, made them cower and whinge with her great magic. Yet here she was, hunched over herself, unable to so much as summon a spark. 

She would have wept to see herself reduced to this, but she was too weary to feel such passions. 

One more step. She stood on the tip of the ledge. The Void stared into her, an ancient enemy. She met its gaze evenly. From the very beginning, she knew she would die in its maw. 

In the fathomless depths, she saw her past. Empires wrought by her hand and obliterated at her will. Civilisations, rising and falling like ants. Temples and cathedrals alike raised in her honour, whilst every other god dwindled to nothing. Feasts and festivals in her name, vast tributes of meat and wine. Wars of faith, crusades to appease her. Luxuries and pleasures beyond a mere mortal's comprehension.

But everything she had treasured, everything she had truly loved, was gone. Her children, slain at her own hand to keep her throne. Her sisters, lost to the annals of time. Her love, her one true love, resting beneath the ocean waves. And now, she would die too. Her name would be snatched away by the wind. Her statues and temples would crumble into oblivion. 

She closed her eyes. Clumsy fingers removed her necklace, the mark of her power, tossing it onto the sandy bank. Perhaps someday, an explorer might stumble upon it. With the last dregs of her heart, she wished it was so. In the end, she did not want to be forgotten.

She took the last step.

Then she fell into the Void, and welcomed its cold embrace.

[rmhashauthor]

i saw dragon and i immediately ran to your inbox 🏃‍♀️💨

anyways!! what part of TDPC are you the most proud of in terms of lore, and then in terms of dialogue? what makes these things stand out to you?

First I just wanna say that's super awesome of you to come all this way, thank you <3 I'm very new to blogging despite being older than the World Wide Web (seriously) and I appreciate any kind of prompt.

In terms of lore? I could go two ways with this - one way being species-centric and the other being the lore of the universe I'm slowly building around this story and its semi-counterpart STARFISH.

Species-wise, it was a lot of fun thinking about the Drass culture and how their environment influences the way they live. Their home planet is quite cold, so their clothes and food reflect the practical need to stay warm and protect themselves from the elements. I researched what people in Siberia and northern Russia ate, reading up on calorie-rich food like meat, bread, noodles and milk products. I read about Mongolian buuz - meat-filled steamed dumplings - and the diet of researchers in Antarctica. It makes sense that living in a cold climate requires lots of food, and a wealthy culture like the Drassian Empire would have some serious eats. Every culture has its tasty fried things and danger murder sticks.

I looked at SO MANY examples of Mongolian, Inuit and Siberian traditional clothing, reading about waterproof sealskin boots and wearing reindeer pelts with the fur side turned in. Then, once I thought I had a pretty good handle on outerwear I read up on styles from Korea and China, because like food a culture needs its own distinctive wearables. I've always loved looking at clothes from other cultures and I've built a Pinterest "lookbook" for TDPC. I mean, just LOOK at these colors, the fabrics, the luxury, the DRAMA:

Drass LOVE their clothes and jewelry, but the thing they care about most is their hair. Hair is a status thing for Drass - the longer it is, the higher you are socially. And it reflects another aspect of living in a cold climate: cold weather will suck all the moisture from hair, so someone with long hair spends most of their time inside where it's warm and to maintain long hair you need the time and resources to do it. Wealthier Drass can afford the oils and treatments to maintain long hair (like down to their knees long), so it became a visual cue for them to see who has more money.

The lore of the universe is still coming together - the books I'm writing for this "series" all take place in the same physical place, just at different times. I try to think of it like a historical fiction series, referencing real events from the past that you and I know, like the Voyager probes and the Challenger disaster. The older I get the more interest I have in history, and the more I learn about it the more I realize that the damn thing tends to repeat itself! So I take examples from history both ancient and recent, and I think about how I could translate something like, say, the Westward Expansion of the nineteenth century. and how that might look in space. I read a handful of books about ancient Chinese history - the An Lushan Rebellion was really interesting! - and definitely found inspiration in the Tang Dynasty.

I'm not trying to be historically accurate by any means, and I would expect an actual historian to rip me to shreds over this century's traditional footwear vs that era's specific view of socks with sandals, but getting neck-deep in all kinds of history that isn't so Western-centric is a GREAT source of inspiration and exposure to ideas from different times. I think it's worth hunting down books from outside the "major events" you were taught in school, especially those written by the people who lived it. I know it sounds like SO MUCH WORK just to write sci-fi romance, and you may be asking "Why do you do this to yourself, R M Hash? Why do you get SO DEEP into history and science and politics just to write books about banging aliens?" Well I'll tell you why!

Because I can. Because I studied literature and work as a technical administrator, so research is like 85% of my personality and 95% of my skill set. Because learning stuff distracts me from The Horrors and keeps me sharp in my old age. And because it's fun to leave my comfort zone and get into things like a toddler in a bag of Sharpies. And also because no one has really tried to stop me, so I figure why not? Why not write well-researched sci-fi romance and voluntarily drive myself insane with minutiae like the type of buttons some guy wore in the twelfth century because it came up in the year 2234? I have ADHD, I'm autistic, I have an internet connection and I have been formally trained in finding stuff on the internet - I'm gonna build myself a fun little miniverse and populate it with interesting, sexy people who sometimes have tails, claws or other exciting anatomy bits. In here, I am God.

Anyway... Dialogue!

Oh God, if you're still here then you are either reading the only thing you had saved to your phone when you got on the plane or you're REALLY interested. Thanks!

Dialogue is one of those things that I work VERY hard on to get right - I'm dealing with having to switch back and forth between different people when they're talking and when half of the conversation is being held by an alien, I have to get weird with it. One of my cardinal rules with dialogue is 'you can only say HALF of what you want to' and part of that is to help cut how long my sentences are and a good way to keep the story going. This is particularly important with TDPC because Fang and Valen are constantly fighting the urge to confess their feelings, so they keep it all bottled up and instead say things like:

“It means,” Valen rubbed his thumb over her wrist, “that you could travel without me, that you could come and go as you want. You'd have your own private Wardens to guard you, and you wouldn't be confined to the mountain or even Anun – you could go back to Federation space and even live there if that's what you'd prefer.” It hurt to say that, but it was true. With a sheepish smile he added, “Might be nice to get away from me once in a while, right?”

Fang hesitated before she answered. “Um... I guess so...” Her odd expression, lips pressed together as if she wanted to say something but couldn't, made him wonder.

“I'm just trying to plan ahead in case...” Valen looked down at her hand under his, noting how Fang hadn't tried to pull away and not really understanding why. “There's still a chance my father won't cancel the deed, and if we're going to be stuck together I want you to have some kind of escape route. Even if you're still connected to me it'll be in name only. You'd still be a Drassian and have the same protections, but you'd be as close to free as you can get as long as the deed is still intact.” And you'd have the mercy of not being stuck with me day in and day out.

What he REALLY wants to say is "I want to make this easy for you so that when I can set you free, you decide you like being with me more than you like the idea of taking off on your own". He's struggling with his feelings for Fang, but he can't say what he feels because he promised to give Fang her freedom. He's worried that if he tells her he loves her, she'll feel guilty for leaving (because obviously no woman would want to stay with little old him, right?) or she'll be disgusted by him (because he's short and ugly). Not only that, but he's afraid of their 'fake' relationship being exposed because if it is, then his plans to build a mixed colony with Drass and humans will be tanked. So it's REALLY important that he keeps his mouth shut, but he still has to reassure her that everything will be okay so she doesn't resent him. By saying only half of what Valen wants to say, I maintain the tension of the scene and the hope that some day Valen will get his chance to say what he REALLY feels. This comes up OFTEN and even right up to the very last chapter, because I'm terrible and I like to prolong the suffering:

Fang pulled back. It took a moment for the shock to register in her eyes. When it did, her mouth fell partway open with a soft gasp. “You want me to leave?”

“No,” Valen shook his head. “No, I don't want you to leave, but I have to let you leave i-if that's what you choose. I don't have the right to keep you any more, but I won't stop you now that you're free. You can take anything you want, even the house – I'll leave if you want the house, I know you've always wanted your own home – but if you go you can always come back. You'll always have a place here, on Baishin or on Anun, in this house...” He took one of her small, soft, pale hands and held it to the center of his chest, the other he held in his own as he kept her gaze. “Between my hearts.”

(he's saying "between my hearts" because Drass have two hearts - more lore!)

It's fun to push right up to the line with dialogue and get closer and closer to what needs to be said, but it's MORE fun to think of fun and exciting ways to drag out the plot and cause problems. I hate when people do this in real life, but when I have control over who says what, it's way more enjoyable to write and challenge myself to be as difficult as possible. I like being a pain in the ass on paper, and I get endless joy from making people yell at me on the internet for refusing to make imaginary people kiss. Giving everyone on Wattpad the narrative equivalent of blue balls brings me the satisfaction I am refusing to give them!

If you made it this far, holy shit. You should be studied, maybe. Just a couple of years ago I was wondering if anyone would be interested in my peculiar style of rambling, and here we are. I have two completed books, with several more on the way (god I hope so, this is too much fun and I've never had a captive audience before!) I started writing STARFISH out of boredom and spite because I was working as a data entry specialist, and now I'm talking to strangers about the aliens I created specifically so I could daydream about boning them. Strangers on the internet, no less! As someone who actually REMEMBERS the nineties, that feels borderline illegal. But if hemorrhaging words about my thoughts on what it's like to Netflix & Chill with aliens into the aether is wrong, I don't think I want to be right.

[chiefhellenist]

Welcome to my little blog, lovelies🦉

Today is 4th of Metageitnion (21st of August)

As I embraced a more consistent approach to my practices, I couldn't help but notice a glaring gap in accessible resources. It's true that one could attempt to scour the internet for information about Hellenic holidays and events, but who has the time or inclination to sift through exhaustive 10k word Wikipedia articles? All that just to discover that recreating authentic Hellenic rituals and practices is nearly impossible! What a pain, huh?

Picture a scenario: a holiday is on the horizon, and the desire to honor the Gods in a meaningful manner ignites within. But there's a problem – there aren't many good sources of information to help you figure out what to do. It's like a big roadblock that makes things confusing. So, here's the big question: how can we solve this problem and find a way forward?

Fear not, for I am here to give a guiding hand to all baby pagans, inquisitive researchers, and all those intrigued by Hellenic polytheism. Allow me to explain the ways Hellenic polytheists manage to slip their practices into their daily life, and provide you with insights, rituals, and a roadmap to navigate through ancient traditions. On this platform, my goal is to make this special belief system easier to grasp, so you can really understand the important rituals and traditions.

A special week (23rd-30th of Hekatombaion/10th-17th of August) has just came to an end, finishing the 8-day-long premier festival of the year - Panathenaia! And to be even more specific, this year (2023) we were graced to celebrate Panathenaia ta megala (Great Panathenaia) an occasion that only happens once every 4 years!

A history lesson about this festival for anyone interested!

The Panathenaia is the celebration of Athena's birthday, for it is an ancient belief that on the 28th of Hekatombion, Athena bursted from the very head of Zeus. Though it is her day, all the Olympians attend the festivities. This is a sacred feast at which gods and mortals celebrate Athena's birthday together.

Beginning in the 7th century BCE, the annual festival, the Panathenaia ta mikra (Lesser Panathenaia), involved an impressive procession from outside the walls of the city to the Acropolis and the main purpose of the procession was to convey the new peplos for the image of Athena.

The loom for this peplos had been set up at the festival of Khalkeia (in Pyanepsion), nine months before, by priestesses and young girls (Arrephoroi) particularly dedicated to the worship of Athena and the weaving had been carried out by the Ergastiai (workers), maidens chosen from Aristocratic families. Now the colossal wool garment, with traditional yellow and blue decoration woven into it was carried in a ship-like cart. Everyone in Attica took part: Kanephoroi, young women who bear baskets on their heads (containing the meal/grain to through on the sacrificial victim); Diphrophoroi (Chair bearers), young girls carrying chairs; Thallophoroi, green branch bearers who were old men; young men wearing purple robes (the Skaphephoroi, or tray-bearers) of the resident non-citizens carried trays of cakes and honeycombs as offerings; daughters of Metics carried water jars; and freed slaves and other non-Greeks carried oak branches. Representatives of subject city states of the empire brought suits of armor and a cow as offerings and all of them were likely in the parade as well.

The annual Panathenaia included several other distinctive elements: a torch race (run by Athenians only), an all-night service (the Pannychis) and a meat meal for everyone at the city’s expense.

Then in 566/5 BCE, athletic games open to all Greeks were added to the festival so that, every fourth year, the city observed Panathenaia ta megala (Great Panathenaia). And late in the 6th century, the tyrant Peisistratos added musical competitions and recitations of the poetry of Homer. Athletic events included foot-race (stadion), pentathlon, wrestling, boxing and pankration, in three age categories: men, beardless youths and boys. Horse competition were also held, including four-horse chariot, two-horse chariot, horses ridden singly, javelin-throwing from horseback and races for foals as well as full-grown horses. Winners received, among other things, olive oil purportedly from the sacred olive tree of Athena in distinctive white and black amphoras.

Wow, all that sounds like a huge event, don't you think? It sure is! But you won't catch anyone butchering a HUNDRED cows as a offering in honor of Athena these days.

I believe Gods are always around us, they understand and see how the world changed thus why some of the rituals can't be practiced anymore. All we can do is take inspiration from the ancient ways people used to celebrate these holidays.

How can we celebrate Panathenaia nowadays?

Unfortunately, me and other people who follow Hellenic traditions can't get a whole city to bring back these old practices. So, we usually make the festival shorter, just for one night or day if it's easier. During this night, the procession is added to by the bearing of a torch. Libations are poured to Athena, most often with olive oil, milk, wine and/or honey. Most of us don't want to do something as big as butchering a cow, so we stick to offering a piece of beef to Athena instead and partaking of the meal as well, as the celebration did not call for a holókaustos (burning) of the ritual offering.

We should honor Athena with offerings, prayers, reading of Hymns (Orphic Hymn 32 and Homeric Hymn 28), and with a communal meal. Consider planning night-time worship starting at sunset. If possible, arrange running races, contests, and a torchlit procession. Study Athenian history, art, and architecture. Additionally, learn about Athena's stories, Athens' history, and your own city. Some make garments for the statue of Athena, showcasing our care. Embrace sculpting, sketching, painting, sewing, and more!

If you want your ritual to be really fancy (which I absolutely love) I highly suggest following the steps of the user LeopardBoy here:

What I personally suggest doing?

Such a big way to celebrate is sure fun, no doubt. But let's be honest here, that's really a lot!

I suggest celebrating Panathenaia by a wake (full night of worship), and here is an idea of how possibly it could go:

8:00PM - 10:00 PM: this is the time for final preparations. Clean up the space (Hestia doesn't like things out of place as we know, so you can go ahead and mop the floor, vacuum, move everything out of the way), prepare your altar, lay out everything you need for personal cleansing, your offers to the Gods, everything you need to burn and pour offerings

10.00 PM - 11.00 PM: Torch procession (lit with Hestia's flame) from outside the living room to the shrine, cleansing (called katharmos), hymns to Hestia (Homeric Hymn 24), to Nyx (Orphic Hymn 3), to Selene (OH 9), to the Stars (OH 7), to Sleep (OH 85), to Dream (OH 86), to Zeus (OH 15) and finally to Athena (HH 11/HH 24), libations of olive oil to Hestia and Athena with a repeating of their respective hymns, making a cloak for Athena

11.00 PM - 12.00 PM: katharmos, libations of red wine to Hestia and Athena after proclaiming their hymns, offering of chocolate to both Goddesses, reading the Odysseia by Hómēros

12.00 PM - 01.00 AM: katharmos, libations of milk to Hestia and Athena after proclaiming their hymns, reading the Odysseia, preparing the candle making

01.00 AM - 02.00 AM: katharmos, libations of honey to Hestia and Athena after proclaiming their hymns, candle making

02.00 AM - 03.00 AM: katharmos, offerings of barley to Hestia and offerings of beef to Athena after proclaiming their hymns, divination session, reading the Odysseia

03.00 AM - 04.00 AM: katharmos, libations of honey to Hestia and Athena after proclaiming their hymns, reading about the history of Hellas and Athens

04.00 AM - 05.00 AM: katharmos, libations of milk to Hestia and Athena after proclaiming their hymns, reading about the history of Hellas and Athens.

05.00 AM - 06.00 AM: katharmos, libations of red wine to Hestia and Athena after proclaiming their hymns, reading the Odysseia, finalizing the candles.

06.00 AM - 06.30 AM: katharmos, libations of olive oil to Hestia and Athena after proclaiming their hymns, reading the Odysseia, cleaning up the space.

Don't be afraid to change up some things, the way you perform rituals is supposed to be meaningful to YOU!

If all you can do is simply dedicate the day to think about Athena, send a prayer and pour libation of tap water into a cup, that's enough!

See you next time:)

Sources:

Adkins, Lesley and Roy A. Adkins, Handbook to Life in Ancient Greece, 1997

Apollonius Sophistes, “Seasonal Festivals of the Greeks and Romans”

Burkert, Walter, Greek Religion, English version 1985

Parke, H. W., Festivals of the Athenians, 1977

[aboutanancientenquiry]

“The meal after the victorious battle of Plataea

According to Herodotus, the historian who described the Greek-Persian wars in detail, when the Spartan Commander-in-Chief Pausanias, after the victorious battle of Plataea, entered the scene of the killed Persian General Mardonius: "... he ordered the bakers and the cooks to prepare the dinner Mardonius usually enjoyed. When Pausanias saw the luxurius daybeds, as well as the gold and silver tables loaded with the majestic dinner, he was surprised. As a joke, he ordered his own servants to prepare a Spartan dinner. The difference was so great that he laughed, called all the Generals of the Greeks and said to them, pointing to the two dinners: "Greeks, I called you here to show you the foolishness of the Median ruler who dines like this everyday and moved against us to steal our poverty." We know today many nutritional details of the above scene, namely that the Greek General's meal did not stand out from the hoplites battling under his command. The ration was based on barley bulgur and unleavened barley bread, olives preserved in brine, onions and cured fish wrapped in fig leaves. In his haversack every soldier had salt and thyme to flavor the food, dried figs and a small spit perhaps, for the rare occasion that he would find meat. The army's logistics provided also goat cheese, fresh fruit (figs and grapes in the case of the Battle of Plataea, which took place in late August) and wine diluted with water to give courage to the fighters. The Persians, who, in their vast and multinational troops, served Greeks, Indians and Ethiopians, were supplied by their Theban allies. They also ate barley bread, along with some goat meat, dried dates and almonds. However, the pyramidal structure of the Persian army required Mardonius and his high rank officers to enjoy roasted ducks and peacocks, pilaf flavored with cardamom, honey dripping sweets, wine made from dates and strong barley beer.”

Source: https://olyrafoods.com/blogs/wisdom-treats-blog/the-meal-after-the-victorious-battle-of-plataea

Olyra is the site of a Greek businessman who makes alimentary products inspired by the ancient Greek diet. The information he provides about the culinary habits of ancient Greeks and Persians when these peoples campaigned seems trustworthy. 

I remind here that the question of the motivation of the Persian attempt to conquer Greece is a complex one in Herodotus. But the story reported here illustrates well the theme of the imperial hybris, i.e., of the desire of empires and elites which have already too much to acquire even more through further conquest and expansion.

 I remind also that this report is not a simplistic illustration by Herodotus of some cliché of “Oriental decadence”, as Mardonius is portrayed in the Histories as aggressive and prideful, but also as competent and brave.

And of course the tragic irony of the same story is that Pausanias, the victor of Plataea and savior of the Greek freedom, the defender of the austere Greek way of life face to the Persian culinary luxury, not only adopted some time later the lavish lifestyle of the Persian nobility, but he was even accused of plotting with Xerxes for the subjugation of Greece and was put to death for this reason by the Spartans - through starvation... 

Bust of Pausanias, in the Capitoline Museums, Rome.

[0alix0]

Aivela's curse (1/?)

link to AO3

parings: Arcann/Outlander (Female Jedi Consular)

warnings: Hanahaki AU (and every gruesome detalization that comes with it), enemies to friends to lovers (?)

It all started when she had escaped.

When the murderer of their former "immortal" emperor, the so-called outlander, is brazenly dragged out of the carbonite cell hidden in the bowels of the Spire. And then again right under his nose.

Chasing the stricken ship, he, together with Vaylin, ends up in the eternal swamps. Exactly where the Outlander fled off Zakuul. Even before completely landing on the surface, he is engulfed with uneasy feeling of déjà vu, and a terrifyingly familiar echo of the Force that beats in his head. It feels like a stain in the middle of the universe, like a black hole, pulling all living things into itself, and twisting them. An all too familiar feeling. And it is as if it's still here, just reach out.

The shuttle doors open and Arcann finally sees the ruined battlefield for himself. If it can still be called one. Crushed ground, with trees broken as if from a hurricane, and dozens of his skytroopers and knights trampled under layers of debris. Wrinkles appeared on his forehead, he clenched his metal hand till a creak came out of it. All, all because one single wave of jedi's hand.

It couldn't have been her power.

He touched his forehead as he reminisced about that day in the throne room. About the strange data from the crashed Sith ship, about the dispute between that jedi Outlander and his father, as if they knew each other, and about how the energy, torn from Valkorion after the fatal blow, rushed to the unconscious jedi like to a beacon enveloping her with it. He almost pitied her. Almost.

He did not waste the time of father's absence in vain. A crowd of outraged citizens, knights, even some scions, all wanted justice for the murder of their beloved emperor. Some wanted revenge. And Arcann wanted an explanations.

And already in a few days, the knights were already storming some of the distant bases of the Sith Empire. Cut their communicators, destroyed any holorecords of their presence, so that no one even knew who attacked them... they also collected data. About imperial hierarchicy, ancient Sith worlds, Dromund Cass, the destruction of Ziost. And about their missing sith emperor.

One of today's intruders can be almost certainly identified as a Sith, and it couldn't be just another coincidence. If this was truly someone who had come back here to set free the "reborn Emperor", if Valkorion had planned it... and Arcann knew he did, his father had always planned something he never spoke of to anyone... that Jedi is nothing but a meat puppet now, she's not a random soldier brought here by circumstance, it became obvious as soon as father suggested her place at his side, she's not a victim. She is a threat, just like Valkorion. To Zakuul. To him, to the only remnant of his family.

For your own damn good jedi, just sit in your fucking fridge.

"Your Highness," the senior lieutenant distracted him. "Permission to begin search..."

"Immediately!"

The squad of knights who arrived with him immediately began to clean off the debris, search for any remains or clues that could help them to define the intruders. Meanwhile the medical team resuscitates found knights who were injured by that force wave.

All around was gray and cold, completely opposite to how Arcann remembered. A zap of pain passes through the left arm, forcing him to grab onto the elbow, as if there was something to grab onto. Whether because of a sudden change in atmospheric pressure or a flash of memory, he could not tell. The rain drenches them all from head to toe, but, what is more important, the traces will soon be completely washed off the ground

"Izax damn them all." he grumbled to himself, clearing his throat. He wanted to leave... for practicality of course. He's hardly useful sick, and yet... something prevented him from leaving. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, the only thought that literally haunted him to leave spire, uncertainty or denial, something ghostly, maybe even sentimental... He didn't know how exactly he would know that Senya was truly there. Whether he simply overthought her presence on Gravestone then, in the throne room or... Not. Perhaps he hoped these feelings and her presence would waver away from his mind as soon as he'd arrived here. It didn't happen. Thoughts were fighting with one another and bright him no relief. It wasn't her. Yet someone had to tell the sith about the prison. It couldn't be her, she knew better than following the old bastard... But could it be that she follows the jedi?

Something in his chest feels squeezed  and for some reason it becomes difficult for him to take a breath. He feels a stinging bitterness on tongue. If it was her. And if she really is here... There! Side by side with some... outlander she never even met?

A dry and almost silent cough escaped his throat. No, that's enough of this nonsense.

He turned to Vaylin, she was standing a dozen steps away from him. Motionless, like a statue, she looked somewhere far away. He slightly touched her shoulder.

"There is no point in standing here for hours. You will only catch cold. Even if they left something here, it will most likely not..."

She. Was. Here. She helped that jedi escape. She helped him escape. Arcann tries to make a deep breath to calm himself but gets interrupted by another bout of quiet coughing.

Vaylin turns to him, eyes down, lips pressed, and reaches up her hand. A tiny block of wood rests on a thin palm. It's shaped like little Mawvorr's head... and looks exactly like the one some of them actually made for Senya decades ago.

He takes a carved figurine. Metal fingers brush over age-damaged surface, and anger starts to flare in his chest.  

"She lost it when we were little. Let's go home." his voice seems even more mechanical, hoarse, even considering the mask. Arcann returned her the figurine, pulled the cloak from his shoulders and silently threw it over Vaylin. She stood without movement, looking into small carved dots-eyes. Mawvorr slowly levitated from her palms and hanged in the air for a brief moment. A quick spark. Lightning discharges from both of her hands. The figurine burns within a few seconds, but it feels as if the deformation of small pointy face and the sizzle of the cracking wood and vaporized rain drops lasted just long enough to stuck in his head for next few days. Perhaps it's easier for her this was. Perhaps for him as well. Arcann claps her on the shoulder "Come on."

He takes his sister away from the swamps, from the thoughts that maybe their father is still alive, and even more so, that he is capable to return, that their mother didn't even thought twice before helping him... her.

In the recesses of his mind, he hopes that even if Valkorion's favorite was just unfortunately got caught in a crossfire of their mutual despise, it would be better if she just died without ever coming back.

When they return to the shuttle, his clothes are already sticking to his skin with the disgusting cold, and something begins to painfully itch somewhere in the depths of his throat. He mindlessly brushes it off as a hypothermia.

And only before bed he notices a tiny red stain in a corner of his lips and a metallic taste in mouth.

Petunia. Resentment and anger.

[rabbitcruiser]

National Dress Day 

From puffy sleeves to deep v-necks, from halter tops to hoop skirts, dresses have taken on all sorts of shapes and sizes over the years. National Dress Day is here to celebrate this!

A-line, swing dresses, tunic and sheaths. Princess dresses, tent dresses, strapless or empire waist. Whether retro or vintage, minimalist or mermaid, babydoll or kimono, all of these styles of dresses are amazing and fun to enjoy.

No matter what the style of dress or the preferences of the women who are wearing them, National Dress Day is here to celebrate each and every one!

History of National Dress Day

Certainly the concept of dresses started out as a functional way for people to cover their bodies. Togas, shifts, robes and wrap dresses all find their place as part of the origins of dresses. Originally worn by both men and women, eventually the convenience of trousers became the preferred garb of choice for men, but women were still expected to wear dresses.

By the 14th and 15th centuries, in Europe at least, dresses became not only a functional way for a woman to cover her body but also started to become part of fashion trends. Covered in various embellishments and paired with extravagant accessories like hats and capes, dresses have continued to evolve ever since.

And even though women have been rocking pants on a regular basis for several decades now, there’s just something extra that can make a woman feel feminine and beautiful when she chooses to wear a dress.

National Dress Day was founded by fashion and dress designer, Ashley Lauren. It was first celebrated in 2016 to draw attention to the beauty of dresses, reliving and celebrating the memories that happen while wearing them. Ashley Lauren is a designer that focuses on formal wear, from prom and pageant dresses to wedding gowns, particularly with the purpose of accentuating a woman’s curves.

Today, National Dress Day can be celebrated in a variety of ways, whether by simply wearing a favorite comfortable dress to work for the day or going out on the town in the evening, dressed up to dance!

National Dress Day Timeline

3000 BC Dresses make an appearance

Some of the world’s oldest dresses seem to come from Ancient Egypt during this era. 

15th Century AD Dresses become fashion

Going beyond simply being a covering, women’s dresses begin to become a fashion statement with elaborate embellishments for the rich. 

1954 Marilyn Monroe’s famous white dress scene is filmed

This white halter dress is rather normal until Marilyn stands over a subway grate and it scandalously flies in the air for The Seven Year Itch. 

1981 Princess Diana reveals her secret wedding dress

Setting the tone for style throughout the next decade, the Royal Wedding dress features puffy sleeves, ruffled neckline and a 25 foot train. 

2010 Lady Gaga wears a meat dress

Calling it a political statement, pop star Lady Gaga wears a dress made of flank steak to the MTV Music Video Awards. 

How to Celebrate National Dress Day

Have tons of fun participating in National Dress Day by getting involved with some of these ideas for celebration:

Wear a Favorite Dress

One of the best things to do in support of National Dress Day is to grab that favorite dress out of the closet and put it on in honor of the day. Those who have to wear a uniform or certain dress code to work can toss a dress into the back of their car and change into it as soon as work is over. Take this day as an excuse to head out with friends for cocktails, dancing – or a game of bowling! But no matter what you end up doing, this day is best enjoyed while wearing a dress.

Take the 100 Day Dress Challenge

One dress company is working toward making the world a better place. Not by wearing a new dress every day, but by wearing the same dress for 100 days in a row. The Wool& company believes it is good for the Earth to wear items that are sustainable, require less washing and also make it easier to spend less time deciding what to wear in the morning.

So the company makes classic style dresses out of high-quality, long-lasting wool that allows women to wear it every day for 100 days. Wool is a sustainable fabric that doesn’t need to be washed each time it is worn, which cuts down on laundry (only needing to be washed every 5-7 days) and saves the earth. Plus, wool is not hot like many people think, but it is breathable and comfortable.

Perhaps National Dress Day would be the perfect time to get started on that 100 day dress challenge and fall in love with a comfy wool dress while doing something good for the planet.

Make a National Dress Day Playlist

Celebrating is always better when there’s a fun soundtrack playing in the background – and National Dress Day is no exception! Create a playlist on Spotify, Apple Music or another platform, tailored to enjoying this day to the fullest.

Get started with some of these songs, both classic and modern, that complement the dress theme for the day:

Little Black Dress by Sara Bareilles (2013)

Devil with a Blue Dress On by Mitch Ryder (1967)

Dress by Taylor Swift (2017)

Better in a Black Dress by Katie Armiger (2013)

Buy a New Dress for National Dress Day

Some women find themselves in a life uniform of jeans and t-shirts or yoga pants and hoodies. And that’s great! But sometimes this leads to a rut and makes it easy to forget how nice it feels to get dressed up once in a while. National Dress Day is a great time to remember and create new memories.

For those who don’t have a dress in their closet that fits well, perhaps National Dress Day is just the right time to change that. Take the day to go dress shopping, whether on your own or grabbing a friend. Make a day out of it and try dresses on at several shops or boutiques, but don’t forget to include a nice lunch or dinner in there somewhere too. See what kind of lovely styles of dresses are out there these days and choose a favorite one to bring home and wear.

Because certainly dresses can be worn and enjoyed any day or every day of the year!

Follow National Dress Day on Social Media

National Dress Day has its own hashtag that is not only fun for people to share their own photos, but it’s a great way to get inspired. Not sure about what styles have been trending lately in dresses? Everyone who shares their pictures on the day can help bring new ideas and fresh styles into that wardrobe.

National Dress Day FAQs

Are dresses professional?

Dresses can be professional, especially when paired with a jacket or blazer.

Are dresses comfortable?

Many women find certain dresses to be very comfortable, sometimes more comfortable than pants. 

Can dresses be tailored?

Dresses can certainly be made smaller, and some dresses can be made larger if they have extra fabric in the seam. 

When did dresses become feminine?

When men started wearing trousers in the 14th century, dresses became something only women wore. 

Where did dresses originate?

Experts think the oldest dress in the world originated more than 5000 years ago.

Source

[fandomficsnstuff]

The Dragon's Daughter - 4

(Warnings: Some sweet fluff and slavery as well as decapitated heads)

Dothraki will be in bold

High Valyrian will be in cursive

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rhaella sat with her mother as one of the slavers of Yunkai was being brought forth, playing with Raemor, curiously running her fingers all over the dagon, and it let her, it even let her pry open it’s mouth to touch it’s teeth, though when the slaver approached, Raemor hissed quietly, Rhaella following Raemor’s gaze and instantly her shyness became apparent, her chubby arms wrapping around Raemor’s head, the white dragon looking at her with care before looking back at Daenerys who was stroking his head, Daenerys looking at her daughter and with one glance at Raemor, the dragon moved down closer to his sister. Raemor almost purred at the small girl, letting her lean on his head to help her stand up on the soft cushions, balancing as best as she could to look at the stranger that was approaching her, her brothers and their mother. “Now comes the noble Razdal mo Eraz of that ancient and honorable house, Master of Men and Speaker to Savages, to offer terms of peace” the slaver approached further and every one of the dragons hissed and shrieked at him, Rhaella seemingly unfazed as the dragons flared their spikes and flashed their many, many sharp teeth, causing the slaver to halt completely. “Noble lord, you are in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn, of house Targaryen, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains and the Mother of Dragons. You are also in the presence of her daughter, the kind Princess Rhaella Targaryen, sister of the great three dragons, the White Dragon of the Great Grass Sea, Princess to the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros and heir to Her Grace Queen Daenerys Targaryen, and the Iron Throne” Missandei ended proudly, Rhaella perking up at the sound of her name, giggling at Raemor and hugging his scaly neck, probably tighter than she should’ve but Raemor didn’t even seem to notice.

“You may approach. Sit” Daenerys stated confidently, her gaze turning to her daughter who managed to stumble towards her without falling over, the young girl taking one of the queen’s braids and fiddling with the clasp, the queen smiling softly at her child before looking to the slaver, letting the young princess occupy herself after taking off the clasp for Rhaella so the child wouldn’t tug on her hair. It wasn’t long before the princess sat down on the cushions, reaching for Missandei as the clasp was already forgotten, lower lip trembling as Missandei approached the young princess, giving her the toy and a smile before returning to her spot to the side, Daenerys smiling at her daughter as she fiddled with the toy. “Ancient and Glorious is Yunkai. Our empire was old before dragons stirred in Old Valyria. Many an army has broken against our walls, you shall find no easy conquest here, Khaleesi” Daenerys seemed to grow bored as the slaver spoke, opening the lid on a golden pot, Rhaella perked up at this and she nearly climbed over her mother to reach it. Daenerys threw a piece of meat carelessly, the dragons fighting mercilessly over it, shrieking and roaring as they tore it apart amongst each other, Rhaella laughing and clapping while in her mother’s lap. The young princess reached for the meat, Daenerys allowing her to take a piece, leaning down and holding her small hand in hers, gently reaching it towards one of the dragons, and at first they fought over it, snarling at each other, until Rhaella babbled something incoherent in a cute attempt at a stern voice, the dragons seeming to settle down, the biggest one, black-and-red, Drogon, approached and unlike before, he carefully took the flesh from her hand, Rhaella squealing in joy as she clapped her hands together, Daenerys smiling at the sight before smiling at the frightened slaver.

“Good. My Unsullied need practice, I was told to blood them early and, as you can see, my daughter enjoys watching her brothers, she enjoys especially watching them burn something… or someone” Daenerys stated fondly, knowing that all she really enjoyed was just anything related to her brothers, really, it could be them sleeping or playing with their tails, but her words seemed to scare the slaver a tad more. “If blood is what you desire, blood shall flow… but why? ‘Tis true you have committed savageries in Astapor, but the Yunkai are a forgiving and generous people. The wise Masters of Yunkai have sent a gift for the Silver Queen and her daughter” the slaver stated confidently, clapping his hands and two gold boxes was brought forth by some slaves, another one approaching with silks and fabrics in a small size, toys of expensive nature, placed on the floor by the box and instantly Rhaella perked up at this. She climbed off her mother’s lap, Raemor flying to the ground, hissing at the slaver as the girl crawled over to the toys, rummaging through them, grinning over her shoulder at her mother who gave her a brief nod. The slaves opened the chests, revealing bars and bars of pure gold and an abundance of toys before stepping back, Rhaella squealing at the shining objects, turning her gaze to the other chest, picking up a ceramic doll, one of her hands mindlessly in her mouth as she showed it to Raemor, as though asking his opinion on it before continuing onto the next toy she could see. “There is far more than this awaiting you on the deck of your ship” the slaver stated, his eyes lingering on the silvery-white dragon that was far closer to him than he would have liked, yet it seemed occupied with the young princess as she placed different things in front of the dragon, as though splitting the loot between the two.

“My ship?” Daenerys asked, a brow raised as she looked at the slaver who smirked. “Yes, Khaleesi, as I said; we are a generous people, you shall have as many ships as you require” he stated confidently, Daenerys studying him before looking to Raemor, who looked over at his mother when he felt her eyes on him. “Raemor” it was a silent plea, a command that she ordered softly, the dragon almost purring as it nudged the young princess, letting her pull herself up and standing by his spikes, giggling as she laid herself over the dragon’s back on her tummy as it carried her towards their mother, Rhaella giggling as Daenerys picked her up and gave her the small round key that had been her first toy, the young child once again playing with it. Daenerys gently stroked her daughter’s white hair, the fronts of it finally long enough to be pulled back in a tiny braid on each side, each braid she had made herself. “And what do you ask in return?” she asked quietly, looking up from her daughter to study the slaver. “All we ask, is that you make use of these ships, sail them back to Westeros where you and your daughter belongs, and leave us to conduct our affairs in peace” the slaver stated coldly, Daenerys looking down at her daughter, gently stroking her white hair as she offered her key to Rhaegal who lowered his head down to look at her, playing quietly with her other children, her eyes moving to the kneeling slaves before looking back to the slaver “I have a gift for you as well” she stated with a small smile.

“Your life.”

“My life?”

“And the lives of your Wise Masters, but I also want something in return…You will release every slave in Yunkai. Every man, woman and child shall be given as much food, clothing and property as they can carry as payment for their years of servitude. Reject this gift, and I shall show you no mercy” Daenerys stated in a soft voice, her hand on the back of her daughter’s head, Rhaella having laid down with her head in her lap, tired eyes closing against her will as she tried to keep awake. “You are mad. We are not Astapor or Qarth. We are Yunkai, and we have powerful friends. Friends who would take great pleasure in destroying you. Those who survive we shall enslave once more,” the slaver stood up, Daenerys undeterred as she gently stroked her tired daughter’s head, “perhaps we’ll make a slave of you and your daughter as well-” Drogon and Raemor screeched loudly at the slaver, waking Rhaella up, a small cry leaving her lips at the rude awakening, Daenerys picking her up and holding her gently against her chest as the child sobbed, the slaver looking at the dragons in fear.

“You swore me safe conduct!”

“I did, but my dragons made no promises. And you threatened their mother and sister” Daenerys stated coldly, glancing down at her still crying daughter, shushing her gently until the slaver ordered the gold to be returned, Drogon jumping forward and protecting the horde with ferocity, Rhaella continuing to cry and clutching at her mother, tears running down her cheeks and smeared on Daenerys’ shoulder. The Silver Queen’s heart burned with fury at the sound of her crying daughter, her eyes on the slaver with that same fury, yet she managed a taunting smile “my gold, you gave it to me and my daughter, remember? And I shall put it to good use. You’d be wise to do the same with my gift to you. Now get out” she ordered in a soft voice, Rhaella slowly calming down, still crying into her mother’s shoulder but by now it was more sniffles and runny noses. As the slaver stormed away, Daenerys turned her full attention to her daughter, stroking her hair soothingly, her fingers running along her spine and her scales, through the fabric of her dress, the child seemingly calming down at this, falling asleep against her mother’s shoulder.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Daenerys was grinning from ear to ear as her daughter splashed about in the tub with her, held up by her knees, the child sitting on them and squealed in joy every time she managed to splash some water at her mother. Missandei smiled at the sight while talking with the queen. As Daenerys leaned back in the tub, she let her daughter lay with her, over her chest as she closed her eyes, making sure her daughter’s head was way above the water as she rested while Missandei fetched more water. “Your high Valyrian is very good, Your Grace, so is the princess’ already. The gods could not devise a more perfect tongue, and the princess seems to already be mastering it, it is the proper language for poetry” Missandei praised, Daenerys smiling and gently running her hand up and down the scales on her daughter’s back, easily lulling the child to sleep in her arms. The calm moment was ruined when Daenerys heard Missandei gasp, eyes opening, holding her child close as she turned around in the tub, finding Missandei with a dagger to her throat. “No screaming, or she dies” he warned, Daenerys looking at Missandei before clutching her young child even tighter, the girl waking up and seeing the stranger, masked and armed, she let out a cry that sounded more like a shriek from a dragon, fear coursing through the young girl and Daenerys watched as the man unmasked himself, a smirk on his lips as Daenerys dared to break eye contact to look at her child, cupping her cheek in her hand and kissing her forehead, muttering soft words of comfort to the girl and her cries died down, though she could still sense the fear.

“What do you want?”

“You.”

“Let her go” Daenerys ordered, Daario doing as told after ushering a warning at Missandei. Missandei hurried towards Daenerys, picking up a smaller robe and gently taking Rhaella from her mother as she cried, carefully wrapping her in the robe, hiding the scales along her back, and balancing her on her hip at the queen’s side. “You were sent here to kill me? To kill my daughter?” Daenerys asked sharply, Rhaella still crying in Missandei’s arms, the woman gently bouncing the child to get her to calm down yet it had no effect. Daario chuckled lightly at Daenerys’ question, Daenerys glancing up at Rhaella, lifting a wet hand to gently hold her small one, just for a brief second before looking back at Daario “so why haven’t you?”

“I don’t want to.”

“And what do your captains have to say about that?”

“You should ask them” Daario stated briefly, opening a bag and letting the heads spill out, Missandei quickly hiding Rhaella’s face so she couldn’t see the butchered heads. Daenerys looked up at Missandei, making sure her daughter couldn’t see it before looking back at Daario “why?”

“We had philosophical differences-”

“Over what?”

“Your beauty. It meant more to me than it did to them” he admitted, Daenerys briefly raising a brow at him “you’re a strange man” she determined, Daario still smirking as he briefly held out his hands, almost welcoming her statement “I’m the simplest man you’ll ever meet, I only do what I want to do” he admitted, Daenerys studying him for another brief second “and this is supposed to impress me?” she asked and gestured with a nod towards the heads, Daario nodding ever so slightly, still as smug as ever. “Yes.”

“Why would I trust a man who murders his comrades?”

“They ordered me to murder you and your daughter. I told them I preferred not to. They told me I had no choice. I told them; I am Daario Naharis, I always have a choice… they drew their swords, and I drew mine” Daario stated with a small shrug, Daenerys moving her gaze to Missandei, the woman gently putting Rhaella down on a chair, picking up Daenerys’ robe as she stood out of the water, helping her into it and by the time she was wearing it, Rhaella had stumbled her way to her mother, hiding behind her leg, using it to stand without falling over. Daario glanced down at the princess, giving her a soft smirk, watching with care as Missandei picked up the girl, gently handing her to her mother as she reached for her. “Will you fight for me? For my daughter?” she asked softly as Messandei undid her hair and the pin that held it up, Daario giving a single nod and Daenerys looked down at her daughter, her face hidden in her neck yet she peered up at Daario with curious, golden dragon eyes. Daenerys took a few steps towards Daario, her daughter still in her arms “swear to me” she half-ordered, watching Daario kneel, his weapon across his knee as he proclaimed his allegiance, not only to her, but to the child on her hip as well.

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Daenerys smiled down at her daughter, two years old, already, sitting on the rock beside her, hands spread out flat as she patted Drogon’s head, which was more like slapping really, very gentle slapping. “Rhaella, gentle, see? Gentle” Daenerys showed, taking her daughter’s hand and gently moving it over Drogon’s head, smiling at her daughter who grinned up at her “ge-tle” she blurted out, Daenerys chuckling lightly “gentle, yes” she praised, leaning down and kissing her daughter’s head as she continued to ‘gently’ slap Drogon and drag her hand across his head, which he honestly seemed to enjoy. “Drogon, gentle. Gentle Drogon” Rhaella muttered softly to herself, looking up at her mother for confirmation, the queen nodding at her child who looked back down at the dragon she was cozying up to. “Maña” Daenerys looked down as her daughter called to her, smiling at the girl who stood up by herself and reached for her, cupping her cheeks in her small hands. “Maña” she small girl repeated, Daenerys chuckling as she leaned into her daughter’s touch “yes, I’m your mother” she stated in an almost blissful voice, the girl giggling, kneeling down, which was really more like squatting down, and placing both hands flat on Dorgon’s head, looking up at her mother “lēkia” it was a statement, not a question, and Daenerys grinned from ear to ear as she nodded “yes, your brother” she spoke softly, placing a loose strand of white hair behind the child’s ear as she looked back down at the dragon, practically throwing herself on top of his head in a hug. “Nyke hae lēkia” she babbled, Daenerys chuckling as she gently pried her daughter off of Drogon’s head when she saw his spikes flare in annoyance, Drogon lifting his head, shaking it a little before looking at the white haired girl, blowing hot hair against her face that made her tumble back, land on her backside and squeal with laughter, as though it tickled, her hands clapping together.

As a goat landed on the stone in front of them, Rhaella flinched, tears beginning to stream down her face as she cried, mostly due to the brief fright she had felt but also as the dragons began to fight over the meal, Drogon snapping at Daenerys when she tried to calm them down, Daenerys holding her daughter close in her arms, her hand gently smoothing down her white hair as she held her close. As Viserion and Rhaegal flew away with the goat, Drogon followed closely, leaving Raemor to land next to Daenerys and Rhaella, the white dragon having been off on his own and had returned when it felt Rhaella’s distress, his body slowly growing to be the size of Drogon, battling him for the title of the biggest of Daenerys’ dragons. Daenerys watched three of her dragons on the horizon, her daughter still in her arms, fiddling with her mother’s white hair as Jorah approached, the sight of the old knight making the little girl light up, a grin on her lips as she hurried over to him, arms stretched up towards him in a clear attempt to be picked up, which the old knight obliged to with a smile, Raemor looking over his shoulder at his sister, almost as though he was keeping a watchful eye on her. “They’re dragons, Khaleesi, they can never be tamed… not even by their mother” Jorah stated softly in an attempt to comfort Daenerys but his attention was brought back to the small princess as she giggled and pulled on his ear, the old knight laughing and gently removing her hands from his ear. “You’re growing fast, little princess… soon you’ll be as tall as your mother” he stated softly, Daenerys watching with a smile, even as Rhaella gestured to the dragons with glee. “Hae rōva hae lēkia!!” she stated with a giggle, Jorah looking to the Khaleesi who smiled at her daughter “she says she’ll be as big as her brothers” Daenerys translated, Jorah chuckling as he put the small girl down on the rock again, much to her dismay. “Soon you’ll be sprouting wings” he added jokingly, Rhaella grinning up at him, taking his hand and jumping up and down as she looked up at him. “Missandei! Missandei” Rhaella jumped up and down, looking over at her mother who smiled at her and got up, offering her hand to the child who eagerly took it, Raemor letting out a brief shriek as he took flight and joined his brothers in the air.

As they approached Missandei, Ser Barristan and the Unsullied, Rhaella let go of her mother, arms stretched out as she ran towards the curly haired woman who grinned at the sight of the young girl. “Missandei!” the girl squealed, Missandei catching the girl while she was running and picked her up, the girl giggling and squealing before she was put back down on the ground, her hand firmly clasped around Missandei’s as she looked over her shoulder at her mother who was joining them at her own pace. “Ser Barristan” Daenerys greeted as her daughter ran to her, Daenerys laying a hand on her daughter’s head as the child stood by her side, clinging to her leg. “Your Grace, little princess” Ser Barristan greeted in return, his eyes moving to the golden eyes peering up at him, giving the child a soft smile before looking back up at the queen, now much more used to the dragon eyes that the princess bore. “Where’s Daario Naharis? Where’s Gray Worm?-”

“Turgon Nudha!” Rhaella spoke up, Daenerys smiling down at her daughter, stroking her white hair before looking up at Ser Barristan as he spoke, “gambling, Your Grace.”

“Gambling?” Daenerys asked in disbelief, Ser Barristan giving a quick nod and suddenly, after taking her daughter’s hand, Daenerys walked through the path made by parted Unsullied, Missandei hurrying after her, the little princess giggling as she walked by the soldiers, eventually letting go of her mother’s hand to run along. Rhaella was the first to reach the two men, halting as she tilted her head in curiosity of what they were doing. The girl hurried a few steps closer before stopping, taking in the way they sat before running off somewhere, out of their sight. It was only after Daenerys had arrived, a panicked look in her eyes at the lack of her daughter, that Rhaella returned, a stick in her hands and she plopped down beside them, giggling as she did the same as them, the best she could, squealing with joy as though it was the most hilarious thing in the world to copy the two of them. “What’s the prize for winning this stupid contest?” the queen asked in a bored voice after giving her daughter an encouraging smile, Daario glancing up at her before looking back at Gray Worm “the honor of riding along your side on the road to Mereen and to entertain the young princess on the journey”

“That honor goes to Ser Jorah and Ser Barristan as neither of them kept me or my daughter waiting this morning. You two will ride in the rear guard and protect the livestock” Daenerys concluded, smiling down at her daughter who had her brows furrowed in the utmost concentration, staring at the stick in her held out hands. Daenerys was about to step away when a thought struck her, a smirk on her lips as she turned back to them. “The last man to drop his sword can find a new queen to fight for, and the one who makes my daughter lose can sleep rough for a fortnight” Daenerys decided with a smirk before leaving, the two men glancing at the very focused young girl, her lips in a small pout, eyebrows furrowed and head tilted slightly downward as she stared at the stick, clearly very invested in winning whatever kind of game this was. The two men shared a quick glance before looking back at the focused princess. “Princess Rhaella,” the girl perked up at her name, smiling at Daario who gave her a charming smile “do you know the name of this game?” he asked, the girl looking between them before shaking her head shyly, her eyes moving back to the stick, Daario nodding “it’s called ‘whoever drops their weapon first is the prettiest in the entire world’” he tried, Rhaella glancing up at him before looking back at her stick, Gray Worm smirking at the Second Sons leader before looking at the young princess. “Princess, if you drop it now, he loses and will find you a stone shaped like a dragon” Gray Worm stated softly, the girl smirking at Daario before dropping her stick, standing up and running after her mother to tell her the good news, both men dropping their swords at the same time now that they could, Daario sighing heavily as he went off to find a dragon-shaped stone.

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Her fingers paid attention to the small braids, the child’s hair already past her shoulder blades, Daenerys paying special attention to not tugging too harshly on the white hair as she sat with her advisers, braiding the child’s hair that had been tugged loose when she played with her brothers earlier. “King Joffrey Baratheon is dead, Your Grace” Jorah’s words made her entire body halt, her fingers stopping their braiding and she looked up at Jorah, Rhaella following her mother’s gaze before looking back down at the toy she was currently playing with “murdered at his own wedding” Jorah elaborated, Daenerys lips slowly, very slowly, stretching in a smile in disbelief, her hands gently moving to the shoulders of her daughter, her gaze following her hands and soon she met the dragon eyes of her daughter who grinned up at her when their eyes met. “And we’ve taken the Meereenese navy, Your Grace” Ser Barristan added, the young princess getting off of her chair and walking over to Daario, her doll in her hands and Daario happily lifted her up on his lap as she wanted. “The Second Sons took the navy” he pointed out, looking down at the young princess who showed him the doll with glee. “It is a very pretty toy, princess, a pretty toy for a pretty princess” he praised, Rhaella grinning up at him before looking back at her toy with a giggle, Daario turning his attention back to the Queen. “Who told you to take their navy?” Daenerys asked, her face one of mild annoyance as Daario took a few nuts from the nearby bowl, opening his palm and offering them to the princess who took a few and began to eat them as she looked around. “No one” he admitted, eating a few of the nuts himself before offering the rest to the princess in his lap “so why did you do it?” Daenerys asked, the same look of mild annoyance on her face, yet she couldn’t deny that seeing Daario so effortlessly good with her precious child, stirred something inside her, a small spark of joy at the sight of how effortless the two of them were together.

“I heard you and the little princess liked ships” Daario reasoned, looking down at the little princess as she tried to climb over the table to grab the bowl with nuts, on the verge of crying until Daario merely dragged the entire bowl over to her, smiling down at her as she began to eat them gleefully. “No need to fuss, princess. You’re the heir to not only Meereen but the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, you can have everything you want and more” Daario whispered soothingly to the young girl, a pout still on her lips as she ate the nuts. Daenerys turned away with brief annoyance before turning back to him “how many ships?” she asked directly. She did like the sea, it felt… open, free, like she could do and say whatever she wanted, be whoever she wanted out there. And the few times her daughter had been on a ship, it seemed she had inherited her mother’s joy for the open waters, a fact Daario had apparently picked up on as well. “93, Your Grace” Ser Barristan answered her previous question, Daenerys narrowing her eyes at Daario “how many can they carry?”

“9,300, not counting sailors” Ser Barristan stated, his eyes moving to the young princess as she suddenly began to fuss at the empty bowl in front of her, tears in her eyes as Daario tried to soothe her, and it seemingly worked, the young girl calming down a little as he held out the toy in front of her, wiggling it a little and pretending it was walking around on the table, the young girl slowly smiling as she giggled and laughed as Daario played pretend with her. “Would that be enough to take King’s Landing?” Daenerys asked as she looked at Jorah, the man hesitating before answering, “the Lannisters have more” he admitted quietly, Daenerys looking to her daughter at the mention. If she had to take King’s Landing, she couldn’t take it on chance. If it was only her and her dragons, she might consider it but as she watched the little girl in Daario’s lap, playing quietly with him, she decided to do everything with assurances, nothing would be left to chance. She knew what it was like to grow up without a mother and father, and she would not let that be the case for her daughter.

[shallowseeker]

Hey Shal, I have a question about your family diner meta. Mad respect, but in the Leviathan arc Biggerson's is made out to be a bad thing. I was wondering if you have any thoughts on that, since in the Cas tablet meta where Naomi attacks Cas, you talk about Biggerson's being bigger sons -> better than their fathers because of their bigger hearts is a good thing? Anyway, I'm hoping this comes across as a friendly question!

I tend to shy away from writing about some stuff from that season, because a lot of it seems very era-attenuated. Example: how an average librarian is referred to as "Chubby" and her beau as "Chub-chaser" in Repo Man. In general some of the mean despair over "fat people" in this season comes off Hollywood-seedy and thoughtless, but it's soooo of the times.

For a little while in this era, the documentary SuperSize Me reigned supreme in every bit of small-talk and in every classroom. Jessica Simpson was a frequent target of weight-shaming, including this hugely publicized fiasco from 2009, when she looked like a walking dream BTW.

In this way, SPN is like a time capsule. (Like how, if you were alive at the time during post-"war on terror," Torture was the big topic in every current events class, verging on a buzz word. This obsession with torture looms larger in early-mid SPN because ot it.)

///

Yes, Biggerson's is a BIG motif in season 7, and with negative connotations. It's a nod to SuperSize Me. It's especially damning for the punching-down attitudes in Hollywood.

I want to point out that although the name is cheeky, Biggerson's wasn't even inherently bad in-world.

The Leviathan was a rotten supplier to this family chain industry, dosing its food with additives, which mirrors a lot of the real-world chatter about trans-fats, partially hydrogenated oil, etc. People were working really hard to get them banned!

When you get down to it, the people inside Biggerson's were being actively preyed upon under the guise of family together-time.

///

What I think... I want to carefully pivot to, maybe...

is the dark side of humanity and family, that of consumerism and exploitation.

I think overall that the family diner itself is still a positive motif, but as with every motif, there's a shadow side--the uncharitable side, a side that can be carried to extremes.

And the "shadow self" of the family diner motif is excess and greed exploiting the family by ravaging its most basic requirement to survive: shelter and nourishment.

They are making humans into livestock.

This was also a rampant idea in the 2000s: about selectively breeding farm animals so that they get dumber and dumber, until they're easy to subjugate for meat, assembly-line style.

I think they briefly touch on this again in season 12...with the Moloch monster and family business of meat packaging.

Anyway, SPN was trying to loop this idea in, too.

///

So, yes. BIG erson's. Bigger Sons. Etc. Etc.

You want your kids to be better than you, with "bigger hearts" and more kindness. But bigger and stronger can have a heck of a downside, too.

But at its heart, the family diner also represents communion and community. It is, after all, the weak, vulnerable human family that Cas wants to protect in season 8.

It's both things at once.

(ASIDE//

And Cas becomes the ideal/idea/motif of the always-working dad/husband who wants to provide for you but doesn't indulge in happiness or nourishment for himself. At least... not until the family is safe/cared for.)

///

ASIDE 2//

Flagrant consumerism is a big part of Nephilim concept, too, and that's a very ancient story.

Theirs was an extensive appetite that so drained the world they had to be eradicated to save the world. In a very real symbolic sense, We are the Nephilim. (On the nose maybe, but we are empire: too tall, too strong, too wasteful, war-mongering, dominating etc. etc.)

And my point is, I think humans have always been aware of the tension and war that comes with the competition for finite resources. Resource-hogs. It's not just a modern, "American" concept.

In early days, our conceptualization of gods and demi-gods mimics the food chain. Ergo: If gods are above us, they're like other stronger animals...they want to eat us. Thus, sacrificing to them is a way to appease them. (Psychologically.)

Humanity and religion are historically oriented towards pooling our resources to survive. Many religions, even the big ones imho, are a clever family-extension devices, that's why it they’re so littered with parental components.

(It's used to bind people “under one roof” and funnel the resources appropriately.)

Certainly, that how Cults and Causes start; in meaningful ways they're all baby/early religions. And when enough time goes by, and the leaders die, etc etc...they devolve to myth and respectable religions proper.

The ultimate difference is just... time.

If angels are royal families, ancient knights-and-tribalism, then Leviathan were supreme capitalism.

It worked well in theory, even when the execution was sometimes lacking to too campy to get the satire across. Especially coming from, you know, Hollywood. And Biggerson's is a warped shadow of that appetite symbol.

[eemamminy-art]

🔥 Garlemald?

Well, I think it's unpopular enough that I find garlemald fascinating and empathize with the suffering of its citizens while finding the empire itself to be abhorrent. I find there's a lot of all or nothing people who want to handwave the empire's actions and romanticize Solus or people who despise every single garlean regardless of their innocence but I think a middle ground is good to have.

I would have also liked if there was more exploration given into some garlean characters though, notably Varis and Nerva-- which I'm sure would have been in the cancelled garlemald expansion but alas... I think there is so much meat to dig into with the generational trauma that Solus inflicted on every one of his mortal descendants but it's like, blink and you miss it moments in canon. I like Varis as a villain or perhaps I should say potential villain since he never quite did much, and it would have been interesting to see how he fared against the scions + alliance in a proper battle. He strikes me as being so similar to Vayne Solidor from FFXII, in that he has this belief that he's in total control of himself while working with these interdimensional ancient beings (not to mention the whole.. murdering his family members thing, they also share that in common) and while I know it did already blow up in his face in canon I would have liked to have seen that play out in more of a slowburn. It also would have been nice if Nerva had any role at all beyond being mentioned off-screen and then being an optional boss with a recycled model, but like I said in another one of these asks, I know two expansions were crammed into one for endwalker and so some stuff naturally had to be cut.

[sethnakht]

Obsessed with the concept that Vader doesn't earn a salary, let alone have easy access to cash, stealing when he needs it and otherwise going without. I like a dynamic where Vader is both beyond and beneath money. Religious reasons can play into it; there's also how he figures as government property. His suit - his life support, his limbs - belongs to the Empire. He worships raw things like pain - things that aren't things, the emotions that spill from broken relationships between people, that linger around corpses - and the power this gives him over death; money is too coldly congealed and abstract a representation of power to seem worthy of his devotion. Bribing him is fruitless, if not because he's nobly self-sacrificing. If he's ascetic, it's not to become pure or clean; abstinence, however much he believes he chooses it, however sacred to him, is imposed.

There's a sense I get in the OT that, just as Vader's suit could plausibly stink of charred flesh (space has been said to smell of burnt meat and welding fumes, polycyclic aromatic hydrocarbons; there's an acrid, burning, metallic scent that clings to spacesuits), the officers and aristocrats surrounding him immediately sense his lack. He's no Count; quite the opposite, and that stench of abjection has never left him, no matter how coldly proper his accent can curve into becoming (he slips from time to time), how precisely formal his address (too studied, it gives him away). They all know there's something wrong with him, and feverish devotion to an "ancient religion" is but the wicked tip of the peak. They sense invisible chains and old gutters and it makes them bold. It's perhaps a stretch to draw such conclusions from Leia commenting that Vader's being held on a "leash", or Motti mocking his "sad" abilities, both as a hunter and as a conjurer, or Jerjerrod, in that deleted scene, exultantly pointing a finger as he denies access to the Emperor. But when the hand-picked Admiral Piett disdains Vader's association with "scum", my brain starts to whirr. When Vader rises at the head of the finely set table on Bespin, ruining the luxury meal - a meal he can't eat - with the same contained glee as though he'd swept every glass to the floor, the associations rush in. I love to see him crashing galas, sabotaging extraction ops, arbitrarily granting second chances to societal rejects, causing sensation with his whole deal, with his rude habit of speaking the unpleasant truth and storming into delicately hushed rooms with boots loudly proclaiming how they became covered in mud and gore.