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shini--chan · 2 months ago

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Dark! Rome x Reader | Spectacle |

Trigger warnings: death, coercion, threats of abuse, discussion of execution methods, gore

The crowd roared as a pair of lions tore into another prisoner, blood wetting the sand and turning it a black-crimson. The enthusiasm upon witnessing another heretic being eaten was unmitigated, even ecstatic, from what you could judge. It made you even sicker than you had been before. The pulse of the crowd matched the pounding of blood in your veins and another throb of dull ache behind your eyes.

By now, your breaths came short and fast and the coppery taste of your own blood clung to your palate and the back of your mouth. Despite the warm weather, a layer of cold sweat stuck to your nape and your arms. He was pressed against your back, one arm wound tightly around your waist. From what you could gauge, he was amusing himself greatly.

Julius lowered his head, and his hot breath fanned over the shell of your ear as he told you: "Relax, my beloved - the fun hasn’t even really gotten started yet.” He then pressed a light kiss against the side of your head and retreated again.

Fun. That was what he regarded this whole affair as - simple entertainment. The thought of that made you burn with rage and shiver with revulsion. You'd voiced your thoughts and feelings on the subject matter to him before and he had just laughed. A weak-willed foreigner, in need of being taught the merits and virtues of civilization - that was what he viewed you as.

He always impressed upon you that you should be grateful for having come so far. Once, you had been praying to false idols and wallowing in backwards ways. Now, you could "enjoy" his tender affections and sit in the emperor's box. Of course, you were situated a bit further in the back of the cool lounge area, away from the prying eyes of common Romans. You weren't ready for that yet, not in his eyes anyway.

The luxuries you enjoyed were still far more than any plebeian could dream of. Still, they were all just a weak consolation in relation to the horror you had to endure. Even while they sat in the blistering sun in course tunics and you in fine linen in the shade, fanned by an attendant, they enjoyed more freedoms. To speak of the comforts and benefits of your position would be misleading.

The air here was stifling, filled with obnoxious perfumes that couldn't fully cover the stench of char and blood and sweat. Every now and then, somebody would cast a look at you, either pitying or curious or envious. It just showcased that they didn't know him.

A hand appeared in front of your face and you flinched. One of those sweet strawberry grapes was pushed against your lips, the calloused tip of an index finger pressing up against your mouth at the same time.

"Eat. You barely eat anything in the morning, and won't do for you to faint in public", your captor told you. You could feel the low vibrations of his voice from where your back was plastered against his chest. Numbly you opened your mouth and you forced yourself to dissociate further so that you wouldn't gag when his fingers brushed over your gums and tongue. Hands that had been washed in the blood of countless men, that had held swords eagerly and conduct troops readily. It is a wonder that he isn't performing the execution himself.

The fruit would be tangy sweet to you if you were actually and fully in the here and now. Dully you noted that the beasts below had made short work of their victim. Blood stuck to the fur of their chins and they circled restlessly around the bones and spleen of their late meal. They still hungered for flesh.

You obediently swallowed. It was no use acting up now - you would only dig yourself a deeper grave. With how bad the situation at hand was, Julius was already sanguine and on the brink of acting on his more violent impulses. There was no need to break the camel's back.

This spectacle was to be a triumph that would sate him, and a defeat that would break you. The thought about what would soon happen made your throat constrict and your heart ache. Skin from the grape was stuck between your teeth, adding irritation to the maelstrom of emotions.

Humming lowly, he rested a hand on the wing of your hip and rubbed circles. Scandalous behaviour, especially for a cultured Roman patrician. At this point, it wasn't hard to tell that he didn't care. Anger married with happiness is always a dangerous combination, even more so when it comes to Julius.

Some of the noble ladies close by tittered in disapproval.

"Don't you dare think that throwing a tantrum will save him. I could be much crueller, mind you, and if you keep making such a scene then I will be", he warned you and squeezed your hip tightly.

You didn't want it to be worse than it already was, so you forced yourself to breathe evenly and steadily. The tears that had formed in the corners of your eyes were quickly dried with the seam of a pillow. To show that you weren't ignoring him, you nodded and pressed a "Yes Julius." out.

It was his fault, largely. Open displays of affection were frowned upon in this large and mighty civilization. Yet the both of you were lying on your sides, huddled together on a plush divan that was meant for one. He was far too present - calloused hands that shamelessly touched you and hair that tickled your neck. The scent of copper and sweat and bitter herbs that was his baseline smell and the sound of his steady inhales and exhales and the occasional chuckle.

He was Rome, he was more than a mere man and unlike regular mortals he could afford to be shameless. The laws of men and animals don't apply to the gods and their favoured, as he had once explained to you. Those that questioned his strength tended to find themselves on the receiving end of imperial might. It was why this was happening.

With an unholy whine one of the gates opened and the thousand man audience fell silent, save for quiet whispers. All eyes were drawn to the battered wooden gate and what lies beyond. There is some comotion, shouts and cracks of a whip and then a bedraggled man was shoved out into the arena. A wall of spears prevented him from fleeing back the way he came. The gate was lowered once more and the man heaved himself to his feet. Even from where you lay, you could make out how he was shaking.

This was all your fault and you just couldn't watch. Your guilt made you turn your head away and stare at the gaps between the floor tiling. At the very end, your flesh as well as your will is weak and you're ashamed of yourself because of that.

It is still better than the alternative, you told yourself as you suppressed your more impulsive desires. You could be trying to break yourself out of his grasp and clamour to the railing. You could be trying to get as close to him as possible and flaunt your despair like the noble ladies liked to flaunt their gold. Your hope would die down below you, and you would cry because you would know him and you would know that you're his damnation.

Julius would seeth and snap. "Don't you dare stand up for that yelp", he would likely warn you. "Tears are wasted on rubbish like him", he would tell you. Begging for the life you had condemned to be spared would be met with derision and spite.

However, that wasn't here nor there; that reality wasn't occurring. Instead, he grasped your chin in a vice grip and forced you to watch how a lion and leopard entered the open through another gate. The crowd oohed and ahed and you scratched at his wrists.

"Hush, my little nightingale. You are the cause of this, so you should enjoy the fruits of your labour. Aren't you proud of being another man's downfall?", he whispered in your ear and the hurt his words caused nearly made you cry openly.

It was horrible to focus on him. Your would-be saviour was gaunt and injured. He moved sluggishly and breathed heavily. As the big cats approached him, he stumbled backwards towards the wall of the arena. Given his status, he hadn’t been afforded a weapon and as it was, there was little he could do against the predators with his unbound hands.

The announcer screamed the supposed crimes of the man down below, announcing for what transgressions he was being executed via Damnatio ad bestias. You could barely hear him over the pounding of your own heart, yet the words fanned the near-dormant embers of your rage.

“He isn’t Christian! Why execute him for hearsay?”, you hissed at your warden in a rare moment of bravado. It caused to bury his face in your hair and chuckled deeply.

“An affront to me is on the same level as blasphemy against the gods. Trying to steal you from me, or help you escape, not they are very different, could either be considered high treason or blasphemy. I decided to go with blasphemy this time around."

Earlier in your captivity you would have tried to slap him for his grating arrogance. Over the course of months however, you had learned that his pride wasn't hollow. What he was displaying wasn't mere petty narcissism, it was the power and confidence that came with being an empire incarnate. As Rome, he was as close to a god as a man could come without having ichor flowing in his veins. He was the personification of that, what people here lived and died for, what they pledged their loyalty and in what interests they acted.

Just like the Olympians, he was flawed and still beyond earnest reproach, for who wanted to incur the wrath of power made manifest? It was why there was nobody here that would help, and it was why it was all the more surprising when you found somebody that did.

Down below, the leopard approached the former soldier with graceful movements, and when it was close enough, it swiped at its prey. Missed, and it was enough to tear the human from his paralysis. He ran, feet kicking up the sands, and he stumbled every now and then.

“Look at him run. Not so high and mighty now that he has been treated like a dog. I can’t help but wonder what you saw in him. When push comes to shove, he is utterly pathetic”, the man behind you remarked. Rough fingers drifted upwards, and came to rest by your floating ribs. His thumb drew circles and pressed your skin to those bones.

A humourless laugh escaped you. The tiger and the lion were running after their wayward meal, bones and muscles moving smoothly under gold and black fur. He wouldn’t last long now. Even if Julius were no longer keeping your head in place, you still wouldn’t be able to look away at this point. It was gruesome and heart-stopping and you were transfixed.

“I was never in love with him!”, you retorted, and your voice sounded pathetic even to your own ears. “He took pity on me and tried to help me. Can’t you be more merciful in face of such a human mistake?”

This time, he scoffed and bent down to nip at your neck. You hushed any cries that formed in your throat.

“There is nothing about you to pity!”, he snarled, and so echoed a sentiment that many who knew about this little relationship held. Women would look at you with envy, because in their eyes, you had conquered the most eligible bachelor in the empire for yourself. Wealth and power unparalleled, and not to mention that he was easy on the eye, the lot of them had vied for Julius. Only they had been cast aside in favour of you, and they would never forgive you for it.

What they would do to swap with you! You had even made that offer to a senator’s wife at a party once, much to Julius’ indignation.

“And of course he had ulterior motives for trying to help you escape. You caught my interest, so naturally many other men desire you as well”, he continued after he had calmed himself a bit.

That was the problem with Julius - since you had been dashing enough to capture his interest, he couldn't comprehend that the majority of the male population wouldn't feel the same. Such a rare and fabulous treasure as yourself would surely be coveted by many. It didn't help that he loved to show you off. As such, it was a given to him that any aid that you'd be given would come out of a place of desire. Why else would a man choose to wrong a god?

Even those that weren’t aware of his divine nature could sense that he was larger than life. He wore power like a second skin, and his smiles were all too often sharp. There commonly was a gravitas to his actions that drew people’s attention.

The lion pounced and tore him down. The crowd roared.

“I could have been much more ruthless”, he mused. His hand eased its grip and he trailed his fingers down your neck. Shivers run down your whole body from how his blunt nails scraped over your skin. “My blood boiled when I saw his hand on your arm. I yearned to slice his flesh and skin from his body bit by bit, until he either died from pain or blood loss. I even had to hold myself back from doing it then and there, in front of the gate and all the guards.”

The leopard wouldn't let itself be outdone of the other predator and lashed out at the lion. The latter met the former readily with growls and roars of its own. This allowed the prey to crawl away. There were long claw marks down his back, and he was wheezing. Red marks littered his neck from when the lion had set out to asphyxiate him.

“This is barbaric”, you muttered.

“This is humane”, came the counter. “Animals can be far more wicked than that.”

He adjusted his grip on you and pulled you close. The next words were whispered, as if he was sharing some delightful gossip with you:

“In the lands beyond Persia, they train elephants to perform executions. Whatever sadistic tendencies the creatures may display are encouraged. So you have an animal purposely torturing the criminal before the killing blow is inflicted. They toss the human around, beat him, kick him, and step on him. I simply wish I could see such a spectacle myself, instead of having to make do with retelling. Perhaps for the next fool that tries to whisk you away, hm?”

You could barely breathe. The two cats down below had settled their fight and were now tearing at their prey's flesh. They hadn't even bothered with ending the man's life, and ripping his legs and sides up, even as he tried to claw himself forward. Whatever sounds he was making were drowned out by the cheering and clapping of the crowd.

A squeeze at your arm brought you back to the man that held you in his arms.

“Answer me, darling. I'm now in a good enough mood. Don't ruin it and make me punish you.”

His tone was lighter and he was obviously pleased with the bloodbath that was playing out in front of everybody's eyes. As disturbed and horrified as you were, you still had enough presence of mind to force some words up.

“Please, don't”, you croaked. Your throat was constricting more with every passing second. Nightmares couldn't compare to this gruesome reality.

Sinews and organs were visible as the felines rolled him on his back and started to devour his torso. Now he was dead, and part of you perished alongside him.

#yandere hetalia #yandere rome #yandere x reader #yandere #x reader

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crkstuffidk · 2 months ago

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So I was thinking about stuff, when I made this correlation between the beasts virtues before and after corruption.

Burning Spice, he was change right? Now he's destruction, thing is, when things get destroyed, if it's rebuilt again, it will change, even in the slightest, because nothing can ever be an exact replica of something else that's been destroyed. And destruction is a coping mechanism, not the best, but that's what rage rooms are for.

Eternal Sugar, she was happiness, now she's sloth. But again, sleep can generally make someone happier, especially if you haven't been getting much, you'll be irritated when tired, but generally happy when well rested. Guess what? Sleeping can be used to cope from stress.

Mystic Flour, Volition, which means doing something by your own will, she went into that cocoon via her own will, and it is possible for people to pretty much 'turn off' their emotions, this is actually called emotional detachment and people can do it intentionally or unintentionally, and literally disconnect from their feelings, and it's used as a coping mechanism, which is pretty interesting since Mystic Flour went into the cocoon and became apathetic to avoid the cookies that would attack her or something like that.

Shadowmilk, he's was knowledge and pure vanillas truth, but deceit is often used to hide, or distort the truth. Deceit isn't really just lying, there is truth somewhere in it, just covered up, or distorted. Now knowledge, well when people lie, similar to how truth holds knowledge, since lies have some truth you could say that knowledge also plays a big roll in lies too. I'd like to add that lying is sometimes used to make things easier on yourself, or to keep yourself out of trouble.

Silent Salt, this one was actually difficult, because well Solidarity literally means unity, and silence Is kinda the opposite of that. But then I thought about it and when you support eachother, it usually means you listen too, and a more proper way of listening to others, is to go silent so you can hear them, and generally understand what their saying. Now complete silence is never wanted, but I also doubt that Silent Salt will be completely silent in the game either, I mean, they all seem pretty upset with their souljams 'thiefs' so he theoretically would be too, and being upset can often make you speak, because you get so upset that the jar that you've been keeping your emotions in, kinda breaks, and whether that happens via crying or getting angry depends on the person. And Silence is a coping mechanism too.

Now if it wasn't obvious I was pointing out how their virtues before and after, generally still are connected more than just via their ancient counterparts, and it makes me wonder about some things, like is it possible that the beasts 'corruption' is just them coping from the very possible stress they had from being in charge of cookie kinds safety, and maybe its just temporary, but again I dont really know. Feel free to correct me, or add on to some of the things I say.

#cookie run kingdom #cr kingdom #crk #shadow milk cookie #shadow milk crk #mystic flour cookie #mystic flour crk #burning spice cookie #burning spice crk #silent salt crk #silent salt cookie #eternal sugar crk #eternal sugar cookie #talking about stuff

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tanadrin · 1 month ago

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re-listening to season 10 of revolutions, since i never finished it the first time around, and the retrospective on the emergence of socialism in the 19th century is probably the most interesting part so far. it seems to me that 19th century "liberalism" (which was scarcely worth the name) is really a very different beast than 21st century liberalism, which has in its more left-liberal strains incorporated a ton of criticisms of 19th century socialists, and is in many ways actually a pretty good synthesis of both political heuristics. certainly not perfect, and certainly still wedded to capitalism.

but a lot of early socialists were, even if they were social scientists, first and foremost utopians. it was easier to dream what might lie in the possibility-space of useful ways of organizing an egalitarian society when very little of that space had been explored, and the burst of 19th century utopia-building was part of an attempt to explore that space and put many unabashedly utopian ideas into practice. but many of the most ambitious ideas like proudhon's anarchism just weren't super workable in the end, either in the conditions that then prevailed or in the conditions that have prevailed since. liberal democracy--especially as it was refined into something actually worthy of the name--proved both durable and flexible enough to be quite egalitarian in some respects (e.g., it supports universal adult suffrage just fine! and consolidated democracies are pretty robust and quite stable, compared to competing systems). it feels similar to the high-flying hopes of early science fiction becoming tempered as we learned more about what the possibility space of future technology would really look like across the 20th century, you know?

and so i think it's natural that a lot of that early revolutionary energy went into doing politics in a liberal-democratic framework; it turns out to be a very useful framework for liberatory social projects (much more useful than either the halfhearted liberal constitutionalisms of the mid 19th century or the reactionary monarchies they usually contrasted against). but it also seems to me that a ton of the discourse in the rump left that has resulted is stuck in a very early 19th century way of thinking.

and maybe some of this is ideological distillation, with those sufficiently convinced by the virtues of the modern liberal-democratic system naturally falling out of coalition with those who aren't, so the remainder is a concentrated nucleus most likely to see fundamental continuity between the proto-liberalism of the 1800s and the more fully realized liberalism of later eras like the 2000s. plus people who are simply never going to be on board with, say, any system that is capitalist in its arrangement, no matter how prosperous or free it manages to be otherwise. but also i wonder how much of this is because for like 70 years you had a major militaristic, hegemonic state, the USSR, which was really very like the militaristic, hegemonic system it was opposed to in important ways, but which for reasons of its legitimating ideology needed to portray what differences did exist in the starkest possible terms. and the solution to that was to portray liberal democracy as of the 20th century as being functionally indistinguishable from the liberal constitutionalism of the 19th, while making themselves out to be the sole inheritors of the more egalitarian thinkers from the left. despite the fact that the USSR was pretty conservative in a lot of ways, and was basically authoritarian in a way that i don't think any of those original utopian socialists would have endorsed.

so maybe you have to keep 19th century political categories static and unchanging in order to make the dichotomy that supports your state still have meaning. even if, once you have established yourself as the ruling class of a large, powerful state, you act in ways that are actually pretty darn similar to the ruling class of other large, powerful states. and of course trying to maintain those categories even as the world continues to evolve, including the faction you have opposed yourself to (and the third leg of what is really a trichotomy, the actual, unabashed reactionaries, also continues to evolve) leads to further tensions and absurdities, which is why the most ardent defenders of the USSR like the tankies tie themselves into knots of campism and conspiracism and even frequently back directly into bog-standard reactionary ideology, because the framework they are trying to use to understand the world hasn't been updated since the 1840s, and was already having to be heavily distorted by the 1920s to make it work.

#look the anarchists were wrong on a lot of object-level things #but their critique of state power is actually a pretty good heuristic in my opinion #large states are gonna state!#ruling classes are gonna ruling class!

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 5 months ago

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Hey have you seen the latest Mufasa trailer? It shows us Scar or Taka as he is called in the film in a positive light. He saves Mufasa, who is an orphan, and accepts him as his true brother even though the other lions in the pride reject Mufasa. I wonder if this is the history that is taught in Twisted Wonderland because the King of Beasts is also seen as a noble figure.

[Referencing this trailer!]

Yes, I took a look at it! I believe D23 happened like… yesterday? That’s the annual convention where Disney drops a ton of news about upcoming projects, and the new Mufasa trailer was one of the announcements made.

I was really skeptical about Mufasa when I first heard about it, and that snowballed into dread when I saw the previous trailer. The wording of that one basically yells us that Mufasa is an orphan with no real claim to the throne, which only serves to justify Scar’s outrage when he was overlooked for the position of king. Not only that, but it nullifies Simba’s claim to the throne since the implication is that blood apparently doesn’t guarantee that you’re next in line. The new trailer makes this issue all the more apparent, because now it seems to be completely redeeming Scar…? I think they’re trying to explain his downfall and his turn to “evil”, but from the looks of it, it instead feels like unintentionally give grounds for Scar’s hurt and rage in The Lion King. It’s definitely… a choice… and I’m not sure how much I like them adding that to the animated TLK lore.

Thar being said, I do think this poses considerations for Twisted Wonderland. I had very similar thoughts as you did, Anon! It has already been suggested that the version of history being told in their universe is “twisted” or altered from the versions Yuu/we, the audience, are familiar with. So… what we see in the new Mufasa trailer (up to a certain point) could very well be the “real” version of what is taught in Trein’s Magic History class. It fits SO well with the canon narrative we already have on hand. The King of Beasts is described as a hard worker and someone who accepted animals of all kinds, including hyenas that had once been excluded from the Pridelands. What better way to exemplify that virtue than a story of the King of Beasts himself accepting a no-name orphan cub as his own brother when all the other lions claimed the cub would never be accepted as part of the royal family???

I wonder how the story of Mufasa (if incorporated into TWST in the future) is interpreted by the characters too?? For example, Leona doesn’t think too highly about the concept of the great kings of the past in the sky, nor does he like “Hakuna Matata” (deeming it self-serving rather than as something positive). These are both things introduced in the original TLK. However, I’d imagine that Leona would actually admire the King of Beasts for his act of selflessness. (“He didn’t just talk the talk, he walked the talk too. They weren’t just pretty words, the King of Beasts lived by his ideals. The world he envisioned is one where beasts of all kinds could come together in harmony. Heh, what a guy.”) BUT AT THE SAME TIME Leona might be cynical about himself living to the legacy of the King of Beasts. He still bears resentment toward Falena and he refuses to cooperate with his older brother (despite Falena, their dad, and Kifaji all asking him) to govern Sunset Savanna. The King of Beasts wasn’t nearly so narrow-minded—he accepted a peasant and orphan as his equal. Leona in this hypothetical is, of course, tunnel visioning on his shortcomings and not paying attention to what he has accomplished: many younger students who look up to him, a dorm of students (many of which are beastmen of different varieties) that unite under his rule, and his own acceptance of “lowly” beastmen like Ruggie. I would love to see how he grapples and deals with these kinds of stories and how he reflects on his own life through them.

Anyway, the new Mufasa trailer sure sucks for Scar’s character but this has so much interesting potential for TWST 😭

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cremefrappe13 · 9 days ago

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Untitled Hope (Sixth Virtue AU)

(Sooooo here's a NEW hyperfixation idea I had while playing CRK. While I have seen quite a lot of Sixth Virtue AUs, I was wondering what if the Beasts were all siblings? What if like, they accidentally killed their youngest sister? And what if she reincarnated with an incomplete memory? Well, here's the world building post, and I might continue it if I feel like it.)

How would cookies from the era of the Virtues and Beasts describe that said era as?

Perhaps they would call it “paradise”? They also might have called it “Doomsday”.

How about “Hell on Earthbread”?

Or maybe even “The year the harvest was bountiful, but the skies turned red”.

There were many mixed opinions about the Five Virtues of Knowledge, Volition, Change, Happiness and Solidarity, who turned into the Five Beasts of Deceit, Apathy, Destruction, Sloth and Silence. Some say that during their reign, nothing could have been better. Others would remark in the records that having the Five Beasts in the world existing at their prime reportedly “turned the skies red and scorched the whole of Earthbread”. Though none lived long enough to tell the tale, there was one cookie, whose Life Powder cycled through the world after she died, and retained some of her memories, though it was still incomplete. That cookie was the Sixth Virtue, the Virtue of Innocence and Hope.

According to the many records located in Elder Faerie Cookie’s archive, the former Virtue of Hope prevailed through the fight against the darkness and transcended beyond her current limits to gain a power far beyond her former ability called “Innocence”. She was never named in many records, though many cookies speculated grandiose names such as “Pure Yeast Cookie” or “Shimmering Yeast Cookie”, she was not even a Yeast Cookie at all! On the contrary, she was…

Just a flower cookie. A flower cookie known as “Pure Daisy Cookie”. It was also said that everywhere she stepped, no matter how barren or snow filled the land she travelled was, there would always be daisies seen where her footsteps had once landed. There was some evidence that Pure Daisy Cookie had gone almost everywhere in Earthbread though, due to the amount of Sugar Daisy flower seeds that could easily be found around the whole of Earthbread.

However, that was just the tip of the iceberg when it came to the story of the Virtue of Innocence and Hope. The question was, how did her story end?

It was… a sad ending, for such a pure being in this land of betrayal and pain.

While the other Virtues turned and succumbed to darkness, Pure Daisy Cookie had prevailed over it with new power, but fighting against her brothers and sisters as the youngest was something her heart could not take. She also did not want to kill them, and went to the Witches, begging them to seal her siblings instead of killing them. It was said that the Witches were adamant about their decision, but Pure Daisy Cookie had somehow managed to convince the Witches to seal instead of kill.

However, it was this choice that doomed the Virtue of Innocence and Hope to her fall.

When trying to distract her siblings in a battle, she had severely underestimated how powerful the darkness had turned her beloved older brothers and sister’s powers, twisting and warping them into something even Pure Daisy Cookie could not deny was of an unholy descent.

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“Hehehehe… HAHAHAHA! Come on, my dear sister~ the darkness made us stronger than ever! You could join us in overthrowing the Witches, and we would be the masters of our own fate! The world would turn into our very own stage!”

“No! Blueberry Milk Cookie, you have to fight it! Fight the darkness, please! We are meant to protect and guide the world! Not to lie to the world or rule it!”

“Why even bother with protecting this… futile world, little sister? It is simply… helpless. Besides, cookies are such breakable creatures. Everything they do to satisfy their endless greed is in vain, and we simply should assist in making them realise that.”

“Please, Light Flour Cookie, we’re supposed to teach the cookies how to live!!! We were meant to be their guides to the light! Not to the twisted path of pure apathy! They’re breakable, that’s why we were created to protect them!”

“HAHAHAHA! That’s exactly why they’re so… FUN to play with! They’re so WEAK, it makes it all the more satisfying to crumble them!”

“Come on, Red Spice Cookie! Your axe was once a symbol of change and protection… it could be that once again! Please, please fight it! Fight the Destruction corrupting you now!”

“*yawn*... Dear little sister, step out of our way. It’d be easier for you to go back to sleep after all this is over, and then we can sleep in as much as we want if we rule the world! Come on, join us and it would be quicker for us to just rule the world this way!”

“Radiant Sugar Cookie, you once brought this world to happiness and love! You were a guide, a friend to all! I’m begging you… just fight the darkness that’s closing your eyes, we all could guide Earthbread to a happier future!”

“...”

“Your silence already says it all to me, Silver Salt Cookie… you were a great elder brother to almost all of Cookiekind, it could be that way again if you come back to the light!”

The fighting consumed much of Pure Daisy Cookie’s energy, and she was already worn down as her brothers and sisters with more combat experience landed one hit too many, that was harder than most, causing the Virtue of Innocence and Hope to collapse to the ground in exhaustion. It remained that way for a few minutes, with the Beasts expecting Innocence to get up and keep fighting.

“Alright Innocence! Show’s over, come and join us! Get up and fight!”

The Five Beasts felt a wave of concern for their youngest sister, with her lack of response. Mystic Flour Cookie glided over, with the most amount of expression on her face ever since she became the embodiment of Apathy as she knelt down to check on her beloved younger sister’s pulse.

“How is she?”

“...!”

Mystic Flour Cookie turned to face the other Beasts, an expression of horror on her face.

In a strict tone, she asked, “Burning Spice Cookie, how hard were your strikes to our younger sister?”

“Eh?? Not that hard. Just enough for her to learn a lesson,”

Silent Salt Cookie, who was getting concerned, knelt down to check on her pulse.

“..!”

Shadow Milk Cookie began to become concerned as he walked over and asked Mystic Flour Cookie what was wrong. That was when the revelation came upon them.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN SHE’S GONE?!”

Pure Daisy Cookie was dead.

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The Witches, who witnessed this scene, were enraged. Their final, ultimate creation had been crumbled by her brothers and sisters. In their fury, they sealed the Beasts, casting upon them a spell of binding and pain, making all Five Beasts suffer as long as they were in captivity of the Silver Tree.

They stripped the Five Beasts of their power, and rebaked the five vestiges of their power into what became Truth, Resolution, Abundance, Passion and Freedom.

However… Innocence’s purity was impossible to rebake. Her power was completely destroyed in the process of sealing the beasts, and her secondary power of Hope remained locked away, allowing none without the purity of Innocence to wield it.

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Elder Faerie Cookie closed the scroll as he finished the story, looking at White Lily Cookie, Pure Vanilla Cookie and the Brave Gang.

Gingerbrave spoke up, “So there WAS a Sixth Virtue, and she was called Pure Daisy Cookie, huh?”

“Indeed. However, since all Life Powder returns to the earth, there must be some form of hope that the Virtue of Innocence would be able to return, and her power of Hope with it. After all, Earthbread needs all the power it can get to fight the Five Beasts once again…”

At that moment, Strawberry Cookie piped up, “Um… but doesn’t Daisy Cookie over there almost share the same name as Pure Daisy Cookie?” Everyone looked towards Daisy Cookie, whose small frame was weaving a flower crown of her signature flowers. She noted everyone’s gaze on her and curiously tilted her head.

“Huh? Did I do something wrong?”

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driftwoodmfb · 3 months ago

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I was wondering about what Silent Salt Cookie will look under their helmet and then I thought it would be really cute if they had salt or pepper freckles and then... I ended up making this and some lore ideas too XD. Accidently made OC /hj

Info and alt designs below!

This is Salted Pepper Cookie, the second holder of the Virtue of Solidarity. After Silent Salt Cookie crumbled Salted Pepper took up the mantle and hid their face with Silent Salt's helmet. Only the other four will be Beasts knew they were not actually Silent Salt Cookie.

Silent Salt Cookie crumbled in an incident that left Salted Pepper Cookie badly burned. Salted Pepper was burned directly on their throat as well and was left mute. Some one needed to be the new Virtue holder and the light accepted Salted Pepper Cookie. While they were honored, they also felt undeserving. They decided to pretend to be Silent Salt Cookie and say that Salted Pepper Cookie was the Cookie that crumbled, not Silent Salt. They knew Cookies would've been happier if Silent Salt was the one who survived anyways

I don't know what might have drawn them to Silence yet. Since it was Solidarity and took the form of Freedom as a Soul Jam, my guess is that Silent Salt Cookie was some kind of freedom fighter. Either fighting other Cookies or the forces of nature. Regardless, looking for a better life.

The idea of being mute goes with the name Silent Salt Cookie. I was thinking what if that was more literal.

The small snippets of what Silent Salt looked like before they turned to a Beast from Beast-Yeast teaser trailer vaguely looks like only the top of the helmet is there, suggesting that Silent Salt's face used to be showing.

For the burn, I thought Silent Salt's new hair/helmet tuff thing looked much more fiery so I thought what if they were burned and that's part of the reason they wear a mask?

I also think having Silent Salt actually not be the original Silent Salt would be a good parallel to White Lily being split as herself and Dark Enchantress Cookie. Both Salted Pepper and White Lily feel like imposters to themselves...

I really liked the peppered look, but I still wanted to keep them as Silent Salt at first, so here's my mix and match from all salt to all pepper

The other versions:

#cookie run #cookie run kingdom #cr #crk #cookie run oc #< kind of??#cr oc #crk oc #silent salt cookie #silent salt crk #salted pepper cookie #beast cookies #beast-yeast #beast yeast

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aru-loves-krishnaxarjuna · 6 months ago

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KaJu

Pt.1 -> masterlist

Arjuna, the Youngest of Kunti as well as the Pandavas, walked into the Rangbhoomi as soon as his name was called. This young boy of seventeen years was the best as well the favourite student of Dronacharya.

Since most of the princes were done with their training and education in warfare by now, their teacher — the renowned Guru Drona — had specially requested a ceremony to be held in Hastinapur, where each of the princes would receive a weapon of their choice on behalf of the elders as a symbol of their strength, skill and perseverance.

Naturally, Arjuna chose the bow and arrows. The bow wasn't just something he specialised in, it was a weapon he revered and loved. To him, it was a symbol of one of his greatest virtues: never missing his target. He could shoot at the eye of a bird from yards away, slice a branch into two clean halves, exactly estimate where to shoot to reach his target, invoke magical arrows with the mantras Dronacharya had taught him, and perhaps greatest of all, shoot in the dark. He was ambidextrous (fittingly bestowed with the name 'Savyasachi'), his aim was perfect, his accuracy utterly deadly, and for a mere seventeen year old, it was more than a remarkable feat.

No wonder his teacher was often so partial towards him, making his Kaurava cousins jealous. Arjuna held great respect for Guru Drona; he was one of the first father figures he and his brothers had ever had, after their Grandsire Bhishma, of course.

"Behold, residents of Hastinapur! It would be my greatest honour to present to you my best student, the Pandava Rajkumar Arjuna! He has, in the past several years, under my teaching, mastered the art of archery to perfection. Like the swiftness of the tiger, the arrows released by him are capable of piercing through a wall, a tree, a leaf or a beast in less than a few seconds! One would be hard-pressed to find an archer who can shoot with such accuracy, let alone shoot in the dark. In my entire life, never have I come across a student such as him, with as much power of concentration and persistence! Having had the honour of teaching him myself, I can now, with all due respect and confidence, take the pride of saying that he is the greatest archer of not only the entire Aryan region, but the world!" Announced Drona, as he gave his favourite student an impressive bow.

Arjuna blushed red in embarrassment as cheers and the praises that went along the stadium, as well as his brothers' proud faces.

"Wait, Revered Guru!"

Came the shout of a young man, and everyone turned their head to see who it was. Arjuna watched as a youth wielding a bow made his way down the front steps and made a beeline straight for where he, Drona and Kripacharya stood in the centre of the arena. He wore a deep frown visible even from afar and was barely managing to take long strides, rather than outright stomping. As he drew close, Arjuna saw that he was clearly several years older than him — about twenty-eight — and also much taller; he had flowing dark hair, a rugged face and a well-built body. His eyes, however, were stormy and hostile.

"Greetings, Revered Gurus. Forgive me for interrupting the ceremony this way, but I think you have just made a grave mistake."

Dronacharya shot a glare at the man. "What are you speaking of, young man? Return to your place at once!"

"I cannot do so." He glanced at Arjuna, "You just now declared the young prince here as the best archer of the world, when in reality, you haven't even taught a fourth of the world's men, so many of whom could go on to become great archers, if only they were given the chance. The prince may be the best among your students, but you cannot simply declare him to be the greatest of all, for that would mean insulting the abilities of those who may be far greater than him. In such a case, you cannot expect someone like me to sit silent and not raise my voice."

Arjuna gazed at the man in awe. Even if his special moment was interrupted rudely, he couldn't help but notice that this man had a great point.

"Hold on right there, lad! Are you saying you are better than my students?" Drona asked.

"Yes, very much so. And now, as a consequence of this conflict, I would like to call upon the young prince here and challenge him to a duel! Let us see who is the more skilled one!"

Everyone gasped.

"Wait! Before you start the duel, first tell us who you are. Only then will you be permitted to duel with the prince. Unless you are a prince or a king yourself, you have no right to interrupt the ceremony, young man!" Exclaimed Kripa.

The man grit his teeth. "My name is Karna" said the youth confidently, "I am the son of the charioteer of Mahamahim Bhishma and Maharaj Dhritarashtra. I am of the Suta varna."

"Suta?" Kripa bore a look of contempt.

Karna tensed at this. "Yes. I am a Suta, the son of a charioteer. It's not a secret, it's none of your business, nor is it relevant here."

"Of course it is relevant! A Suta cannot duel with a Kshatriya! It is forbidden! How did you even dare to learn the art of warfare?"

"What does my varna have to do with my skills?" cried Karna, his grip around his bow tightening as his eyes reddened, his chest heaving in anger. Arjuna shrank back, a little nervous now. Somehow, he had the impression that this wasn't the first time this man had faced such a situation. "You cannot bar me from displaying my skills here!" he continued agitatedly, "I have just as much a right to be a warrior as any prince! To wield a weapon and be called a worthy one!"

"Absolutely not!" Shouted Drona.

"But i am telling you, I-"

"I am telling you to shut up!" roared Kripa, pushed way beyond his temper now.

Following this, there was a cacophony of noises coming from the audience.

"Leave, Sutaputra!" Someone from the stadium shouted. The whole crowd then began to laugh, chant and jeer at the desperate man. "Leave, Sutaputra, leave!"

Arjuna suddenly felt sorry for the man and wanted to say something to atleast stop the taunts, but was stopped by another shout. It was Duryodhan. He strode ahead towards Kripa, his signature arrogant smirk plastered across his face. "Sir, I think I have a solution to your problem. You say that this man cannot duel with Arjuna given his status. But what if someone crowned him king this instant?" Karna seemed to perk up at this, eyeing the eldest Kaurav with interest. "In that case, Arjuna could accept his challenge, right?"

Before Kripa could reply, Duryodhan turned to Karna, placing his hands on his shoulders, his eyes betraying a look similar to that of a man who'd discovered a huge pile of gold all for himself. "Don't worry, friend. You shall certainly be able to fulfil your dream. No dream should go to waste." Then, he spoke loud enough for all to hear. "Hear, everyone! I, the son of King Dhritarashtra, hereby proclaim this youth named Karna, the King and ruler of the province of Anga, which has till now been in the control of Hastinapur!"

Karna seemed to perk up at this, eyeing the eldest Kaurav with interest. “In that case, Arjuna could accept his challenge, right?”

Arjuna turned to look at his brothers, and they all exchanged apprehensive glances as they noticed Karna gazing at Duryodhan in elated disbelief, his eyes now shining with gratitude as he profusely thanked the prince. There was loud talk amongst the crowd as well as the royals. Nobody objected to Duryodhan, not even Bhishma. He and the remaining elders were watching the scene unfold in equal disbelief.

"Do you accept now, Rajkumar?" Karna asked, with an eager quirk of his eyebrow. Arjuna turned to Drona, who, after a moment's consideration, finally gave in with a curt nod.

"I had accepted your challenge the moment you even said it. But I had no say in between of my teachers and elders." Karna nodded and bowed, his eyes shooting Arjuna a look of striking, fiery determination. The young prince returned the determined look, but with a calmer sentiment. The teachers moved back, and Duryodhan returned to his place as Karna and Arjuna took their positions at opposite ends of the circle in the centre of the arena.

Kripa sounded a quick drum beat to indicate the start of the duel. Immediately, both drew their bows and fired arrows, which collided and dropped lifeless. Karna was shooting with a strength and fury that Arjuna hadn't yet seen anyone possess. He however, remained wary of him; Karna didn't seem like any ordinary fighter. Only someone with both exceptional talent and courage would have had the guts to interrupt a royal event, let alone challenge a prince. Then Arjuna, without warning, shot an arrow that multiplied into three and flew straight at Karna’s torso.

Then to everyone's astonishment, a stunning gold armour appeared and covered Karna's torso, the arrows breaking after coming in contact with it.

Kunti, seated on one of the shaded balconies, fainted on Gandhari's shoulder as soon as she saw what happened.

More arrows and collisions. It just didn’t seem to end. Tensed, Arjuna prepared to draw his bowstring again, when an arrow made way towards him, and he caught it out of reflex, slamming it on the ground and breaking it. The sun set right then, coincidentally. The gong sounded again, indicating of the end of the duel.

The princes, though, were all much more interested in watching the duel unfold; their prizes lay long forgotten. There were audible groans and grumbles of disappointment from them, especially the Kauravas: what could be better than watching the cousin whom they were so jealous of possibly being defeated and humiliated by an older, stronger man, who had already begun to favour them and their brother?

Karna clearly wasn't satisfied, but he bowed in respect again. Arjuna stood there, bewildered. Nothing about this ceremony had gone as he'd expected it to, but he too, was stunned at the skill of the man now standing before him. Not to mention the armour that had appeared out of thin air. It was as bright, beautiful and golden as the sun itself. It had to be divine. Arjuna was in awe of Karna. He remembered how he'd been taught to end a duel, and though he felt very awkward, Arjuna approached Karna slowly. Karna stared as the youngest prince joined his hands in a good-spirited gesture of politeness.

"You are so talented. It was amazing to duel with you." Arjuna said simply, giving him a bright smile.

Karna suddenly felt a sudden urge to ruffle the Rajkumar's hair, as the latter looked upto him with a glint of awe in his eyes. Vasusena smiled softly at him. "Thank you. You are talented as well, for someone so young." He turned and left, hurrying back to the crowd now watching him in awe.

_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–

As Dhrithrasth was about to announce the Yuvraj, Dronacharya interrupted. "Glory to the king!" Dronacharya entered. "Maharaj, I apologize for interrupting you. I know that today you are going to announce the heir to the throne, but that is why I have come to request to you, that out of all my shishya, no one ought to be chosen in the court now."

"Tatparya?" asked Dhrithrasth.

"Until a sculptor is satisfied, even the Almighty cannot reside in the idol made by him. And that idol cannot be deemed worthy of worship." said Dronacharya.

"I do not understand you." Dhrithrasth said.

"Maharaj, Dronacharya has not received his guru-dakshina from his students yet. And that is why, until they are his students, we cannot coronate any of them." said Vidur.

"So, what does the Maha Guru Drona expect?" asked Maharaj.

"Maharaj, I expect my shishya-" he looked at all of his students. "-to give me my guru-dakshina in the form of the art I have taught them. Let me see, who is the most superior amongst my shishya." said Dronacharya. All of them nodded. "I wish to see who is the most capable shishya." said Acharya Drona.

"Indeed, Acharya." said Mahamantri Vidur. "A guru testing his shishya is the aptest way of judging them. Then no one shall charge us for being partial."

"But!" Shakuni chipped in. "Why do we need to test their skills again and again Maharaj? Did not we already conduct a a competition for that? What if you become partial!?" He exclaimed.

"Gandhar Raj, a Guru can never be partial. You saying this, adds to my insult." Said Drona.

"Avashya Acharya!" said Maharaj. Everyone looked at him. "Since the competition was inconclusive, resorting to this method seems apt."

"So, Dronacharya. Ask for your guru-dakshina." said Vidur. "The one who will be able to convince you with his might shall be the most capable one."

"What are you asking for, Dronacharya?" asked Mahamahim Bhishma.

"I want revenge for being insulted." said the Guru. "Panchal Raj Drupad needs to be at my feet. I was insulted gravely in the rajyasabha of Panchal once, at the hands of my friend, Drupad. The hurtful words of an enemy give a challenge, but those of a friend, give an insult. When a friend insults you, your whole life gets poisoned." he said and looked at all his students.

"My students, I have endured the fire of this insult within me and lived for years. Had I made up my mind, I could have defeated Drupad at that very moment! But he had insulted my knowledge. That is why I took an oath that one day I will defeat him at the hands of my shishya!" Drona exclaimed. "And today that day has come, children. That moment has come. And you have the opportunity of fulfilling the vow of your teacher. Who will be able to give me my guru-dakshina? Do you have the capability?" Asked the Guru .

"DO YOU HAVE THE CAPABILITY?!" he shouted at last.

"No! Impossible!" said Maharaj. Everyone looked at him. "A powerful and experienced warrior like Drupad cannot be faced by them. Panchal has more than two akshauni army. And the fort of the capital city Kampilya. No Maha Guru Drona. Ask for something else!" He exclaimed.

"This is guru-dakshina, Maharaj. Not some business." He told the king "I want either revenge, or nothing. If I could not fortify the might and self-confidence of my shishya, then it is my misfortune, Maharaj. But you need not feel sad. I will go to other kingdom to look for brave men." Drona said at last. "I will fortify them with my art so that they avenge my insult, because, Maharaj, I shall have my revenge." He said and turned towards the gates.

He turned his head back. "Then you must find the heir to your throne from other kingdom." he said "Agya dijiye. Pranipat" he asked for permission to leave, joined his hands, turned around and started walking towards the exit.

"Gurudev!" Arjuna shouted as he got up from his seat. Dronacharya stopped walking, as the former walked forward. "Every word uttered by my Guru is an order for me!" He exclaimed.

Dronacharya turned to face him. "I take an oath! That you will have either Drupad at your feet, or my severed head in your hands!" Arjuna vowed, and, in return, got a proud smile from his teacher.

Then exclamations came from the other princes of them promising to defeat the Panchal Raj.

Plannings and preparations for the war had started. The Kauravas, as usual, didn't include the Pandavas in their plannings.

The following day, they would challenge the Panchal King.

Many many lines have been taken from SuaveBlackSwan's 'Mahabharata — A Retelling' book in AO3

#arjuna #mahabharata #mahabharat #arjun #desiblr #hindublr #my writings #arjuna being the youngest here #😤🤭#karna #mahabharata fanfic #kunti #dhritarashtra #pandavas #kauravas #Dronacharya

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burningknucklecraftworks · 1 year ago

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Finished product first, held by my wonderful spouse. Northshield is a kingdom big on the power of light. Our motto includes illumination as a virtue. We have a star named Griffin's Light. On top of the society A&S badge being a candle, our A&S awards are the Black Flame and Brigit's Flame. Since about year two of my tenure in the SCA I've dreamed of making a lantern scroll to honor that aspect and now I've done two. I'm so grateful to be surrounded by people who inspire me to push my boundaries and make cool art.

As such, these are lantern scrolls for Brigit's Flame awards, the GOA level Northshield arts and science award. One is for my wonderful friend Thegn Samson Muskovich (aka Samii), who does so much for the arts and sciences of the SCA. From metalworking with bronze and silver, to leatherwork and armoring, to teaching about existing as a trans person in the SCA and deep diving into the experience of the Gullah Geechee and making sure we know that the experience of Africans trafficked to America is as period as their resilience and resistance. I'm so proud that he's my cousin in the Choctaw tribe. The second is for the magnificent Dame Katerinka Lvovicha (aka Kat), who received her Brigit's Flame in 2015 but never got the scroll for it. She also does so much for Northshield, especially in the realms of heraldry and scribal arts, and she blasts a path for all Northshielders to feel safe by being extremely proactive about pronouns, cultural touchstones, and literally offering housing and travel assistance to people.

The inspirations for the project include these four lanterns and Morgan Donner's lantern build video. In the top row are two illustrations from period showing lanterns. The red lantern is from Book of Hours, MS M.972 fol. 1r, and has a bit of a splayed shape with a wider base and a turned dome at the top. It also has horn panels that aren't quite perfect fits for each side panel, as evidenced by the uneven horizontal lines. The second lantern, held by a crotchety dragonesque beast, is from Breviary, MS M. 8 fol. 158r and has a flat top with straight sides.

The second row shows two lantern awards made by other SCAdians. The first was made by Brig Ingen Erennaigh for a baronial service award called the Coill's Beacon, and the second is an Award of Arms by Northshield's own Tatiana Melville.

My original plan was actually to make a couple of so-called Viking lanterns like the kind you see all over Etsy. These usually consist of a top and bottom disc of wood, with dowels in between, and parchment or rawhide wrapped around the exterior. Extremely simple, and the parchment provides the perfect scroll text surface, but thanks to Morgan Donner's video, I now know those are dated to the 1800s. The idea of illuminated parchment stuck with me though and I decided to make a lantern more along the lines of the Breviary lantern but with simulated parchment in place of horn panes. I felt this was a good compromise between my original plan and a documentably period shape.

I didn't leave myself enough time to make this scroll, between the shield I made for Crown Tournament and Halloween festivities. Thinking fast, I ran out to my local hardware store for some precut 6 inch rounds. The ones I got have an ahistoric Roman ogee routed into the edge, but they'll add some nice visual detail to the scrolls.

Splitting my poplar side beams to width was vaguely harrowing on my radial arm saw. It would've been better to use my bandsaw but it's really not set up for use yet, so I made a janky jig and stood off to the side.

I was successful, and began the annoying process of carving 24 dowel tips.

Tools of the trade, and five doweled supports installed in the first base.

The coping saw did a great job of parting off each dowel end.

Dog bless the Shinso rasp. This thing makes my woodworking experience so much easier.

I got one set done and checked my progress. This looks really, really good so far.

I then grabbed some copper and went to town making the candle holders. I wanted these to have some give for different diameters of candles, including electric candles. These were made entirely off of Morgan Donner's video and aren't based on anything I personally researched, so I can't say anything to their historocity beyond knowing that sheet copper definitely wasn't the material of choice back then. I used a spare fat poplar dowel to form both holders.

I then used sidecutters to make the flanges, and bent them out flat. I used some brass brads to nail the holders to the bases, and pressed them through with my drill press just as I did with the tacks to the targe I made last month.

At this stage I needed to do a test fit, and boy was I happy with the way it looked so far. Now, I must say that this is not enough spacing between the candle and the lantern roof. It'll probably be alright, but it could also get pretty dang hot and risk a fire in there. A shorter candle would be better, but I have a hundred of these beeswax candles so I'm gonna give them away as gifts whenever I can.

Since the Book of Hours lantern is red and Samii's livery colors are red and gold, I painted his lantern red. I used a few different paints mixed together to achieve this shade, and then I sprayed the whole thing with matte polyurethane sealant.

I decided to make Kat's a nice golden oak color in contrast to the red lantern, based on so many being light colored in the various illustrations and illuminations I saw. It was down between this and painting it blue to match her arms, but I think I'm glad I did two very different finishes. The poplar is so green that the oak stain couldn't really compensate, but it's not bad. This lantern was sealed with finishing wax.

At this point Kim stepped in to get the scrolls done. This is Pergamenata, a perennial favorite of SCA scribes for having a similar surface feel and translucency to animal parchment. Usually I do illumination and word smithing while they just do the hand writing, but this time they took on all three of those tasks, much to my joy.

Here's Kat's scroll panes before color. You can see Kim used a template made off my test fit of the lantern to get the spacing correct. They used Speedball india ink and matched the hand to the calligraphy in CNM XXIII.C.124 Velislavova Bible, which they also took the design of the torch from.

Both scroll panes inked, painted and drying. We chose these scrolls to try tempera paint for the first time and the translucency of the tempera on the translucency of the perg is just so good.

Here's Kat's scroll panels with the oak-stained side supports.

Here's Samii's scroll panels with the red side supports.

The final assembly process. I had to cut the scroll panels into individual panes, because the spacing wasn't perfect. I used wood glue to affix the perg panes to the backside of each support, holding or clamping alternately to keep everything in place as the glue-wet perg curled away from the supports and then uncurled as the adhesive cured. It was a pain in the ass but it worked out. I then had to form two bronze rings for the tops of each lantern, and install hooks and loops to close the back pane, which has one end loose and wrapped around a thin piece of basswood.

Here is the final assembly completed, showing the door hooks made of bronze and the eyelet screws made of brass. This is not a very historic door shape, but it's what Morgan Donner hacked together for her lanterns and if it worked for her it'll work for me.

Kat's scroll completed as well, and here's the only view I have of the top suspension ring.

And of course it's not a lantern if you don't see it illuminated. I gave both recipients a beeswax candle and an electric candle, and this photo was taken with the electric candle in place. I had to wrap gaffer tape around the base to make it fit. The electric candle is actually pretty bright! Look at that pretty red paint, and not the fact that the support is slightly angled.

#sca #society of creative anachronism #my crafts #reenactment #lantern #medieval #scribal #scrolls

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blackjackkent · 6 months ago

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Balthazar's instructions were perfectly clear - if they are to get hold of the Nightsong (whether for his purposes or their own), the Sharran forces in the way must be dealt with. They must reach the center of the temple where the relic is hidden.

"To reach the center, we must pass the trials," Shadowheart says. Her voice sounds a little faint with wonder. "The trials of the Justiciar. It... I never thought..." A pause. She swallows. "I'm ready. Let me take the lead, and I will not fail - not my goddess nor you."

Rakha nods slowly. She certainly has little faith in her own ability to pass Sharran trials on her own; if anyone is to take the lead here it should certainly be Shadowheart. Her own interest is entirely in what lies beyond the trials, though - the relic, the Nightsong. The relic will facilitate her vengeance on Ketheric Thorm; everything else is an afterthought.

-----

The entrance to the first trial is surrounded by the dead bodies of several of Balthazar's ghouls. The scent of their blood still lingers in the air. On one of the bodies is a note scrawled in ragged blocky letters:

"Pay CLOSE ATTENTION. Seek the means to access THE RELIC. Search in THE LIBRARY. Do not deviate. Do not fail. RETURN PROMPTLY."

"Do you think maybe he wasn't specific enough?" Wyll says dryly in an undertone, eliciting a soft snort from Rakha.

The trial itself lies behind the nearby door; the room is labeled "Soft-Step Trial", and a plaque on the floor by the entrance reads: "Her Most Vaunted Treasure."

Rakha stands out of the way and watches as Shadowheart approaches the ceremonial bowl at the center of the room. With a few quick movements, the half-elf pulls a dagger from her belt and slices it across her palm, sending several drops of bright red blood into the dish.

Rakha hisses out a low breath as the fresh-blood scent hits her. For a moment she has to squeeze her eyes shut and focus on wrestling the beast in her head back down.

"Lady Shar values those that can remain unseen and can still obtain what they want," Shadowheart explains quietly as she stows the knife. "Stealth is a virtue derived from her very essence."

And Rakha opens her eyes in time to see Shadowheart seem to melt into the shadows, disappearing through the doors of the trial which were opened by her blood offering.

-----

Wyll whistles idly under his breath. "Impressive," he murmurs. "Haven't seen her do that one before."

"We are rarely in a position to make use of stealth," Lae'zel says, deadpan dry, shooting a look at Rakha. A pause, and then she rolls her eyes, fidgeting with the sword at her back. "This 'gauntlet' is a waste of time," she adds irritably. "Is there no way by which we might simply break down the door that hides the center of this place?"

"If this place is as fundamental to the Sharrans as Shadowheart says," answers Wyll, "I doubt they've left any chinks open for idle wandering." A pause. "Besides... this is something Shadowheart wants, I suppose."

"Yes," Rakha says matter-of-factly.

"Chk," Lae'zel mutters. "What has Shar given her but the wound on her hand?"

Wyll raises an eyebrow at her. "Is that concern for her that I hear, Lae'zel?"

A long, long pause. Lae'zel shrugs, not quite meeting his eyes. "I have watched my goddess turn upon me and prove no goddess at all. I do not recommend the experience."

#bjk plays bg3 durge #rakha the dark urge #bjk writes her own party banter #i had originally planned to start weaving more shadowzel as a b-plot into this run #but it hasn't really materialized #lae'zel is still a bit hung up on rakha i think lol #but a lil smidge of hinting here anyway

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adarkrainbow · 8 months ago

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Beauty and the Beast on the 18th century stage

A long time ago I promised you a handful of articles - and today it is time! I will begin with an article written by Catherine Ramond for the "Féeries" journal ("Féeries" is THE reference journal-review for all fairytale study and analysis), about the various theater adaptations of "Beauty and the Beast" in the 18th century France. As I also said before I won't do a literal translation, but rather "info-mine" as some like to say.

In the 18th century, every time a novel or short story had a huge success it was adapted to the stage, and so the fairytale did not escape. Ever since Charles Perrault and madame d'Aulnoy published their fairy stories, the "fairytale" had been a fashionable genre, and it offered to theaters a lot of material, especially since it craved magic and wonders. The story of "Beauty and the Beast" (La Belle et la Bête) especially had a lot of dramatic and scenic potential - as such the article compares FIVE different variations of the tale. Two of them are of course, the two literary versions of the tale, its two publications.

On one side, Madame Leprince de Beaumont's 1756 Beauty and the Beast, published in her "Le Magasin des enfants" (The Children's shop), THE most famous version of the story, and the one Cocteau used for his movie adaptation. On the other side, the ACTUAL first written/literary version of "Beauty and the Beast" titled as such, the one Leprince de Beaumont actually rewrote for her own book: Gabrielle de Villeneuve's Beauty and the Beast, inserted in her 1740 novel "La Jeune Américaine et les contes marins" (The Young American Girl and the sea tales). While this story was definitively "modern" in style and shape, it borrowed folkloric motifs (such as the theme of the animal-husband), making it a "cousin" to several of madame d'Aulnoy's fairytales (Serpentin Vert, The Green Snake ; Le Prince Marcassin, The Boar Prince), as well as a descendant of the model from Antiquity: Psyche's tale from Apuleus' Metamorphosis. This link between the new and ancient tale might have inspired the adaptators, since the tale of Psyche had been heavily adapted throughout the 17th century in different genres. 1656's Benserade and Lully's Psyche Ballet ; Corneille-Quinault-Molière-Lully's 1671's Psyche tragedy-abllet ; Corneille (Thomas this time)-Fontenelle-Lully's 1678's lyrical tragedy Psyche, etc etc... What we do know for sure is that the writers of fairytales and creators of stage entertainment of the time were well aware of the key elements of the story: Psyche's inhuman beauty, the oracle that offers her to a hideous monster, the jealousy of her sisters that causes bad advice (notably their encouragment to see the invisible husband despite it being forbidden). However... Against a Psyche perceived as a flaed character, against this weak, naive, curious Psyche, the 18th century opposes Belle, a Beauty who is kind and brave, and who instead of disrupting the order re-establishes a balance between the characters. The prince, turned into a Beast because of a spell must, to regain his true shape, have a young girl falling in love with him despite his horrible appearance. When Belle confesses her love and agrees to marry Beast, it makes the "beautiful Unknown" that she saw in her dreams appear before her, a Prince "more beautiful than love". This story reunites magic with a family drama (the relationships between Belle, her father and her sisters are at the forefornt of the narrative), while addng emotion and virtue: the fairytale had all the elements that would attract stage-writers and directors of the century.

The first "féerie dramatique", the first stage adaptation of this story was actually released between the two literary versions of the tale. It was the 1742's three-act versified comedy by Nivelle de La Chaussée "Amour pour amour" (Love for love), that borrowed elements from the very recent madame de Villeneuve's story (1740). The two last theater adaptations of the story were created after madame Leprince de Beaumont published her tale, and take inspiration from it. One is the ballet-comedy in four acts by Marmontel, with a music by Grétry, "Zémire et Azor" (names borrowed from Nivelle de La Chaussée). It had a huge success in 1771 when it was presented first at Fontainebleau, than at Paris. The second is a two-act prose comedy by madame de Genlis, "La Belle et la Bête", published in 1779 in her "Théâtre à l'usage des jeunes personnes" (Theater for young people). This play was for private stages, and had an open goal of educating children, by accentuating the moral aspect of the Leprince de Beaumont's tale. These adaptations truly show the wide variety of genres that welcomed the fairytale: a "classical" comedy, an "opéra-comique", and a small "moral treaty in action" for the theaters "de société".

The article wonders which elements of the fairytale were kept in theaters, and which ones were modified. There is also a brief recap of all the elements that encourage differences. For example, the fairytales are told through a third-person narraton, as opposed to the plays that need the characters to speak for themselves at the first person. Or how the literary fairytales are influenced by their context. Madame de Villeneuve's story was inserted in a novel, a "roman" as we call them in France, and as such her fairytale has "romanesque" aspects to it - for example by having inserted stories within the main story, which was a typical novel-device of the time. As such, when the Prince can freely speak again, he tells his own past through the sub-story "L'Histoire de la Bête", then followed by the sub-story of "The tale of the happy island" which unveils Beauty's true identity as the secret daughter of a King and a Fairy. The main story itself is divided in a double time: on one side the diurnal scenes, when Beauty and the Beast encounter each other, on the other side the nocturnal scenes, when Belle dreams of Le Bel Inconnu, which is the Prince. This dream-part of the tale will be heavily reduced, if not completely erased, in the other texts, while the two sub-stories evoked above will be removed from both the stage-adaptations and Leprince de Beaumont's rewrite. Beaumont's version is a simplified and linear tale, with its own context - a pedagogical one. Her "Le Magasin des enfants" is a dialogue between the figure of a "wise governess/knowledgeable nurse", and her most brilliant and obedient students - as such the fairytale is introduced, then commented, as a tale the children should study and find a message within. The narration itself multiplies the elements revealing it is the story told to children, such as this sentence "The beauty (because I told you before it was the name of the youth), so, the beauty, I said". This pedagogical nature, just like the romanesque overflow of the first literary tale, was removed by theater adaptations. When it reaches the stage, the tale only remains as what stuck in memories, as a pure fairy-story, which allows for its multiple metamorphosis and readaptations. Jean-Paul Sermain wrote about this in his book studying fairytales and concluded that, if a fairytale wanted to stay alive, it needed to escape its own context. This is clearly what happened with Beauty and the Beast.

And Leprince de Beaumont had already greatly helped the dramaturgists, by removing the romanesque elements of Villeneuve. Marmontel heavily used this to his advantage, with an adaptation very close to the tale - in fact, one of the main criticism against his "Zémire et Azor" was to have followed step-by-step the tale. People wrote at the time that what he did was just "Add some dialogues to a small story that isn't even his own". He was accused of "stealing" from Le Magasin des Enfants, of not having a single original idea in his own production, and basically one could read the book and have seen the stage ballet. Nivelle de La Chaussée's comedy, "Amour pour Amour", is further away from the literary story, especially since only madame de Villeneuve's story could be known at the time. This is also why it is the only stage adaptation that explains the metamorphosis of Azor/Beast due to the unshared love of a fairy, who in the play takes the shape of a romantic rival named Assan. La Chaussée also took another element from Villeneuve's tale: the dream where Azor appears to Beauty in "all of his brightness". Azor, like the Beast, is doubly punished: he has a repulsive physique, and he is forbidden from expressing his love. And here is the problem: how could the innocent Zemir pronounce the words "I love you" if she doesn't hear them first in her lovers' mouth? "Amour pour Amour" is, as such, quite close to Marivaux's theaters (comparisons can be made with his 1721's Arlequin poli par l'amour, for example). Nivelle de La Chaussée also gives to the story an Oriental aspect: the story takes place in a small town near Bagdad, Beauty and the Beast are given the exotic names of Zémire and Azor (later reused by Marmontel), and the family of Beauty are replaced by "confidents", which form a couple parallel to the main heroes, as it was usual in the comedy of France - the author also used these secondary characters as a way to deal with the absence of a narrative voice.

In fact, the absence of a narration is a problem for all three stage-adaptations. Marmontel gives to the father (Sander) a slave named Ali, who brings a comical letter ; while madame de Genlis gives to her Beauty (Zirphée) a friend named Phédime who is her confident, her match-maker, and a bit of her rival. But Marie-Emmanuelle Plagol highlighted that the character of the companion is fundamentaly "foreign to the fairytale", which is supposed to be "played in solitude". Only Marmontel kept the characters of the father-sisters, and the initial episode of the rose. Madame de Genlis went further away from the story by making Zirphée an orphan girl destined to a repulsive husband, while Phanor/Beast ravished her to escape an enchantment of unknown origins. All he says about this is: "Barian Fairy! Enjoy the excess of my pain ; your power, superior to mine, condemned me once to endure life under this hdeous shape, and I can't take back my first face unless I am loved, by touching with my scary face a soul that felt nothing before". So, while there are variations, the three stage-stories borrow from the literary versions A) the two main characters B) the key plot and C) the spectacular ending tied to words that must be pronounced.

Now, despite Mme Leprince de Beaumont heavily reducing the story, it still has a length that is hard to bring on stage... Yes the events and the "coup de theatre" are perfectly dramatic, but the stage cannot render as well the slow evolution of the characters and the feeling of time passing by. It doesn't help that the three plays studied here are relatively short - two or three acts (four for Marmontel's but only because there are long songs). Beauty's stay at the Beast's castle is a large part of the story plot - but it is not very "dramatic", and the characters are usually alone during this sequence outside of their brief daily encounters. For Mme de Villeneuve, this sojourn allowed her to describe at length the luxuries and the entertainments of the magical castle while the Beast, cursed with both ugliness and stupidity, avoided Beauty's company so as to not bore or disturb her, rather hoping the wonders would replace him. As such, the magic was a temporal one, alternating the various wonders Beauty discovered with the daily meals during which the Beast appeared and asked the same question, over and over again. The scene of the meal, first described in details, became shorter and briefer with each repetition - and this repetitive nature was essential to the tale, as it shows Beauty getting accustomed and used to the Beast - paving the way for her starting to like him... But it doesn't fit theater. Mme Leprince de Beaumont does a similar thing - the ritual visit is first a full dialogue, then shortened in one or two sentences. But the same idea of the repetition becoming an habit, and the habit allowing Beauty to overcome the Beast's monstrous appearance, remains. How can it be translated on stage?

Nivelle de La Chaussée, who only wrote two interactions between Azor and Zémire, delegates the descriptions of Zémire's growing love to the characters of the confidents. Azor describes to Zaleg how Zémire is getting accustomed to him in the very first scene ; and later insists on their daily encounters when talking to Nadine in scene 5. The slowness of Zémire's love does not come from the horror Azor causes her, but rather of her own ignorance of what love is: when Assan declares his love for Zémire, he actually helps his rival unwittingly, by allowing Zémire to discover her own love for Azor. Nivelle de La Chaussée is interested by something left obscure and undescribed in the tales: how the characters realize and understand their own feelings. Marmontel, meanwhile, synthetizes all of the daily encounters between Beauty and the Beast in one scene (III, 5) and has Zémire/Beauty say herself "Seeing you so much, my eyes got accustomed". As for Genlis, he offers three encounters between Zirphée (Beauty) and Phanor (The Beast), during which Zirphée becomes bolder and bolder. But this compression of time always causes a same phenomnon among the three authors: the appearance of the Beast is modified, to explain such a fast change in relationship. The theater-Beasts are not as repulsive as the fairytale-Beasts, their monstruosity is watered-down.

However, while all the theater adaptations compress the time-dimension of the play, it is to better highlight the spectacular of the final transformation - always done alongside a change in sets. This was the most "dramatic" lement of the fairytale, and it shows. The decisive word of the Beauty, who agrees to marry the Beast, causes the dénouement, the de-transformation of the Beast into the Prince. In the two narrative versions, the words have an immediate effects - as soon as Beauty pronounces the words, the magic operates. Of course, the theater potential of such a scene is enormous: a "key" word causing a final "coup de théâtre" - and transformations of stages and sets were very, very liked at the time. As such all three plays have a common dénouement. At Nivelle de La Chaussée, when Zémire says "Yes, it is Azor that I love", the theater turns into a woodland, a clearing of orange-trees with a cradle of flowers among which is Zémire's statue. At Marmontel's, when Zémire says "I love you, Azor, I love you..." the theater turns into an "enchanted palace" and Azor is sitting on a throne in all of his beauty. And for Mme de Genlis, when Zirphée says "Yes, Phanor, I loved you ; yes, I cannot live without you", music resonates, and Phanor appears from the back of the stage in his human form, sitting on a throne of flowers. And Azor's explanations in the various plays also all sound similar: "Yes, I am that Genie that..." "Yes, I am this dreadful monster, that you did not hate despite his ugliness". However, there is one specific change from the fairytales: in the stage-plays, Beauty just has to declare her love ; while in the original tales, she has to either agree to sleep with the Beast, or to marry him. Again, we see a sentimental and psychological shift linked to the "weakening" of the Beast, not as threatening and not as monstrous, even in what he asks of Beauty.

While the wonders of the final transformation caught the eyes of the playwright, it wasn't the case with the other magical eements of the tale... Mme de Villeneuve's castle was an "enchanted palace", filled with fireworks, wealth, singing birds and monkey-comedians. When she opened the six windows of a room, Beauty could see the plays given in the four great theaters of Paris at the time (Comédie Française, Comédie Italienne, Opéra, Foire Saint-Germain), plus a view of the Tuileries and one of the "spectacle of the world". This careful "mise en abyme" of the "theater as the world" or the "world as a stage" was not kept by stage adaptations. In the written story, they were somptuous entertainments meant to distract Beauty from her loneliness and boredom, while showing how the Beast's muteness could be compensated by immense power and infinite wealth. But again, the loneliness of a bored Beauty and the forced stupidity of the Beast were not fit for the theater. Each playwright finds a different way to replace these wonders. Nivelle de La Chaussée opposes the seduction of wealth (embodied by Azor's rival, Assan, who in truth is the fairy in disguise) and Azor's pure love, who only has flowers to offer to Beauty and prefers to be loved for himself (he is very Marivaux-like). Marmontel rather decides to mix the luxuries with the Oriental exotic: the only indication for Azor's palace is "a wealthy salon, decorated in an Oriental way. Flower-filled vases between the windows" ; Azor's appearance in the third act is preceeded by the sight of a throne of flowers rising in the middle of the room, and a dance of genies. As for Mme de Genlis, while she does take back elements from Mme Leprince de Beaumont fairytale (lots of books, lots of wealth, the clavecin), the exploration of the palace is condensed in the second scene of act III, and while it works as a temporary burst of wonders, it does not reflect a daily cohabitation.

Finally, Marmontel and Mme de Genlis reuse the magical items of Mme de Beaumont, such as the magic mirror in which Beauty saw her family. Marmontel turns it into a magical painting: the family of Beauty appears at the back of the stage, framed like a painting, Zémire can hear them but not talk to them and it all disappears when she tries to touch them. (This stage trck had a huge success). The other magical item was the ring that teleported Beauty: Marmontel links the ring with the modifications of the sets, since it allows to alternate between the father's house and Azor's palace - but Marmontel does add a cloud to transport Sander and Ali. It might be a remnant of the Zephyr that carries Psyche and the other characters of Apuleus' tale. Within Mme de Genlis' play, Phanor's powers are also embodied by the ring that conferes to Zirphée ubiquity and the power to grant wishes, but ultimately the ring will be useless. However, Zirphée finds within the ring's box the final letter of adieu of Phanor - and it is reading this letter that causes Zirphée's declaration. The magical object is replaced by a very traditional and common item of theater: the letter.

The most extraordinary, strange and fascinating element of the tale however is the Beast. This horrid, scary beast that Mme de Villeneuve describes in terms of "abominable screams, terrible noises, a furious expression, a trunk like the one of an elephant, the enormous weight of his body, scales clicking with each movement". Aurélia Gaillard highlighted that this heavy, loud, scaly elephant-like body could be interpreted as an imperious, exhuberant sexuality described in monstrous terms.Mme Leprince de Beaumont attenuates a bit the Beast's horror because he is never described - he is said to be horrible and to have a frightening voice, but the Beasts laments more about its "ugliness" than its "monstruosity" - and in fact, the Beast can become quite ridiculous, such as when, in an attempt to sigh about its own sad fate, it "whistles so loudly all the walls of the castle shook". How can this be translated on stage?

The stage-Beasts, with their strong, exotic names of "Azor" or "Phanor" have barely anything in common with Villeneuve's monster. Nivelle de La Chaussée's text must be decyphered to understand what the Beast looks like: Azor is said to have been given an "hétéroclite" face which, in this context, actually means an "aged" face. Zaleg, Azor's confident, highlights the fact Azor is an old man in these words: "If the Fairy had left us our charming traits, / I could have tolerated ; but, Lord, we look like as if / We were about to enter the season before autumn." The fact Azor's punishment is shared by Zaleg also attenuates it. Within "Zémire et Azor", the only exact physical description appears in the list of characters: "Azor, young Persian prince, in a scary but not hideous shape ; black eyebrows, a bushy beard, a thick mane, arms and legs naked but covered by a tiger-like skin, the rest of the body clothed by a vest and a rich belt ; in behavor and action, he is a nobleman." We are far, far away from the monster! In fact, the plays have to convey the Beast's scariness through acting: in Marmontel's, when Zémire first sees him she faints, and Azor laments that it was his own ugliness that caused this. In Mme de Genlis' play, since no description is offered, we only have Phanor's words ("horrible face", "repulsive appearance"), and a few acting movements (Zirphée doesn't dare look at him ; she flees when he comes near her). But he is only a monster in appearance, as he proves to be a good, generous, sensible, delicate and faithful person. In fact, Marmontel gave his Beast a beautiful voice and pleasant words - even going as far as having him sing! In fact, it is because there is a discrepancy between Azor's appearance and his speech that Zémire believes an enchantment might be at play.

These psychological (the pangs of love) and moralizing (virtue is to be loved) trends completely erase the frightening voice, and the rude manners of the book-Beast, who had been "deprived of his mind". Villeneuve's Beauty complained that she could not talk to the Beast, she lamented herself that the Beast only spoke four or five sentences to her, and always the same ; a "stupidity in speech" that contrasted with the eloquence of the Beautiful Unknown of Beauty's dreams, and that also opposed itself to the long romanesque tale the Beast, free of his curse, offered to his audience. The Beast' slow humanization came through him speaking more to Beauty, and in a more galant way, and her noting in his speech softness and sincerity. By giving the Beast eloquence from the get-go, by removing his "stupidity", the playwrights made him closer to another famous fairytale character: the Prince Riquet of Perrault's fairytales. Riquet with the tuft was, just like the Beast, cursed by fairies to be ugly until love made him handsome, but ulike the Beast he wasn't cursed with idiocy - on the contrary, his eloquence was his main tool to win hearts. Yet another play that echoes Riquet as much as "Beauty and the Beast" would be Favart's "La fée Urgèle", a "féerie" inspired by a fairytale of Voltaire: created at Fontainebleau in 1765 with a huge success, then regularly played by the Italian Comedy, it depicts the strange romance between a fairy transformed into an old woman and the knight Robert. The metamorphosis of the act IV, where, with "the sound of thunder" the miserable hut becomes a splendid palace, echoes the stage-transformations of the "Beauty and the Beast" plays. In fact, the morality sung in the end seems like a watered-down version of the "Beauty and the Beast "lesson: "You have not disdained ugliness, / You deserve to be loved by Beauty.

The Beast's monstruosity disappears alongside its very name of "Beast". Usually appearing only in the title, the Beast becomes "Azor" or "Phanor" - and it is quite a paradox to see this sonor dimension of the name "Beast" disappearing, despite this posing no problem for the stage. In the narrative versions, we only have "Beauty" and "the Beast", and the dialogues do work fine. The exotic names chosen for the character remove the ambiguity and the wordplays originally used to conceive him, humanizing the Beast even further - and firmly setting his male identity, since "la Bête" is a female-neutral name. This need to give a precise name and defined identity to theater characters seems to reflect a deeper difference when it comes to genres: the theater relies on the words of the characters, and as such has difficulties depicting bestiality, aka what is deprived of words. The rare questions asked by Mme de Villeneuve's Beast were "impertinent" question: while it can be written that the Beast rudely asks "Do you want to sleep with me?", it is harder to have the character pronounce it on stage. And yet this sexual element (greatly watered-down within Leprince de Beaumont's version) is a key feature of the fairytale type of the "animal-groom", and seems to reflect, as Bettelheim wrote, that "sexuality is an animalistic action, that only love can turn into a human relationship". The theater must focus entirely on the romance due to what it cannot show and cannot tell ; in turn, this allows us to see the great freedom of the fairytale, which can name and show a "desiring body". By making the Beast human, the theater weakens the strange and disquieting element of the tale: the relationship between the human Beauty and the monstrous Beast was unexplained and unexplainable. As Jean-Paul Sermain said, the strength of this tale relied on the silence when it comes to the amorous choice, and how inexplicable or aberrant it is. Maybe this "shadowy" part of the tale disappears because the theater-character must always explain and analyze? Fairytale characters are lonely characters, who do not offer their inner thoughts to anybody. By giving them confidents, the playwrights allow them to explain their actions. We can think of Sedaine's "Raoul Barbe bleue", in which Bluebeard explains why he killed his wives - an element unrevaled in the story. This, alongside Bluebeard being named "Raoul", works to "desenchant" the tale.

The two public plays, those of La Chaussée and Marmontel, were enormous successes. Restif de la Bretonne, a great fan of fairy tales, wrote his enthusiasm for "Zémire et Azor", and his passion for the "Magical Painting". These plays were fitting perfectly the expectations of those that went to see a comedy or opera-comique. All in all, the three stage-plays explored, each in their own way, the dramatic and scenic possibilities of the tale, wile sprinkling it with exoticism and strengthening its "lesson" aspect. Psychology and rationality dominate within these plays, going against the very spirit of the "marvelous" of the fairytale - but by twisting the tale, they played their part in its history ; through their transformations and metamorphoses, they maintained the sense of mystery, pleasure and surprise brought by these variations and extensions. Today, cinema is continuign what the theater did before. But the difficulties the adaptations had to face back then highlight the limits of each genres. The first literary version of the tale could not fit fully the stage due to its "romanesque thickness" and its complex narrative structure - and as we saw, the most drastic change brought by the shift to the stage is the Beast, who becomes a new avatar of "Riquet with the tuft", an ugly but virtuous candidate for love. And moral as well as historial constraints forced the playwrights to remove the monstrous, the stupid, the loud, the sound and the fury - in short, the body in all of its ugliness from the story. Instead, the plays focused on the charms of the eloquence, and on the reward of kindness and virtue.

#beauty and the beast #translation #beauty and the beast adaptation #french stuff #theater #18th century theater #french theater #fairytale theater #fairytale plays #beauty and the beast plays

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bardic-tales · 2 months ago

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Hi happy STS! You mention celestial-demonic runaways? Are there other celestial-demonic hybrids? What are celestial folks like? What are demonic folks like? :O?

Hello there. Happy STS. Thank you so much for the ask, and I hope you are having a wonderful day.

You mention celestial-demonic runaways?

Content Warnings: Prophecies, religious themes, self-sacrifice, supernatural beings

I did. Bianca Moore is a celestial-demonic runaway, the only being born of both celestial (angelic) and demonic blood. She was the result of Azrakiel (Asmodeus) and his ambitions. Her existence is tied to an ancient prophecy that foretold the birth of a being who would embody both light and darkness, and ultimately, bring about the rebirth of the Omniverse. When Seraphine, her archangel mother, sacrificed herself to send Bianca forward in time to be born into the mortal realm, it was to shield her from Asmodeus' machinations. Since that act, Bia has lived her life on the run and thought she was human until one day where Asmodeus' caught up with her.

Are there other celestial-demonic hybrids?

While Bianca is unique in her dual heritage, hybrids are not entirely unheard of in the realms. Nephilim - giants born of celestial angels and humans - exist within the Celestial Realms. These hybrids are always born in the mortal realm and will often be able to choose when to fade into the Celestial Realm. Sort of like Tolkien's elves. These giants were more common around 2900 to 2800 BCE.

These beings now reside in the North in the Celestial Realm, often in snow-covered areas where they live in isolation from the other beings. They are seen as divine protectors and sometimes are called upon in times of cosmic upheaval due to their strength and connection to both worlds.

What are celestial folks like?

Celestial beings are primary angels, governed by an unwavering dedication to divine order and virtue. Their wings vary from the traditional white to rare, iridescent hues. They tend to have iridescent golden eyes. They are organized into a structured society, especially after the Civil War that divided them. Their lands are governed by archangels and embody virtues like Diligence and Kindness. Their realm, now divided into Seven Virtue Lands, emphasizes spiritual growth, military readiness, and loyalty to the Creator. Celestial society also includes elite guardians tasked with defending the mortal and celestial realms from Abyssal (demonic) threats.

What are demonic beings like?

Demons in the Abyssal Realm, or Infernal beings, are ruled by Lucifer and his bride, Lilith, and are organized into seven kingdoms (might change this later to fiefdom). Each is governed by one of the Princes of Hell who embody a specific sin, like Lust or Wrath. These Princes were generals in Lucifer's rebel army and given land for their loyalty. As they fell from Grace, their wings have turned black, marking them as beings forever severed from the Celestial Realm. The black is to represent rot, even if they have velvety feathers. Like their celestial brethren, their eyes glow gold, but now the irises burn with an intense, molten fire.

The Princes of Hell spawned several different type of beasts / citizens for their kingdoms. For example, Asmodeus spawned incubi, succubi, and sirens to tempt souls that were sent to the Abyssal Plane after the Angel of Death cast his judgement on their souls.

They are often fiercely competitive, engaging in territorial struggles and power grabs, especially in realms like Greed and Envy where the resources are coveted. Demonic society is shaped by constant power shifts that are usually driven by ambition and chaos. The world itself is rift with natural disasters, technological advances, and cycles of betrayal that only reinforce a social order where might and cunning often determine status.

#nl answers #storyteller saturday #sts #sts: fwc #wb: magic and magicians #wb: supernatural elements #wb: people and customs #wb: mythology and folklore #wb: the world #wb: races and species #writeblr #writeblr community #writing community #writers on tumblr

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rriavian · 1 year ago

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WIP Wednesday Snippet

Sorry it's late!

I was debating which to post but thought I'd go with (Im)patience is a virtue. It's based on a prompt by @merculuros from a while ago so thought I'd post a bit more. Some of the other fics I don't want to spoil, or are not as well edited as I'd like. This fic itself is almost done but I'm super nervous about it so I hope you enjoy! <3

The Corinthian is restless.

He’s a wild thing of bared teeth; without thought for seduction, not trying to be the lure here, not slipping on that sensual guise for Dream. Not the kiss, not that purring coaxing thing, has skipped over that. Not a kiss at all—

Instead he’s the knife at the end of it.

The Corinthian wants a fight, is a beast of claws and darkness that wants to take, needs to win. Dream knows that otherwise this feels too easy, feels like giving in, knows the Corinthian doesn’t want to do anything that Dream has told him to do. That he will tell him to do. Dream knows he needs something more to feel satisfied. The Corinthian is so very delicate, the thought of bending is being confused with breaking. Dream is not so concerned, will see if he can combine pleasure with a lesson. He has something he wants to show him; will feed it to him, wants to gorge himself on his nightmare and be gorged on in return.

He smirks as he gives the Corinthian something of what he wants but will never ask for.

Dream kneels at the Corinthian’s feet.

He holds it for a moment, lets it be seen, then shuffles close, keeps his eyes low, nuzzles at the Corinthian’s thigh and begins to mouth at it, seeking, questioning, asking for permission. The material quickly dampens, Dream still sucking at it, and he curves his back, bends his neck, folds small and yielding, carves pride away because Dream simply doesn’t care. There is no wound here for him. Dream fills the space with deference; knows the Corinthian needs to see this, needs to have it, and is more than prepared to submit if it gets him what he wants.

He hears the surprised intake of breath.

“Fucking look at you.” The Corinthian says; a nasty edge to his tone, mocking because he thinks this is an insult, thinks Dream is debasing himself. “You want it so badly.”

There’s a hand gliding through his hair.

Despite the Corinthian’s harsh words, his cruel tone, the touch is questing, not timid but held back by lack of practice. His nightmare has never touched him before, not like this, has knelt at his feet and kissed Dream’s hand, distant for all it had been lips on skin. It’s not what Dream wants, not here, but the instinctive reverence in the hesitation still pleases him.

Come on, sweet thing, you can touch.

Dream finally raises his eyes, turns his head so that his cheek can still rub against rough fabric while he gazes up. “Yes.”

The Corinthian swallows. “Why?”

“Because you are my favourite.” Dream says simply, no cost to tell him this, nothing given up in the admittance because this is praise bestowed. “Because you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever made.”

The Corinthian’s jaw drops—the exhale is shaky, he’s stunned and yearning—so fragile, so wanting under all that bravado. Dream wonders if he can get the want alongside it, get something both fierce and sweet, will have this all the same because this delicate thing now being coaxed out of bud is just as beautiful. Dream can’t resist it, leans up, will press his face against him through his trousers, will open his mouth and—

The Corinthian shoves his head back down.

Dream goes—allows it, strains against his want but glows under the touch—folding even further under this ghost of pressure even as his nightmares arm shakes under the strain. It’s the most of the Corinthian’s strength, it’s the least of Dream’s, it’s fingers winding into his hair to get a good grip. His nightmare shoves him to the floor, bends him right down until his face is pressing against his shoe.

It’s rough and careless, cruel…

Interesting

The sensation of yielding one of self-control, of power held tightly so Dream doesn’t crush him. Dream has to tense into it before he can relax, has to write the calculation to get him there, has to create the ability to submit as fast as the Corinthian is demanding it.

Dream hadn’t made his spine to bend.

His nightmare thinks he’s going to fight. The grip in his hair tightens as if expecting resistance, predicting it and being proven wrong, tangling in the strands and forcing him to stay there. Dream knows the Corinthian needs a moment to savour that, to let the thrill settle, to flex the control he doesn’t know he’s been given willingly. Dream waits, knows instructions are coming, knows soon he’ll be able to have what he wants.

“Lick it.”

The Corinthian is expecting to be refused.

Dream smirks, pleased to prove him wrong yet again, opens his mouth and laves that shoe with his tongue, long licks without embarrassment. He realises too late he might have misunderstood; the Corinthian may have wanted to see shyness, to see Dream hesitate before the fall, but if he wants that he’ll have to ask for it. Dream doesn’t do anything by half measures. He's eager because he wants to be, just as he’s here because he wants to be, and so Dream doesn’t hesitate and he doesn’t stop.

The Corinthian recovers faster this time; laughs, breathless, enjoys it for a few more moments and then yanks Dream’s head back up.

“Oh you are a slut aren’t you?” He croons, getting comfortable, relaxing into accepting that he is really having this without needing to lose a fight he’s started with himself. It’s lovely to watch, Dream is patient with his prey, knows soon he can go in for the kill. “My very own little plaything.”

Dream’s never been anyone’s toy before.

He thinks he can make it work for him now.

#corintheus #dream of the endless #the corinthian #wip wednesday #fic progress #my writing

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