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xoxochb · 4 months ago

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⋆·˚ ༘ * please, please, please

warnings: set during that one scene from ttc, reader is a minor goddess of music/singing (to fit the sabrina carpenter vibe ykwim?), a bunch of quotes are not mine they are direct from the book so credits to uncle rick!! there’s also a lorelai gilmore reference at the end

pairing: apollo x goddess! daughter of aphrodite and ares

“absolutely not”

you give the sun god a look of pleading and he laughs at your desperation

“I don’t know what you’re talking about”

you hit his head “yes you do”

“she’s my dear old sister-” apollo begins

“exactly. along with her hunters and others”

“I don’t see the problem”

“the problem is that you can’t control yourself”

“well when I’m around you…”

“oh my gods!” you hit him twice this time “this is what I’m talking about. you’re an idiot”

apollo ignores your comment and drives (??) the sun chariot to the snowy ground

“I beg you do not embarrass motherfucker” you warn

when you step out onto the wet grass and before you have the chance to greet everyone apollo speaks,

"little sister!" he calls "what's up? you never call. you never write. I was getting worried!"

artemis sighs "I'm fine, apollo. and I am not your little sister"

"hey, I was born first."

"we're twins! how many millennia do we have to argue?"

"so what's up?" he interrupted. "got the girls with you, I see. you all need some tips on archery?”

“I need a favor. I have some hunting to do, alone. I need you to take my companions to camp half-blood”

"sure, sis" he then raised his hands in a stop everything gesture “I feel a haiku coming”

the hunters groaned but nonetheless he held up a dramatic hand and began to speak,

‘green grass breaks through snow

artemis pleads for my help

I am so cool’

he grinned waiting for an applause

“last line was four syllables” you point out

apollo frowns "was it?"

"yes” artemis agrees “what about I am so big-headed?"

"no, no, that's six syllables” he starts to mutter to himself but you ignore it, you could be here for days

one of the hunters, zoe you recognized turned to the demigods and explained how apollo had been into haikus since he got back from japan, and said god interrupted her soon after

"I've got it!" he announced "I am so awesome. that's five syllables!" he bowed feeling pleased with himself

"and now, sis” he continues “transportation for the hunters, you say? good timing. I was just about ready to roll”

"these demigods will also need a ride," artemis points to them

"no problem!" apollo checked them out "let's see... thalia, right? I've heard all about you."

thalia blushes "hi, lord apollo"

‘isn’t that his sister?’ you think

"zeus's girl, yes? makes you my half sister. used to be a tree, didn't you? glad you're back. I hate it when pretty girls turn into trees. man, I remember one time-”

you cut him off with an elbow to his stomach, he winces in pain. a black haired demigod- with sea green eyes to differentiate him from the others, he must be poseidon’s- eyes you before asking,

“are you a goddess? how come I don’t recognize you?”

“minor goddess” you confirm “of music. my parents are ares and aphrodite, and unfortunately I am married to this idiot” you give apollo an angry look but he throws an arm around your shoulder

the daughter of zeus chokes on nearly nothing “married?!”

you nod “twelve years”

artemis speaks again “how she can put up with him is a mystery”

“well we should get going” apollo interrupts

“yes, I agree” you say and pull the sun god’s arm off of you, he frowns at the loss of contact

the hunters and demigods pack up their belongings and you pull apollo to the side, he prepares himself for whatever you’re going to say, which he’s sure will be a scolding because he ignored the one thing you asked of him

“listen-” he starts

“how about I talk you listen?” you cross your arms

this was going to be a long scolding…

#xoxochb #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo series #pjo fandom #percy jackson #pjo #percy series #pjo hoo toa #pjo spoilers #trials of apollo #apollo #apollo x y/n #apollo pjo x reader #apollo x you #apollo x reader #apollo pjo

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naetaesarya · 2 months ago

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Book Jon says “It’s death and destruction I want to bring upon House Lannister, not scorn”! Awesome line. Book Jon is freaking awesome!

And that line is the perfect counter to those Jonsa freaks who say Jon will be disgusted by Dany and Arya because they’ve killed people who deserved it. Nope. He’d be like “Those are my girls”

It's really quite something to behold how much a certain sub-fandom (which includes self-described so-called Jon "stans") want Jon to be this raging sexist hypocrite. They claim he is against violence -- that is, not against his own violence but against women doing violence (especially certain women: Arya, Dany, Ygritte, and Val).

Oh, poor put upon Jon :(

But when Jon does violence -- especially when it's supposedly for Sansa (or can be twisted into that purpose), that's okay -- nope, better than okay. That's love.

But that horrible Dany, Jon would hate her violence and "immorality":

Jon is traumatized by fire, isn't he? That's why he doesn't have any romantic observations of fire himself in ASOIAF.... after he burns his hand:

Jon went to cut more branches, snapping each one in two before tossing it into the flames. The tree had been dead a long time,** but it seemed to live again in the fire, as fiery dancers woke within each stick of wood to whirl and spin in their glowing gowns of yellow, red, and orange.**

(ACOK, Jon VIII)

And Jon has never never used fire as a weapon to kill...

Jon notched a fire arrow to his bowstring, and Satin lit it from the torch. He stepped to the parapet, drew, aimed, loosed. Ribbons of flame trailed behind as the shaft sped downward and thudded into its target, crackling.

(ASOS, Jon VII)

Not Styr. The steps. Or more precisely, the casks and kegs and sacks that Donal Noye had piled up beneath the steps, as high as the first landing; the barrels of lard and lamp oil, the bags of leaves and oily rags, the split logs, bark, and wood shavings. "Again," said Jon, and, "Again," and, "Again." Other longbowmen were firing too, from every tower top in range, some sending their arrows up in high arcs to drop before the Wall. When Jon ran out of fire arrows, he and Satin began to light the torches and fling them from the crenels.

Up above another fire was blooming. The old wooden steps had drunk up oil like a sponge, and Donal Noye had drenched them from the ninth landing all the way down to the seventh. Jon could only hope that most of their own people had staggered up to safety before Noye threw the torches. The black brothers at least had known the plan, but the villagers had not.

Wind and fire did the rest. All Jon had to do was watch. With flames below and flames above, the wildlings had nowhere to go. Some continued upward, and died. Some went downward, and died. Some stayed where they were. They died as well. Many leapt from the steps before they burned, and died from the fall. Twenty-odd Thenns were still huddled together between the fires when the ice cracked from the heat, and the whole lower third of the stair broke off, along with several tons of ice. That was the last that Jon Snow saw of Styr, the Magnar of Thenn. The Wall defends itself, he thought.

(ASOS, Jon VII)

"Must be cold down there," said Noye. "What say we warm them up, lads?" A dozen jars of lamp oil had been lined up on the precipice. Pyp ran down the line with a torch, setting them alight. Owen the Oaf followed, shoving them over the edge one by one. Tongues of pale yellow fire swirled around the jars as they plunged downward. When the last was gone, Grenn kicked loose the chocks on a barrel of pitch and sent it rumbling and rolling over the edge as well. The sounds below changed to shouts and screams, sweet music to their ears.

(ASOS, Jon VIII)

Jon laughed, laughed like a drunk or a madman, and his men laughed with him. The chariots and the racing horsemen on the flanks were well ahead of the center now, he saw. The wildlings had not crossed a third of the half mile, yet their battle line was dissolving. "Load the trebuchet with caltrops," Jon said. "Owen, Kegs, angle the catapults toward the center. Scorpions, load with fire spears and loose at my command." He pointed at the Mole's Town boys. "You, you, and you, stand by with torches."

(ASOS, Jon VIII)

The black arrows hissed downward, like snakes on feathered wings. Jon did not wait to see where they struck. He reached for a second arrow as soon as the first left his bow. "NOTCH. DRAW. LOOSE." As soon as the arrow flew he found another. "NOTCH. DRAW. LOOSE." Again, and then again. Jon shouted for the trebuchet, and heard the creak and heavy thud as a hundred spiked steel caltrops went spinning through the air. "Catapults," he called, "scorpions. Bowmen, loose at will." Wildling arrows were striking the Wall now, a hundred feet below them. A second giant spun and staggered. Notch, draw, loose. A mammoth veered into another beside it, spilling giants on the ground. Notch, draw, loose. The ram was down and done, he saw, the giants who'd pushed it dead or dying. "Fire arrows," he shouted. "I want that ram burning." The screams of wounded mammoths and the booming cries of giants mingled with the drums and pipes to make an awful music, yet still his archers drew and loosed, as if they'd all gone as deaf as dead Dick Follard. They might be the dregs of the order, but they were men of the Night's Watch, or near enough as made no matter. That's why they shall not pass.

(ASOS, Jon VIII)

"Fire," Jon barked. "Grenn, Pyp."

Grenn thrust his bow aside, wrestled a barrel of oil onto its side, and rolled it to the edge of the Wall, where Pyp hammered out the plug that sealed it, stuffed in a twist of cloth, and set it alight with a torch. They shoved it over together. A hundred feet below it struck the Wall and burst, filling the air with shattered staves and burning oil. Grenn was rolling a second barrel to the precipice by then, and Kegs had one as well. Pyp lit them both. "Got him!" Satin shouted, his head sticking out so far that Jon was certain he was about to fall. "Got him, got him, GOT him!" He could hear the roar of fire. A flaming giant lurched into view, stumbling and rolling on the ground.

Then suddenly the mammoths were fleeing, running from the smoke and flames and smashing into those behind them in their terror. Those went backward too, the giants and wildlings behind them scrambling to get out of their way. In half a heartbeat the whole center was collapsing. The horsemen on the flanks saw themselves being abandoned and decided to fall back as well, not one so much as blooded. Even the chariots rumbled off, having done nothing but look fearsome and make a lot of noise. When they break, they break hard, Jon Snow thought as he watched them reel away. The drums had all gone silent. How do you like that music, Mance? How do you like the taste of the Dornishman's wife? "Do we have anyone hurt?" he asked.

(ASOS, Jon VIII)

As for that last lil bit about Dany apparently burning a mother and child "without flinching", that was nicely twisted from a bit of text where Dany is hanging on with all her might for dear life atop Drogon's back with no control over him or the chaotic situation:

The fire burned away my hair, but elsewise it did not touch me. It had been the same in Daznak's Pit. That much she could recall, though much of what followed was a haze. So many people, screaming and shoving. She remembered rearing horses, a food cart spilling melons as it overturned. From below a spear came flying, followed by a flight of crossbow bolts. One passed so close that Dany felt it brush her cheek. Others skittered off Drogon's scales, lodged between them, or tore through the membrane of his wings. She remembered the dragon twisting beneath her, shuddering at the impacts, as she tried desperately to cling to his scaled back. The wounds were smoking. Dany saw one of the bolts burst into sudden flame. Another fell away, shaken loose by the beating of his wings. Below, she saw men whirling, wreathed in flame, hands up in the air as if caught in the throes of some mad dance.** A woman in a green tokar reached for a weeping child, pulling him down into her arms to shield him from the flames.** Dany saw the color vividly, but not the woman's face. People were stepping on her as they lay tangled on the bricks. Some were on fire.

(ADWD, Daenerys X)

And when it comes to killing children, it's not like Jon has any child hostages he thinks he could execute... right? What did Dany do with hers again?

So Jon's violence "is love" but Dany's violence is detestable. Ygritte's violence is detestable. Arya's violence is detestable. Val's violence is detestable. Note how frequently violence is done by Jon in Sansa's name and romanticized by the same fandom who condemns it as disturbing when done by the aforementioned female characters:

If that's not enough, this is taken a step further when Jonsas have Jon committing violence upon Dany for Sansa or in Sansa's name:

.....And this is a big reason why Dany stans and Sansa stans don't get along.

I think it's really quite incredible though. They claim Jon would hate Daenerys because she is a "terrible" person but their theories and their metas transform Jon into a wholly atrocious person. One even acknowledges it here!

So what would his problem be with Dany then...? Jon is not precious over violence, fire, or gender. He's not some fanatical Northern nationalist campaigning for separatism. Nor is Jon a sexist hypocrite who is against women doing violence.

On the contrary, Jon gets hot thinking about Val nearly slicing a guy's throat, arms women under his charge, and utilizes spearwives as one of the Night's Watch defences, specifically barring "blushing maidens looking to be protected":

All the same, the wildling princess was not beloved of her gaolers. She scorned them all as "kneelers," and had thrice attempted to escape. When one man-at-arms grew careless in her presence she had snatched his dagger from its sheath and stabbed him in the neck. Another inch to the left and he might have died.

Lonely and lovely and lethal, Jon Snow reflected, and I might have had her. Her, and Winterfell, and my lord father's name. Instead he had chosen a black cloak and a wall of ice. Instead he had chosen honor. A bastard's sort of honor.

(ADWD, Jon III)

"I will take any boy above the age of twelve who knows how to hold a spear or string a bow. I will take your old men, your wounded, and your cripples, even those who can no longer fight. There are other tasks they may be able to perform. Fletching arrows, milking goats, gathering firewood, mucking out our stables … the work is endless. And yes, I will take your women too. I have no need of blushing maidens looking to be protected, but I will take as many spearwives as will come."

"And girls?" a girl asked. She looked as young as Arya had, the last time Jon had seen her.

(ADWD, Jon V)

"Hardin's Tower." Of the sixty-three who had come back with him from Mole's Town, nineteen had been women and girls. Jon had housed them in the same abandoned tower where he had once slept when he had been new to the Wall. Twelve were spearwives, more than capable of defending both themselves and the younger girls from the unwanted attentions of black brothers. It was some of the men they'd turned away who'd given Hardin's Tower its new, inflammatory name. Jon was not about to condone the mockery. "Three drunken fools mistook Hardin's for a brothel, that's all. They are in the ice cells now, contemplating their mistake."

(ADWD, Jon VII)

I remain doubtful that a resurrected Jon will come back with a newfound... bigotry... acquired from his time with the undead

#anti jonsa #anti jonsa stans

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sionisjaune · 1 year ago

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For powerful em's powerful birthday month, a few vignettes from fucked up brocedes hg au. Thank you for bringing your wonderful, kind, generous self to everything you do in fandom! @powerful-owl

The chariots race by, spewing fireworks and glitter. The procession is headed by the blonde Career that was supposed to volunteer for Nico’s Games. All of the bookies are already saying he’s going to win. The Games are going to be boring with those odds.

Nico wrinkles his nose and squeezes Lewis’s hand tightly. He flicks his hair behind his ear and straightens his posture. The video screens cut to a technicolor image of him and Lewis sitting side by side in the front row with the rest of the victors. Lewis looks beautiful and deadly in artfully bloodied scraps of lace and leather, and Nico looks embarrassingly like a dessert, decked out in cherubic feathers. Everyone cheers. For Nico and Lewis and for the new tributes—twenty-four teenagers that are slated to die on film.

“Are you booked after this?” Nico says, turning his mouth towards Lewis’s ear.

“Yeah,” Lewis murmurs, looking ahead. “I’m some old fuck’s date to the afterparty.”

Nico knew that. He feigns surprise anyway. “Weird. So am I.” Lewis rolls his eyes, but Nico can feel the tendons in his arm jumping underneath Nico’s palm. It’s funny, Nico thinks, how Lewis has been at this a handful of years longer than Nico, and he still reacts to every little injustice like a knife to the gut.

Nico laughs a little to himself, and Lewis shoots him a weird, sidelong glance, rubbing his thumb along the inside of Nico’s forearm. Nico wouldn’t know what that’s like—feeling.

Nico collapses on top of Lewis’s sweaty chest, inhaling a lungful of body glitter. He chokes on it, coughs and hacks a few flecks out of his throat, and drags a shuddering breath of oxygen into his chest. He and Lewis have been fucking for so long he doesn’t even remember what it feels like to not have someone else inside of him. Lewis groans and whines underneath him, panting.

It’s approximately one billion degrees under the floodlights. It's so bright that Nico can’t see anything of the party surrounding them, just blobs and smudges behind the retina-scalding curtain of light. He knows they’re in the center of everything though, and that everyone is looking at them, and that people are cheering, because he can hear it faintly behind the beating of his own blood in his ears. He’s on the good shit too. He can’t usually stay hard for this long, even if it’s Lewis.

Lewis whines again, and Nico pushes himself back up and starts moving again. Lewis groans, his head thudding against the arm of the sofa he and Nico are perched on and his eyes rolling back.

It’s almost worth it, Nico thinks. Everything is almost worth it.

Nico can’t fall asleep alone anymore. When he shuts his eyes all he can see are glittering, multifaceted crystals, pools of blood as thick as velvet carpets and the inky blackness of endlessly dark caverns. Sometimes he gasps awake, and it feels like there are still shards in his throat, rending sensitive flesh on each juddering exhale.

When Lewis is in his bed, it’s a little bit easier. They don’t fuck when they’re alone—Nico would be so lucky—but Lewis holds him and Nico bites back his usual complaints.

Lewis has his lines memorized now. Nico doesn’t have lines, because all he has to do is moan on the floor with a gash in his stomach large enough that he can feel the heat seeping out of his shredded entrails. They’re reenacting everyone’s favourite part from Lewis’s Games where he saved a rival victor that had been left for dead behind a waterfall. This is the X-rated version, though, so Lewis is going to bandage Nico’s wounds and then fuck him back to health.

Nico can hear himself gurgling, notices the shadows creeping into his periphery. Then Lewis’s hands are on him, and the shadows are receding and the knife-like pain of consciousness is making itself known, like a bright light irritating dilated eyes.

Lewis rubs his thumb across the inside of Nico’s forearm. Nico twitches, prone. His insides are knitting themselves back together. His wounds are sealing themselves up. This is the best part. The worst part is the tenderness after.

The theme is sharks. And sex. Sex and sharks. Sharks and sex. The theme is Nico and Lewis have sex in a giant fishtank while shark mutts swim from end to end, gnashing their teeth and snarling. They’ve given Nico a drug that eliminates his metabolism’s need for oxygen, but it feels like he’s drowning all the same. The capitolites think this sort of thing is funny.

Nico clutches at Lewis’s tattooed bicep. His stylist has inked him up with images of angel fish that dart across his abdomen and octopuses that twine around his shoulder blades. Nico is wearing pearls. Lewis has a look on his face like he hates that he’s been made to do this and hates himself even more for being unable to dissent.

That’s the Lewis he knows, Nico thinks. That’s the Lewis he fell in love with, when he was sixteen watching Lewis’s Games with his father. He turns his head to gaze through the thick wall of glass that warps his view of the venue outside. Slim figures wisp by, toting flutes of champagne and tiny canapes. They’re not even looking.

Bile rises in Nico’s waterlogged throat. They need to look.

Lewis is watching the Games. When he turned it on the television in Nico’s room, Nico almost vomited, but Lewis was adamant that the broadcast stay on. He watches the Games even when the Capitol doesn’t parade him around at viewing parties to provide expert analysis. He tells Nico that it’s important to bear witness to what the Capitol is doing to the children of Panem, but Nico doesn’t buy it. He knows that Lewis just likes to torture himself. He’s always been a martyr.

Nico curls up underneath Lewis’s arm and tunes out the sounds of slaughter. Of exploding canons and warbling mockingjays.

When Lewis utters a disgusted sound at the TV, Nico looks up. The flatscreen is displaying the gory remains of at least three tributes splattered on the face of a snowy mountain. The Career that Nico replaced is standing in the middle of it all, an impish grin on his face and blood up to his elbows. He sticks his tongue out and wags his index finger at the camera.

“Typical District 1 overindulgence,” says Lewis, repulsed. “You can tell he’s never thought about anyone other than himself in his life.”

Nico smiles smugly where Lewis can’t see it.

#tw for some gore and dubious consent throughout #fucked up brocedes hg au #i wrote this

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spartanexperience · 3 months ago

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Feeling once again weak for the red old man so Areos hc time

- I have a story in my head for how they got familiar the first time! :) I'll make a more detailed post on that when I get the time, but tl;dr, Eos found and saved an unconscious Ares who had been fighting a powerful enemy, and patched up his injuries as he was bleeding Ichor (celestial blood). Bam, Ares was lovestruck. Then, because Eos had broken her wing while saving Ares, Ares did a rare kind and gentlemanly action, and gave Eos a ride on his chariot UuU Both to help her spread morning dew over the lands, and to ride her back home to Olympus where they could get her wing healed.

- Eos was SO flattered and surprised! Most gods did not usually pay attention to her, since she is only a minor goddess whose whole job is to herald the arrival of the day, of Apollo's chariot. So of course she is most of the time overshadowed by his radiance. Besides...she would have never thought that Ares, the terrifying god of war, could be so sweet and considerate to a lady!

- Ares in the meantime, could not stop thinking about Eos for weeks after the incident - her luminous light, her eyes, her cheeky smile, and the way she had saved him and fought a monster for him. Boy was he down baaaaad. However this all is exactly he was awfully shy about talking to her again, and resorted to avoiding Eos for a while like an absolute loser. Until Athena practically YELLED at him to go talk to Eos again LMAO

- Ares is that super showoffy jock boyfriend who is always trying to impress Eos. Be it fighting monsters in front of her, bringing her war trophies, lifting heavy stuff, you name it. He's that meme of "this one's for you baby" *throws a basketball and it misses the basket*

- Eos giggles and flutters her wings while blushing madly, even when he absolutely fails, because he makes her feel so special. She's been so occupied over the years on just being the morning goddess...she had forgotten how it feels to be loved like this.

- Eos loves to impulsively scoop Ares into her arms and fly. Too bad most of the time he wears his heavy armor, so she struggles flapping her wings LOL but whenever he is rarely in a civil wear, like wearing his pajamas, she will absolutely bridal carry him!

- Due to morning dew, Eos' powers are mostly water based. She tends to playfully splash dew at Ares every now and then. If there's water nearby, Ares will answer by splashing back. Cue a chaotic water splashing fight where they both laugh loudly and Poseidon yells "I'M TRYING TO SLEEP"

- Of course, being the goddess of morning, she is great at cooking breakfast. Ares is usually the one out of the couple who insists on cooking for the family. The "healthy military meals", as he says. But when Eos wants to spoil him and her children, they'll be eating the most high quality shakshouka and wine leaf rolls.

- I haven't remembered to mention this, but Eos is AWFULLY clumsy, whether it's dropping stuff off Olympus by accident, or tripping on her own wings. Which gets dangerous whenever she wants to try Ares' weapons LOL

- Remember that scene in Shrek 4 where Shrek and Fiona bond by playfighting with heavy weapons? Yeah that's Areos energy right there

- Ares often calls her "you crazy woman". With the most lovestruck eyes in the world.

- Listening to "Wild Thing" from the end of Strange Magic always makes me think of Areos too bye

- Like I drew earlier, Eos has a whole army of romantic nicknames for Ares, each one sappier than the last. Ever since the other gods on Olympus heard that, they have been mercilessly pranking Ares over it. Once, when Ares arrived to the Olympus court meeting, his name tag on his seat was "BooBoo Bear". Ares broke the table with his fists

- Eos can be clingy. Every time Ares leaves for a battle, a journey to faraway lands on his chariot, Eos either asks if she can come along, or fusses over packing Ares all sorts of food, healing ambrosia, celestial bandages etc. Deep down, Eos is HORRIBLY scared that something bad will happen to Ares. She does not want to lose him like she lost Astraeus and Tithonus :(

- Often, she puts a happy smile on her face so Ares won't be too worried for her, as she does not want to hold Ares back. But sometimes, after Ares is gone, Astraea hears her mom breaking down into sobs in her room.

- Remember that Homeric myth where a bunch of giants managed to trap Ares and imprison him in an amfora for 13 months straight until Hermes finally found and rescued him?

- Yeah, when that happened, Eos ignored her morning goddess duties entirely, to hysterically fly around Greece and search for Ares, causing dawn to never break and for the world to be stuck in a permanent nighttime, as Apollo was unable to ride his sun chariot. When she could not find Ares, she started to fear that he had died... even the cold Boreas stopped being salty at Ares and went to search for him, once he saw the way his dear mother curled up and sobbed and wailed hopelessly, as Astraea hugged her and tried to comfort her.

- Ares in the meantime?? The myth describes him screaming, howling and thrashing endlessly in the amfora. And so he did, causing the Giants to cover their ears like "holy shit we should have kidnapped the god of calmness instead". The only thing bringing Ares comfort in this claustrophobic, merciless long prison, was thinking of his family back at Olympus... Athena, Eos, Fear and Terror, young Harmonia, the wind quadruplets, Astraea...in a rare moment of hopelessness, he'd sob, wanting nothing more than to be free and get back to them.

- Lmao this got horribly angsty BUT as said before, Hermes found and freed Ares!! Accompanied by Boreas, who ruthlessly, mercilessly destroyed the Giants with a devastating, raging cold hurricane. And then he huffed at Ares "shut up I'm just doing this for my mom, NOT for you"

- Needless to say the reunion of Eos and Ares was heartwarming and passionately romantic ��💖💖 And of course, both Hermes and Boreas got a CRUSHING hug and massive sloppy kisses on their cheeks by Eos. Hermes also got a permanent access to Eos' storage of figs and olives as a thank you.

#⚔️🌅Areos #Disney hercules #My headcanons #Ares #Eos

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pearlofthesirens · 6 months ago

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For My Princess Only: Chapter 1

inspired by elliot as sinbad cuz why not. also, i took aladdin as a reference since i recently watched the live action one. you may or may not find south asian references cuz welp, i'm a brown person.

summary: You did not expect yourself to fall for a commoner, that too a bandit out of all the men who wanted you. But what happens when your safety is threatened and your father, the king, learns about your secret lover? pairing: Bandit!Kyle Gaz Garrick x Princess!Reader warnings: she/her pronouns used, reader of arab/south asian descent, slight cursing, historic misogyny and objectification of women mentioned now playing: Aayat by Arijit Singh word count: 1145 words(one thousand one hundred and forty five words)

She sighed at the warmth of the weather, chariot wheels rolling on the dusty roads to carry her and her father, the king, through the city and back to the palace. The horses moved rather slow in her opinion, she preferred that they'd hurry up and end this random stroll her father planned. "Stroll more like parading me around...," she thought. Did he ever think about how she felt when he showed her off like an object? Like a jewel sitting on his crown, like the emerald on his necklace? Was she there for him to boast and flaunt?

She pulled her shawl over her chest, covering herself as much as possible not only from the hot air, but also from the ogling eyes of the common men at the busy market. No one could keep their eyes off her, even women and children. Their huge smiles made her feel even more burdened about the future heir they all wanted. Her father was apparently growing old, her mother already had begun to bother her about suitors. Princess didn't understand why she had to marry so early and that too to someone she didn't even love. Couldn't she just spend the rest of her life reading and writing poetry like a hopeless romantic, waiting for the love of her life to come save her? Or maybe she could bathe in milk and roses, oil her hair, sprinkle perfume on herself and finally wear the jewels of her choice?

But alas, the daydream lasted only a few minutes before she heard her father's voice, him telling her to smile and appear more attentive of the city and her subjects. She were supposed to be the future queen, how would she participate in royal matters if she didn't know about her own kingdom?

Her eyes emptily wandered off to the smiles and curious eyes on her as your chariot moved forward, all of them looked the same. Except him. Except those two shiny brown eyes she spotted amongst many. She noticed his glimmering dark skin, his messy open hair, the beads hanging off a loose braid right in front of his face. She could only catch a glimpse of him before she lost him in the crowd and the horses trotted away, carrying her back to the castle. He didn't look like a man of a lot of fortune. But something about him stuck with her.

Perhaps it was the curve of his lips as he smiled, perhaps it was how mischievous he looked, or maybe it was the thought of leaving everything behind and living independently as a commoner that came washing along with his presence in her life. Life as a royal isn't how commoners think it is. She was trapped in a cage made of gold with the finest grain thrown at her without care. She thought she was better off living as a simple lady, raising a home where she only had to take care of herself and her livelihood, perhaps with a lover, instead of sitting with handmaidens who praised her beauty and gossiped about princes from other kingdoms seeking their future queens.

Being a princess, she was more than just trapped. She couldn't choose whom to love, she couldn't decide her schedules, she could not even choose what jewelry to wear despite its abundance. Responsibilities after responsibilities, yet she wasn't treated like anything but an object to be gawked at, bag of gold to be traded.

The chariot reached the palace and the princess was more than enthusiastic to reach her chambers. Locking herself in, she let her handmaidens strip her of her royal attire before helping her in her resting garments. A simple gown and a mesh shawl to wrap around her shoulders. She dismissed them and picked up her diary, fingers absentmindedly moving towards the quill on her desk. It seemed like a poem wove in her mind and she had to write it down before it disappeared like the handsome man she saw at the city.

like my feet seek the ground like my lungs seek air i find myself yearning for you before you fade from my memories before you withdraw from my grasp

"Perfect." she thought, as she buried her nose into the page and inhaled the smell of the ink on the fresh page. Unbeknownst to her, the mysterious man's smile engraved itself in her heart entwined with the fragrant roses in her room and the verse she just composed. She wanted to meet the man again, perhaps stare into his sun-kissed amber irises for an eternity if time and luck was on her side.

"Is this what it means to fall in love with someone at first sight? Is this what all those books talk about?"

She couldn't help but giggle to herself softly, orange rays of sunset entering her room through the window. She dropped her diary on the bed, carefully keeping the quill back in its place before running off to the open window. Evening breeze hit her hair, swaying the strands over her face as she daydreamed about the handsome stranger before the sound of her closest handmaiden's voice reminded her of reality.

"Your Highness, it's time for your daily bath. You must cleanse yourself before your dinner with His and Her Majesty."

She stood by the door, fresh clothes in her hand. Princess turned to face her, the smile still stuck to her lips as she jogged over to her. Grabbing her shoulders, she pulled her inside and closed the door. Sitting the surprised lady down with herself on the bed, she flashed her pearly whites while asking her a rather baffling question.

"Have you ever been in love?"

"I-Is this about the prince who sent you the most beautiful vase for your roses as a gift, Your Highness?"

She chuckled, shaking her head at the surprised look the older lady gave her. Her hands slowly fixed the mesh shawl over her shoulders as she sighed dreamily. Seeing her antics, the handmaiden gave her a small smile before taking off the lovestruck girl's earrings and pearl necklace for her.

"Not him, but it is the most wonderful feeling in this world to be in love.."

"Indeed, only a few people can afford to marry out of love. But you, Your Highness, can make anybody fall in love at once. Your beauty and kindness can even make a tiger bow to you out of respect."

The princess chuckled and stood up yet again, taking her diary and looking at the poem she crafted. She twirled, letting her dress flow and sat down on the windowsill, smelling the ink on the page. Her face lit up with the sweetest smile when the face of that man flashed in front of her eyes. Yes, that was definitely how love at first sight felt like.

proofread ✓ pearly venus, 17:28 240524

masterlist for my princess only series

#pearly venus #for my princess only #kyle gaz garrick #cod #cod mw2 #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #gaz #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz fluff #kyle garrick #cod x reader #cod x f!reader

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fictionadventurer · 11 months ago

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The good thing about listening to the Little House series on audiobook: I get to learn the tune to most of these songs, which really elevates a lot of scenes.

The bad thing about listening to the Little House series on audiobook: I'm going to have "We'll Roll the Old Chariot Along" stuck in my head at regular intervals for the rest of my life.

#little house #the long winter #laura ingalls wilder #the narrator doesn't have a great voice #so some of the songs suffer for it #and it doesn't help that i'm listening to it at 1.5 speed #but that one worked sped up and it's too catchy

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oolathurman · 10 months ago

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Space Shanty, Mandalorian Edition

Just cuz I've been working on a mandosona who likes shanties! I'll try to provide notes and translations beside the phrase of interest, so y'all don't have to scroll up and down too much.

This is to the tune of A Drop of Nelson's Blood / Roll The Old Chariot Along.

"And we'll roll the old chariot along" has been replaced with "And we'll all march to-wards to the stars."

In addition, "And we'll all hang on behind" has been replaced with "Gal ori'skraan, riduur, yaim dab." (The phrase refers to R&R, and literally translates to "Beer, big eats, good company and return to camp." I've shortened "dab'ika" to "dab," since that can be interpreted as one's current place of stay or rest.)

Common verses:

And a drop of net'ra gal, wouldn't do us any harm // Net'ra gal, a black ale.

And a drop of spiced tihaar, wouldn't do us any harm // Tihaar, a strong clear alcoholic spirit.

And a game of meshgeroya, wouldn't do us any harm // Meshgeroya, a Mandalorian game.

And a plate of tiingilar, would fill us up real good // Tiingilar, a spicy mandalorian casserole, dish made from leftovers.

It'd be alright if we make it 'round Krownest // Krownest, ancestral home of Clan Wren

It'd be alright if the Void of Blue eats us // Void of Blue, a reference to the lights of hyperspace

And a night on the town wouldn't do us any harm

And a moment of aay'han, wouldn't do us any harm // Aay'han, bittersweet perfect moment of mourning and joy - remembering and celebrating.

And rolling with our vod, wouldn't do us any harm // Rolling, in this case used as innuendo or as a suggestive comment. Vod as in, sibling, brother, sister; comrade, close mate. In this case, the latter 'comrade/close mate' is used.

And a night planetside, wouldn't do us any harm

And a big ol' ori'skraan, wouldn't do us any harm // ori'skraan, a feast.

What I love about a shanty like Nelson's Blood is the ability to easily make up verses on the fly, and I imagine that whoever starts the song would encourage others to throw in random verses as the song goes on. What verse would you add? :D

#star wars #mandalorian #the mandalorian #mando'a bes'niiv #oya!#my stuff

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vaguelyoriginaldrivel · 2 months ago

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GANYMEDE

The largest and most important of the Gallilean moons. Continents of ice floating above an unfathomably deep sea, a thin and cold atmosphere barely clinging to its surface. Sprawling tundra of squamous lichens and icy shores piled high with red kelp. So distant from the sun, the dim light of the sky and the soft glare of Jupiter can provide only enough light and heat to sustain a paltry assemblage of primitive flora across most of the world, which in turn supports a meager assortment of radial-beaked rabbits and hexaped moose. At the poles, however, the situation changes. Unlike every other moon in the entire solar system, Ganymede has a magnetosphere, and this electric dynamo produces, when combined with the intense radiation of the jovian belt, a 24/7 aurora borealis, green and blue light dancing across the sky. There, the ecosystem is more advanced, transitioning from tundra and muskeg to scrubland, rolling hills, and, in a hundred-mile basin resting near the north pole, Ganymede’s only forest, an unknown land shrouded beneath the canopies of its towering pines.

The aboriginal people of Ganymede are the Lah-cyg, who look something like two swans sewn together back-to-back, using their twin necks to sling spears, row oars, and perform all the rest of the manipulations humans use hands for. They stand about as tall as men, but, adapted to Ganymede’s low gravity and evolved treading over thin ice and boggy ground, are considerably lighter and weaker. They’re a culturally diverse species, having spread across Ganymede millennia ago and formed into many now distinct peoples, from the canoe whalers of the southern sea to the bobsled-hunters of the deep tundra to the leshy-emperors of the great forest. Though their anatomy is alien, psychologically and behaviorally they are very near-human, even if they communicate as much with their eight flag-wings as their voices and their natural lifespan is near five hundred years.

Ganymede was already under an extraterrestrial yoke when the tsan-chan first arrived. The Garzbhel amphibians, polypous frog things either convergent on or distantly related to the moon beasts of luna, had, from their europan homeward, descended on Ganymede along with the rest of the jovian system, flying across the void of space on the backs of their slave-steeds, the xeno-pegasi known as the Oxarith. From their forts and feitorias of gelatinous stone, they meddled with the affairs of the Lah-cyg, demanding slaves, their compradors and tributaries among the ganymedians given access to their trumpet-spiraled guns to aid in the slave-raids. Ganymede was ravaged by slave-wars, the losers stuffed in cages and hauled across the void to toil and die beneath Europa, the winners given more guns and ammo to capture ore slaves. It was in this context that the Tsan-Chan arrived. The Garzbhel would not bend the knee, and so the Tsan-Chan beat them back to Europa. It was a brief war, Garzbhel void-chariots against Tsan-Chan torchships like roman triremes against 21st-century aircraft carriers - the Garzbhel retreated to the wine-dark seas beneath Europa, collapsed the ice-shafts behind them, and have not emerged in force since. The only ones seen now are the few guerrilla holdouts left hiding out in the uncharted wilds, and the scant few who submitted to Tsan-Chan conquest. The mere passing of the Garzbhel would have been enough to throw their accomplices, the warrior-kindoms which grew wealthy off the slave trade, into turmoil - the Tsan-chan did not even give them that chance. Those old kingdoms are now subjects of the cruel empire, and the entire moon is claimed as a possession by the tsan-chan - though, the control is more tenuous in reality than on paper. Ganymede is the largest moon in the solar system, and much of its vastness remains untouched by human hands (though not by lah-cyg beaks).

The Tsan-Chan, unlike the Garzbhel, do not come to Ganymede seeking slaves. Nor do they come seeking furs, or moss, or ice. From Ganymede they want only one thing - fish. The Tsan-Chan have raised on Ganymede a series of sea-ports, little bays with raised walls and guns on towers, but really the seat of their occupation is their only Gaynmedian city - Nuevo Francisco. The entire city is built and devoted to processing as much fish as possible, gutting, canning, and launching into orbit to provide the rest of the empire with cheap protein from the Gallilean sea. It reeks, of course, of salt and blood and brine - noisy, too, the grinding of the factory-machines, the rumbling of the ship-engines, the constant motion of the task.

The ice-trawlers that feed Nuevo Francisco dredge far and wide and deep, smashing through the delicate ecosystems perched on the iceberg-shelf. These are not the chief target, though - the native species too clever and wild and balanced in appetite and growth for the Tsan-Chan use. What they seek is fish in the true sense, not just the Ganymedian analogues. Hatchery towers spill into Nuevo Francisco’s bay, their insides churning with millions and billions of fry, bred in tanks, genelines broken and spliced and chained to maximize speed of growth, monstrous things as artificial as the ships which catch them.

Of course this monstrous industry has had wide-ranging impacts at every step of the process. The Lah-cyg of Ganymede’s coasts are impacted, of course, whether pushed off the seas directly to make room for Tsan-Chan ships, or indirectly by the competition, mauled by the malformed jaws of the hyperagressive terran frankenfish or poisoned by their unnatural flesh. So to is the natural life - anything in the path of the dredge-nets, is annihilated utterly, but the impact extends beyond the reach of ice-trawlers and their piscine quarry. Many of the species who rest on Ganymede’s icy shares dive for their food, and so the ravaging of the coastline has threatened them, and with them all the parasites and predators who attack them on land - the loss of this quarry driving starving carnivores inland, with it’s own knock-on effects. Even the fauna of the void above have suffered, the vacuum-pelicans which once dove for fish coming up more and more with empty beaks, and without the nutrients of their dung the high mountains and dead comets on which they nest struggle to survive. Ganymede’s seas are deep beyond measure, and the neritic zone which man has touched barely a fraction of it’s true extent, yet the easy life of the starlit waters is vital to the life of much of what lives below, but unlike land and sky the depths of Ganymede’s seas are truly unknown… few can even dream of what stirs below.

things I couldn’t figure out how to fit in the post:

Nuevo Francisco, and the tsan-chanese on ganymede more broadly, are by-and-large deep one hybrids - actually part of the reason why they stock the seas with earth-fish, because their abilities to call fish into nets don’t work on alien species.. there’s no full-blooded deep ones though because the true deep ones are on tenuous terms with the tsan-chan anyways and are frankly just not well-suited to the long transit to Jupiter, being enormous and requiring lots of space and water.. confinement in a metal can barely their own size for several months would be nearly unsurvivable

As always, the impacts of colonization has driven many Lah-cyg into the city to try and find work because their traditional lifestyle has been made impossible.. mostly been relegated to domestic work, wiping windows, scrubbing floors, peeling potatoes, etc -

Lah-Cyg essentially stone age because there’s no metals to work, best they can really get is good rocks from the gravel of the rocks embedded in some parts of the ice but they mostly work with bone and leather.. tundra and muskeg and stuff makes for poor agricultural soil, a few peoples in especially fertile regions able to get by with chinampas but by and large everyone’s either a fisher, hunter, or herder.. canoes mostly inuit-style umiak.. “Leshy-Emperors”, the people of the great northern forest, wealthiest, most advanced and last really independent Lah-Cyg state due to monopoly over wood trade granting historical wealth and in modern times cover of the forest shielding from Garzbhel and Tsan-Chan invasion

Mi-Go presence on Ganymede is very, very limited - a few emmisaries have been sent to try and torment rebellion among the Lah-Cyg but the lack of both mineral resources not buried under a million miles of uncharted water and much in the way of men of learning to brain-can means they care little for the moon itself

something something black citadel city of the billion-year past spawn of yuggoth, architecture similar to the prison-temple of ghatnoathao, inside a brother-god of ghatnothoa and rhan-tegoth but a dead one.. medusa-motifs dictate that chryasaor-style thing stalks inside, sea foams with horrid-flapping things that emerge from the sea-foam and fly off into space.. this original birthplace of the Oxarith pegasi, who instinctually fear it knowing that it would destroy them to know their own origins

Ganymede in the dream is a solid shell of ice, no seas no nothing, with enormous chains wrapping across the entire planet.. dreamers wander its surface shivering and freezing. . strange groaning beneath the ice

this is because the entire planet is a prison for horrible elder-gods held at it’s core, confined beneath the deepest ocean in the solar-system under countless layers of ice.. as secure as can be, great cthulu only gets one ocean on top of him instead of like five.. secure in the dream, where they’re awake, less so in the waking world where the ice is cracked

#worldbuilding #lovecraft space opera/tsan-chan buck rogers #I promise I'll get to gameable stuff eventually maybe #stuff some tables in or some shit #blogpost

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