#venere birthed him

[fairylando]

the devil's favorite prince

[serpentface]

This was going to be a panel of a little comic but I got too invested in drawing minute background details so, here.

[ronsenburg]

tangentially related to that bajoran earring art I just reblogged.

you ever sometimes make a decision for your story based entirely on aesthetics and then realize the implication of what you’ve done and have to bend over backwards to justify it all? that’s me, making sylvain bajoran four years ago because nose ridges are hot and also earring. then realizing that I have to fit a canon elite square peg into a subjugated species round hole. then waste time wonder if you’re being insensitive and if you have any right to bring that element into your story at all. but then realize you’ve spent four years with this character in this role and you can’t change it now and. yeah.

to the people who started following me after I posted that tactility prologue: i’m working on it.

[sugar-grigri]

Correction: Fake! CSM is the God Devil

WAIT WAIT WAIT and if, going back over this analysis, Fake!CSM or even the famous demon that Yuko and the others had contracted with wasn't an identity or memory demon

This entity would be the demon representing the fear of God? I CAN EXPLAIN! That would explain why this demon has the appearance of Chainsaw Man

As Angel explained, Chainsaw Man is the being who draws the line between death and birth for demons, the sound of chainsaws being what they hear when they are born or die.

As a result, Chainsaw Man had a natural superiority over the other demons, to the point of being feared as a divine power.

Whether it's Beam, who considered himself a follower of Chainsaw Man, or Makima, who was fascinated by him, it's an abnormal relationship between demons and CSM, tinged with veneration and fear.

Chainsaw Man is a divine figure who has also become enshrined among mortals, who see him as a means of fighting against their injustices.

You see where I'm going with this, the demon resulting from the fear of God has ended up taking on the appearance of the saviour and punisher projected by both demons and humans.

This would explain why this demon didn't lie when he called himself a demon of justice, just as it explains Barem's reaction, whom he sees as his saviour, just as it explains Fake!CSM's appearance, and finally, it explains the biblical references made by the impostor.

Which confirms my theory that Fake!CSM is NOT an enemy of Denji - quite the opposite, in fact. He wants the real Chainsaw Man to act, to be feared by demons and worshipped by humans, to once again reinforce the divine aspect of his image.

Denji is the source of Fake!CSM's power, which is why Fami has built a church around his figure to further reinforce this aspect, and why the impostor prefers to speak in Denji's name to make a more religious statement than the real CSM, who couldn't care less about such considerations.

If we were to get to know Denji as he really is, the very nature of a simple teenager would destroy his reputation for being invincible.

That's why Barem and Fami want Denji to join their cause anyway, because Chainsaw Man has to do exactly what they think will strengthen his reputation as a divine being.

If Nostradamus's apocalypse is fulfilled, people will not only fear divine wrath, they'll start praying to Chainsaw Man too!

Fake!CSM is Fami's champion for countering the apocalypse, and she's only interested in making it as powerful as possible.

This also explains why the public hunters want to paralyse Chainsaw Man and prevent him from showing his face, to avoid confirming this growing reputation and veneration. I repeat, when Yoshida said those words it wasn't to help Denji but to express the will of the hunters in any case. The fact that one of them said that it would be simpler if he were a weapon doesn't detract from this. It's simpler for CSM to be a unanimous being who's easy to hide and control than an unpredictable teenager.

The public hunters don't know exactly what's going on, as evidenced by their natural suspicion of Fami, whom they thought was behind this apocalypse, or by their response to the church's intentions in the last chapter. However, they do have their doubts about Fami, the knight of the apocalypse, whom they must know to be the founder of the church, and since the church relies on Chainsaw Man as the guardian of public order, it was safer for him to stop acting and not to go along with the church.

Chainsaw Man is the symbol of the demons' death, which erases their names and dictates their existence, so here's a theory on what will trigger the apocalypse...

It won't be caused by one demon in particular, but by a general revolt of demons such as has already taken place in the underworld to put an end to Chainsaw Man, to this supreme demon.

When the natural death of demons no longer exists, of course, this will mean the victory of demons over humans, as foretold by prophecy.

If this war breaks out, this explains why Fami Yoru believes that the demon of war is the one who will be able to counter this attack of demons.

Let's go back to this prophecy :

The simplest

Mars as god of war is none other than Yoru

But you know what's interesting is that according to all the thinkers analysing Nostradamus, what Nostradamus was actually predicting was not an apocalypse but an eclipse of the sun.

So this allows us to identify the other protagonists: the great King of Terror is none other than the moon that hides the sun, which will soon reappear.

The Great King of Angoulmois is none other than Denji

Overshadowed by Fake!CSM

Now you know why it only works before the sun comes out.

[whencyclopedia]

A Gallery of Ancient Egyptian Temples

The temple in ancient Egypt was the home of the deity it was built for, and the clergy attended the statue of that god or goddess as they would a living person. Every temple was designed with a forecourt, a reception area for public gatherings, and an inner area, which included the Holy of Holies where the god lived.

This room, which housed the statue of the god, could only be entered by the high priest who would commune with the deity and intercede for the king and people. Each temple was understood as the point at which that god or goddess had come into the earthly plane in the earliest times and so were linked with the ancient past, no matter when they were built. They were also designed to represent the ben-ben, the primordial mound of earth, which rose from the watery chaos at the beginning of time and upon which the god Amun stood to create the world. Exceptions to this paradigm are mortuary temples dedicated to monarchs, as in the case of Hatshepsut, but even these were constructed with the gods in mind.

This gallery presents a sampling of some of the best-known and lesser-known temples of ancient Egypt (most from the New Kingdom, c. 1570 to c. 1069 BCE) along with images of some of the gods worshipped. The only exception to this is the god Bes who is thought to have had, at most, one temple dedicated to him but was sometimes venerated at temples or shrines dedicated to the goddess Hathor, as at her birth house in Dendera.

Continue reading...

[marianadecarlos]

The Birth of Charles II of Spain Fanart

Warning: This story contains some artistic license

The Queen's pregnancy was approaching its end and had become a matter of utmost importance. The future of the Monarchy depended on this event. On Sunday, November 6, everything seemed to be ready. The doctors and physicians were on alert; the Queen's confessor was near her, and the Chief Steward of her Household was carefully reviewing the arrangement of the items in the birth chamber. To guarantee the success of the event, all the holy relics that were in the Palace and others brought from El Escorial and other places had been arranged in order. There was the staff of Saint Dominic of Silos that the Order of Saint Dominic had brought, the ribbon of Saint John Ortega, from the Order of the Hieronymites; the incorrupt bodies of Saint Isidore and Saint Diego de Alcalá; the image of the Virgin of Solitude and the one so venerated by the royal family, Our Lady of Atocha. It is not easy to find a space so holy and sacred. Everything, then, was ready, the things of the earth arranged to implore God's pleasure. At noon, after a frugal lunch, Philip IV retired to his chambers. At the same time, While eating, Queen Mariana suddenly felt intense pain in her abdomen, realizing that she was about to give birth. She quickly left the table and hurried to the Tower Chamber.

King Philip went straight to his study while looking at Prospero’s portraits. He entered his study, sat down, and began to write to answer the last letter of Sor Maria de Agreda. He wrote with a deep sigh and tears in his eyes.

“ With the long illness of my son, and the continuous help I was giving in his room, I have not answered your letter of the last month...I assure you that what has most exhausted me, more than this loss, is to see clearly that I have vexed God and he sent this punishment to castigate my sins...

(The king reminisces his cherished memories with Felipe Prospero while writing this letter)

Help me as a friend with your prayers to placate God’s just anger and beg Our Lord that, as he took my son from me, He may make his light shine on the Queen, whose confinement we await hourly, and give her good health and guard what is to be born, if his will, for otherwise I do not wish it...

Back in the Tower Chamber, Queen Mariana cries in agony as she is delivering her baby. The royal midwife Ines Ayala told Queen Mariana to push harder. Five other doctors were present at this event in case of emergency. One of those doctors was Dr Bravo. While the Queen was giving birth, the courtiers and Infanta Margarita looked on. 

Ah, Sor Maria, If I had succeeded in following your teachings, perhaps I would not have found myself thus. Pray to our Lord that he may open his eyes, that I may perform his holy will in all things... There is nothing new in the English situation. I, thank God am in good health...

At this point, King Philip was interrupted by a courtier who delivered the news and told the events occurring in the Tower Chamber. King Philip was anxious about the future that lay within a few hours. He prayed heavily to God, asking him to deliver him a son. All could imagine the impatience of the Royal Court of Madrid and Europe, waiting for an outcome of this event. As hours passed, Queen Mariana was still in labor, and the doctors argued over natural forms of treatment. They were anxious as the Queen and the child’s life was at stake. 

Dr. Bravo proposed a theory: In the past, Queen Mariana had difficult experiences giving birth to her children. At the birth of Maria Ambrosia, Felipe Prospero, and Fernando Tomas, The Queen had terrible epileptic seizures, and the infants died or lived for a short time. On the other hand, at the birth of Infanta Margarita, the only child to survive, The Queen had been perfectly well. Now why was this? The reason is simple: Just before Infanta Margarita was born, Queen Mariana had suffered several violent nosebleeds. Therefore, what she requires now is to be bled. 

Some doctors disagreed, warning that the proposed action could endanger the Queen and her child. Concerned, Queen Mariana asked the doctors if there were any alternative procedures. The doctors offered different opinions, while Dr. Bravo defended his proposal. As the debate continued, Mariana went into labor with the assistance of Ines Ayala. The infant cries and is alive. The birth of the infant brought joy to all. King Philip became a father once again. When the courtier informed King Philip of the birth, he was overjoyed and immediately visited the tower chamber to see his newborn son. King Philip joyfully held his son and proudly showed him to the Queen and his daughter. When the courtier informed King Philip of the birth, he was delighted and immediately visited the tower chamber to see his newborn son. King Philip joyfully held his newborn son and showed him to the Queen and his daughter. 

Sources:

Carlos, A king who would not die by John Langdon Davis

Happy Birthday, Charles II of Spain!

[ilikefelines]

A Thousand Cuts Until Insanity

Day 7 (October 20) - Moment That Made Alicent Your Favourite Character • Dowager Queen • Free Choice

Written for Alicent Hightower Appreciation Week 2024.

Word Count: 5604

Summary: Alicent Hightower — stretched too thin, flung far out.

@alicenthightowerdaily

@zaldritzosrose (For the divider's. Thank you.)

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59901373

Aemond was the quietest of them at birth, though both his siblings were born red-faced and sobbing. Grand Maester Mellos had been concerned for his health.

“He was born too early,” the venerable man had told his king, “and I fear that he shall not survive the year.”

“The boy has lived this long already,” she remembered her husband replying, “and Alicent tells me he has a fierce appetite.”

That had been true enough, and the knowledge that her husband had been paying attention to their children had warmed Alicent, back then. Of course, he cares, she’d thought with girlish excitement, Aemond is his blood. But with age came wisdom, and Alicent now knew that Viserys’s response had not found its roots in love, or even in a vague sense of concern for his third-born child, but in apathy. It was easy to preserve one’s sense of ease when one did not care. Five of his children died in the womb or the cradle; what’s another?

Queen Alicent Hightower pulled herself out of her thoughts when she heard the herald’s voice. It sliced through the air like a heated blade through suet, and bile rolled in the pit of her stomach.

“Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, heir to the Iron Throne, her consort, Ser Laenor Velaryon, rider of Seasmoke”—Lord Corlys’s latest attempt to save face, no doubt—" and their son, Prince Jacaerys Velaryon.” Immediately, Viserys stirred in his seat at the very centre of the grand table placed upon the dais, grinning with anticipation as his daughter and her bastard ascended the steps.

He kissed Rhaenyra’s forehead, embracing her. “Look how Jacaerys has grown!” he exclaimed, always happy enough to embrace his role as grandsire. “If the lad carries on like this, he’ll soon be old enough to serve as my cupbearer at council.” He swung the plump one-year-old into his arms, causing him to giggle, while all the while Alicent could see Aemond watching with hunger in his eyes from his position on her lap. This was her babe’s third name day, and the feast that was being held this morn was supposed to be for his sake, but you wouldn’t know it from the way Viserys was comporting himself.

As the princess and her husband took their places above the salt, a gong was rung and serving girls began to carry in the royal family's food, whilst down below, half-a-hundred knights and lords of lesser rank dug into their trenchers with alacrity. And that was only at the outer tables – two hundred more guests had managed to cram themselves into the hall, and in the courtyards of the keep, the retinues, with their assortment of men-at-arms and hangers-on, were feasting. Every lord thinks to outdo the other in affinity. Half the inns in the capital were full of nobles who, arriving late, could not be allowed rooms in the Red Keep.

The Small Hall rang with the sound of chattering voices, and clanking cutlery; dogs fought viciously for scraps underneath the tables, as the wine flowed and flowed and flowed. Alicent saw one girl—Lord Tarly’s oldest niece, she was sure—giggling with her betrothed, a Crane squire. She wondered what it felt like, being so uncomplicatedly happy, with your whole life ahead of you; she glanced at the king, whose liver-spotted hands quivered as he brought a silver spoon to his mouth.

At two-and-twenty, Alicent felt with grim certainty that all youth had long been wrung out of her. Still, at least the fare’s adequate. King and court could have no possible complaints to that end. The table upon the dais was laden with hearty beef stew, three large lamprey pies, a giant swan dressed in its plumage, stuffed with songbirds and mutton, and tender morsels of venison swimming in a creamy soup of mushrooms and blandissory, amongst twenty other dishes of varying delicacy.

After the king, the choicest options were served to the table directly below their own, the one occupied by Alicent's own family, who’d been amongst the first to arrive from their seat at Oldtown. Alicent met Lord Hobert's eye — her uncle inclined his head in genteel acknowledgement.

The feast was not a bad one; indeed Alicent had spent many an evening planning the affair with the king’s steward and the Hand, Lord Strong. And yet, the celebrations for Jacaerys Waters’s —Alicent would never think of him as a prince, despite his mother’s brazen lying—first name day had taken up nearly an entire month, with tourneys and balls, and feasting every night. The beggars were well-fed at least, she thought with bitterness; what the courtiers had deigned to leave behind, Alicent had given to the poor that gathered at the Red Keep’s postern gate of an evening.

She manoeuvred Aemond more securely onto her lap. He was too young yet, to stomach any of the other food, so she scooped spoonful's of pottage into his mouth. “Such a good boy,” she murmured to him, kissing the back of his head. Alicent could feel the soft curvature of his skull against her lips, still delicate after his recently ended infancy. “You’ve no trouble with your food, now do you, Aemond?”

Helaena did not do well with loud noises and large groups of people, and Aegon had been all but barred from the feast after the incident in his father’s apartments, Ser Criston his constant shadow, so it was just her and Aemond at the king’s side. After all, he was the name day boy.

“A toast!” Lord Jason Lannister's drunken voice rang out. “To Prince Aemond — may His Grace have cause to celebrate many and more name days in the future!” The entire hall let out a raucous cheer, whilst the little prince looked with interest at all the people who’d come to King’s Landing for him.

“Is this feast only for me, Mother?” her child asked, his voice a breathless whisper.

She gave him a fond smile. “Yes, my sweet. And this evening we shall open your presents!” The queen smoothed Aemond’s hair, her mind far away. Alicent did not notice her son reaching for the king's chalice until it was too late. There was a splash and the chalice clanged against the floor.

“Alicent!” Viserys barked, and she felt herself grow cold, dread pooling into the pit of her stomach. “Control the boy, please!”

Hippocras had been spilt all over Viserys’s new cloth-of-silver tunic, staining it irreversibly. The queen quickly gathered Aemond against her, shushing his incessant questions—" Mother, why’s the king angry?”—as three maids cleaned up the spilt wine. She could hear Viserys’s grumbles and could feel the annoyed looks he was sending her—all the hair on the back of Alicent’s neck rose, goose flesh rising along her arms. She suppressed a yawn, as Aemond squirmed in her lap, wanting to walk: the king called for me last night, did he not?

Alicent could only remember leaving the room. Everything after that was merely darkness, and then a long harrowing walk back to her chambers, where Talya had a warm bath prepared for her. The more Alicent thought of it, the more her palms sweated. Her mouth went dry, and she felt as if her throat was closing up, and no matter how much air she gasped for, she couldn’t breathe—

“Mother?” Aemond asked, and he sounded uncertain. Alicent tried to smile at him, but it came out as a grimace. Odd flashes of memory were filling the queen’s mind—the smell of herbs, a thin scarecrow of a hand covered in mottled flesh reaching for her, peeling skin and the smell of ointment, three rats moving along a bedroom's rafters—and she was going to be sick. She felt liquid working its way up her throat. The queen stood, ignoring the stares of the feasting courtiers, and placed her son down into her chair. She swallowed convulsively.

“Aemond,” Alicent said, voice strained, “stay with your father. I’ll be right back.” She rushed out of the side door behind the dais, ignoring Viserys’s shouted queries. Alicent could hear Aemond crying. She opened the door, barely managing to shut it before the vomit finally caught up with her, spilling out onto the floor as Alicent gasped and coughed and spluttered. Half of it landed on her, soaking the silk of her cornflower blue gown. She heaved and heaved and heaved until she was sure it was over. It's back.

If she were mad enough to return in her current state, the princess and her lickspittles would likely die from laughter. Of late, no one enjoyed her misfortune more than Rhaenyra, Alicent knew, though the queen had means of getting back at the wretch, means which she would allow to grow fat and ripe before she reaped them. The light of the windows illuminated swirling dust motes, highlighting the red in Alicent’s hair.

Her mind felt disoriented as if she’d just banged her head against the floor. Placing one foot in front of the other, Alicent allowed the simple rhythm of left, right, left, right to guide her back to her rooms. The servants ducked their heads as she passed them by. Alicent could sense their eyes following her. I’ll have Larys deal with them. Half the court was at the feast, or elsewise enjoying the grand pyromancer’s entertainments Viserys had ordered put on in the city, so the corridors were deserted.

“Talya!” Alicent’s voice sounded shrill to her ears, as she burst into her apartments. “Are you here?”

Her gown stuck to her clammy skin; she pulled it off, the acrid smell of sick almost overpowering her senses.

“Your Grace?” Talya appeared — from whence Alicent knew not — with an armful of linen, dark eyes wide with disquiet. A frisson of cold understanding settled into them as she took in her queen’s panicked state.

“Water,” Alicent gasped, but the handmaid had already abandoned her previous task, running to fetch a small wooden basin and filling it with tepid water from the ewer. The queen was able to master herself then, as Tayla locked the door and peeled off her mistress's shift and hose and stockings, wiping away her sweat with a cool cloth as Alicent stood in the basin. It was only when she was clean and dressed in a new shift, that the gut-churning fear within her subsided.

“It happened again, Your Grace?” Talya asked, bony fingers digging into the red rough spun of her apron.

Alicent nodded, taking in slow, steady breaths. Viserys will be wondering where I am. She’d left Aemond there, she realised, and anxiety prickled its way up her spine, replenishing her dying dread.

“Clearly. And I was so sure it was over with.” Alicent let out a scornful laugh. Much good that assumption had done her. “I do not know what is wrong with me. Perhaps I've gone mad.”

The handmaid shifted from foot to foot. “You should talk to a maester.” Alicent looked at her sharply, but Talya was uncowed. “Begging your pardon, Your Grace, but you’ve been like this since young Prince Aegon’s birth. I worry that it'll worsen, should you ignore it again.”

Most servants wouldn’t dare talk to the queen in such a manner, but Alicent had an understanding with Talya. When the young queen returned to her rooms dead-eyed and trembling at night, with the scent of Viserys’s rotting flesh still in her nostrils, it was Talya who attended her and set her at ease.

Alicent scoffed. “I’m sure Maester Mellos shall find my ailment to be eminently curable. ‘Oh yes, Maester, I cannot stand the sound of my husband's voice. It sends me into hysteria.’” Her voice hardened. “No, Talya. Any maester would think me insane. They’d take my children from me. I have borne this malady for six years. I can bear it six years more.” Alicent poured herself a cup of mint cordial from a nearby flagon, swilling it about her mouth to remove the lingering taste of vomit, and stood up in one smooth movement. “Now help me dress. I require another gown.”

The queen returned to the feast garbed in a gown that reminded her of home. The high-necked bodice was all Myrish lace, delicate as a spider's web and stitched onto a panel of cream silk. The tippet sleeves were so long that their points brushed the floor, lined with miniver and edged in a grey dark as smoke. Let them think I left for frivolity. A change of clothing to soothe my vanity. Her eyes slid across the hall. The feast had well and truly reached its peak, the noise so loud that it almost shook the rafters.

“You should never have left so abruptly,” the king told her, as Alicent seated herself with easy grace. She could see Viserys’s pockmarked face, frowning at her out of the corner of her eye, but took no notice. “Aemond’s been pestering my daughter. See to him, before he causes any more trouble.” He glanced meaningfully down at his ruined tunic. 

Sure enough, she found Aemond perched on the arm of his half-sister’s chair. The boy was talking her ear off, something to do with dragons. “Is it true that Syrax is fat?” The little prince asked and Alicent winced.

His half-sister replied in a flat voice, “Perhaps it seems that way because she’s no longer a juvenile.” Rhaenyra fiddled with her golden rings, as Laenor handed Jacaerys to a nurse. The babe wailed as he was carried out of the hall.

“Doesn’t matter. Everyone knows that Aegon’s dragon is prettier,” Aemond declared, with that strange confidence that was unique to toddlers alone. “He even looks like the sun. That’s why he’s called—”

“Sunfyre,” Rhaenyra interrupted, voice heavy with sarcasm. “I never would have guessed.” The golden coronet sitting atop the princess’s braid flashed in the light filtering through the stained glass windows.

Rhaenyra had dressed in her usual opulent fashion. Her gown was one of darkest red, like freshly spilt blood, slashed with rich purple damask at the skirts. A heavy chain of gold, to match her coronet, sat along her bodice, wrought in the shape of falcons. 

Beside her, Ser Laenor shifted uncomfortably in his chair. The heir to Driftmark looked handsome in a mauve doublet, with the seahorse of House Velaryon picked out on his yellow half-cape in hundreds of tiny winking diamonds.

Aemond had finally noticed his mother, running to her with a squeal of joy. “Alicent,” the princess murmured, as Aemond buried his chubby face in her skirts, “I understand that you’ve finally decided to grace us with your presence. I do wonder at your hasty departure, though. Was it Aegon?”

Alicent’s mind had gone blank, her limbs leaden with sudden fatigue. “What?”

“Were you seeing to another one of my half-brother’s mischiefs, Your Grace?” Rhaenyra took a sip from her glass. The princess's cheeks were flushed pink, her lips stained with Arbor Red. “That boy can’t keep his hands to himself.”

Alicent felt her hackles rising. The princess was freshly twenty-one and Aegon six, and yet she hated her half-brother with a passion that took the queen’s breath away. “Rest assured, Rhaenyra, Aegon is in his rooms, watched over by Ser Criston.”

Rhaenyra is a fool, Alicent reminded herself. Should she wish, Alicent could ruin her with a single sentence, but Ser Criston’s life stayed her hand. The Marcherman had proved himself a faithful knight. She would not use his past mistakes against him. Princess Rhaenyra had thrown herself onto the Kingsguard, stolen his honour and played him for a fool. In doing so, she’d earned herself a dangerous enemy in his person. The queen thought of brown-haired sworn swords and uncanny resemblances. He was not the princess’s only enemy, of late.

“They’re bringing the cake!” Aemond’s high-pitched voice broke Alicent out of her reverie.

Sure enough, servants swarmed their table, carrying honeycombs and sugar spun into the shape of slender towers, cream cakes and fruit tarts, a giant towering jellies and date scones, along with all the fruits of summer. Viserys slurped as he ate a melon, bits of its pale flesh stuck between his yellowing teeth. Juice ran down his chin, as he reached for another.

“Only one cake,” Alicent warned Aemond. She would not have her son sickening himself before his nap. “And if you’re very good, I’ll let you share some more with Aegon upon the morrow.” 

Her son's response was not the one she’d anticipated. “Aegon’s always sad.”

Alicent sighed, beginning to usher Aemond back across to their seats when she heard Rhaenyra’s voice, loud and distinct amidst the tumult of the feast.

“As well he should be,” the princess's voice slurred. “He should be flogged. That’ll teach him to keep his hands to himself. Who was he to touch my mother's belongings?”

Alicent froze, breathed in, and felt her chest expand with it. She glanced at her husband but he was pretending deafness, eyes focused on his lemon cake. So it would be up to her to defend their child. Again. 

“Prince Aegon is being punished as we speak, princess. Surely you’ll not hold a grudge against him forever?”

It had happened three days past. Viserys had bid his eldest son sit, as the king worked on his miniature of Old Valyria. The child had soon grown bored, and the king had been concentrating intensely upon his craft, or so Eddard the stonemason had told her.

Whatever had happened, Viserys had paused when he heard the sound of crashing glass. Prince Aegon, curious as all children of six were, had accidentally broken a Myrish lens. Glass from Myr was worth its weight in spice, and this glass had been a gift to Queen Aemma from the Free Cities, upon her coronation, and a keepsake of her husbands upon her death.

By the time Alicent had arrived, Viserys’s face had been puce with anger, and Aegon bore a red mark on his cheek where he'd been slapped. Their son's fingers had been bleeding from the broken glass, but the king hadn't noticed, so full of rage was he. Aemma Arryn, Alicent realised with sadness, would be appalled.

“‘Punished’?” Rhaenyra's brows furrowed. “He’s been locked in the nursery. That’s hardly sufficient.”

Alicent could hear the courtiers whispering, likely remarking on yet another incident of familial disharmony within the royal House. “Aegon has already apologised for his mistake, step-daughter. You can always purchase another Myrish lens. Such things are replaceable.”

It was the wrong thing to say.

“You would know all about replacements, since you are one,” Rhaenyra sneered. The princess had been wroth for a long time now, ever since her uncle had eloped with Lady Laena. “I don’t know what we’ve done to deserve my half-brother. That boy gives us only grief.”

And you’ve given your husband horns, Alicent thought but did not say. 

“You would do better to engage in self-contemplation, Rhaenyra,” Alicent said, loudly enough for half the hall to hear. “Your son’s features are rather unique, for a Velaryon.”

Rhaenyra opened her mouth to reply, features contorting with fury, but her father spoke first.

“Alicent, enough,” Viserys hissed. “Do not make a spectacle of yourself, woman.”

Worry not, husband, your daughter makes enough of a spectacle for us both.

She would’ve said it too, but little Aemond was looking at her, eyes wide with confusion, so Alicent swallowed her reply, ignoring Rhaenyra’s mocking smile and Viserys expression of quiet relief.

Some Targaryen’s, Alicent had come to find, were cowards.

The throne room was uncomfortably crowded. Viserys had shown himself for once, having gathered the strength to leave his sickbed and sit his iron chair. Rhaenyra stood to his right, conversing with him in hushed tones. Alicent had dressed lavishly for their guests, in a gown of dark green satin, its sleeves and bodice slashed with pure cloth-of-silver, that shimmered in the light. She sat on a throne of gilded wood, watching the milling courtiers below.

The queen had been pleasantly surprised when Viserys had told her of the invitation he’d extended to her kin. It’d been nearly a half a decade since Alicent had had cause to meet with her uncle, Lord Hobert. The Lord of Oldtown had brought his son with him. The last time she’d seen Ormund, he’d been a gangly boy of fifteen. He’d used to humour Alicent and her brother’s, back when they were still children residing in the Hightower, playing come-into-my-castle with them, and other games besides.

Now Ormund was a man-grown, with a wife and children of his own and there was a gulf between them, wrought open by separation and the passing of years. He and his father bent the knee to them, eyes on the floor.

“Your Grace’s, Princess,” Hobert said, “it is a pleasure to visit with you. We were flattered by your invitation, my king. To what do we owe the honour?”

A dreadful prescience nagged at Alicent, one she did her best to ignore. She’d asked her husband the very same question, and he’d dismissed her, murmuring something about the importance of reaffirming bonds between family. Raven’s sent to her father in Oldtown had been equally ineffective. Ser Otto Hightower had served two kings —and perhaps a third in the future, if all went well—and his time at court had taught him well the importance of silence. He had not been forthcoming about his plans, simply commanding her to fulfil her duties as she always had. Yet Alicent sensed that it was Otto who’d driven Viserys to his chosen course. Why else would the king have invited the Hightowers to the Red Keep?

“Lord Hobert, you and yours have ever been leal to the Crown,” her husband intoned, “since the Conqueror’s day. Was it not the Hightowers of Oldtown who were the first to acknowledge our ancestor’s right to rule? Such good service deserves a reward.”

The queen frowned. Lord Hobert and her cousin were still kneeling — they’d not been summoned all this way for a history lesson. As the king’s illness had progressed, his mind had begun to wander. Alicent was seized with the sudden fear that Viserys wasn’t quite lucid. She stared at him intently. Her husband wore his robes of state, blackest silk shot through with gold; the crown of the Old King girded his brow, its seven gemstones gleaming. For all her worries, though, Viserys’s eyes were sharp. Alicent breathed a sigh of relief…then felt her breath stop as the king continued.

“As such, we have decided to bestow upon you the fosterage of our youngest son, Prince Daeron. He shall leave the Red Keep with your party within the fortnight.”

Alicent gaped. She’d not been told of this. No one had mentioned Daeron being fostered. She thought of her little boy, six years old and cheerful. To be sent away from all he knew at such a tender age—it was too much, even for the likes of Viserys.

“Husband.” Alicent’s voice was edged with barely restrained panic. “Surely such a thing could wait a year, at least until our son mounts Tessarion.”

Her father’s secrecy now made a terrible sense. He hadn’t wanted Alicent to know about his intentions for his youngest grandson, even as he set his plans into motion. Otto Hightower may have been in Oldtown, but his influence over the king’s councilmen remained. For all that Viserys had banished him, he could not strip away the alliances his erstwhile Hand had formed at court.

She could see it in her mind’s eye. The letters the king's advisors must have received, the way they’d slowly convinced the king of the merits of Otto’s suggestion, subtly, with no mention of her father, and entirely out of Alicent’s sight. Of late, she’d been absent from meetings of the small council. Her Aemond had caught a fever, and whilst Alicent had been tending to him, the lords had no doubt plotted and planned and played her false.

And now they come for Daeron.

The king eyed his wife, considering Alicent’s suggestion, and she felt the beginnings of hope. All she wanted was a year. One year more for Alicent to hold her youngest son close, her baby, her well-behaved boy, who didn’t flinch away from her touch in fear, or look at her with eyes that were far away. Him and Aemond — they were her soul’s joy.

But then Rhaenyra spoke, her voice high and clear in the quiet of the room: “Her Grace is a mother - her heart cannot bear the thought of losing a child, even to kin. But you are the king, Father, and know your duty even when it is hard. I say to send the boy away. We cannot wait until he mounts Tessarion. How long might that take?”

The princess was smiling, smiling, smiling as she said this, lips turned up with triumph. Any chance to spite the queen, any chance to exercise some cruelty. His name is Daeron, she thought wildly, not ‘the boy’. Alicent felt the urge, deep in the marrow of her bones, to take Rhaenyra by the scalp, thrust her into the swords that made up the Iron Throne and watch as her face was cut to bloody ribbons.

Not so pretty then.

But Viserys was already nodding, even before the princess had finished her sentence. Her husband turned back to Lord Hobert, and Alicent bit her tongue as they began to discuss the necessary preparations. She would not be able to sway him now. Alicent’s eyes met Ormund’s.

He looked away.

Alicent felt somebody shaking her and could hear shouting: “My Queen, awake, awake! Something has happened to Prince Aemond.”

Alicent shifted under the weight of the bedclothes, understanding coming to her slowly through the groggy fog of disturbed sleep. Aemond: she bolted up, all at once, fumbling around as she disentangled herself from the furs. A brazier had been lit, and it cast lurid shadows all across her guest chambers, as Talya and her ladies dressed her. From there, it was a short walk to the main hall, Talya five paces behind.

Alicent’s heart was in her throat as she entered High Tide’s hall - she could hear its loud beating. BOOM-DOOM, BOOM-DOOM, BOOM-DOOM, it went. She could see her husband, atop the Driftmark Throne, face in his hands and Rhaenyra’s bastards, bloody and wounded. The Kingsguard, all seven members, stood around them. Ser Criston’s knuckles were white against his sword’s pommel. Lord Corlys and his wife stood beside him, clutching their sobbing granddaughters, silent and grim. The princess was nowhere in sight. 

Aegon and Helaena stood in front of the hearth, tears running down their cheeks. The queen wiped her clammy palms against her skirts and went to her children, soothing Helaena with gentle touches. For once, the girl allowed it. 

Aegon slipped his hand into hers. BOOM-DOOM, BOOM-DOOM, BOOM-DOOM. Her eldest son was shaking, his purple eyes wide. Distantly, she heard the roaring of a dragon.

“Where is my son?”

The denizens of the torchlit hall murmured lowly to each other, but none would answer their queen. Alicent saw her father, standing at the very back and caught his eye. When Otto looked back, his gaze was full of grief.

Bile rose in her throat. “Where is Aemond?” Alicent asked, louder now, her skin pebbling with gooseflesh despite the heat of the room.

“Ser Criston, show her,” the king commanded. He still held his face in his hands.

BOOM-DOOM, BOOM-DOOM, BOOM-DOOM. The knight approached Alicent as if she were some mad beast. “My queen,” he said, and his voice was impossibly gentle, “calm yourself as best you can.”

“I want to see my Aemond.”

Something has happened. Alicent knew it from her father’s look, from Viserys’s hunched figure, from Ser Criston’s gentle tone. The knight gripped Alicent’s hand in his own and guided her to the back of the hall, where a padded bench lay. Someone lay slumped atop it, a white sheet over their head, someone with a child’s figure.

Alicent stared at that white sheet for a full minute. BOOM-DOOM, BOOM-DOOM, BOOM-DOOM. The queen’s blood was ice in her veins as she reached for it, pulled it back and saw—

A knife. Through Aemond’s eye. Its serrated edge shone dully, wet with his life’s blood. The world spun and blurred and then reshaped itself.

“Take out the knife,” Alicent whispered. “Take out the knife! Don’t leave him like that.”

Ser Criston reached over. The blade squelched as it was pulled out of the socket, and all Alicent could see was Aemond's expression, a rictus of pain. Alicent was certain that her son had died like that, alone and screaming.

Alone.

She fell to her knees, tears running down her face. She could taste them on her lips, fresh and salty. BOOM-DOOM, BOOM-DOOM, BOOM-DOOM.

“Wake up,” she said to her son’s cooling corpse. Alicent shouted at the top of her lungs, the hall echoing with the force of her shrieks. “Wake up! Wake up! You have to live, you’re only ten, you have to live and grow and take up the sword—you’ve always loved it, my special boy. Don’t you want to be a knight? You must marry and have children. You’re a prince, don’t you see, Aemond?  Stop this at once, rouse yourself, you must needs live!”

She could hear whispering behind her, a voice saying, “She’s lost her wits,” and another murmuring about bastards and kinslaying and yet another, shushing them both. BOOM-DOOM, BOOM-DOOM, BOOM-DOOM.

Aemond didn’t heed her. The boy stared with sightless eyes at the ceiling, as if he weren’t ignoring his mother, as if he weren’t being disobedient to the one who’d birthed him in a bed of blood. Alicent came closer, still sobbing, and cradled his head in her arms, holding him close, her tears falling onto his face. She kissed her child’s head and felt the hard curvature of his skull against her lips. Blood was running down Aemond’s cheek from his bloody eye, pooling onto the bench below him, coating Alicent’s fingers.

My babe, my boy, why does he not look at me? The blood staining Alicent’s hands twisted itself into the shape of a grave, split into strange writhing creatures, slithered up her arms and face, blinding her until her vision was filled with red. BOOM-DOOM, BOOM-DOOM, BOOM-DOOM.

The queen heard the sound of a door swinging open over her heartbeat, and Rhaenyra’s tinkling laughter reached her ears. She turned to look. The princess had arrived with her uncle, both of them dishevelled and talking loudly. It took her but a moment to realise what had happened. She saw her bastards. Her smile died.

BOOM-DOOM, BOOM-DOOM, BOOM-DOOM.

And then: “It was my sons who were attacked and forced to defend themselves. Vile insults were levied against them. The legitimacy of my sons' birth was put loudly to question.” Viserys’s desperate face. “My sons are in line to inherit the Iron Throne, Your Grace. This is the highest of treasons.”

BOOM-DOOM, BOOM-DOOM, BOOM-DOOM.

Alicent glimpsed the bloody knife on the floor, the one that’d killed her son. She stood and slid it up her sleeve. Her world was red. The princess was still kneeling in front of her bastards, back turned. Alicent walked forward. The princess stood and turned towards her, but not quickly enough. Alicent stabbed the knife through her arm, felt it cut through gristle, felt it scrape against bone.

BOOM-DOOM, BOOM-DOOM, BOOM-DOOM.

Rhaenyra's blood splattered across the stone floor. That was sweet, but her screams were sweeter.

Lyman Beesbury’s body was still lying in the chamber of the small council, when the queen returned there at dawn to meet with Ser Criston. She’d dispatched him to Dragonstone with half a hundred men-at-arms, the night of the king’s death. Alicent had smelt Viserys rotting through the wooden door and acted accordingly.

Her sworn sword stood before her now, a bloody sack in his hand. “Did you find them all?” Alicent asked him, almost trembling with anticipation.

“Most of them, my queen.” The knight hesitated, his expression nervous. “For all we took them unawares, Prince Daemon managed to escape with his sons.” Ser Criston’s hands were crusted with viscera: acting as the queen’s headsman was a bloody job.

“Princess Rhaenys? The girls?”

“I had to kill the princess. She wouldn’t stop fighting, you see.” His expression was almost distressed. “But the girls have been taken captive.”

Ser Criston upended his sack. Five heads rolled out, bouncing onto the floor and stinking of decay. For Aemond. Alicent gloried in the sight.

"Good," Alicent looked into Criston's beautiful eyes and cupped his cheek. The knight leaned into her touch. "You've done well, Criston."

Much later, after all was said and done, the Lord Confessor found the Dowager Queen alone in her chambers. She held two skulls on her lap, one of them large, the other small. Larys stood shadowed in the entrance, out of sight and listening.

“Your grandsire lies dead, little bastard, no more to bolster your crimes. Here’s his crown. Go on, have a look.” The queen hefted the small skull in front of her face. Its empty sockets had a clear view of the jewelled crown girding her brow. “And you, the beloved daughter, how did you die? In bed, at play, or dining, with the laughter of your loathsome get ringing in your ears? It matters not. I ask you, what is Viserys's favour worth now? No doubt your soul burns in some fiery pit, under heavenly purview.” With sudden violence, Alicent threw the skull down. It cracked. “Aemond, be well content. You are avenged, as has ever been mine intent.” 

[romana-after-dark]

The Wrong Way Master List

Gif by @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog

Raider!Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Raider!Tommy Miller x Fem!Reader

Spotify Playlist

Inspiration came from @toxicanonymity and her fantastic Raider!Joel.

Summery: You are sold to Joel to clear up some of your fathers' debts, and he takes you back to his house where him, Tommy, and high ranking members of his raiding trope stay. Joel is mean, cruel, and hash, but had small moments of softness that confuse you in your venerable state. Over time, you get to know him and Tommy, and see different sides of each, an both are hiding secrets. Was it possible to fall in love under these circumstances? Or was that just another way Joel was fucking with you?

Aka: my mom sold me to One Direction

WARNINGS FOR FULL FIC, NOT CHAPTER BY CHAPTER UNLESS SOMETHING NEW IS ADDED AFTER MASTER WARNING LIST: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT!!!! Fic contains graphic depictions of sexual assault, rape, molestation, dubcon/non con. Blow Jobs, PIV sex, lose of virginity, sex trafficking, past incest, death/people dying everywhere, Stockholm syndrome, falling for your rapist, victim blaming, torcher, branding, physical abuse, rape (not Joel), somno, dub con on tommy? idk he's not really into it but feels like he has to, self-harm/depression/suicidal thoughts (not a lot) but fair warning, major age gaps, love triangle, pregnancy/birth, threats of abortion, major character death, mentions of potential csa/child abuse but does not even come close to happening, forced pregnancy, forced housewife shit, breeding, breeding kink?!?!

This is a reader fic, reader is early 20's, Joel is 40's at this point, reader is small enough that the men can lift her, but these are strong men. Reader is also refered to as little one, little girl ETC, but that's more in reference to her age/innocence than physical size.

Unknown chapters at this point but heres a starter

Chapter 1: Joel takes you away from everything you know

Chapter 2: Joel takes what he wants, Tommy tries to make things easier

Bonus Chapter: Tommy takes Little One's virginity

Chapter 3: Joel softens up, and readers learns her roll in all this

Chapter 4: Little One is getting cocky, and finds herself in trouble, but Tommy and Joel are there for her

Chapter 5: Joel and Tommy don’t feel good

Suggested drabble: Period sex

Chapter 6: Things change with Tommy, and Joel shows a more vunerable side during a near disaster.

Chapter 7: Little One and Lorenzo spend some time together, and Lorenzo drops a bomb on Little One.

sick bonus chapter

Chapter 8: For 6 months of Little One's pregnancy her relationship with Joel and Lorenzo shifts and changes.

Suggested Drabble: Brotherhood

Chapter 9: The aftermath.

Suggested Drabble: “It Wasn’t Always Like This”

Chapter 10: The escape does not go as planned.

Alternate ending: a happier end

Canon Sequel Mini Series, Ghost of You

Follow Ellie's life sifting through to lies to discover the truth of her creation.

Dark Ending Timeline: Going Under

Going Under: Chapter 1:

Going Under: Chapter 2:

Going Under: Chapter 2.5:

Going Under: Chapter 3

Going Under: June and Tommy

Going Under: Chapter 4

Going Under: Finale

Suggested drabbles to see how the uncles are doing after the canon ending: Lorenzo, Zach and Tommy, and Better Than Revenge

If neither ending satisfied you or if there was something you wanted to see but didn’t, if you wanna write something in universe will be happy to link it to my masterlist!

Art by @melodymakesart

Drabbles, One Shots, Thots

Period Sex: Period sex with Joel makes Little One more confused than ever at what she is to Joel

Well, That’s Alright Because I Like The Way It Hurts: Joel is gone for longer than expected and you worry about him. When he comes back, you let him take his frustration out on your body

Brotherhood: Tommy and Joel reflect on their relationship as brothers.

“It Wasn’t Always Like This”: In Tommy’s arms, Little One thinks over her year with Joel

Lorenzo, Zach and Tommy: Lorenzo is slowly recovering, meets his niece for the first time

Better than Revenge: Lorenzo and Tommy can’t get revenge on Joel, but they can get revenge on the one who started it all

Zach and Lorenzo’s Wedding

Gateaway Car by Taylor Swift, thoughts by @fandxmslxt69

Art by @k-ra

Joel and Lorenzo by @fen-is-unwell

If this sort of thing doesn't interest you or triggers you, hide dub con and non con from your tags as I will be tagging any fics like that as such

Main Blog (filled with more normal fics lol): @romanarose

This is absolutely not anything anyone needs to do bc ur lovely comments are enough but if anyone makes a book board, art, a fic or anything based off this series, you absolutely can! I know some creators aren’t for it but I love when people do that, and I’ve written a few fics for a few series myself. If you are so inclined and are okay with it, I’ll attach them to this master list (that includes if you don’t like my endings you can make your own 😂)

But as always, nice comments mean the world. I know with this sort of content you may not want to Reblog it on your page, but if you leave a comment or send an anon, that means the world and keeps me writing!

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: August

August, eighth month of the Gregorian calendar.

It was named for the first Roman emperor, Augustus Caesar, in 8 bce.

Recorded from Old English, the name comes from Latin augustus ‘consecrated, venerable’.

Its original name was Sextilus, Latin for “sixth month,” indicating its position in the early Roman calendar.

One of the earliest evidence for august is from 1594, in a translation by Robert Ashley, translator and book collector.

August is of multiple origins. Partly a borrowing from French. Partly a borrowing from Latin.

As an adjective

1. [1594-] Inspiring or worthy of respect (originally on account of birth or position in society); impressively eminent or respected; imposing, reverend, worshipful. Sometimes as an honorific epithet.

"To mingle with a body so august." —Lord Byron, Two Foscari iv. i, in Sardanapalus 259

"We have a human sufferer in Him—the augustest indeed that ever shared our flesh and blood." —R. C. Trench, Sermons in Westminster Abbey xiv. 152

"I would happily relax my hold if you honorably promise to accompany me to my august superior whom I unworthily serve." —H. H. Skinner, Jiu-jitsu 40

2. [1602-] Inspiring reverence and admiration; impressing the emotions or imagination as magnificent; solemnly grand, stately, majestic.

"The funeral was long remembered as the saddest and most august that Westminster had ever seen." —T. B. Macaulay, History of England vol. IV. 534

"[It] renews its ancient glance with an auguster beauty." —J. Martineau, Essays Philosophical & Theological 2nd Series 149

"Little open emotion was evident in the august halls of the Court." —B. Doherty, Gun Control on Trial vi. 110

3. Having great importance and respect in society 4. Marked by majestic dignity or grandeur

Synonyms & related words

baronial, colossus, cosmical, dignified, distingué, exalted, formidable, Homeric, magisterial, opulent, palatine, pantheon, personage, redoubtable, resplendent, splendiferous, titan, uncrowned

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 ⚜ Writing Notes & References

[slowd1ving]

✦ I. PRINCE OF ARROGANCE, PRIDE HAS A HEAVY PRICE

"His fate was sealed the moment he could taste choleric resentment on his tongue, followed shortly by spite: for spite is the desire to thwart. The path he instinctually set out on—to seek knowledge about the abuses of wisdom in the palace—was one that would only end in despair. " • . * cursed prince ratio + alchemist m reader rough design for minoan fashion ratio here warnings: video game violence, death? kind of? tyranny (are we surprised), male-coded reader (or at least the in-game avatar is) wc: 1.5k

LAMENT OF OUROBOROS MASTERLIST

HONKAI STAR RAIL MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

Eight words rang clear on the Day of Silence against the backdrop of a fruitful year. Amidst the din of the crotalum, woven through the hordes of mute crowds, thus did the honourable Sophos Nous proclaim to His Highness: 

For all knowledge one must pay equal price. 

This was the first and last lesson Sophos Nous ever imparted unto the seventh prince of Metis before THEY left: as quietly as the noiseless festival-goers. Perhaps it would be the only lesson ever recorded to grace the Kingdom of Metis from the Sophos: a feeble mark to acknowledge the extraordinary scholar the seventh prince was. Though, the arrogant youth knew this was anything but; such an obvious deduction was no morsel of wisdom, but a reproachable grain of sophistry that any fool could have mimed. Mimed, because the Day’s hallowed silence had been broken for the first time since its inception, and perhaps that was the biggest insult of them all. 

In his wrought tower, the youngest prince of Elation’s lineage seethed. For the weeks following that sacreligious day, he barely ate, barely breathed: barely lived. From the moment of his birth to this summer, his efforts to earn the venerable Sophos’ acknowledgement had not borne fruit—and now, they probably never would. 

His damson locks tangled in his fingers as he pored over those eight words. They ripped, twisting and breaking and splitting in his desperate grasp. Those records were all he had left of the learnéd being: a measly report detailing the teacher’s crime, summarised in a single paragraph in the battered codex that was unceremoniously dumped on his desk at his request.

If he knew anything about his Sophos, it was that nothing could ever be taken at face value with THEM. Twined in all the manuscripts THEY had written—which Veritas Ratio Metis had reverently studied, every single one—were the buds of dialetheism and bivalence, threading and looping against each other like two snakes on a caduceus. 

Had he missed something?

Deconstructing the sentence literally, the price of knowledge was time and dedication. Nothing came from nothing; obviously knowledge was gained only through cogitation and learning. In less abstract terms, the hippocampus was a finite space and minute neuron connections were lost with each new wisdom gained. Though, such an axiomatic method of interpretation was sure to be fallible. 

Thus, his deft fingers wasted no time in penning a new heading: warning. Presumably, Nous wouldn’t be so kind as to bestow a lesson on the youth: not even out of pity for the erudite young mind who followed THEM around just for a glimpse into THEIR insights. No, Nous wouldn’t have spared him a glance. Therefore, it was not a teaching at all, but rather a last, merciful warning. 

Knowledge was burden. He knew this, Nous knew this—any respectable scholar in Metis knew that ignorance was more oft than not bliss, especially when it came to divinity and existentialism. This much, too, was a salient interpretation of these words. Don’t study things you aren’t ready for. The prince scoffed. A waddling baby knew as much—taking first steps primarily, before learning to run. 

Unless… Upon examining the wording, there was a critical sign in its structure. Four words on one side, four on the other—equilibrium. Life on one side, and certain death on the other. His breathing came in neurotic waves as his pen struggled to keep up with his intuition. It may have been foolish to follow his gut, but there was just something about how the lexicon flowed that dried his mouth and made his tongue leaden with foreboding. 

What is it? 

Seraphic beams of light cast their dappled rays on the gleaming equipment: bronze astrological instruments, beakers and shining ocular lenses; stacks upon stacks of manuscripts and codices, on everything from law to philosophy to anatomy; and the precariously balanced alembic and crucible in the corner, concealed by a large sheet for supposedly warding off dust. 

The gaze of cerise lingered briefly on the alchemical tools. 

Equivalent exchange. 

With a sigh so heavy it brought his youthful appearance into question, he buried his aggravated face in his trembling hands. Neither blessing or lesson was shrouded by the phrase; rather, Nous had lent him an equivocation as a final misrespect. One hint of information, and the other a warning. 

Translated, he gleaned that the Sophos referred to the rumours surrounding Aha and THEIR progeny. Archon basileus—the foolish sovereign and ever-so-foolish descendants. Though the capricious Aha had outlawed the ages-old practice of alchemy and other similar disciplines decades ago, there was hearsay in the stone-paved streets that the imperial family dabbled in activities now heretical to keep control over the populace. Whether it be through transmuting the dissidents to lustrous gold sculptures, or turning insurgents to mindless jesters through drugs and other disciplines, it was clear that Aha held keen interest in monopolising knowledge and ruling with an iron fist. 

Or, at least, that’s what Veritas heard through the reticent walls of his tower. There was no viable method of testing the theory: not when the seventh prince held minimal sway over politics in the gilt palace. 

This was the bitter fruit Nous had broken the sacred silence for. 

You are no match for your family, THEIR eye seemed to lament. 

This knowledge is far too heavy for you, boy, THEIR mouth appeared to rebuke. 

All these years, and you have still not broken from the alabaster coating of a fool, THEIR departure concluded. 

The prince had long surpassed the rest of his peers in mind and body alike, yet with this realisation he was a mere child once more: just another bastard of the lineage. Not to be taken seriously. 

His fate was sealed the moment he could taste choleric resentment on his tongue, followed shortly by spite: for spite is the desire to thwart. The path he instinctually set out on—to seek knowledge about the abuses of wisdom in the palace—was one that would only end in despair. 

But the blame could not solely be attributed to him—for despite his prideful erudition, he was no prophet. A clever mind like his had not yet tasted scholastic defeat yet, begetting carelessness. And to provoke an arrogant, clever, careless youth with no real world experience—yes, provoke, for that is what the esteemed Sophos did—was sure to birth a calamity. 

Indeed, the hubris of the seventh prince led to tragedy borne of his own making; yet, the fault also rested with another. 

This was the ‘price’. 

Two people, bound in impossible balance. 

Eight words, foretelling only disaster. 

This was ‘equivalent exchange’. 

One clever prince, seeking a knowledge far too cataclysmic to bear. 

This was the heresy known as ‘alchemy’. 

On that Day of Silence, the Moirai assigned a fate threaded bloody: all for the modest cost of one lonely prince’s grief. 

. 　⁺ ✦ 

“Oh dear,” the maiden crooned. “It looks like he’s made up his mind.”

The distaff held in HER graceful palms perpetually dripped crimson, though not a single drop bled into the spindle as SHE wove fate: pain, ecstasy, hopelessness, delight. 

“Just like the rest of them,” the matron uttered. “He is a fool.”

Unceasingly, HER rod measured out the new life-threads. SHE impersonally gazed at every strand—quantifying and fairly allotting time. Time, the most precious commodity of anything and anyone. 

The hag remained silent, for HER glinting scissors expressed HER thoughts. Snip. A thread was cut. Snip. A life was lost. Snip. Yet another soul crossed in the afterworld. 

But there was one sanguine allotment of fate that wouldn’t be cut with HER shears. Many a mortal wished for such a boon: bartering with the divine for an extension of their pathetic lives. That was a paradox SHE witnessed time and time again: humans wishing to prolong their misery through staying awake in the raging current of the universe. Death was the true alleviation of suffering—this was the one mercy SHE could afford man and their kind. 

Living and the futile struggle was all humanity had known; SHE understood, in HER omnipotent way, how this stagnancy was a comfort for the lost souls. 

Though, SHE mused, staying alive would not do this particular prince any good. For what gift is evading death, when one cannot truly live?

“It would have been better for him to live under the yoke of his family and die as all mortals should.” The crone’s withered voice was dry from disuse. Under HER shroud, neither the mother nor the youth could see the aged path of tears that meandered down HER wrinkled face—for with age came sentiments, and the Moirai were the oldest of all in the cradle of the universe. 

“Atropos.” It was the maiden who finally replied. “Do you feel sorry for the boy?”

Snip. Another marked fate concluded—though not abruptly, for it had been ordained since the moment of their birth. 

“No,” the beldame answered. “The little prince was warned by a being far wiser than he, taking it only as affront.”

For the first time in centuries, HER shears ceased their steady rhythm. 

“Should I feel sorry for the hart that approaches the arrow out of its own volition?”

. 　⁺ ✦ 

[koscheys-skull]

Deities, Figures, And Spirits of Rebellion, Revolutions, and Resistance.

While Tensions are High and emotions flood the body and mind, I like to think back to time and how history has birthed incredible and magnificent people throughout its unforgiving march forwards. And I think of those figures and people or those gods and stories, and I remind myself of their presence and how they shook the time and the eras that they occupied. I’m in love with them. And I admire them. Whether they are trickster Spirits that stand against Authority and embrace strength against adversity or fighting against authority and resisting the status quo, I often admire and think of them. I think of them fondly and I nod to them through Space and Time, and by thinking of them, I carry them in my heart. And I am motivated by their Light and the Inspiration that they have brought across the ages. I know that they are *there*. Eons apart from me or in spaces and spirit that I cannot grasp anywhere but within my very spirit. They are there. And I am holding them in my spirit and heart and they are holding me. And I move with their spirit and their awareness. And I nod to them. And they, to me. I wanted to provide a large list of Figures, Saints, Gods or other individuals and Beings commonly venerated, worked with or worshiped as icons of resistance and overcoming trying times. History is steeped in trials and circumstances where the oppressed and hunted have overcome great adversity or stood against the tides that seek to bring harm unto them. Here, I will list figures that you can draw upon or look to in your hours of need. If you seek a Revolutionary, you may find one Here. (feel welcome to add some as this crosses your path!)

Some Saints:

St. Michael the Archangel – Known as the chief warrior angel, St. Michael is often invoked for protection and strength in battles and against evil.

St. Joan of Arc – The French saint who led her country in battles against English forces during the Hundred Years' War. She’s celebrated for her courage and conviction against overwhelming odds.

St. Jude Thaddeus – Known as the patron saint of lost causes, people turn to him in desperate situations for help in overcoming challenges that seem impossible.

St. Sebastian – Often depicted as a martyr who survived multiple executions, he became a symbol of strength, resilience, and steadfastness in the face of persecution.

St. George – Known for slaying a dragon, St. George is a symbol of overcoming evil and oppression. Often associated with courage in adversity.

Deities:

Sekhmet (Egyptian Mythology) – The lion-headed goddess of war and healing, Sekhmet is revered for her fierce power and for defending the oppressed.

Morrigan (Celtic Mythology) – The Celtic goddess of battle and sovereignty, Morrigan embodies both the power to protect and to incite change. She is often seen as a guardian of the land, appearing before battles to inspire or instill fear in the enemy.

Kali (Hinduism) – Goddess of destruction and rebirth, Kali represents the destruction of evil and is often invoked for overcoming difficult circumstances and for protection against oppressive forces.

Oya (Yoruba/Orisha Tradition) – Goddess of winds, storms, and transformation, Oya is a fierce warrior who stands up against oppression and is often turned to for protection and resilience. Ogun (Yoruba/Orisha Tradition) – The god of iron, war, and labor, Ogun is a force for justice and is often invoked in situations requiring resilience and the strength to overcome oppression. He’s seen as a revolutionary spirit for those seeking to break free from their constraints. Eshu (Yoruba/Orisha Tradition) – Known as the divine messenger and trickster, Eshu brings both disruption and opportunity. As a god of crossroads, he’s associated with challenging authority and initiating change, reminding followers that revolution often begins with unexpected choices. Yemaya (Yoruba/Orisha Tradition) – The mother of all life and goddess of the sea, Yemaya is often associated with resilience, protection, and the healing of generational trauma. As a nurturing and revolutionary spirit, she is frequently invoked for personal and collective strength. Queen Nanny of the Maroons (Jamaican Folklore) – A legendary figure and spirit in Afro-Caribbean culture, Queen Nanny was a leader of the Maroons who resisted British colonial forces. She’s honored as a warrior and symbol of independence and strength.

Huitzilopochtli (Aztec Mythology) – The god of war and the sun, Huitzilopochtli led the Aztecs through harsh conditions to establish their empire. He symbolizes endurance, perseverance, and overcoming obstacles.

Inanna/Ishtar (Mesopotamian Mythology) – Goddess of love, war, and justice, she descends into the underworld and returns, representing survival through dark times and resistance against forces of oppression.

Manjushri (मञ्जुश्री) (Buddhist Bodhisattva) - Manjushri is venerated across the Buddhist world as an embodiment of wisdom, with devotees seeking his guidance to develop the courage and insight necessary to face personal and societal challenges. Manjushri holds a flaming sword that symbolizes the cutting of ignorance and illusion, a powerful symbol of spiritual revolution and awakening. He represents the transformative power of wisdom and the courage to overcome ignorance, delusion, and societal conventions, which align with themes of inner revolution.

Susanoo (建速須佐之男命) (Japanese Shinto) – The god of storms and the sea, Susanoo is known for his rebellious nature against the heavenly order, and he’s often venerated for his unyielding spirit. He’s remembered for protecting people by slaying a great serpent, representing courage and the ability to challenge authority.

Amaterasu (天照大御神 / 天照大神) (Japanese Shinto) – Though primarily known as the goddess of the sun and order, Amaterasu withdrew from the world when her brother acted destructively, only returning when lured back by others. Her story reflects the themes of resilience and the power to restore light and hope.

Guan Yu (关羽) (Chinese) – A legendary general deified as a god of war and protection, Guan Yu is known for his loyalty, bravery, and sense of justice. He’s widely worshipped as a guardian figure who defends the oppressed and inspires people to uphold righteousness and loyalty.

Nezha (哪吒) (Chinese) – A child warrior deity known for his rebellious spirit, Nezha is celebrated for resisting oppression, particularly against tyrannical figures in the heavens. He represents youth, resilience, and defiance against unjust authority, often empowering those who feel marginalized or oppressed.

Xiwangmu (西王母) (Chinese) – Also known as the Queen Mother of the West, Xiwangmu is a powerful goddess associated with healing, protection, and transformation. While not a revolutionary in the typical sense, she embodies resilience, independence, and the power of women in a traditionally male-dominated pantheon.

Zhong Kui (钟馗) (Chinese) – Known as the demon slayer, Zhong Kui is a spirit of justice who fights against evil spirits and brings protection to those who feel haunted by oppression. He is venerated as a deity who can help people overcome fears and defeat obstacles that seem insurmountable.

The Eight Immortals (八仙) (Chinese) – A group of legendary Taoist figures, each with unique powers, who often challenged the social order. Figures like Lü Dongbin and Zhang Guolao used their abilities to help people and protect them from corrupt rulers and evil forces, embodying the spirit of defiance against oppressive systems.

Sun Wukong (孙悟空) (Chinese) - The central figure in the 16th century novel “Journey to the West (西游记) but also a figure in Mythology, Sun Wukong stands against authority and inspires both resistance and strength as well as dynamic growth. 

Demons:

Lord Lucifer - The Adversary and Illuminator. Lucifer is a longstanding figure of bearing the light in the darkness and fighting against overwhelming oppression and control of powers that deem themselves tyrants. Lucifer fights and battles against forces that subjugate the oppressed. 

Lord Asmodeus – Known in demonology as a figure representing strength, ambition, and power, Asmodeus is sometimes invoked for resilience, drive, and confidence to overcome personal and external challenges.

King Belial – Often associated with independence and personal power, Belial is sometimes venerated for helping people stand strong in their own beliefs and against unjust authorities.

Mother Lilith – A figure of independence and resistance, Lilith is revered in some traditions as a symbol of feminine power and autonomy, especially in standing against oppression and patriarchal structures.

Lord Buer – Demon of healing and knowledge, called upon for mental strength and overcoming illness or hardship through wisdom and resilience. Promotes mental health and healing as well as encourages growth through overcoming your mental blockages.

Lord Leviathan - The Lord of Shadow Working. Lord Leviathan helps you navigate the deep and dark waters of your mind where you may feel overwhelmed and drowning. Lord Leviathan can bring you clear waters and help support you when the tides feel like they may pull you down. 

Secular Saints & Venerated Figures, Other Folkloric figures and Revolutionaries:

Harriet Tubman – Though not formally canonized, Harriet Tubman is often seen as a symbol of liberation and resilience, escaping slavery and leading others to freedom.

Malcolm X – An icon of strength, self-determination, and resistance, especially in the context of racial oppression. His life inspires resilience and the fight for justice.

Hypatia of Alexandria – Known for her wisdom and intellectual resilience, Hypatia became a symbol of strength and survival in a time when powerful figures often sought to silence knowledge.

Nelson Mandela – Revered globally for his resilience and role in overcoming apartheid, Mandela is a secular saint for many, representing strength and the spirit of resistance.

Frida Kahlo – Known for her resilience through physical and emotional pain, Kahlo’s life and work are often venerated as symbols of strength, personal power, and survival against all odds. Cuauhtémoc (Aztec/Mexica Tradition) – The last Aztec emperor who resisted the Spanish conquistadors. He is remembered as a hero who fought courageously to protect his people, embodying resilience and the spirit of resistance in Mexican culture.

Emiliano Zapata (Mexican Folk Hero) – Though not a deity, Zapata’s revolutionary spirit against oppressive forces has made him almost a legendary figure in Mexican folklore. He’s revered as a folk saint and a symbol of the fight for social justice and indigenous rights.

Hua Mulan (Chinese Folklore) – Celebrated for her bravery and willingness to challenge gender norms, Mulan fought in her father’s place in the army. Her story is a symbol of courage, resilience, and overcoming social constraints.

Kumari (Nepalese Tradition) – Known as the living goddess of Nepal, the Kumari is believed to embody divine power and protection for the people. She serves as a symbol of resilience and cultural endurance in the face of modernization and outside influence.

Zumbi dos Palmares (Afro-Brazilian Tradition) – A leader of a community of escaped slaves (Quilombo dos Palmares) in Brazil, Zumbi is honored as a hero and symbol of freedom, resistance, and African heritage in Brazil.

Yue Fei (岳飞) – A historical general from the Song Dynasty who became a symbol of loyalty, patriotism, and resistance against foreign invaders. Despite betrayal and wrongful execution, Yue Fei is venerated as a hero who embodies loyalty to one’s people and the fight against oppression.

Li Shimin (Emperor Taizong of Tang, 唐太宗 李世民) – Known for his role in overthrowing the corrupt Sui Dynasty, Li Shimin played a crucial role in establishing the Tang Dynasty. He is respected as a revolutionary leader who brought stability and cultural prosperity to China.

Chen Sheng and Wu Guang (陈胜, 吴广) – These two commoners led one of the first rebellions against the Qin Dynasty’s harsh rule, sparking what would eventually become a larger revolt. They are remembered as symbols of the common people’s resistance against an oppressive regime.

The White Lotus Goddess (白莲教) – Associated with the White Lotus Society, this goddess represents spiritual resistance against corruption and oppression. The White Lotus sect played a significant role in several uprisings throughout Chinese history, including revolts against the Mongol Yuan Dynasty.

Chi You (蚩���) – A figure from ancient mythology, Chi You was a tribal leader who fought against the Yellow Emperor. He is often depicted as a warlike figure who stood against established order. Though he was ultimately defeated, he became a symbol of rebellion and bravery in later cultural narratives.

Lü Zu (吕祖) – One of the Eight Immortals, Lü Dongbin (or Lü Zu) was known for challenging both heaven and earth, and he often sided with the poor and downtrodden. He encouraged people to resist worldly corruption, especially among the rich and powerful, inspiring resilience and self-cultivation.

Madame Zheng Yi Sao (郑一嫂) – Often called the Pirate Queen, she was one of the most powerful pirate leaders in history and led a massive fleet that defied the Chinese imperial government. Madame Zheng embodies resistance against oppressive authorities and is celebrated for her intelligence and revolutionary spirit.

[slexenskee]

The Continuation of Satoru Supremacy

Am I just going to slot this poor boy into every fandom? Signs are pointing to yes at this point lol. Ok so I've had either a JJK/HOTD and JJK/GOT crossover rumbling around my brain for ages now and its gotten to a boiling point lol. The JJK/GOT would probably be Satoru/Robb Stark and the JJK/HOTD probably Satoru/Aegon II. I have them pretty fleshed out in my head ngl.

THE PROBLEM is that I love his name, Satoru, and it literally makes no sense to have him reincarnate into ASOIAF works and somehow end up with that name, which means I would need to change it, and I don't know wtf to change it to.

Literally grasping at straws rn lol. I lowkey like Soren since it sounds Valyrian enough and also I feel like Satoru would be over the moon about it because he'd share a name with one of his favorite Fire Emblem characters.

Anyway the HOTD one would be a isekai/reincarnation AU with Satoru as Daemon and Rheanyra's surprise brothel baby that Rheanyra had to get shotgun-wedding'd to Leanor for 😅 so yeah Satoru is once again causing chaos and problems for other people just by existing... this time before he was even born! He's also called the Radiant Prince and also still the Honored One because he's basically a god and everyone in HOTD is going to damn well know it.

WIP:

In this life, as in his last, his birth was heralded with reverence and veneration, and wrought with untenable legacy. 

He was the firstborn son of the Realm’s Delight, lovely and fair and every bit as preternaturally beautiful as his mother. He was said to have his grandmother’s Arryn blue eyes, the king’s tousled white curls, his mother’s smile, and the very birthright of his great Valyrian heritage etched into his very existence; from his heavenly features, to his dragon, to the very name bestowed upon him. 

For days on end the whole realm celebrated his birth as a magnificent affair; bells tolled long into the night, nobles spilled from the four corners of Westeros bearing gifts of abundance and splendor, the smallfolk celebrated en masse along the streets of King’s Landing. 

They called him a blessed child, a perfect child, a glorious new heir for the throne. 

Upon his very birth the Princess Rheanys was said to have looked into his heavenly eyes and pronounced him a gift from the gods of old Valyria. Those same eyes, a precious, celestial blue resembling the late Queen Aemma, were said to have reduced his grandfather the King to tears from the moment he opened them. Lord Velaryon had named them a mark of the gods’ favor; such a curious, mystifying color, never settling no matter the lighting, as mercurial as a tempest sea. 

Just the mere sight of such a marvelous child, a mortal so obviously marked by the gods, so destined for greatness, could easily quell the rumors beginning long before his birth. 

Such derelict hearsay would never grace the ears of such a divine prince, of course. But he heard it anyway.

They rushed the wedding, they said. 

The princess was meant to start her royal procession to select her prince consort, but instead was married to the Velaryon heir within a moon’s turn. (The King had to appease the Velaryon’s somehow, after the way he snubbed their pure Valyrian heiress for his Hightower bride.)

The babe came early— so suspiciously early. (The Princess Rheanyra was so young, of course she would have difficulty carrying to term. Didn’t you see him? The babe was born so small!)

And he looks every bit a Targaryen, not a speck of Velaryon to be seen on him. (But of course the blood of Aegon the Conqueror would run strong within the royal line— and the Princess Rheanys is his paternal grandmother, such features run on both sides. Why, look at Queen Alicent's children! Do they look Hightower to you?) 

The Rogue Prince dotes on him, shockingly so. He perhaps even reconciled with his brother just to remain near the young prince. (The Rogue Prince has always remained stoutly devoted to his family, no matter his unsavory reputation, his loyalty to the throne is unquestioned. That he is just as devoted to his brother’s heir as he is to his brother is merely filial piety.) 

No matter the rumors swirling around him, it only took a single glance from his blessed blue eyes to halt the whispers in their tracks. 

His divine beauty and grace, his mystical eyes, his magnificent dragon— such pedestrian slander seemed silly and absurd in the face of them. 

To question the legitimacy of the Radiant Prince, the Honored One… no mere mortal could possibly be capable of uttering such blasphemy. 

[nordleuchten]

September 6th - or Party like it is 1824

The American people in 1824 were very aware why the 6th of September was so special – and they sure went all out to celebrate La Fayette’s birthday with him in America as the guest of honour.

On his return to New York, General Lafayette was informed that the society of Cincinnati intended to celebrate the next day, 6th of September, the anniversary of his birth, and he received an invitation to dine with them, which he willingly accepted. About four o’clock in the afternoon, a long file of venerable men arrived, marching two and two holding each other by the arm for the sake of mutual support, which the weight of years rendered necessary. They were preceded by a military band, with which their tottering steps found it difficult to keep time. We went down to meet them, and were received into their ranks; a decoration of the order of Cincinnatus which had been worn by Washington, was attached to the button hole of Lafayette, and we commenced our march for the hotel where we were to dine. It was truly a touching sight to behold these old soldiers, the glorious remains of the war of Independence, conducting amongst them the companion of Washington, the adopted son of America. The crowd of people that filled the streets through which we passed, showed by their serious and silent conduct the respect which this procession inspired. The hall prepared for the entertainment, was adorned with trophies of arms, and with sixty banners bearing the names of the principal heroes who died for liberty during the revolutionary war.

Auguste Levasseur, Lafayette in America in 1824 and 1825; or Journal of Travels in the United States, Translated from the French, Volume 1, New-York, 1829, pp. 82-83.

Joyeux anniversaire, mon petit Français!

[dionysianivy]

Dionysus - The Night Prowler 🍷🏺

Also known as: Bacchus

Dionysus is popularly called the God of Wine, however that classification doesn’t begin to do him justice as this powerful deity is so much more than that:

• Dionysus presides over Mysteries of birth, life, death, and resurrection

• He is the spirit of untamed wilderness and irrepressible male procreative energy, intoxication, shamanism, magic, joy, hallucinations, madness, and sexual healing.

He was the last of the twelve deities incorporated into the Olympian pantheon and so is usually classified as a “Greek god,” but his original homeland is believed to be Thrace: modern Bulgaria and Romania both claim to be his birthplace. Dionysus was accepted as an Olympian by the fifth century BCE but was known to the Greeks since at least the end of the Bronze Age.

Dionysus was originally served only by women. His female devotees were known as Maenads (Greece) or Bacchanals (Rome). Although men served him, too, women were leaders and initiators in the Dionysian rites, and certain rites were reserved for women. Ecstatic veneration was integral to his rites. To resist his call was to risk madness. Dionysus presides over the orgeia, literally “rites performed in the forest,” from which the modern word orgy derives. His devotees danced themselves into trances:they danced until they tranced.

Dionysus was twice born, first as the child of Zeus and his daughter, Persephone. Zeus named him Zagreus and designated him his heir over all his other children. Jealous Titans kidnapped Zagreus, ripped him to pieces, and ate him, except for his heart, which Athena rescued. Livid Zeus reduced the Titans to ashes and formed humans from these ashes, thus all people share in Dionysus’ (Zagreus') essence.

Zeus brewed a love potion from Zagreus’ heart and fed it to Princess Semele. She conceived Dionysus but died before giving birth. Zeus rescued the unborn child, removing him from his mother’s body and sewing him up in his own thigh to incubate until ripe and ready to be born. Dionysus was then hidden away for his own safety; he grew up in the wilderness of Thrace, nursed by goats. Dionysus was persecuted. Various spirits attempted to prevent him from achieving full power, most notably Hera, who struck him mad. Kybele healed and then initiated him. Reaching maturity, Dionysus led a caravan through Egypt, the Levantine Coast, Asia, and India, accompanied by a parade of Maenads, satyrs, and panthers. Wherever Dionysus traveled he taught people assorted agricultural and artisanal arts, especially viniculture, the creation of wine, and overcoming military opposition, when necessary.

Dionysus is not a fighter and does not usually harm anyone directly. Instead, he strikes them temporarily insane so that they harm themselves, sometimes fatally. Dionysus also liberates from madness and heals mental illness. Among the punishment he inflicts may be alcoholism. If propitiated, he can heal and relieve this ailment, too.

In addition to wine, Dionysus is associated with opium and mushrooms. His festivals featured nocturnal processions with music and masked, costumed revelers. These processions may be understood as armies of spirits, animals, musicians, and women exulting in their sexuality. Dionysus has dominion over all theatrical and dance performances. He is the patron of actors. He was invoked before all performances and presided over drama competitions.

source: The Encyclopedia of Spirits: The Ultimate Guide to the Magic of Fairies, Genies, Demons, Ghosts, Gods, and Goddesses by Judika Illes

[whencyclopedia]

Mary, Mother of Jesus

Mary of Nazareth, the mother of Jesus Christ, is one of the most venerated women from the ancient world. Her most common epithet is "the virgin Mary." She is celebrated by Eastern Orthodox Churches, Catholicism, and various Protestant denominations as "the mother of God." In Islam, Surah 19 of the Quran, the surah of Maryam, is devoted to her.

Stories of Mary evolved over time. Our earliest source for Christianity are the letters of Paul the Apostle to the Gentiles. Written before the canonical gospels, Paul did not name her. We have only: "But when the fullness of time had come, God sent his son, born of a woman, born under the law" (Galatians 4:4).

Mary in the Gospels

Ancient cultures shared a conviction that great people often had a miraculous birth, usually with the mating of a god with a human woman.

The gospels of Mark, Matthew, Luke, and John (70-100 CE) are our sources for Mary. Confusing at times, there are many women named Mary in the gospels. Then (as now) people named their children after famous figures. The name Mary derived from the Aramaic Mariam, in koine Greek, Maria. Miriam was the sister of Moses.

The earliest gospel, Mark (c. 70 CE), began in medias res, with the adult Jesus beginning his ministry in Nazareth:

On the Sabbath he began to teach in the synagogue, and many who heard him were astounded. They said, "Where did this man get all this? What is this wisdom that has been given to him? What deeds of power are being done by his hands! Is not this the carpenter, the son of Mary and brother of James and Joses and Judas and Simon, and are not his sisters here with us?" And they took offense at him.

(Mark 6:2-3)

Although not described as a follower in the earthly ministry, we know that his brother James was a historical figure because Paul visited with him twice, and he is referred to as "James, the Lord's brother" in Galatians 1:18. In Acts, James is one of the leaders of the new movement in Jerusalem. Early Christianity understood the siblings as other children of Mary after the birth of Christ.

Matthew and Luke both began their gospels with a nativity story (a birth story) of Jesus. The motivation was most likely to convince people that Jesus was the messiah, predicted by the prophets of Israel. They did this through references to the books of the prophets in the Jewish scriptures. At the same time, ancient cultures shared a conviction that great people often had a miraculous birth, usually with the mating of a god with a human woman.

Matthew's gospel describes the birth of Jesus as follows:

Now the birth of Jesus the messiah took place in this way. When his mother Mary had been engaged to Joseph, but before they lived together, she was found to be pregnant from the holy spirit. Her husband Joseph, being a righteous man and unwilling to expose her to public disgrace, planned to divorce her quietly. But just when he had resolved to do this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, "Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the holy spirit." All this took place to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet: "Look, the virgin shall become pregnant and give birth to a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel," which means, "God is with us." When Joseph awoke from sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him; he took her as his wife but had no marital relations with her until she had given birth to a son, and he named him Jesus."

(Matthew 1:18-23)

The holy spirit at this point was not the third entity of what became the Trinity in 325 CE. It was a reference to the spirit of God, which animated Adam when he "breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living being" (Genesis 2:7). It was the spirit of God that possessed the prophets with the ability to speak in God's name and perform miracles.

Readers are sometimes confused with a reference to divorce, as they were not married yet. Both betrothals and marriages were done through a legal contract, exchanging the property of the father to the new husband. To undo an original contract, another contract, that of divorce, was required.

Continue reading...

[marianadecarlos]

The Birth of Charles II of Spain

Supposed portrait of Charles II as a newborn. Stirling Maxwell Collection (Pollock House, Glasgow), attributed to Martínez del Mazo.

Carlos José, Charles II of Spain, was born on Sunday, November 6, 1661. The news spread quickly throughout the Royal Palace in Madrid, releasing enormous tension barely contained until then. Joy filled all the rooms, as Queen Mariana's pregnancy had come to a happy conclusion. Given the challenges of the previous days and months, this was a significant relief. Just five days earlier, on November 1, 1661, the Feast of All Saints, the crown prince of the monarchy, the beloved and cherished Philip Próspero, had tragically died. His death was a profound loss for Philip IV and his wife, who was in an advanced stage of pregnancy at the time. With the passing of the young prince, the Catholic Monarchy once again faced a lack of direct male heirs, instilling a sense of pessimism and fatalism throughout the Palace and across the cities and kingdoms of the realm. The death of Don Felipe Próspero, who was only four years old, struck the heart of the aged King like a dagger, leading him to believe, with certainty, that God had abandoned him.

Queen Mariana was deeply distressed. She understood her royal husband's feelings well. From her earliest childhood, she had been educated about the reasons for the state and was aware of what dynastic inheritance meant, so she empathized with her husband's dual pain—both providential and political. Additionally, as a mother who had already lost several children, she felt overwhelmed by the painful fate that the Almighty had in store for her, a fate that undoubtedly shaped her harsh and rigid character. The death of Philip Prospero, who was taken from life too soon, was just the latest tragedy in a long series of losses. Indeed, Mariana had endured a profoundly tragic maternal experience.

For all the above reasons, in the days following the death of Philip Prospero, the Queen's pregnancy, which was nearing its end, became a matter of first importance. The future of the Monarchy depended on this event. On Sunday, November 6, everything seemed to be ready. The doctors and physicians were on alert; the Queen's confessor was near her, and the Chief Steward of her Household was carefully reviewing the arrangement of the items in the birth chamber. To guarantee the success of the event, all the holy relics that were in the Palace and others brought from El Escorial and other places had been arranged in order.

There was the staff of Saint Dominic of Silos that the Order of Saint Dominic had brought, the ribbon of Saint John Ortega, from the Order of the Hieronymites; the incorrupt bodies of Saint Isidore and Saint Diego de Alcalá; the image of the Virgin of Solitude and the one so venerated by the royal family, Our Lady of Atocha. It is difficult to find a space so holy and sacred. Everything, then, was ready, the things of the earth arranged in order to implore God's pleasure.

At noon, after a frugal lunch, Philip IV retired to his chambers. At the same time, the Queen felt discomfort and went to her room. The midwife, Doña Inés de Ayala, and the chief physician of the Royal Chamber, Don Andrés Ordóñez, both witnesses of the birth of Doña Mariana in Vienna in 1634, were now assisting her in her sixth birth, the most anticipated of all. Mariana of Austria was then 27 years old. The chronicles say that there was no setback. It was one o'clock in the afternoon on that Sunday, the day of San Leonardo, when, according to the Gazette, “ 

a very handsome prince with large features, a large head, black hair, and somewhat swollen flesh saw the light of this world .” It was, of course, a very favorable comment, but soon rumors to the contrary spread through the gossip columns of the Villa and Court. That birth was received with joy. At three in the afternoon, when the news had already spread to all corners of the Monarchy and Europe, a sober and elegantly dressed Philip IV in black velvet, left his chamber and, “ 

accompanied by the Nuncio, the Grand Masters and the Ambassadors ”, headed towards the Palace Chapel in full courtly etiquette. There, the royal procession, presided over by the monarch, sang a solemn Te Deum, thus beginning the festivities that, in honor of the future Charles II, occupied the entire month of November 1661.