#Mastering C++ Fundamentals

[divaofmads]

Daughter of Water

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Female Reader (OC)

Warnings: Sacred virginity nonsense, Smut, +18, loss of virginity, sex with a stranger, fingering, standing sex, sexuality leaning more toward body-worship, dirty talk, fluff, mockery of absurd beliefs, use of the title “sacred whore” (though not to degrade the woman — you’ll understand when you read it), manipulative and mischievous Oberyn, Rough, Language!

Y/N: Your Name S/T: Skin Tone H/C: Hair Color

Word Count: 8.5k

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A/N: I'm not a professional when it comes to fanfiction. I just write as a hobby. I started writing thanks to the amazing people who do this perfectly. So if you're going to focus on my mistakes, please don't read it.

A/N 2 : I apologize for the mistakes I made in English that is not my native language and I am trying to improve my writing skills.

The dunes of Dorne shimmered even on starless nights, yet that evening felt dark and silent to Prince Oberyn Martell. The decision to exile him had begun with news from Highgarden. A covert assassination attempt against House Tyrell had failed, and subtle clues cast a shadow of suspicion upon Oberyn. The true perpetrator was never confirmed, but the delicate balance of power within the Seven Kingdoms was fragile enough to threaten Dorne's independence. Oberyn's courage and rebellious spirit made him an easy target for such intrigues. His brother, Doran Martell, saw no alternative but to send him into exile.

"The best thing you can do for Dorne," Doran said, "is to leave. This will be the salvation not just for you, but for our house."

As always, Oberyn responded with a smile.

"Exile me? Perhaps you're doing me a favor, brother. A fine excuse to explore the world beyond the Seven Kingdoms."

Upon leaving the warm sands of Dorne, Oberyn stepped into the complex and ruthless world of Essos. Exile offered him not just freedom but also the opportunity to discover the extent of his own boundaries. His first destination was Lys; known as the island of love and passion, this city was famed for its golden beaches, wealthy merchants, and renowned beauties. However, Lys's seductive façade quickly became monotonous for Oberyn. Dazzling women, gold-embroidered wine goblets, delicate incenses... These could not fill the void within a Martell's soul.

"Beauty becomes dull quickly," he muttered to himself, sipping wine on the terrace of a Lys inn. "The essence of pleasure lies in the unexplored."

After spending a few months in Lys, Oberyn set his course for Myr. Known for its fine craftsmanship, glassmaking, and ancient poison masters, Myr offered more than just hedonistic pursuits—it provided something to satiate his curiosity: the fine art of death.

While wandering through Myr's narrow, labyrinthine streets, Oberyn's eyes caught a shop he'd heard much about. Known as Tanith's "House of Spices and Elixirs," this establishment was a hub for poison dealers from across Essos. Upon entering, the air was thick with the scent of spices; dried herbs, snake skins, and finely ground mineral powders lined the shelves.

Tanith was an elderly woman; her eyes bore the faded memories of something once vibrant. Upon seeing Oberyn, she immediately recognized not just a customer but a student hungry for knowledge.

"Poison isn't wielded like a crude dagger, prince," Tanith said, retrieving a dark red powder from a shelf. "Poison requires patience and intellect. In the right hands, it's an art; in the wrong, a disgrace."

Under Tanith's guidance, Oberyn began to learn the secrets of poisons. He delved beyond the common toxins sold in Myr's markets, seeking rarer and more lethal concoctions. The impact of poison lay not just in the victim's physical agony but also in the psychological terror it induced.

Tanith taught Oberyn three fundamental principles:

1. The Power of Time: Some poisons acted instantly, while others consumed their victims slowly over weeks. Oberyn learned that a poison derived from the blood of the Lys snake left its victim debilitated for days, with death arriving only during sleep.

2. Deceptive Taste and Aroma: The deadliest poisons often appeared as innocent as a dessert. Oberyn tasted a poison from Old Volantis; when mixed with wine, it left a sweet, spicy flavor, yet a single sip ignited a burning sensation in the victim's veins.

3. Poison and Intrigue: Poison was not merely a physical weapon but a message. It was used not just to kill a king but to instill fear in a kingdom. Oberyn understood the importance of poisoning not just the victim but also those around them.

Under Tanith's supervision, Oberyn began crafting his own poisons. One of his most successful creations earned him the title "Red Sand" among the people of Myr. This sand-colored powder induced a sensation of sand coursing through the victim's veins, leading to death within hours. However, Oberyn used his poisons not solely for killing but also to slowly subdue his enemies and leave them in terror.

During his months with Tanith, Oberyn began to grasp the philosophy of poison. It was quieter than a sword, swifter than an arrow, and as powerful as a word. He researched the great poison masters of history; he listened to tales of a poison made from dragon blood used in the final years of Valyria. Compared to Myr, Westeros's tradition of poison seemed primitive.

One evening, he turned to Tanith and said,

"Poison is like a gift stolen from the gods. A swift death can make a king feel powerless; a slow one can strike terror into an entire people."

Tanith smiled and replied,

"But remember, prince. Poison consumes the one who wields it as well. If you go too deep, in the end, you may find nothing but yourself."

Oberyn, satisfied with the knowledge he had gained and the poisons he had crafted in Myr, still felt an emptiness within a longing for new places to discover and desires yet to be fulfilled. He had mastered the subtleties of poison, but now it was time for a different kind of adventure.

Leaving behind the warm, salt-scented air of Myr, Oberyn Martell burned with the yearning for his next journey. During his time in Myr, he had fed both his mind and his soul, yet the restless passion in a Martell's blood drove him to seek more. It was then, in a harbor tavern, that a tale sparked the beginning of his journey to Pentos.

The tavern, a wooden structure overlooking the port of Myr, was filled with the scents of wine and bursts of raucous laughter at dusk. Oberyn was drawn in by a drunken merchant’s tale. He spoke of the Prince of Pentos, who, as part of an age-old tradition, would be sacrificed to the gods after a season of poor harvests. A new prince would then be chosen in his place. But what caught Oberyn's interest most was the central figure of this ritual: Daughter of Water.

"Daughter of Water ," the merchant slurred, wine dripping from his lips, "is seen as a gift from the gods. She must be so pure, so beautiful, that when the new prince unites with her, fertility and peace return. The city waits for her for years, dedicates her to the gods. They say there's one now… her name is Y/N."

Oberyn listened to the words with a deep smile. He slowly lifted his wine glass and leaned toward the merchant. “Tell me, my friend. What is the story of this Y/N? And what kind of place is Pentos, that even the gods marvel at the beauty of its women?”

Pentos, a golden city overlooking the sea on the western shores of Essos, began to take shape in Oberyn’s imagination. Known for its brothels and harbor, Pentos was a hub where merchants, pirates, and nomadic warriors converged. But the city held far more than outsiders might suspect.

The narrow, stone-paved streets of Pentos were adorned with ancient mosaics, each telling a story from the city’s past. Golden-domed palaces stood as symbols of wealth, yet beneath this splendor lay a sharp game of fear and balance of power. Though it seemed as if Pentos was ruled by its lords, true power rested in the hands of merchants and wealthy families.

The people of Pentos fed their city with the gifts of the sea. Spices, exotic fabrics, fish, and precious stones from the East kept the port alive with motion. But behind this wealth were also the marks of poverty. Most of the houses were narrow, leaning on one another, barely letting sunlight pass through. The streets echoed with both the laughter of wine merchants and the silence of beggars crushed by hunger.

And in the middle of all this chaos, like an offering to the gods, the name of Daughter of Water, Y/N, was whispered among the people. Y/N was on the verge of becoming a legend.

What the merchant said had stirred Oberyn’s blood. The mere fact that Y/N had been chosen as Daughter of Water was enough to convince him to embark on this journey. But it was not just about a woman or a ritual. For Oberyn, Pentos was a new playing field. When the merchant said, “Pentos lives like prey caught in the talons of an eagle. It looks strong, but it always fears,” a sly smile spread across Oberyn’s face.

“Is it easy to get to Pentos?” Oberyn asked.

“Finding ships in the harbors isn't hard. But be careful—Pentos lords don't easily trust outsiders,” said the merchant.

Oberyn paid little mind to the man's warning. He was confident that with his wit and charm, he could get whatever he wanted in Pentos. At the port of Myr, he boarded a trade ship called the Silver Scorpion. The vessel was filled with exotic spices and rare fabrics, but for Oberyn, this journey was not about commerce—it was about discovering a woman and the dark secrets of a city.

As the Silver Scorpion glided over the waves, Oberyn pondered what lay ahead. The beauty of Lysandra, the ritual of the Water Maiden, the mysteries hidden beneath the golden domes of Pentos... This voyage promised to be one of his greatest adventures in Essos.

“Pentos,” he murmured to himself. “The gods truly know where to hide their gifts.”

As the Silver Scorpion approached the harbor, the grandeur and darkness of Pentos slowly entered Oberyn Martell’s view. The city’s golden domes and elegant seaside palaces suggested peace and order, but beneath that splendor was a chaos waiting to be uncovered.

The moment he disembarked, Oberyn scanned his surroundings. His eyes sought the order beneath the harbor’s chaos. Pentos seemed disorganized at first glance, but deep within its heart lay a hierarchy. Here, power was shaped in silence and shadows. Oberyn trusted his instincts—they would lead him to Daughter of Water, for a Martell never strays from his path.

He acted on the information given to him by the merchant he met in Myr. Daughter of Water was no ordinary girl. She was seen as a gift from the gods, venerated by the people. Such a being would not be hidden among the common folk; she would be kept in a special place, protected like a living icon.

Crossing the cobbled roads beyond the harbor, Oberyn made his way to the quieter and more noble part of the city. The northern quarter of Pentos was home to wealthy merchants and lords. Here, grand structures rose toward the sky, courtyards adorned with marble statues. But Oberyn knew Daughter of Water would be kept not just in wealth, but in sanctity.

As he traced her trail through the city’s bustle, a wine merchant whispered to him, “Daughter of Water? She’s in the Garden of the Gods. Beneath the golden arbors... but you can’t just walk in there.”

The Garden of the Gods was one of the oldest and most sacred parts of Pentos. Located on the city’s western slope, this area was a sanctuary dedicated to the old gods, filled with graceful statues and exotic flora. According to rumor, Daughter of Water resided there, under the watchful eyes of temple priests. The temple was open only to the chosen; within its walls, magic, tradition, and faith intertwined.

Before reaching the Garden of the Gods, Oberyn sought out more knowledge of Y/N from merchants and priests. Each described her divinity and beauty in their own way.

Y/N’s S/T skin was said to shine as purely and brightly as moonlight reflected on water. Her luminous complexion was viewed as a sacred sign by the people—as if the gods had touched her and crafted her with a purity unlike any other. Her H/C hair resembled the night sky: long, silky, and moving like waves in a gentle breeze. But what truly set Y/N apart wasn’t merely her physical beauty.

The priests said that the real reason people believed Y/N was sacred was because of the Blood Moon that appeared on the night of her birth. That night, Pentos fell into an eerie silence, and the city’s oldest priest declared that Y/N was “the rebirth of the gods.” Even more impressive was her voice, which seemed to enchant everyone who heard it. Her songs touched the hearts of those who listened, filling them with a kind of peace and awe. The people believed they heard the voices of the gods in her melodies.

Oberyn knew that entry to the garden was only possible for chosen individuals. But a Martell possessed the wit to turn obstacles into opportunity.

As Oberyn Martell moved through the narrow streets of Pentos, he gathered clues step by step to locate the Garden of the Gods. Every time he heard its name, he sensed a tremble of reverence in people’s voices. This place held not only beauty, but also mystery and power.

In the marketplace, he spotted one of the priests. The man was different from the others—his robe was cleaner, his walk more dignified. Most likely, he held a significant place in the temple’s inner hierarchy. Oberyn decided to follow him. He watched as the man began speaking to a merchant in a spice-scented alley. Observing from a distance, he noticed their interaction was based on mutual trust.

This insight offered Oberyn an opportunity. Even among the temple priests, some could succumb to worldly desires; for gold or prestige, no door was truly sealed. He needed only to wait for the right moment.

The next day, he witnessed a priest examining fresh flowers being taken into the Garden of the Gods. Oberyn seized the chance and approached, introducing himself as one of Pentos’s prominent merchants. He centered his conversation on the people's devotion to the gods and his "admiration" for the sanctity of the temples.

“Honored priest,” Oberyn began, with a subtle smile. “I’ve heard stories about the Garden of the Gods in Pentos. They say the gods left traces of themselves there. Tell me, what does such a sacred place look like?”

The priest responded with a cautious expression. “The garden is for the gods and their servants alone. Entry is not permitted for someone off the street.”

Oberyn’s lips curled slightly. “Someone off the street? Perhaps. But I didn’t come to Pentos as just another merchant. I’ve spent most of my life uncovering the mysteries of Essos. In Myr, Lys, Qohor... I’ve seen the signs of the gods. I believe in what you say, and I cannot help but admire what has been granted to you.”

The priest examined Oberyn’s confident tone. Still, he seemed ready to object. At that moment, Oberyn lowered his voice, speaking in a tone that balanced between a subtle threat and a tempting offer. “In this city, many speak of the sacrifices made by the temple priests, and of the sacred relics you guard in the Garden of the Gods. But sadly, some rumors suggest that this sanctity is no longer well protected. Such whispers could tarnish the priests’ reputation. However, a foreigner like me could see things in a very different light. I could help exalt the temple’s name, if we worked together.”

The priest evaluated Oberyn's words, sensing the subtle threat and flattery woven together. Turning him away carried risk; remaining silent, however, might make an enemy of a man as clever as Oberyn. In the end, they reached an agreement. The priest would lead Oberyn to the edge of the garden, but crossing the temple's boundaries would depend entirely on Oberyn’s own skill.

The massive stone gates of the Garden of the Gods were more magnificent than even the grandest structures of Pentos. The carvings above depicted ancient deities, each holding a different element of nature: fire, water, earth, and air. As Oberyn studied these representations, a phrase etched beneath the gate caught his eye: "Peace is found only in places blessed by the gods."

As the priest opened the gate, he turned to Oberyn. "Not everyone who comes here can feel its sanctity. But this place sees the soul. If you lose your way during this journey, it will be by your own choice."

When the gate opened, Oberyn felt the presence of another world. The Garden of the Gods was no ordinary garden. Towering marble columns reached toward the sky, and birds danced around them, transforming the temple grounds into a work of art. Water whispered from every corner, flowing through narrow channels that connected the courtyards.

Oberyn tried not to be swept away by the garden’s enchantment. "The blood of a Martell is sacred too," he reminded himself. Even amid such beauty, he remained focused on his mission. He could sense that Y/N was at the very heart of this garden. His eyes scanned every corner, every step calculated.

Oberyn Martell relied on his intelligence and sharp observational skills to move through the Garden of the Gods undetected. His desire to reach Y/N gave him a renewed sense of determination. As he watched the garden and its routines, he carefully noted the behavior of the priests, the patrol paths of the guards, and every small detail around him.

The first thing he noticed was the sacred order that governed the garden. The priests moved in a constant ritual rhythm, traveling to different sections of the garden at set times. The guards were vigilant, especially near the central pergola that lay at the garden’s core—an area under tight surveillance. Oberyn realized that a direct approach was impossible; he would need to find a flaw within the system’s structure.

Through his observations, Oberyn noticed that at specific times the priests gathered beneath a small pavilion in the garden’s corner. There, fruits and wines were offered as symbols of the garden’s sanctity, and the priests partook of these gifts while expressing their devotion. Yet Oberyn saw beyond the sacredness—he saw a glimpse of human nature: despite their faith, the priests consumed the fruits and wine with eager appetite, surrendering themselves to the moment’s comfort.

Oberyn recalled the months he had spent in Myr, learning the arts of poison. In the small leather pouch he carried, one vial contained an extract of a plant called Silent Shadow. The poison was not deadly; its effects were more subtle. It clouded the mind, dulled awareness, and slowed reflexes. For his goal, it was a perfect tool.

His next step was to mix the extract into the fruits and wine offered to the priests. But it had to be done without drawing attention. Oberyn purchased a few pomegranates and figs from a small fruit stall outside the garden. In a secluded corner behind the stand, he used a thin syringe to inject the poison into the fruits. He also treated a bottle of Pentoshi wine in the same way, preparing everything for his plan.

Oberyn discreetly placed the fruit and wine on a table near the pavilion, blending them in with the other offerings. When the priests gathered at the corner of the garden, they unknowingly included Oberyn’s contributions in their ritual. Soon after, he watched as they began to taste the sacred offerings, all while his plan took root.

The effects became evident quickly. The priests' movements grew looser, their speech slowed. Some chuckled softly; others gently swayed where they sat. Even the guards, having sampled a few bites, started to show signs of the same dazed state.

Oberyn knew this was his moment.

Oberyn, knowing this distraction would continue, decided to act. At this point, the most crucial part of his plan was to silently find the path to the center of the garden, to Y/N’s arbor.

The water channels running through the garden were another detail that hadn't escaped Oberyn’s notice. Passing under delicate stone arches, these channels connected every corner of the garden, extending silently toward the center. When Oberyn realized they were wide enough for a person to pass through, he decided to use them.

Taking advantage of the priests’ and guards’ scattered attention, he slipped into the most secluded part of the garden. There, a small arched tunnel marked the origin of the water. As he entered the tunnel, he stripped off his outer garments and began to move carefully, clinging to the damp stone walls. The humid, dark atmosphere tested both his mental and physical endurance. But Oberyn was used to such challenges; a Martell did not succumb to fear when opportunity presented itself.

As he moved forward with the sound of the water guiding him, he noticed a small stone staircase at the end of the channel. It led directly beneath Y/N’s arbor. Climbing the damp steps in silence, Oberyn advanced like a chess piece moved with careful intent. At the end of the tunnel, he spotted a sentry priest standing alert in the dim light. Now, intelligence and creativity had to serve as sharper weapons than any blade.

Looking around, Oberyn noticed thinly carved stone holes reaching up to the ceiling of the channel. These openings, combined with the sound of the water, created echoes that carried whispers across the garden.

A clever idea came to him to distract the priest. He picked up a small stone from near the entrance of the tunnel and placed it in the flow of the stream, waiting patiently. As the stone drifted with the current and clattered against others, it echoed, making it seem as though the sound had come from a distant part of the tunnel. But Oberyn wasn’t finished; to amplify the illusion, he gently blew air into one of the stone carvings, adding a whisper that blended with the rhythm of the water.

The priest suddenly stiffened. The rhythmic sound of the stream mixed with faint whispers must have seemed like a divine warning or sign. With unease, he turned his head and began to approach the shadowy entrance of the water channels. At that moment, Oberyn's cunning triumphed once again; while the priest waited for a sign from the gods, Oberyn glided up the stairs like a shadow.

The stairs led Oberyn to a chamber beneath the arbor. Here, on the surface of the stone walls, he saw carvings resembling ancient Valyrian symbols. Yet among them, Oberyn recognized the subtle outline of a mechanism. The stones shifted slightly when touched with care. With the patience honed under Dorne's blazing sun, he studied their arrangement. Moving with near-blind sensitivity in the dark, he found the correct alignment. As the final stone clicked into place, a soft mechanical sound whispered through the air and a stone door slowly opened.

A narrow passage led Oberyn just a few steps from Y/N’s arbor. Yet he could already feel her presence; the air itself seemed to hum with divine energy around her. It was as if her very breath filled the chamber.

But for Oberyn, the real challenge was how to approach her. It would take more than wit—it required a captivating strategy. This meeting with Y/N was less a hunt and more the final steps of a dance. He had reached the most sacred part of the garden, but as he neared Y/N, he prepared to don his mask: one of charm, danger, and cleverness.

When Oberyn Martell stepped into the sacred chamber of the arbor, his eyes lingered for a heartbeat. Y/N was far more than what the priests and the people of Pentos had described. The young woman seemed shaped by the very hands of the gods. Her S/T skin, so rare and pristine to someone who had grown under Dorne’s scorching sun, was like a canvas—pure and mesmerizing. The smoothness of her complexion reminded him of a mountain peak kissed by the first snow; cold, yet with an untouchable allure.

Her H/C hair, catching the flickering light of the torches in the room, resembled the night sky itself—each strand a shadow of starlight cloaked in darkness. It flowed down to her waist like a silken veil, framing her face in a way that made her seem like she belonged in a sacred portrait. But what struck him most were her eyes: deep, intense, caught between the golden flame of a dragon and the silvery gray of Valyria. Those eyes pierced through Oberyn’s gaze like an arrow.

Y/N left a divine impression not just with her beauty but with her very presence. Her movements were graceful—not in the way of a trained lady, but as though gifted by the gods themselves. The golden bracelets on her slender wrists, bestowed by the priests, chimed softly with each subtle motion. Yet Oberyn sensed those bracelets were shackles; Y/N was a bird in a cage, condemned to a fate she had never chosen.

A faint smile touched Oberyn’s lips—not one of victory, but of something deeper, a recognition. Y/N was not simply beautiful. She possessed a uniqueness unlike anything he had ever seen or experienced. This young woman could make him forget the flower gardens of Dorne, yet behind her beauty lay fragility and solitude.

"As beautiful as a goddess, and as fragile as a bird," Oberyn thought. "But a Martell fears neither gods nor cages." Y/N’s beauty stirred not only his admiration but also a hunger. He was not a man content with watching—he was a man of pursuit. But with Y/N, that pursuit felt elevated. This woman was more than a symbol offered to the gods—she was powerful enough to deceive the gods themselves.

Oberyn was captivated by not just her appearance, but the aura she emanated. The priests may have marked her as chosen by the divine, but in Oberyn’s eyes, Y/N held a power beyond their reach. The sorrow in her gaze ignited the fire in his Martell blood. His fury at her caged destiny, and his desire to truly know her, made him more resolute than ever.

"To only look upon her," Oberyn thought, "would be like gazing at stars and never daring to make a wish." Every movement she made, every breath she took, became less an image and more a melody in his mind. The fire of Dorne met the elegance of Y/N, and he knew this was merely the beginning.

Oberyn Martell would not accept that Lysandra belonged to the gods. In his eyes gleamed the resolve of a warrior and the passion of a lover. This bird would not remain caged—for Oberyn was a man who broke cages.

The Garden of the Gods in Pentos had lost none of its grandeur, even under the night’s shadow. Marble columns rose like phantoms in the moonlight, while the ancient trees overhead formed a canopy that veiled the sky. The soft trickle of water and the occasional chirp of birds gave the garden a sacred harmony with nature. The holiness of this place weighed upon the hearts of all who entered—but Oberyn Martell’s heart bore only one thought: Y/N.

“Y/N,” he said, stepping from the shadows with his usual confident, cunning smile. His attire—rich in black and red—was embroidered with golden suns of House Martell. He looked both noble and enigmatic, moving with the ease of a predator who cared little for the sacred. Y/N, under the moonlight, shone like a tale brought to life. But to Oberyn, this was no tale. This was the beginning of a mystery waiting to be unraveled.

“The Garden of the Gods... they say it’s a sacred place. But I’ve always been intrigued by how fragile sacred things can be. Just like you, shining here tonight.”

Y/N was sitting on the bench by the window; she quickly turned around and frowned at the stranger standing before her. There was more discomfort than fear in her eyes. "I don't know who you are, but you shouldn't be here. Only priests and the divinely chosen are allowed to walk in this garden."

Oberyn took a few steps toward her, and when the moonlight hit his face, that famous smile of his became more pronounced. "I did not claim my right from the priests, but from the night itself. I’m looking for something, Y/N. And I’ve found it."

Y/N's brows furrowed. "This isn't a place for games. Tell me who you are and leave."

Oberyn didn't seem affected by her authoritative tone. On the contrary, the smile on his face grew wider. "I am Oberyn Martell," he said, each word carrying the power of his name. "Prince of Dorne, son of the Snake, a wanderer who sings songs of love and death across the Seven Kingdoms. But tonight, I am only a man. And perhaps the Garden of the Gods has summoned me."

Y/N stared at Oberyn. "You came all this way just to find me? If achieving that makes you feel divine, I'm afraid you'll be disappointed. I'm not a miracle, nor the embodiment of a prophecy. I'm just... someone born in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Oberyn took a step to sit beside her, but Y/N stopped him with a motion of her hand. "Don’t come closer. I don't care who you are. I’m in no state of mind to talk to anyone on behalf of the gods."

"I'm not speaking on behalf of the gods," Oberyn said, his voice warm enough to slowly melt Y/N’s defenses. "I speak for myself. And when I look at you, I don’t see a prophecy or a miracle. I see a woman. A woman who has bewitched me."

Y/N turned her eyes away from Oberyn. "Bewitched? I suppose after growing up in a brothel, being seen as sacred is somehow less unbelievable."

Oberyn was quiet for a moment. "A brothel?" he asked, his voice curious rather than mocking.

Y/N paused for a second, then shrugged and continued speaking. "Yes. I was born in one of the famous brothels of Pentos. My mother worked there. The women did everything they could to protect me, but I grew up in the middle of that life. If you’re wondering how I remained a virgin, the answer is simple: I was scary enough."

Oberyn raised his eyebrows slightly. "You were scary?"

"Yes," Y/N said with a sharp smile. "From an early age, I didn’t let anyone come near me. I outsmarted them, protected myself with fear. Eventually, the priests came and told me I was the chosen of the gods. Funny, isn’t it? Someone who grew up in the back rooms of a brothel suddenly becomes Pentos’s sacred symbol."

As Oberyn listened to her words, the smile on his face faded into a more serious expression. "I can’t say your story surprises me," he said at last. "But I must admit, it makes you even more captivating. Because it's impossible to believe that a woman who defends herself so perfectly could ever be ordinary."

Y/N shot him a sharp look. "Don't flatter me. I've heard enough praise before you ever walked into this place. If you want something from me, just say it!"

Oberyn took a few more steps closer, locking eyes with her. “You wonder what I want from you? I want the truth. I want to know what guides you beyond this prophecy nonsense, what makes you feel like a pawn in the gods' game. But most of all, I want to understand you, Y/N. Because your story is more sacred than anything in this garden.”

Y/N remained silent for a moment. The sincerity in Oberyn’s voice had begun to chip away at her walls. Yet deep down, she still questioned how trustworthy this man truly was. “Your tales and my truths are very different, Oberyn Martell. I gave up believing in fairy tales a long time ago. But if it’s the truth you want, I might keep talking.”

Oberyn lowered his head slightly, wearing that famous smile again. “I’m not just a storyteller, Y/N. I’m a man who knows how to seek the truth, and live it. And tonight, here with you, I’m ready to uncover the truths that touch your soul.”

In his eyes, Y/N could see the dark shadows of her own fate. This man could be the most dangerous and the most captivating person to cross her path. But standing before him, she was determined to keep whatever she felt tonight a secret.

Oberyn stood in silence before her. Her sarcastic gaze, tired smile, and disbelief might have dissuaded another. But for Oberyn Martell, this was nothing short of a challenge. His intelligence and charm were often sharper and deadlier than any blade.

“The chosen one,” Oberyn said, adding a sly warmth to his voice. “You once said how foolish you thought that title was. But I’ve been wondering something. When you reject it, is it truly because of disbelief? Or is it rebellion against something that was forced upon you?”

Y/N turned to him, brows furrowed. “You’re trying to understand me, aren’t you? Others have tried before. Priests speaking in the name of gods, dragging my mother through the dirt while lifting me up… They all told the same lies. But my mother… she was different. She was the only one who taught me how the world really works.”

Oberyn took another careful step forward. “Your mother was a prostitute. But she did everything she could to protect you from her fate, didn’t she? A girl who grew up in a brothel and managed to remain a virgin… That alone is an incredible story. What protected you, Y/N? Your mother’s love? Or your own will?”

Y/N looked down in silence. The sharpness in her voice had faded, replaced by sorrow. “My mother trained me. Not just to protect my body, but my soul too. It had nothing to do with the gods. But that doesn’t make me sacred. It just… means I survived.”

Oberyn didn’t let the moment slip away. “Survival is already a miracle, Y/N. Especially in a place like that, with a past like yours. Staying a virgin doesn’t have to be a sign from the gods. But it is a power. A power only you know, and only you can control.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “Are you trying to persuade me? Because if you are, you’re talking to the wrong person.”

Oberyn leaned in, his face close to hers. “No, I’m talking to the right one. Because you’re someone who rejects titles and prophecies. That makes you stronger. The reason so many people cling to you like you’re divine isn’t just your beauty, it’s your resolve. Y/N, they want to make you sacred because you control your own fate. And now, we can write that fate together.”

When Y/N saw the sincerity in his eyes, she hesitated for a moment. His words were chipping away at her walls. “What do you want, Oberyn? What do you really want from me?”

Oberyn shrugged with a soft smile. “Just one night… just one moment. To be with you, and leave all this prophecy nonsense behind.”

Y/N, while weighing the meaning behind his words, remembered her mother’s advice. Oberyn’s charm and wit offered her a world she had never known. But within that world, she realized she could make her own choices. This man was offering her an option.

She looked at Oberyn in silence for a while. Then, with a slight nod, she spoke. “If that’s what you want, then I will be with you. But that doesn’t make me sacred. It makes me a woman. A woman who can make her own choices.”

Oberyn leaned in with a look that was a mix of triumph and tenderness, taking her hand. “What is sacredness anyway? Where there are choices and freedom, there is true power. And being with you will be a source of strength for me.”

Y/N smiled softly. This man had reached the vulnerable parts of her. But most importantly, he reminded her that she could choose something of her own free will. A gift from the gods? Perhaps. But in that moment, she chose to simply be a woman.

Y/N stood up to come level with Oberyn. The room was cloaked in semi-darkness. Her cheeks flushed at the thought of experiencing such an intimate moment with a man for the first time, but the shadows would conceal her. Yet her skin glowed like porcelain in the candlelight, making it impossible not to notice the change in her color. Oberyn gently cupped her chin between his fingers and lifted it, making her look into his eyes. Her eyelids carried a subtle weight. Her gaze became more alluring, more intimate than ever before. As Oberyn looked into her eyes, he felt both a kingdom to be conquered and a goddess to be worshipped. Then his eyes wandered to her lips, curving softly upward. He slid his thumb down to her lower lip. Its hue resembled a rose fed with fresh blood. Her lower lip was fuller, each word she spoke a silent invitation for a kiss. He could no longer resist. As their faces drew closer, their skin touched, and he kissed her lips—an innocent yet sinful kiss.

Oberyn Martell’s kiss carried layers of meaning, passionate yet always in control. Y/N’s body trembled involuntarily. This was the first true intimacy she had ever experienced. Her lips were soft and shy, while Oberyn’s were like a storm of experience overtaking them.

The kiss began gently. Y/N’s trembling breath made the warmth of Oberyn’s lips even more vivid. When Oberyn slipped his tongue lightly between her lips, Y/N’s entire body reacted as though washed in fire. For the first time, she discovered the depth of her own desire. When Oberyn’s tongue touched hers, she instinctively held onto his shoulder.

The kiss became more and more sensual. Oberyn’s experienced lips tore through Y/N’s shyness, urging her toward boldness. Their tongues began to dance, as though trying to taste each other more deeply; with each motion, the dance became bolder and more intricate. Y/N’s first hesitant touch of her tongue drove Oberyn wild. Her fresh and innocent responses only fueled the fire burning within him. As he deepened the kiss, his hands slowly moved upward. His palms caressed the sides of Y/N’s delicate neck, tilting her head back slightly to make her fully surrender. His thumb pressed gently on the spot where her pulse throbbed; this small gesture allowed him to feel how alive and sensitive her body was. The rhythm of her heartbeat pulsed beneath his fingers like a melodic song.

The moisture of the kiss blended with the warmth that spread from Y/N’s lips to Oberyn’s beard. Oberyn deepened the kiss as if he wanted to savor the taste of her lips a little longer. His free hand slowly moved down to her waist. Y/N’s slender figure, for Oberyn’s strong hands, was as precious as the gold and diamonds that adorned her body. His other hand gently touched the small of her back, fingers gliding beneath the fabric as they explored the curves of her body. His fingertips traced the bends of her spine, offering both reassurance and a subtle invitation to his fire. With every touch, he could feel Y/N’s faint shivers. Her deep breaths were a sign of how willingly she was surrendering to his passionate caress. While Oberyn honored her innocence, he was also relishing the pleasure of breaking it with her.

When Oberyn finally slowed the kiss and pulled away from her face, a soft breath escaped her lips. Y/N’s cheeks were flushed with desire; her lips slightly parted, marked by the trace of his bite. Oberyn studied her face and spoke with a mocking smile. "The taste of innocence is so sweet. But you will never be innocent again, Y/N. Not with me."

Then, Oberyn bent his knees slightly, one hand behind her back, the other under her thighs, and lifted her into his arms. His feet glided over the carpet embroidered with pomegranate motifs symbolizing fertility and sanctity. Though his movement was graceful, it held the decisiveness of a warrior lifting his sword. Y/N’s body felt light in his powerful embrace. When Oberyn's hand held her back, his fingertips discovered the smoothness of her skin—silky, warm, and fresh.

As he carried her toward the bed standing at the center of the room, the walls carved from black marble and inscribed with ancient symbols seemed to close in around them. The heavy velvet curtains darkened with each step, surrounding them like a lingering echo.

The bed was draped in deep blue silk covers, rippling like sea waves, adorned with shimmering white floral motifs. An ornate golden headboard stood tall like a symbol of sacredness. But for Oberyn, it was merely a vessel—not for the gods, but for surrendering to desire.

As he laid Y/N down, his movements were as delicate as a sculptor placing a masterpiece, yet as assertive as a conqueror celebrating victory. When her back met the softness of the bed, every fabric and texture on her skin suddenly felt foreign. Oberyn paused for a moment; leaning over her, his lips nearly touching hers, his breath stirred her skin. "The gods offered you as a sacred body," he whispered, his voice a reverberating tone in the darkness. "But here, in this bed, your sanctity will be undone. The gods misplaced you... They left you in my hands, not theirs."

His hands glided gently down her sides, as though drawing a boundary between her smooth skin and the bed's fabric. Oberyn read both her fears and desires. As his lips returned to hers, his hands moved over the curves of her breasts, the fullness of her hips, her skin burning like fire under his touch.

The dress Y/N wore hugged every curve with its thin and soft fabric, yet it drew a line Oberyn had yet to cross. His hands moved toward the elegant slope of her neck. As he gently slipped the fabric from her shoulders, his fingers made their first direct contact with her skin. There was a beauty that was both inviting and provocative, stoking the flame already burning low in his loins. "Being this flawless... is it merely a coincidence?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

He slowly slid the dress down to her wrists. The fabric stretched slightly over the fullness of her hips before falling freely again. The idea of a man seeing her bare body excited her; her nipples hardened, the fine hairs on her skin stood on end, her breathing grew erratic, and her chest rose and fell with intensity. How long could Oberyn withstand such an enticing sight? He climbed on top of her, supporting himself with one hand on the bed while the other cupped her breasts. Their round shape echoed nature’s symmetry. When he rolled the hardened tips between his fingers, a shiver erupted from her spine and surged toward her loins. Oberyn, alternately soft and firm in his caresses, bent to kiss her lips once more, ensuring her body met each touch with delicate sensitivity.

His fingers, feather-light, traced a path from her breasts to her stomach and down to her waist, brushing her body with teasing strokes that danced along the curves brought to life by the deep contrast of candlelight. Y/N trembled under Oberyn’s every touch, her body tightening in pleasure as she tasted such new and overwhelming sensations.

When Oberyn released her lips and moved down to her breasts, she gasped in surprise as if she had discovered something unknown. Her areolas were enveloped by his mouth, her nipples caught teasingly between his teeth while his tongue continued to provoke the untouched areas. Yet his hands never strayed from her sinuous figure.

In the midst of all this lustful passion, Y/N noticed something—an ache pooling low in her body, unlike anything she’d felt before. The tension gathered in her pelvis, and her most intimate part pulsed with heat. One leg rested on the bed like a column, while the other bent slightly inward, as if trying to contain the trembling arousal spreading through her. She felt embarrassed. Oberyn’s sensual touches had awakened every sensitive cell in her body, preparing her for a climax she couldn’t fully comprehend, while a warm, slick moisture began to seep between her thighs.

Oberyn finally released her breast from his hungry mouth, and without lifting his face from her skin, he trailed his nose, lips, and tongue between the swell of her breasts down to her navel. He licked each spot the candlelight revealed, and the trail of saliva he left behind cooled her delicate skin like a breeze across silk.

Kisses soon accompanied the strokes of his tongue. As he moved closer to her pelvis, the pleasure seemed to intensify; when a soft moan slipped through her teeth and filled the room, Oberyn lifted his head and smiled. "You're finally starting to let yourself go," he said, not with mockery but with the feral intensity of an impatient bull. "How about mimicking the sounds you heard in the brothel, Y/N? You may have kept your virginity, but surely you've been exposed to memories you didn't ask for."

Y/N froze for a moment. It was as if she had forgotten how to breathe. She saw the certainty in Oberyn’s eyes. She had grown up in a brothel and witnessed the orgasmic expressions on women's faces—grimaces that seemed to mix pain and desperation, as if they hurt but still begged for more. Her mother always said the women in that house were on a wicked path, that they sold their feelings for money, and ever since, a woman's moan had felt like something shameful to her. But now, she understood—resisting the overwhelming power of the pleasure she was experiencing would be absurd. As Oberyn continued to taste her body, a louder moan escaped her lips. The tension in her muscles had eased, and she could feel his touch much more deeply now. Her mind had surrendered completely to the spell of lust.

But it seemed even this wasn’t enough for the prince. He straightened up and gazed at Y/N’s sculpture-like, flawless face with desire. "Come on, gift me the sanctity of your moans," he said, "let me help you—lie on your stomach, and part your legs."

She hesitated at first. Her womanhood was like a vault where an artist hid their most precious works—a mysterious sanctuary. And now she was about to open that mystery to a man she barely knew. Her nervousness slowed her movements, but she did as he asked, supporting herself with her arms. She lay face down, pressing her elbows into the mattress while her head and breasts hovered above. She slowly dragged her feet across the sheets and opened her legs. When the cool air from the window brushed against her burning sex, she realized just how ready she was for this man.

Meanwhile, Oberyn began removing his clothes. The sharp sound of skin sliding against fabric, the gentle thud of garments hitting the floor filled Y/N’s ears and echoed in her mind like a melody announcing the carnal pleasure to come.

When Oberyn moved to position himself on the bed, his knees on the bed again, the bed trembled with his movements. And when he finally placed his body on top of Y/N’s, she felt his strength and weight down to her feet. When Y/N’s body, which would make the gods jealous, merged with Oberyn’s, the missing piece of the puzzle was complete, they were in such harmony.

On the ceiling was a fresco dedicated to the gods. The fresco depicted dragons piercing the sky and sea goddesses. The pale light filtered through the fresco, adding a mystical air to the room and illuminating Oberyn’s bronze skin and Y/N’s S/T. The light from the fresco surrounded their bodies in harmony like a sacred halo.

Oberyn’s hand moved along the edges of Y/N’s body, stopping at the edge of the bed and her body, his fingers began to push the edge. “Come on, Daughter of Water, help me,” he said, leaning into her ear, his warm breath mixing with his words. His lips were so close, the goosebumps of his breath brushing against her skin.

Oberyn slid his hand from her waist, wedging himself between her and the bed. He struggled toward her groin, his fingers finally meeting a warm slick, a soft moan escaping her lips.

Y/N felt trapped beneath Oberyn. His weight, his strength, and the way his arm wrapped around her waist and lowered his hand to her fresh pussy made her feel like a captive, a prisoner who had forgotten her freedom. Her movements were completely restricted, and she realized that she had to surrender herself only to his touch. But what she was trapped in was the orgasmic moment Oberyn would give her, and she could remain in a prison of lust forever.

As uncomfortable as Oberyn thought it was when his beard dug into her skin when he placed his head on her neck, even that discomfort gave her a reason to get wet when the prince’s fingers started moving. The sloshing sound of her wet pussy caught her ears. Oberyn was slowly caressing the girl's clitoris in a circular motion, moving his fingers to the left side with a certain tempo, and with the sudden change of direction, he could feel the girl's whole body shaking under him. Then he dipped his index and ring fingers into her outer lips, stretching her swollen flesh on both sides, and reached the entrance of her vagina with his middle finger, and while stimulating this area, he continued to stimulate it with frequent up and down movements, sliding the precum he had collected up to her clitoris and pressing it hard.

Oberyn had passed his other arm under Y/N's ribcage and placed his hand on the girl's neck. As the girl was exposed to the naughty movements surrounding her inner lips, her tensed muscles struggled to lift her off the bed and get some rest from this maddening pleasure, Oberyn wrapped his arms and legs tighter around her body. Y/N was moaning now, as he wanted. A deep moan coming from her chest, a combination of pain and pleasure.

"Does this feel good?" he asked, knowing that the girl was in no mood to speak. And as he had expected, no words came from her lips except a groan. A dark and threatening air swept through the room as Oberyn repeated his question. The fingers around her neck tightened slightly.

Y/N's mouth let out a series of painful, broken cries, then she answered, her voice trembling. "Yes, I've always wondered about that feeling," she admitted.

“Oh, good,” Oberyn said, his fingers softly against her throat. But Y/N had become so sensitive to the sudden stimulation from her entrance to her clitoris that she buried her head in the pillow. She was moaning much louder now. But he was forgetting something. Oberyn wanted Y/N’s moans to echo throughout the room. So he pulled his hand from her pussy, tangled his damp fingers in her hair, and lifted her head violently off the pillow until his ears brushed her lips. He breathed through his teeth. “You will not do this, Y/N! If necessary, the priests and guards will hear your moans and come here, but you will never lower your voice, do you understand me?”

Y/N was afraid. She was disturbed by this rough treatment, by the disregard for her will. But she also wanted, absurdly, to continue this fear and for Oberyn to be harsher with her. And she was too ashamed to tell him.

She did as he said. When Oberyn placed his hand between her vulva and the bed again, his voice grew louder with the intensity of his caresses. Oberyn was pleased with her. He laughed softly. "Well done, Y/N," he said, "as long as you listen to me, it is inevitable that you will lose yourself in the 'sacred' pleasures of sex." As the girl moaned and shook more, a hardness that belonged to Oberyn continued to swell in her ass. He wondered how hard it would get, and was equally surprised. Back in the brothel days, she had watched the son of a young, rich family fucking one of the girls in the house. When he had withdrawn his penis from the woman's vagina while he was secretly looking at them through the open door, he had seen that it was a small and slender organ. It did not look very hard, though. Now, as the hardness she felt behind her increased, she felt sorry for the boy. And she understood why he had come there.

Oberyn rose from Y/N, choosing to look down on her squirming body, and when he placed his strong hands on her waist, turning her like a wooden puppet, he spoke in a tone that showed his admiration. "To touch you is like defying the gods. But it is worth it; I am willing to burn with your fire."

Y/N tried to catch her breath and digest his words. The intensity of Oberyn's gaze startled her, but it also made her feel stronger than she had ever felt before.

The invisible attraction between them grew stronger with each second as the captivating scent of basil and sandalwood filled their lungs.

Oberyn would prepare Y/N for their new position. She was wet enough, eager enough... But she was still just a young. This time he didn't ask her. He placed his hands under her knees and made her stretch her legs. This way, Oberyn could easily slide between her legs, making sure her slit, which was burning with pleasure and completely covered in precum, was spread apart so he could insert his cock between them.

Y/N gasped as her prince's vein-throbbing cock pressed against her inner lips, and she punched the bed with sudden force. "Fuck," she screamed. Oberyn laughed with pleasure. "What would the priests and common people do if they knew that Daughter of Water they worship as a sacred virgin was screaming lust under a foreign man?" he asked breathlessly, his voice stinging and mocking. The girl's virgin pussy was so wet that the liquid leaking from her legs began to spread on the blue fabric of the bed.

Oberyn was forcing his way into her vagina, first grabbing his cock in his hand and flicking it against her clit, then stroking it all the way around her vagina a few times, then inserting a few millimeters of his tip into her vagina, but it never went in. This was driving Y/N crazy. "Fuck you, Martell!" she screamed, a phrase she had heard a whore say in the past. "I want you inside me now." As rude as it had sounded at first, she now realized how useful it was.

Oberyn was provoked by the girl's words. With sudden movements, he grabbed her by the arms, straightened her up, and hugged her as if he wanted to crush her. He pulled the hair covering her ears hard and growled through his teeth. "Do you want me to fuck you like your whore mother, Y/N? Turn the holy virgin into a holy whore?"

Y/N was aroused by these words. It was interesting that Oberyn treated her differently than other people. "Yes," she moaned, "I want you to fuck me like a whore."

The more the girl begged him, the more Oberyn became greedy. "You really need to be fucked hard by a strange man, don't you, Y/N, huh? Tell me!"

Y/N moaned breathlessly, "Oh, yes, I just want to be Prince Martell's bitch!"

Oberyn got off the bed without letting go of the girl's arm and stood on his feet. He turned the girl's back to him and placed his chin on her shoulder. One of his hands was pushing her back as he spoke. "Bend over, my holy whore," he commanded.

Y/N did as he said immediately and pressed her upper body against the bed. Oberyn placed his strong hand on the girl's back to find the position she needed and made her chest press a little more against the bed. Y/N's full ass was now clearly visible to Oberyn's eyes. Smooth as porcelain and as aesthetic as a statue. Just below, between her ass cheeks, her full pussy lips were glistening with precum reflected by the candlelight. So needy, so delicious and worthy of being spanked without tolerance...

Oberyn first placed his fingers on Y/N's right ass cheek. He caressed it gently. Then he repeated the same for her left as he now held her cheeks with both hands and stretched them to the sides. And suddenly he slid his penis into the girl's vagina. Y/N was startled and breathless when she suddenly felt his cock in her vagina. She wanted to get up, but Oberyn's hand was still on her back, keeping her steady.

Oberyn’s cock completely enveloped Y/N’s vagina. It was neither too tight for him. He threw his head back in pleasure as the rough, warm walls of her vagina encased Oberyn’s smooth manhood. “Oh, gods! I hope they’re watching us.”

It had been a long time since Oberyn had been inside such a tight vagina, and he was lost in longing for the pleasure it gave him. Each time he pushed his huge snake inside her, his swollen balls slapped against her clit, stimulating both her g-spot and her clitoral, nearly bringing her to tears.

“You like that, don’t you?” Oberyn asked between growls. “Tell me you want me, Y/N, tell me you want your prince’s big, hard, juicy cock in your horny cunt!”

Y/N was panting. With the intensity of the pleasure she experienced, tears started to flow from her eyes and she started to cry, her moans became louder and echoed in all the frescoes. "Oh, yes, I want my prince's cock inside me."

A wild moan came out of her throat with each impact as he rooted it into her tight hole. And he continued to push rhythmically. "Feeling you from the inside is like a mortal tasting heaven."

Both of them were about to reach the peaks of pleasure. Y/N's tight vagina felt Oberyn's hardness and veined surface down to its smallest cell. Oberyn's penis, on the other hand, was wrapped in Y/N's warm and knotted walls, twitching like a pulse.

At this moment, Oberyn's attention was drawn to a mirror hanging on the wall opposite the bed.

Its frame was delicately shaped and decorated with mythological figures. Women's faces, looking up as if praying to the gods, were intertwined among sacred texts embroidered in gold. Its surface was like natural water, radiating a wavy light.

Oberyn grabbed Y/N's arms before he could pull her toward him. His head found its place in the curve of her shoulder, his lips caressing her cheek as he asked if the mirror was related to her sacredness nonsense. Y/N tried to regain her composure, her breath coming back to her. Then he answered. It was a mirror made solely to reflect Y/N's virginal and "sacred" body.

There was irony in Oberyn's eyes as he emerged from Y/N, examining her as if she were a being as fragile as glass. He gently wrapped his fingers around Y/N's arm and led her to the mirror, speaking in a voice that echoed off the cold stone floor of the room. "Is this it? Is this the holy light they believe in?

The mirror had made Y/N an icon in this world. To the priests, her silhouette on the mirror's shiny surface was a mark as pure as the touch of the gods. But now... this was a night when that holy glow would be tested.

He entwined his fingers in her hair and stroked her encouragingly. "A reflection, a vision shining on the surface of the glass..." then Oberyn touched her perfect curves as if introducing their naked bodies. "But you are the real thing, Y/N. Blood, living, human..." he pulled aside the hair covering her neck and kissed her passionately. Each kiss was wet and sincere.

Y/N turned her gaze away from the mirror. But Oberyn held her chin and turned her face back to the mirror. Now her reflection was not of the godlike light she was used to, but of the heat of excitement in her body.

"We will continue here," Oberyn said softly, almost a whisper. "You will see the girl reflected in the mirror free from her chains. Now...bend."

Y/N felt guilty despite everything. When she saw herself in the mirror, she felt in her heart that she had broken the trust of the people, the priests, and even her mother in her. While the words that had been flying in the air just now disappeared, the image reflected in the mirror hit her with all its concreteness. But she never gave in to the impositions of the people, she did not really want to play the role assigned to her. The reflection she saw had changed; she was no longer an innocent icon, but the silhouette of a woman who did not hide her feelings.

Oberyn ordered her in a harsher tone this time. And he grabbed her waist tightly and helped her bend forward with a rough intervention. Y/N spread her legs. Her clitoris and vagina were still pulsing, and the colorless fluid was leaking from her legs. And when Oberyn slid back inside her, she groaned, realizing that she was still as hard as iron. He fucked Y/N much faster now. He gripped her arms to support himself comfortably and control his movements, and pressed his fingertips tightly into her flesh. Her firm breasts, defeated by gravity, shook and quivered as Oberyn moved rapidly inside her. Her vaginal walls tightened and pierced her joints each time he entered, announcing his presence to her entire body, and when he left, he created a huge void.

Oberyn leaned toward her ear, his voice trembling with a snarl. "You want their imposed sanctity to be destroyed, don't you?" She was out of breath, her moans mixing with each other. "Look in this mirror," he said, his voice so firm that Y/N obeyed. "Your innocence, your beauty, the reflection they loved so much to worship. But tonight, the gods saw you differently." He pulled her arms tightly toward him, still thrusting; he pressed his lips to her ear. His growls were still wild and ambitious. "You are breaking free from being their temple and carving your own path." When Y/N looked into the mirror, the smooth, godlike silhouette that had symbolized her virginity was replaced by the traces of sin. Now, on the surface, a body moved by Oberyn's hands, a body shaking with passion, a lustful cry on her lips. This was the story not only of a body but also of the liberation of her soul. The moment came with a mocking smile that came from Y/N’s own voice. The words she managed to squeeze out between her moans were, “Perhaps the gods are not jealous of me, but of the pleasure I feel in sinning.”

Oberyn laughed softly at her words, then took her chin between his fingers, holding her face in the mirror. As if he were addressing the gods who ruled the room, he spoke into Y/N’s skin, almost a whisper but threatening. “Look and learn. This woman has rejected your lies, and now she lives here, with her own desires, her lust. That is true holiness. That is true power.”

With the spasms and twitches that betrayed the coming of a perfect orgasm, Oberyn pressed his lips to Y/N’s. They were kissing wildly. Wet and hard. Their tongues danced in harmony. He continued, his rasping voice not taking his lips away. “I will miss this night so much… I would take you to my palace.”

Y/N could not even answer for all the pleasure she was feeling. Oberyn continued to bite and kiss her ears, neck, and jawbone. They were now close to their orgasm, their moans echoing through the room.

"Y/N, are you ready?" he moaned. Y/N was in sync with Oberyn's pace. He spoke without taking his lips off hers. "Oh, Y/N, you're perfect for me." Oberyn let go of her arms and grabbed her waist to increase his pace. He sped up, faster and faster. The "snap" sound of their flesh slapping against each other drowned out his words.

Y/N closed her eyes tightly and breathed deeply. Her chest rose and fell. The pleasure made her head spin so much that when she stretched her arms out to the wall to keep her balance, her hands gripped the edge of the mirror tightly. "Oh, my prince!" The sacred mirror trembled along with Y/N's shaking body as Oberyn continued to fuck her at a steady pace. Her balance was completely off and she was leaning to the left, at an acute angle to the wall.

Oberyn finally came inside Y/N. He clenched his glutes so tightly in pleasure that her pits were clearly visible. Y/N came at that moment. As the electrifying electricity of her orgasm coursed through her body, she used her power disproportionately against the mirror, causing the already unbalanced sacred mirror to slide down the wall and fall to the floor as Oberyn wrapped his arms around her. The sacred mirror, now shattered into hundreds of pieces, now reflected Oberyn and Y/N's lust from every angle.

Both were out of breath. Y/N’s head was resting on the prince’s shoulder, her eyes closed and her legs shaking in exhaustion as she tried to control her breathing. If Oberyn hadn’t wrapped his strong arms around her, she would have collapsed to the ground. Her juices mixed with Oberyn’s cum and seeped from the sides of his massive penis, branching out from her legs and running down to her ankles.

Y/N’s eyes caught her reflection in the broken mirror on the floor. The impositions of virginity, sanctity, the gift of the gods had vanished one by one.

Her ears were still ringing when Oberyn released her. “No more sanctity,” Y/N said, her breath coming in short gasps, her voice carrying a dark pleasure and a hint of mockery. “The Water's Daughter of Pentos, destroyed by her own decisions.”

Oberyn took her face in his hands and kissed her passionately on the forehead. “Holiness is a chain only for the weak,” she said, her voice a whisper of defiance. “You are not a daughter of the gods, but of your desires and your freedom. If you have power in this world, it is your will to be your own.”

The reflection in the shards was a sign of chaos for Y/N’s people. The holy virgin was now tainted; a crisis of faith would erupt between the priests and the people who believed that her body would bring fertility. When the land lost its fertility, the priests would surely blame Y/N. But Y/N felt the lightness of freedom, not the weight of her sin, in the mirror.

“Oberyn,” she said, her eyes now on Oberyn’s. “These people sought to enslave me to their gods. But now I will show them that I am only mortal. I am neither holy nor cursed. I am only myself.”

Oberyn smiled, with the pride of a victorious general. "And so I chose you," he said, his fingers touching her cheeks. "These people wanted to use you for the gods, but you lit your own light. Now all will see that you belong only to yourself."

The mirror no longer symbolized holiness, but rebellion and freedom. Y/N's reflection reflected her own choice instead of the definitions that had once been imposed on her. The chaos of the people and priests would echo a revolution that had begun in front of the mirror.

The morning sun of Pentos rose above a continual chaos. The streets of the city were filled with talk of the fall of Daughter of Water and the lies of the priests. Whispers of Y/N’s loss of sanctity had spread to every corner of the city; the woman who had been seen as a symbol of fertility was now a sinner in the eyes of the people. The priests tried to erase the traces of this event that had shaken their faith, making promises to keep the people in check. But the roots of the chaos were too deep. The lands of Pentos would never be the same again.

Oberyn Martell stood on the deck of a ship that waited silently in the harbor, taking one last look at the city he had left behind. A wry smile was on his face, a combination of the destruction he had left behind and the freedom he had gained. Y/N had chosen her own path, and with Oberyn’s touch she had broken the chains imposed on her. Her virginity may have been sacred, but no one could offer that sacredness to the gods anymore.

This city was merely a stopover for Oberyn, the beginning of another adventure.

“Prince Oberyn,” the captain said, coming up behind him. “We are ready.”

Oberyn turned once more to Pentos. His eyes scanned the horizon of the city, his thoughts following the chaos he left behind. “Divinity,” he muttered to himself, “is a lie invented only by the weak. But chaos… that is the true gift.”

He walked across the deck to the prow of the ship. He leaned his hands on the side rails as the salty air rising from the sea filled his lungs. His heart beat with the excitement of a free man. The marks he had left on the city would not be forgotten for long, but Oberyn had no place in his life for the burden of the past. The seas and new horizons, pleasures to be discovered and vengeance to be taken, answered his call.

The skyline of Pentos grew smaller as the ship slowly left the harbor. Oberyn turned and looked to the horizon. The sun was drawing a golden path across the seas, heralding a new adventure. "The story of Pentos is over," he said to himself, "but mine is just beginning."

And so The Red Viper of Dorne set sail for new adventures, leaving a city full of chaos in his wake. The lands and peoples that awaited him were ready to bear the mark of Oberyn Martell.

[tanoraqui]

hello! as someone who has finally just gotten dropout to see what the deal is with game changer, i'm wondering if there is/what you would consider required watching? it doesn't seem like the type of show where it's necessary to go in order, but i also don't know if i'll get the impact of season 7 without having seen some of the context

You are right on both accounts - there is no watching order whatsoever, not even for the "game-samers", ie, the rare episodes that DO repeat a gimmick. However, there IS an element of...humans, including these assorted recurring cast members of Dropout.tv, experience time linearly, and thus there are running jokes which are funnier if watched in order, there is the building over time of their respective "gamechangersonas", ie, the slightly simplified versions of themselves which they present for audience consumption on this show... And especially, this first episode of s7 which everyone is talking about REALLY hits hardest if you've experienced the previous 6 seasons of Sam Reich putting his friends in Situations.

For your immediate needs, I suggest:

Watch the very first episode, s1e1. From the start they knew what they were doing in terms of a) players have to figure out what the FUCK is going on, b) fundamentally what's going on is Sam Reich psychologically tormenting his friends for fun, and c) Sam Reich being completely unprepared for the amount of psychic damage all his theater kid friends are willing to both endure and deal out on internet tv.

Watch the 3 "Sam Says" episodes scattered throughout the seasons, in order. This is the quickest way to both hammer in that fundamental dynamic of Game Changer - Sam makes everyone dance like puppets for his & our & to be fair their own amusement - and, even more essentially for your purpose, to experience the escalation of the insanity of those dance steps, until it verges at times on (consensual!) all-out psychological warfare.

Join the current audience by watching s7e1! It's hysterical, and you now have context for how fun it is to watch the players REALLY turn the tables on the Game Master.

Continue with s7 as it comes out, while simultaneously watching s1-6 from the start. You really CAN watch in any order, you're totally fine to jump into s7 now. Heck, you don't need to do Steps 1-2 at all if you don't want to. THAT SAID, as I said at the start, there's tidbits of context that I'm sure will also improve s7 episodes, whatever they are... And most importantly, it's a hilarious and fun show, and you should watch it!!

When you've caught up with s1-6, rewatch s7e1, because it WILL be even funnier with the full 6 seasons of build-up + unavoidable parasocial connection.

[pomidaea]

When looking at your art I always notice how amazing you are at expressions and body language.... HOW?!?!??!?! like tell me your secret

(　ＴДＴ)

And different face shapes, body types give me some of that talent I'm struggling!!!! Pls

Hello! I can’t show a step-by-step tutorial because my process is too messy to be turned into one, but I can give some general tips and also resources that you could use _(:3 」∠)_

EXPRESSIONS AND FACE SHAPES

Tips:

A general thing for expressions is that the features of a face interact with each other. For example, when you’re happy, you smile and your eyes also squint. If you raise your eyebrows in surprise, your eyes widen a bit. When you’re angry, your eyebrows furrow, your nose scrunches up, and your mouth is downturned. 

Try to observe the people around you, see what facial features move when people are happy, sad, angry, bored, etc.

If the expression feels flat, exaggerate. 

Human Anatomy Fundamentals: Mastering Facial Expressions (Joumana Medlej) - This goes in depth on how features interact with each other, and also has an emotion tree that groups expressions into 5 categories: relaxed, surprised, smiling, angry, and sad.

For face shapes, you need to know the basic proportions of a face before you can start messing around with different features. Here are some resources you can use which are a combination of art channels, challenges, and websites. You can use these for your art studies.

Proko - A gold mine for art tips in general, and they’re beginner-friendly. Note: They cover more realistic proportions rather than stylized ones. The 2 playlists I recommend for drawing faces are Head Proportions and Facial Features.

100 Head Challenge (Ahmed Aldoori) - Basically a challenge of drawing 100 heads in 10 days. You can honestly just go for any reference that you can find, but this Pinterest board could be a good starting point.

Earthsworld - A collection of candid portraits taken from American county fairs. Lots of unique faces that aren’t limited to “conventionally attractive supermodel faces from Pinterest™”.

BODY LANGUAGE AND BODY TYPES

Tips:

I wrote this down a couple of years back, but this did help me a lot. Note that these 4 tips apply to making your poses less stiff and not full on anatomy, that's a whole different thing (Taken from: how to make your art less stiff or whateveR 🤡🎨 - banana boi)

Simplify shapes - Make things easier for yourself. Example: Instead of thinking of drawing an arm, think of it as drawing two connected cylinders. The body can be broken down into different shapes such as spheres, cylinders, and boxes.

Let go of the details - Not everything needs to be super detailed. The main focus is the pose, not anatomy.

Exaggerate - A drawing is 2D so there isn't any depth. Exaggeration brings life into a drawing and makes it less stiff.

Fuck accuracy - It's like letting go of the details, the main point of capturing the body language is the pose and it's gesture. You want to convince people of what you are drawing rather than how accurately you can draw the thing.

Gesture Drawing - Your friend in figuring out poses and adding life to them. The main point of a gesture study is to capture the pose of a figure. Don’t think too much about how it should look. It’s supposed to be messy and not completely accurate. Each pose should be captured in around 30 to 60 seconds.

For example, here are some gesture studies that I did before. I didn’t focus on how accurate the anatomy is and simplified my lines to capture the essence of the pose. Try using S or C curves rather than straight lines.

Figure Drawing - I’d describe it as a more detailed version of a gesture drawing. Aside from the gesture, you are also paying attention to anatomy, proportions, and structure. These drawings take more time to finish, around 2 to 10 minutes.

Line of Action is a great website for figure drawing since you can adjust the timer as well as the models. I’d recommend doing gesture studies first, then moving to figure drawing so that you’ll have a better understanding of proportions.

You can also ask your friends or family to pose for you since live drawing is better than pictures. If you're too shy to ask, you can try drawing them while they're doing something like working, watching a show, or anything that lets them stay in place for a few minutes.

What I do besides looking at regular model poses is search for sports photography. There are lots of good shots that capture the athletes mid action. These are some of the drawings I made all the way back in 2020. These kinds of poses help you look at how the body moves in motion rather than your typical sitting/standing references.

Here's the thing tho, even if you think you're not good at gesture, you can still move forward to figure drawing. Gesture is a foundation while figure builds more to it. You're developing both skills at the same time for these two types of drawing.

Morpho: Anatomy for Artists Book Series (Michel Lauricella) - Great resource for anatomy references. These books simplify figures into basic shapes and explain some anatomy. The downside is that they don’t show a step-by-step guide on how to draw the human figure. If you can’t afford all the books, there are PDFs online. I don't know how you'll get them since there are different "ways", but I’d download with caution. (Example: Morpho: Simplified Forms or Morpho: Fat and Skin Folds).

Quick Anatomy Tips (Sinix Designs) - Deep dive into simplified anatomy and general tips. Honestly, Sinix Designs is also a good art channel on youtube to learn from since he tackles more stuff than just anatomy.

GENERAL TIPS

Here's a fun practice to do for faces and body types. Look for a character from your favorite media with a face and body type you've never drawn before, and try making fanart of them.

What pushed me to actually start learning how to draw different faces and body types was because of Miguel O'Hara from Across the Spiderverse. I got so frustrated in trying to draw him to the point that I used that spite to learn something from it 😅

Other tips would be:

Know at least the basic rules before you break them. Your art style won’t save you from having incorrect anatomy.

OBSERVE. Don't just go straight into drawing. Take the time to look at the figure/object before putting down the first line. How can you draw something when you don't even know what you're looking at?

References are a tool. Don’t feel ashamed if you need one, it's not cheating.

Your art will suck at first but keep going. It’s part of the process of learning. 

It’s better to have bad art than not draw at all. 

Don’t put too much pressure on yourself while learning, have fun!

Hopefully this is easy to understand and you were able to get something out of it! Good luck with your art journey 💙

[planetarytransformation]

Tier list of Les Mis characters based on how good it would be if a trans woman played them

---

F tier

Gavroche: Too sad. Also weird that a bunch of students are keeping a nine-year-old trans girl around.

Marius: Eddie Redmayne isn’t allowed to do that shit to us again.

D tier

Cosette: Chaser Marius is funnier than chaser Cosette, but still not that fun. The trans girls I know are getting tied down and spit in, not having saccharine romances with dapper young gentlemen. Fundamentally inhospitable to a trans reading.

Fantine: Oh, how bold. A trans woman gets fired from her job, cuts her hair, becomes a sex worker, then dies of an STI while penniless from child support. I actually got a little sick writing that. Please don’t do this.

Thenardier: Yeah, yeah, what if the evil criminal and child abuser was also a faggot with it. A trans woman would absolutely knock the audience dead with Master of the House, but things just get ugly in the second act as the corpses of these brave little cis boys get picked over by some crossdressing creep. Not as fun as it seems.

C tier

Mme. Thenardier: Only funny because then you get to have Chaser Thenardier, and frankly that suits his character well enough that I want it to happen.

Jean Valjean: I’m tired of trans people having to be self-sacrificing. Jeanne Neovaljeana is the story of a community workhorse being ridden to death, giving up the respectability she spent years clawing back, carrying her cis daughter’s cis boyfriend out through a sewer, and then dying on the wedding day. Stupid!

B tier

Javert: Not a conventional pick, but Javert turns to the law as a source of stability in a morally unsettled universe, and I think that that contradiction would be further complicated by her being transgender. Plus, then her fight with Valjean in Act 1 makes a point about trans women in sports. Honestly, there’s an argument that the character as is has some serious repressor energy – she even kills herself at the end!

The Bishop: Now we’re talking. Extending mercy to a man who robbed you and changing the course of his life is like a sublimated version of what happens to a guy the first time he gets topped. She is the most powerful person in every scene she’s in, and she deserves it. Great pick.

A tier

Enjolras: Come on now, think about it. Leader of the revolutionaries, bohemian philosopher-turned-soldier. Just picture her at the top of that barricade, brown corset over white blouse, curly hair over her shoulders, lipstick matching the red of the French flag as she waves it. I have to stop describing this because I’m getting a little too worked up.

Grantaire: Okay, okay, I get it. You want to do a transgressive casting, but you can’t make the noble revolutionary hero look too AGP. How about his slovenly, lecherous sidekick? Only makes sense that a tgirl in 19th-century France would develop a drinking habit, and she gets some fun lines to boot.

Eponine: Every trans woman I know has fantasized about dying in the arms of her unrequited lover. A Little Fall of Rain already makes me misty; watching one of my sisters sing it would absolutely break me. She even does tactical boymoding at one point; god, the casting writes itself. Phenomenal choice.

Conclusion

Everyone dies in this fucking play, but some people die well and others die badly; fundamentally, the casting must impart dignity. It’s hard to get that as a trans woman in theater. Be brave.

[nofomogirl]

Good Omen's problem with having two canons

They're fundamentally different. That's the problem. That's my point.

For quite a while I focused almost exclusively on the new season of Good Omens, but now I am slowly delving into analysis that takes the entire show into account, and I've encountered a little obstacle. Namely, things from S1 can be really tricky to interpret.

Fair warning: this post is going to zig-zag between various points but I want you to trust me and take this scenic route with me. It will take us somewhere eventually, I promise.

The Arrangement

It's one of the core elements in the Good Omens universe and at the same time a perfect example of the issue I want to discuss. So let's have a closer look together.

In the book, the Arrangement is presented to us in two passages:

the first one, where it is first - very briefly - mentioned:

Aziraphale had tried to explain [free will] to him once. The whole point, he'd said - this was somewhere around 1020, when they'd first reached their little Arrangement - the whole point was that when a human was good or bad it was because they wanted to be.

and the second one, where it is properly introduced and explained:

The Arrangement was very simple, so simple in fact, that it didn't really deserve the capital letter, which it had got for simply being in existence for so long. It was the sort of sensible arrangement that many isolated agents, working in awkward conditions a long way from their superiors, reach with their opposite number when they realize they have more in common with their immediate opponents than their remote allies. It meant a tacit non-interference in certain of each other's activities. It made certain that while neither really won, also neither really lost, and both were able to demonstrate to their masters the great strides they were making against a cunning and well-informed adversary. (...) And then, of course, it had seemed even natural that they should, as it were, hold the fort for one another whenever common sense dictated. Both were of angel stock, after all. If one was going to Hull for a quick temptation, it made sense to nip across the city and carry out a standard brief moment of divine ecstasy. It'd get done anyway, and being sensible about it gave everyone more free time and cut down on expenses.

In the show, the Arrangement is presented to us in two original scenes in the cold opening of S1E3:

(I am quoting most relevant dialogues only)

537 AD, Wessex:

C: So we're both working very hard in damp places and just canceling each other out? A: Well, you could put it like that. It is a bit damp. C: Be easier if we both stayed home. If we just send messages back to our head offices saying we'd done everything they'd asked for, wouldn't it? A: But that would be lying. C: Eh, possibly, but the end result would be the same. Cancel each other out. A: But my dear fellow... well, they'd check. Michael's a bit of a stickler. You don't want to get Gabriel upset with you. C: Oh, our lot have better things to do than verifying compliance reports from Earth. As long as they get paperwork they seem happy enough. As long as you're being seen doing something every now and again. A: No! Absolutely not! I am shocked that you would even imply such a thing. We're not having that conversation, not another word!

1601 AD, The Globe Theatre:

A: I have to be in Edinburgh at the end of the week. A couple of blessings to do. A minor miracle to perform. (...) C: I'm meant to be heading to Edinburgh too this week. Tempting a clan leader to steal some cattle. A: Doesn't sound like hard work. C: That's why I thought we should... Well, bit of a waste of effort, both of us going all the way to Scotland. A: You cannot actually be suggesting what I infer that you are implying. C: Which is? A: That just one of us goes to Edingburgh, does both. The blessing and the tempting. C: We've done it before. Dozens of times now. The Arrangement- A: Don't say that! C: Our respective offices don't actually care how things get done. They just want to know they can cross it off the list.

S2 doesn't actually reference the Arrangement. But it does reuse the dialogue about free will where the 1020 date is dropped. We will get back to it.

The challenge of adapting Good Omens

Good Omens shares a certain characteristic with all of Terry Pratchett's solo books I've read - it couldn't care less about "showing instead of telling". Which I love, just to be clear. A book is a written medium. It's made with words and one of words' major strengths is that you can use them to just tell things point blanc.

Good Omens does it a lot and it's fantastic.

Look at that second passage from the book I quoted earlier.

From just those few sentences we learn a lot about the relationships between:

Heaven and Hell (opponents and competition)

Aziraphale and Crowley (two individuals in the same position and in direct contact with each other)

Aziraphale/Crowley and Heaven/Hell (field agent and a remote HQ that are not in direct contact)

Aziraphale/Crowley and Earth (two individuals and a space they live in)

Heaven/Hell and Earth (a board where the game is played, only winning or losing matters, what actually happens on a board does not)

It's really an extra condensed worldbuilding gem sprinkled with humor, so it's no surprise it's become one of the most iconic passages from the book.

I mean, just browse through some interviews with David and Michael - especially the ones from 2019 - where they explain what Aziraphale and Crowley are about. You'll be hard-pressed to find any where they don't reference that specific paragraph, consciously or otherwise.

But it's only this neat on the pages of the book, where narration like this takes mere seconds to absorb. It's impossible to convey the same information in a visual medium with anywhere near the same efficiency.

The fact that the majority of Good Omens is like this was, in my opinion, a main challenge the adaptation faced. The book is very narration-heavy. It's full of fun facts about characters, side jokes, hilarious comments, etc. Some of that precious material was salvaged by introducing God as a narrator, but there was only so much of it you could squeeze into a TV show. The rest had to either be fit into dialogues or lost in translation from the written medium to the visual one.

Obviously, in the case of the Arrangement, it was the dialogues.

Book canon and show canon

We all know they're not the same. Neil Gaiman also pointed it out several times. But I think our mistake is that we still tend to think about them as complementary.

Look at the Arrangement again. The show canon seems to merely expand on the book canon. Add extra details and fill in the blanks. The Arrangement works the exact same way, except now we also know more about how it started.

If we compile what we know from the book with what we know from the show, we get a more detailed timeline:

Crowley first proposes the Arrangement in 537 (show).

The Arrangement starts in 1020 (book), ie. Aziraphale finally agrees to it (show - deduction); we don't know for sure if it's a "basic version" (not getting in each other's way), or a "full version" (doing each other's jobs) but we can assume it's the former.

In 1601 "full version" of the Arrangement is in place for some time (they've done it dozens of times) but Aziraphale still objects and needs convincing.

But read that description from a book once more.

Does it really fit into the version of events shown in the TV series?

The Arrangement in the book is something that just happened. A natural, and in a way inevitable result of Aziraphale and Crowley's circumstances. We are never told who came up with it first because it doesn't matter. Because it could have been either of them. Because after five millennia on Earth, they were both ready to do it. They were both of the same mind. For all we know it might have been an unspoken agreement all along!

But for the show, the creators had to come up with a good reason for the Arrangement to be discussed out loud. And what could be a more natural situation for someone to describe and explain an idea than trying to sell that idea to someone else?

For that practical reason - among many others, no doubt - the Arrangement is not only explicitly Crowley's idea, but an idea Aziraphale vehemently rejects at first. He needs to be convinced and even when he finally relents he's never entirely comfortable with it. He keeps objecting and it requires Crowley's constant effort for them to keep cooperating in any way.

The fact that Aziraphale is reluctant gives Crowley a perfect reason to keep convincing him ie. talk about the Arrangement. But the fact that he needs to explain and keep convincing Aziraphale means that Aziraphale is no longer a person who understands the same things and feels the same way.

That is a huge change.

Of course, you may say that what I've written about the Arrangement in the book is just my interpretation. It's true that technically there's nothing there that would contradict the events from the show in any way. The thing is, the events in the show aren't very compatible with the overall characterization of the ineffable duo in the book.

Evolution of Aziraphale and Crowley

You might have read that our leading pair was originally conceived as a single character that Neil and Terry eventually decided to split into two separate individuals.

My reaction when I first learned about it was: "Of course they were! That makes so much sense!" Because honestly, as a person who watched the show first and then read the book, I was surprised at how few differences there were between the two in the original text. If you squint your eyes really tight, you can see how book!Aziraphale and book!Crowley are two versions of the same character. They're far more similar than their show versions.

Most importantly, their attitudes toward Heaven and Hell are pretty much identical. Perfectly mirrored in every regard. What Hell is for Crowley, Heaven is for Aziraphale. What Hell is for Aziraphale, Heaven is for Crowley. In. Every. Possible. Way.

Allow me to present some evidence from the book.

Exhibit #1: the end of the scene where Crowley convinces Aziraphale to interfere with Warlock's upbringing

'You're saying the child isn't evil of itself?' he said slowly. 'Potentially evil. Potentially good too, I suppose. Just this huge powerful potentiality, waiting to be shaped,' said Crowley. He shrugged. 'Anyway, why're we talking about this good and evil? They're just names for sides. We know that.' 'I suppose it's got to be worth a try,' said the angel. Crowley nodded encouragingly. 'Agreed?' said the demon, holding out his hand. The angel shook it, cautiously. 'It'll certainly be more interesting than saints,' he said. 'And it'll be for the child's own good, in the long run,' said Crowley. (...)

When Crowley first points out that good and evil are just names for sides, and then insists it's something they both know, Aziraphale doesn't react in any way. That's because these aren't things that book!Aziraphale disagrees with. He does indeed know it and doesn't deny it.

Also, please note just how cynical the angel is here with his comment that influencing the Antichrist would be a more interesting project than influencing saints!

Both would be rather OOC for show!Aziraphale.

Exhibit #2: the scene just after Warlock Dowling's birthday party, when it becomes evident he is not the Antichrist

'You said it was him!' moaned Aziraphale (...) 'It was him,' said Crowley. (...) 'Then someone else must be interfering.' 'There isn't anyone else! There's just us, right? Good and Evil. One side or the other.' He thumped the steering wheel. 'You'll be amazed at the kind of things they can do to you, down there,' he said. 'I imagine they're very similar to the sort of things they can do to you up there,' said Aziraphale. 'Come off it. Your lot get ineffable mercy,' said Crowley sourly. 'Yes? Did you ever visit Gomorrah?' 'Sure' said the demon. 'There was this great little tavern where you could get these terrific fermented date-palm cocktails with nutmeg and crushed lemongrass-' 'I meant afterwards.' 'Oh.'

Can you imagine this kind of exchange in the TV series? Can you imagine show!Aziraphale being this realistic about Heaven, and show!Crowley so naive about it? There's no way.

Show!Aziraphale genuinely believes that Heaven is good at its core.

Book!Aziraphale knows Heaven isn't any different than Hell and would punish him just as ruthlessly and unfairly as Hell would Crowley.

Show!Crowley understands both Heaven and Hell on a very deep level and is highly aware of their true nature.

Book!Crowley buys a piece of celestial propaganda about ineffable mercy and actually expects Heaven to be forgiving.

Let the magnitude of that difference sink.

Exhibit #3: same scene, a bit further

'So all we've got to do is find it,' said Crowley. 'Go through the hospital records.' The Bentley's engine coughed into life and the car leapt forward, forcing Aziraphale back into the seat. 'And then what?' he said. 'And then we find the child.' 'And then what?' The angel shut his eyes as the car crabbed around the corner. 'Don't know.' 'Good grief.' 'I suppose (...) your people wouldn't consider (...) giving me asylum?' 'I was going to ask you the same thing. (...)'

This is just a cherry on top, really.

Yes, in the book, when things go pear-shaped, both Aziraphale and Crowley consider seeking asylum on the opposite side.

Do you need more proof that book canon and show canon really aren't as compatible as they may seem?

Free will

As promised, let's get back to that dialogue because while it may not be obvious at first glance it really illustrates perfectly the problem arising from balancing between two canons.

Here is the full quote from the book:

Aziraphale had tried to explain [free will] to him once. The whole point, he'd said - this was somewhere around 1020, when they'd first reached their little Arrangement - the whole point was that when a human was good or bad it was because they wanted to be. Whereas people like Crowley and, of course, himself, were set in their ways right from the start. People couldn't become truly holy, he said, unless they also had the opportunity to be definitively wicked. Crowley had thought about it for some time and, around about 1023, had said, Hang on, that only works, right, if you start everyone off equal, OK? You can't start someone off in a muddy shack in the middle of a war zone and expect them to do as well as someone born in a castle. Ah, Aziraphale had said, that's the good bit. The lower you start, the more opportunities you have. Crowley had said, That's lunatic. No, said Aziraphale, it's ineffable.

And here, for comparison, is how it was reused in S2E3:

A: There is a stolen body in that barrel! This is wicked! C: Oh, I'm down with wicked! Anyway, is it wicked? She needed the money. A: That is irrelevant. Look, I am good. You, I'm afraid, are evil. But people get a choice. You know, they cannot be truly holy unless they also get the opportunity to be wicked. She is wicked. C: Yeah, that only works if you start everyone off equal. You can't start someone off like that and expect her to do as well as someone born in a castle. A: Ah, but no, no. That's the good bit. The lower you start, the more opportunities you have. So Elspeth here has all the opportunities because she's so poor. C: That's lunacy. A: No, that's ineffable.

I'll be honest with you - I didn't like that scene in the show. It felt jarring and off. Aziraphale was acting like it was his first day on Earth and it was frustrating to watch.

Then, on one of the rewatches, just as I was rolling my eyes at "that's ineffable", a bulb lit in my brain. That line didn't work there because it wasn't created to be there! In the book and in S1 "it's ineffable" was kind of Aziraphale's catchphrase but in S2 it only appears this once. More importantly, in the book and S1, the fact that the angel would say that was all a build-up to the scene when he threw it in Heaven's face at the Tadfield Airbase. Using that word in S2 was like trying to make a running joke that has already reached its destination run again.

And just like that one line the entire dialogue didn't fit because it wasn't meant to be there. It was created for an entirely different context.

What's the difference?

Firstly, book!husbands' conviction was very shallow and it wasn't uncommon for both of them to spout slogans without meaning them. Therefore, book!Aziraphale's words didn't carry that much weight. The very fact that the conversation took place at the same time they formed the Arrangement tells us something about how serious he was. But show!Aziraphale's relationship with his beliefs is different, so when he says things like that it's a much bigger deal.

Secondly, the book explicitly states that Aziraphale and Crowley only developed free will on Earth, due to extended exposure to mankind. The show never really makes a stand on the matter but based on what we've seen so far I think we can safely assume that angels and demons are capable of making their own choices as much as humans do.

In other words, in its original context, the conversation was just Aziraphale talking about a concept he didn't fully grasp, quoting propaganda he didn't fully subscribe to. He was being ignorant and mildly obnoxious in an endearing way.

But using the same dialogue verbatim in the Resurrectionist carried a completely different meaning. Aziraphale who utters it in the show has no reason to be so ignorant about free will. Aziraphale who utters it in the show genuinely tries to defend Heaven. Most importantly, Aziraphale who utters it in the show, doesn't just idly bicker with his friend about general things but is judging an actual human individual that's right in front of them. That, more than anything else, makes it sound heartless and ignorant.

What is the problem with having two canons, exactly?

It's time to wrap things up.

In the opening paragraphs, I've mentioned that I've noticed the issue while interpreting scenes from S1, and yes, that was the case and I do believe that the existence of two canons is especially problematic for S1. That's because pretty much every scene in S1 is potentially like that dialogue about free will in S2, except subtler and harder to spot.

A grand majority of what we see and hear in S1 comes directly from the book. But while words and actions were kept, in some instances things that gave them their original meaning might no longer be valid in the show universe. Sometimes they easily take new meaning, and we don't even notice. But sometimes there's this dissonance that's not as easy to work around.

S1 deviated from the book and created its own canon. But the difference didn't seem to go very deep and it seemed perfectly reasonable to use some trivia from the book to shed some extra light on the content of the show. I used to do it in my head, even though I was aware of the changes that were made.

But S2 expanded the show canon so far beyond what was in the book that I'm really not sure it makes sense to compile them anymore.

There are a lot of things that were only explicitly stated in the book that I keep clinging to. But perhaps it's time to let go...

Thank you for your patience.

I know all of the above isn't exactly a revolutionary discovery, but I needed to get it off my chest before writing anything else.

[sol-consort]

Regarding the human kink thing when it comes to turians, some people actually do be nesting, omega-verse style. Imagine being a human assigned to a turian ship, and you just over here in your bunk, innocently arranging the pillows and stuffies, while these guys are just standing there, slack-jawed and harmonizing their subvocals lol

[updated post]

A/B/O is not for me, but I dig the concept of aliens being intrigued by plushies. They are weird when you think about it.

The weird part isn't the plushies–it makes sense for warm-blooded mammals who value skinship to enjoy cuddling soft things, hugs are fundamental for your health—No, The weird part is how the most popular plushies aren't human shaped.

You could argue dolls, but dolls aren't used as plushies. They're more hard and sturdy, something that can withstand being played with. they have joints and brushable hair. Dolls are puppets to tell a story with, a psychological form of play through creativity.

I want you for a moment to imagine an advanced civilisation of bears with me.

With metropolises and bustling economy, they haven't mastered space travel yet but they've been eyeing the planet closest to them, bringing back rocks from the moon, etc.

In one apartment complex, there lives a bear family. The furniture is more accommodating to their larger build, clothes are more of an accessory to them considering their luxurious fur coats keeping them warm.

It's nighttime, tomorrow's a Sunday and mom bear has to leave to work early, she's currently washing the dishes leftover from the wonderful dinner the family just had. Her wife, however, is putting their son to bed. it's his second week in elementary bear school! he's unhappy with his seating arrangement in class however, the teacher placed him too far from his best friend.

His mother promises to have a chat with the teacher about it when she drops him off tomorrow, the son bear is very delighted and roars happily. A big yawn escapes him as his eyelids get heavy.

In his arms, there lies a cotton friend. His most beloved treasure, the most precious inanimate object to his heart. His plushie!

He adores it. It makes him so happy. It helped make him feel safe when he first started sleeping alone after his moms got him his own bed.

Now, I need you to tell me what does the plushie look like?

For me, these are the options that instinctively came to my mind when attempting to imagine what sentient bear cubs living in a 21st century would gravitate towards in a plushie.

A) a teddybear, more fluffy, abstract, and cartoonish looking

B) a plushie in the shape of a honeyjar

C) a plushie in the shape of a fish–more specifically, salmon or trout

D) fuck idk man leave me alone

When compressed down to their core, in the most simplfied form, the choices are:

A) Identity

B) Food

C) Food

D) How did you get into my house?

-

With that long analogy out of the way, when you compare that limited selection to the actual things humans have already turned into plushies, it just doesn't make sense.

Food, yes we have plushies of food but also of animals we do not eat. rabbits, cats, dogs, dolphins, bugs. We have plushies of predetors even, things that once hunted us down, beings that still could very well kill us if we meet face to face, tigers, sharks, bears themselves even.

Animal cartoons are much more popular amongst kids. Fables about talking animals have been a stable genre ever since humans invented writing. Animal plushies are popular amongst adults too.

Plushies of inanimate objects, of plants, of fictional characters and fantasy creatures.

I'm willing to bet that humans already made plushies of verans since the first year they came into space, that they sold out on earth immediately. Hell, I'm sure there are plushies of reapers, of protheons and even of turians and other species.

Not even abstract ideas were spared from being into marketable plushies! isn't there a series designed to raise awareness for mental illness?

The whole meme of "turns your fav into a marketable plushie" spread so much because it is true. If there is one thing humans love, is making plushies of anything not human.

And that's the weird part to aliens, the big boy of human anomalies. "Why do they want to cuddle literally everything in this universe? and how come plushies of other humans is the last thing on that list"

You try to explain it to a salarian once but they just look at you in confusion. What do you mean you sleeping with plushes resembling your species is "weird"?? Don't you humans like hugging each other so much? Yet cuddling the soft imitation of a reaper each night isn't weird to you????

That's not even mentioning how the bear society analogy is flawed because we are biased by nature. We projected the bear society onto our human agriculture and based it upon our own popculture.

When in reality they would hold very different values, a different emotional range. They'd be as diverse as the other alien species in mass effect, sharing more resemblance to them than to humans.

We see someone sad, and we have this need to touch them, pat their shoulder, rub their back, hold their hands, and give a hug. Bears let their children walk on their own while we carry our young more, much like aquatic birds in more ways than we'd think.

A/B/O nesting isn't my cup of tea, but with turians, it's easier to digest. Yeah, they are birds. It would be literal nesting. That's kinda cute.

We like caves, it's also cute. Would turians prefer the top bunkbed? Anyway.

Birds usually throw clutter away from their nests, anything that's not a straw or building material is disposed off to make space for their eggs.

While we like the opposite, clutter fucking rocks! at least for humans.

We have a mattress, then a mattress cover, then a sheet.

Then we have pillows, stuffing, then pillow covers, decorative pillows.

After it, multiple blankets! a soft one, a heavy one, an airy one. Sometimes, blankets come with blanket covers.

Finally, the plushies arrive. Multiple of course, some for decorations, others well worn with cuddles. Sometimes a gaint big one to fully wrap all of our limbs around.

Sometimes our beds have crumbs from food we eat in it, othertimes it has a stray sock we took off while in bed and forgot.

Most of the time it has our phone in it, a pet joins us there, book we're reading, laundry we were supposed to fold but forgot, a bag, or several outfits as we get ready to go out.

That's a cave, much like bears leave the skeletal remains of their prey, we have crumbs from the cookie we suddenly craved at 3am.

Nests are neat and clutter-free, at least the bird ones, always getting cleaned from waste. Eggshells are thrown out as they hatch, baby birds waste are immediately disposed of.

Lizard nests aren't that different.

Because the equivalent to a nest foundation isn't the blankets, plushies, or pillows. it's the house foundation itself!

The concrete walls and the sturdy floorboards. The whole bedroom is already a well-built nest. The bed is just an extra cushion. The fluffy material and loose feathers birds leave at the very top, so the twigs don't scratch the fragile eggs.

So, in conclusion. Turians and Salarians would get VERY overwhelmed in a human bedroom, let alone a human bed with plushies, stuffies, and blankets.

They're like, "Are you expecting a baby???" When they notice what their brain consider is extra protective fluffing for eggs.

Turians even more because of their lack of skin nerves, hard plating, and all. Their outershell makes it hard to appreciate soft things, let alone hugging them, when they can barely feel it.

Salarains? They're softer, more squishy, and they might enjoy the way it feels against their skin. Most reptiles do, and they're the closest thing for reference.

They're warm-blooded, but they do originate from a fully tropical planet + they're amphibians and might have used to be semi-aquatic? Meaning that while they still produce their own bodyheat, it wouldn't be that much to begin with. Space is definitely much colder to them than to a human.

That's why hugging a human is so nice to them! They can leech off of your body heat as their very own sun–or at least a substitute for a heatlamp.

But plushies and blankets are a different story. With blankets, they might make them cold or freeze since they blocked whatever light or heatlamp the salarians must need for sleep when they're not wearing their temperature adjustment suits.

And if you sleep next to them under the blanket, your trapped body heat will cause the temperature to rise above what's comfortable for them and risk overheating them. Same with the fluffy sheets, pillows or plushies.

there's the risk of overheating them with your body as the blanket traps in the heat. it will happen slowly, but that just makes it more dangerous. A slow simmer of rising body temperature as they realise what a death trap a human bed actually is.

Plus, salarians only need one hour of sleep per cycle, it seems very excessive to them that you'd build a whole room and make the biggest piece of furniture in it solely for the purpose of sleep. All of those plushies just to hug to sleep?

Drell, who breathe through their skin, would view blankets as a total nightmare. Their clothes already need a lot of adjustment to accommodate their conditions, only certain material is airy enough to allow them to get a lungfull, and you want to suffocate them with cotton or polyester?

They know you only breathe through your nose, but it still...makes them feel uneasy. Seeing you covered completely in stuffies and thick blankets, only your head poking out. Much like what it would feel for us to see someone go to sleep underwater with a flimsy mask connected to an oxygen tank. Now, this is truly a death trap–the salarians were right.

As long as you forgo the blanket and...allow them to fully strip down, they will give this whole human bed thing a try. Silk or satin sheets and pillow covers feel the best against their skin, smooth surfaces that seamlessly glide, air particles passing through it with little trouble.

Anything fluffy, feathery, or with fur will irritate their skin. It's like something brushing against your nose. They sacrifice a lot of comfort when it comes to indulging the human need to cuddle, but most drell rarely complain as they accommodate to your need, even if it meant you'd be slightly cutting off their air circulation.

Maybe their society is exceptionally polite? Maybe devotion and sacrifice for the ones you love are just ingrained in their biology? It would explain their endless royalty to the hanar despite how staying on that planet is literally killing them.

Oh yeah, owning a humidifier in your room will cause them a lot of pain and discomfort. Turn it off, or if you really want to woo a drell, get a dehumidifier.

Krogans would fucking love our beds tho. Might make fun of it at first, but they secretly also want a soft mattress and plushies to cuddle with.

Get close enough with a Krogan, and they'll start crashing in your room and taking naps on your own bed whenever the chance presents itself.

Don't the asari sleep in pods? I'm thinking of that sex scene in ME, she fucks you in a pod. That's something. At least...Liara gets used to human beds?

-

Anway! having established all of that definitely vital and necessary world building, I can finally talk smut about the turians! the original context of this request!

One look at a human's bed and their minds are definitely going south. First of all, human, you're in desperate need of a mate because your nest is a mess! Why do you have so many different fabrics? Aren't you worried you'll suffocate yourself with a plushie or too while sleeping?

Second of all...they didn't know humans were this soft. You mean, most humans sleep like this? In very comfortable beds? Even like...the army tough ones? Oh, that's why they get so excited for shore leave? so they can return to their actual comfortable nests–sorry yes "beds" and have some decent sleep?

huh.

And none of you are expecting children, correct? This is just how the average adult human goes to sleep?

Turians don't have the heart to tell you that they associate soft beds–ones like yours—to the human equivalent of a heart-shaped bed with rose petals scattered around, candles illuminating the room and a very deliberate lack of condoms.

They try not to...think about it whenever they come into the room. A bluish hue adorning their cheeks, trying to avoid eye-contact as they explain that uh...fuck, they accidentally glanced towards your bed and forgot what they came here to say.

I talked before how jarring it's to them that humans easily allow others on their bed, be it human or not. You just casually invite your friends to sit on it? The same sheets you sleep on each night? the one so heavy with your delicious scent they can practically smell it the second they stepped foot into this room?

And now you're telling them to take a seat, even handing them one of your plushies to keep in their lap. What's a friendly gesture and a show of trust is being very very badly misinterpreted by their brain chemistry, their biology going haywire at what they consider the declaration of "Get me pregnant" Whether you're actually capable of it or not.

-

Sidenote, the angara might be the only ones to share our bed preferences, not only that but show enthusiasm at the mention of plushies.

The only difference is that their society values plushies that resemble people more, angara like them. The dolls and plushie lineup are very intertwined.

Cuddling very intimately with someone isn't sexualised either, nor presented under a romantic light necessarily. Their society prides itself on love and affection; they're direct with expressing their emotions.

A single angara family can have many mothers and fathers, tens of sisters and brothers. Cuddling and sharing a bed is very normalised even far into adulthood.

They might be the ones giving humans the wrong idea by immediately inviting them back to cuddle on their bed after only the second meeting. Just because they decided they like you :) It's the equivalent of going out for coffee.

Protheoans, meanwhile, fall on the opposite spectrum. Javik doesn't have a bed, does he? He never asks for one either. They're a society of warriors, they value strength and abhor tenderness. Brutal honesty is their forte.

But...they also read each other's emotions through touch.

While beds are a foreign concept, plushies are not. Javik can sense the history of a room just by directly touching its floorboards. Plushies and other sentimental objects must be valued very greatly in their society, doesn't he hold onto the disk of memories from his time back before being frozen?

He understands why his own species came to value plushies, but why the hell does yours do it? You lack his abilities, all humans do.

You try to explain it to him, but it just sounds like you're describing vague and badly done emotion reading with extra steps.

He concludes that humans must hold traces of these abilities. It just translates into safety and the need to cuddle others. Also, it is clearly inferior to the protheon's advanced ability, so yeah.

Javik dislikes your bed but likes your plushies and actually welcomes cuddling. He remains stoic throughout it but you can feel him poking through your memories.

Same with your plushies, he asks that he may keep one as a relic. A piece of your soul, your history is encased in it like an artifact in amber.

Touching it almost feels exactly like travelling in time to meet your old self, getting to part the curtians of space itself and get a front row view on the person you used to be.

Plushies immortalise you to protheans, who would've thought.

-

I had so much fun with this an analysis it <333 I know it isn't exactly what you had in mind anon, I'm sorry, A/B/O is listed as a "no" in my requesting list. But the concept was so good I had to approach it in a different direction.

I hope you still enjoyed it!

[whencyclopedia]

Aristotle

Aristotle of Stagira (l. 384-322 BCE) was a Greek philosopher who pioneered systematic, scientific examination in literally every area of human knowledge and was known, in his time, as "the man who knew everything" and later simply as "The Philosopher”, needing no further qualification as his fame was so widespread.

He literally invented the concept of metaphysics single-handedly when he (or one of his scribes) placed his book on abstract philosophical speculation after his book on physics (metaphysics literally means “after physics”) and standardized in learning – how information is collected, assimilated and interpreted, and then communicated – across numerous disciplines.

During the later Middle Ages (c. 1300-1500 CE), he was referred to as "The Master", most notably in Dante's Inferno where the author did not need to even identify Aristotle by name for him to be recognized. This particular epithet is apt in that Aristotle wrote on, and was considered a master in, disciplines as diverse as biology, politics, metaphysics, agriculture, literature, botany, medicine, mathematics, physics, ethics, logic, and the theatre. He is traditionally linked in sequence with Socrates and Plato in the triad of the three greatest Greek philosophers.

Plato (l. c. 424/423-348/347 BCE) was a student of Socrates (l. c. 469/470-399 BCE) and Aristotle studied under Plato. The student and teacher disagreed on a fundamental aspect of Plato's philosophy – the insistence on a higher realm of Forms which made objective reality possible on the earthly plane – although, contrary to the claims of some scholars this did not cause any rift between them. Aristotle would build upon Plato's theories to advance his own original thought and, although he rejected Plato's Theory of Forms, he never disparaged his former master's basic philosophy.

He was hired by Philip II, King of Macedon (r. 359-336 BCE) as tutor for his son Alexander the Great (l. 356-323 BCE) and made such an impression on the youth that Alexander carried Aristotle's works with him on campaign and introduced Aristotelian philosophy to the east when he conquered the Persian Empire. Through Alexander, Aristotle's works were spread throughout the known world of the time, influencing ancient philosophy and providing a foundation for the development of Jewish, Christian, and Muslim theology.

Early Life

Aristotle was born in 384 BCE in Stagira, Greece, on the border of Macedonia. His father, Nichomachus, was the court physician to the Macedonian king and died when Aristotle was ten years old. His uncle assumed guardianship of the boy and saw to his education. Aristotle probably spent time with the tutors at the Macedonian court, as the son and nephew of palace staff, but this not known with certainty. When he was 18, Aristotle was sent to Athens to study at Plato's Academy where he remained for the next 20 years.

He was an exceptional student, graduated early, and was awarded a position on the faculty teaching rhetoric and dialogue. It appears that Aristotle thought he would take over the Academy after Plato's death and, when that position was given to Plato's nephew Speusippus, Aristotle left Athens to conduct experiments and study on his own in the islands of the Greek Archipelago.

Continue reading...

[angelasscribbles]

Heir Apparent Chapter 22: So This is How We End

Series: Heir Apparent.

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings: Drake x Riley, Liam x Riley (past)

Rating: MA

Warnings: Mature themes

Word Count: 1,223

A/N: So we finally come to the end after a mere two and half years! This series was such a learning experience for me. It was the first time I got wholesale attacked, and by multiple people, for my characters lacking "morality". 🤷🏻‍♀️

I strive to imbue my characters with real life emotions, flaws, mistakes, and reactions. This means they are often messy, sometimes toxic, but always realistic. Life is messy, humans are flawed and shit happens, then we deal with it.

I regret that I let the negativity derail me. I shut the story down and didn't pick it up again for well over a year and even then, the updates have been sporadic. I had to get to a place where I once again trusted the process, where I let the characters speak to me without the voices of my detractors in my head.

I think I've done that. I'm quite happy with this ending and I think I've stayed true to my characters, complete with their misperceptions, insecurities, and stubborn refusal to see the other side.

That said, stay tuned for an open ended spin-off series set in this universe. I have further ideas.....

Everything else: Master List.

The doctor from Auvernall delivered a healthy baby girl via c-section.

Riley spent the next three days in the hospital wing recovering. She was so wrapped up in her new baby that she didn’t question the lack of outside news sources in her room. There was no TV, and her cell phone was getting no signal.

Not that it mattered. All she wanted it for was to take candid photos of her new bundle of joy.

She was over the moon happy.

Crown Princess Eleanor Elizabeth Hana Olivia Rys was perfect. Ten little fingers, ten little toes, and no ill effects from the eclampsia outside of being born three weeks early.

Riley’s blood pressure stabilized by day three and as preparations were made for her to move back to the suite she shared with Drake in the royal wing, the men in her life realized they had to tell her about the treaty with Auvernall before she read about it online.

Liam had insisted on being the one to deliver the news. “I’m the one that made the call, after all.”

The conversation did not go well.

“I had no choice! My hand was forced!”

“Without consulting me? Without even talking to me first?”

He looked at her incredulously, “You were unconscious! You were about to die! I did what I had to do to save your life and hers!”

Tears of outrage and betrayal slid down her cheeks. “You promised me, Liam! You fucking promised!”

“I know, Riley. But things changed—"

“She’s a baby, Liam! She shouldn’t already have her life mapped out for her! What about love? She should be allowed to marry for love!”

Liam rubbed his eyes as defeat and frustration swirled through him. “You keep trying to apply rules for commoners to the monarchy.”

“Why should the rules for the monarchy be any different Liam?”

“Because they are Riley! You may not like it, it may not be pretty, but that's the way it is!”

She glared at him. “Then I’m glad you and I didn’t work out and I’m sorry you’re Eleanor’s father and not Drake! He would have never allowed this!”

Liam reacted as though he had been physically struck. His body jerked back and his mouth fell open as he regarded her with stunned disbelief.

He wanted to believe she was only reacting out of anger. He wanted to believe that she was just being illogical and unreasonable because she was hormonal and had just gone through a trauma. But he was afraid this was deeper. He was afraid that this was a fundamental difference in world views. One that might not be reconcilable.

He stood and began to pace the floor. Did he regret that he’d had to affiance his unborn child to the Auvernesse heir? Yes. Did he regret that making that decision saved the life of both the woman he loved and his child? Not even a little.

It had been a Hobson’s Choice and he’d done what had to be done. As he had been trained to do. As he would always do. Just like he’d done on coronation night, another impossible choice that had protected her, yet one she would never forgive him for.

The realization that this was the way it would always be engulfed him like a tidal wave. He suddenly saw the future he had wanted with her the way it would have actually played out, with her always second guessing him on subjects she didn’t fully understand.

He stopped pacing and turned to her with the most painful decision he’d made yet. “I rescind my offer.”

“What offer?”

“I told you that if you ever changed your mind about adding a Cordonian arrangement to your marriage contract, I would always be here. I won't. If nothing else this has helped me see that I was right in the first place that I would never marry for love. As loath as I am to admit it, my father was right. I love you Riley and I always will. But affairs of the heart have no place when it comes to making decisions for the good of Cordonia.”

He needed someone by his side who understood how the monarchy worked, how diplomacy worked. Riley had been right when she told him they would have never made it as a couple. She was always going to end up resenting him for something. It was better to let her go and be happy with Drake than to hold on and make her hate him in the long run.

“The good of Cordonia? What about the good of our daughter, Liam?”

“I made the hard decisions that had to be made. It's very easy to Monday morning quarterback the situation, you don't know what we all went through watching you almost die. If you had died, Eleanor wouldn’t even be here. She would have died with you. Have you considered that?”

“You don’t know that for sure.”

Liam shook his head sadly. “I’m sorry you’re disappointed in me. There will be a full investigation into everything that happened that night. If there’s a way out of the agreement, I’ll find it.”

Dr. Russo had been found locked in a music room by an unknown person. Godfrey had ties to Auvernall. Though no one could have predicted the medical emergency ahead of time, there were ample questions that needed answers. If the Auvernese king and queen had taken advantage of the situation and sidelined their doctor, he would find out. Meanwhile, a contract signed under duress could be challenged in an international court.  

He said none of that to Riley. He simply promised her to do what he could and then got out of her way so that her anger at him wouldn’t cause another spike in blood pressure.

He relayed the main points of the conversation to Drake.

“Why didn't you tell her?”

“Tell her what?”

“That at the end I agreed to it as well.”

“Why would I do that Drake? She needs you more than ever right now. She needs someone she can rely on, someone she can depend on, someone who understands her and the rules of the world she grew up in. That's you.”

“Sure. And I’ll always be there for her, you know that. But—"

“You fought me up till the very end. You only capitulated at the last second out of sheer terror for her life. And to be clear, I was going to do it anyway. With or without your approval.”

“But I still did capitulate.”

“And what good would telling her that do? Make her hate you too? Then she would have nobody to lean on. Let me be the bad guy so that she can have her husband to rely on. It's the only thing I can do for her now.”

Drake gave him a long, measuring look before slowly nodding his head, relief cascading through him. There was only a sliver of guilt as he agreed to be absolved of any responsibility in the decision. He understood Liam’s reasoning that, at least for the foreseeable future, it was more important for Riley to have someone to lean on, someone in her corner. And that was all he could do for her now, so that’s what he would do.

~Fin

[creaturefeaster]

How long have you been coding for, Wire? And with what tools?

How long in general, or just on this current project?

I have dabbled sparsely in coding for almost as long as I've been on the internet!

When I was 8 I was playing with HTML on my own little personal site-- my mom worked in web design and taught me the fundamentals. Worked with Lua(u) during my days playing roblox. C++ a little, here and there. As of the last few years now, Python.

I am not a master in any langauge. I used to do a lot of theme work for my blogs when tumblr was more personal theme-oriented, so I probably have the most experience with HTML and CSS, but I've never taken any classes or anything like that.

If you're asking how long with this project specifically, a little over a year and a half, off and on. I am using Python, which is the coding langauge of the visual novel tool Ren'Py.

Ren'Py is a very good and easy tool to work with if you want to make a visual novel. I am currently abusing its framework and pushing beyond the boundaries of the classic visual novel format-- for the sake of making it look cool & feel unique-- but at the end of the day it still qualifies as a VN, haha.

[singingcicadas]

Every time I see something along the lines of "Megatron was a slave because he was oppressed and forced to work in the mines, forced labour is slavery and oppression is slavery so what happened to Megatron was obviously slavery" a question mark pops up in my head and it's so fucking funny because. Social studies. History. Basic literary analysis skills.

Like I'm gonna be assuming whoever's in the 'Megatron was a slave' camp is talking about idw1 and tfp b/c those are the only two continuities that have Megatron coming from an oppressed background in depth. If it's idw1 then how could anyone miss the obvious communism reference in Megatron Origin? (Guaranteed it's a loose, twisted, villifying, Western-lensed, not-very-good reference, but point is that it's OBVIOUS and unmistakably RECOGNIZABLE.) Workers' revolt ring a bell? It's the first issue in the collection volumes so even if people run out of patience without finishing anything they should have been able to at least get through that before, y'know, making unfounded claims about canon. And the stuff I'm talking about should've been evident in the first chapter. Were the miners upset because they were forced to work in the mines? No, they were upset because the government was closing the mines and laying them off and replacing them with automation; they were upset because soon there would be no mines left for them to work and then they would starve.

'Slavery is forced labour' yeah but uh that's only one facet of it. Forced labour because of livelihood: 'I have to work here b/c it's the only job that's available to me and I have no means of obtaining the skills/licence/opportunity for a different job or bettering my circumstances, if I quit I'll have no income/food/shelter and starve out on the streets' is fundamentally different from forced labour due to state institution of ownership over people: 'I have to work here because I am the private property of the facility owner and am forbidden by law to leave or quit.'

Does anyone like, not see the difference between the two scenarios? Only the latter would be slavery since it has the defining characteristics of 1. legalization of the ownership of people and 2. restriction of liberty. In concurrence. The first scenario's just describing what every fucking exploited worker/peasant/wage-earning lowclass commoner in the world looks like, it's called proletarianism. It's a completely different class category in a completely different social structure that's in no way interchangeable or confusable with slavery unless you want to say that communist revolutions were done by slaves and every wage worker in the industrial revolution was a slave. why not go back further while at it and serfdom can be slavery feudalism is slavery indentureship corvee conscription are all slavery lmao way to rewrite history.

For the people who's only read MTMTE and nothing else there's even a specific scene in there that says this 🔽

This is talking about Rewind. The text literally gives us what used to be the equivalent in Cybertronian society and it's clearly not Megatron's class. And why was Rewind's class equated to slaves? Because they were considered disposable tools, not sentient people. The Ambus Test helped them get rights by proving their sentience as people, which further proves that they don't keep sentient people as slaves.

If it's TFP then did anyone notice that Megatron started as a miner but met Optimus as a gladiator? If he was so absolutely forced to work in the mines as a slave then how was he allowed to leave?

This is how Covenant of Primus describes Megatron going to work in the mines. It's "the only opening available to him". It doesn't say that he's assigned a master at birth and was legally obligated to go work in that opening on pain of punishment. Just implies that he'd be out of a job and income and would probably starve if he didn't. There's still an illusion of choice, of free will.

The closest thing Aligned had to slavery was the Quintession occupation era but the Covenant also spent a whole section talking about how it started out as a mutually beneficial relationship with the Quintessions presenting themselves as the more advanced race and Cybertronians eagerly accepting them as 'masters' (honourific term, not literal) in a pseudo colonizer-who-civilized-the-indigenous-barbarians-and-used-them-for-cheap-labour dynamic which got more and more exploitational as time went on until the Cybertronians had enough and drove them off. But even during the peak of occupation the Quintessions were still careful to give Cybertron the pretense of sovereignty. It was the Quintessions who introduced them to the electoral system and inaugurated the office of the Prime in the first place. The illusion of free will and equality was always there, despite everyone knowing otherwise.

Exodus is extremely clear in describing Cybertron as a birth-defined caste system with rigid hierarchy and little mobility. So that's exactly what it is. a caste system. Not a slave society. There's a reason they're different words, they're different concepts! I don't get why people would feel the need to replace one with the other, does slavery sound better? edgier? Is the purpose for making Megatron an ex-slave to have his backstory sound more tragic? to induce more sympathy? idc people are free to headcanon what they want but at least have the decency to refrain from framing it as canon and bashing other characters with it? Stuff like 'oh Optimus was so selfish/naive/entitled/stupid/insensitive/traitorous/opportunist/privileged to accept the prime title in front of Megatron the poor ex-slave' nevermind that Megatron had repeatedly expressed a desire for taking power through whatever cruel means necessary and was perfectly eager to become prime when he thought he was the one going to be chosen? Nevermind that the council offered up a chance for implementing all the social changes they wanted through legal means with the least amount of bloodshed and Megatron threw it all away b/c he didn't get to be in charge, by committing murder on the spot? Nevermind that 'Megatron the poor ex-slave' is a massive bigoted racist who looks down on Optimus' job and is disgusted by minicons and combiners and insecticons as well as being a devout believer of 'survival of the fittest and the rest don't deserve to live' -type social darwinism and a domestic terrorist happy to blow up factories full of his own caste members and places full of innocent people? Nevermind that Megatron and Optimus already had a deep rift between them because of Megatron betraying Optimus' trust by lying about his role in the bombings and Optimus already recognizing that their methods were never going to match up b/c of Megatron's disregard of innocent life and Megatron never really trusting Optimus anyway? As if making Megatron a slave somehow excuses all of that and pins all the blame on Optimus.

[askaritobard]

What's your favorite key to play in? As a cellist, I'm partial to D major.

A wonderful question from a fellow musician! As you've probably guessed, it does depend on the instrument.

Traditional Rito music doesn't use Hylian letters; rather, we number notes in ascending fifths, counting them on our remiges (our primary and secondary flight feathers). The first note, called the note of open air, is roughly a Hylian C sharp. Many of our oldest songs and even Warbler's Nest are tuned to it. It's a favorite of mine for singing, and fits my range well.

The fundamental note on most of our flutes also used to be C sharp, but modern ones are in D so that they can play with Hylian strings like your cello or Violynne's fiddle. I'm a bit clumsy on the flute myself, so I can really only play in D or G and their relative minors. These are the keys I'll typically play in for Hylian music, such as at the stables.

The concertina and accordion are a bit odd in that they are mostly agnostic to the key of a piece. The white keys on the accordion make a C major scale, of course, but I often find it more comfortable to play on the black keys.

Hm, I think my favorites might be A flat major and its relative minor. The root is enharmonic with G sharp, the note of the second feather in traditional Rito music, so it still has a very 'Rito' sound to me. I see it as a lovely golden color, while F minor is a peaceful dark green. Together, they're like the sun setting over a forest. Now that I mention it, I did write Master Revali's song in those keys, so there's that as well!

Thank you for the question! Would you like to play something together? I have a few notable pieces here in D...

[little-earthquakes-rp]

Verse #1 : Demigoddess The Morrigan Bloodline

Full  Name: Willa Anu Townsend

Known  Alias(es): N/A

Age: 26-32

Gender: Cis female

Birthday: 10/7 Libra

Heritage: Irish & German

Religion: Atheist

Sexual  &  Romantic  Orientation: pansexual & panromantic

Residencies:  Verse Dependent

Highest  Education  Level: Master's in Nursing & Certified Midwife

Occupation: midwife, bartender, or verse dependent

Faceclaim:  Holland Roden

Eyes: Hazel

Hair: Long red hair to mid-back

Weight: 135 lbs

Height: 5'3

Body Type: Curvy

Piercing & Tattoos: 3 piercings in each ear

Mental Disorders: N/A

TW: Descriptive traumatic childbirth; stillbirth

Didi was the first word little baby Willa uttered. The woman was her entire world as the two sat nestled deep in the hills of Appalachia down in a long-forgotten holler. Aunt Didi (Deirdre Townsend) would be the closest thing she'd ever have to a mother. Growing up, she was told she was a cousin twice removed. Willa found herself in the care of the woman shortly before her first birthday, dropped off by her birth mother who didn't have the time or temperment. Already being a town pariah due to her eccentric nature, Deirdre was even more so when a chubby-cheeked, auburn-haired child appeared on her hip out of thin air.

Hushed whispers seemed to follow them along as Willa grewup. They tried to appear normal, but couldn't quite pull it off. In first grade, Willa was sent home after a fight with a little boy in her class. Apparently, she scalped a small section from his head. The teacher was so horrified by the incident that she quit that very day. Aunt Didi thought it was best to homeschool little Willa from that point on.

Shortly after her eighth birthday, she made quite a discovery when she found a picture of Aunt Didi at the London World Fair in 1851. She hadn't aged a day. Over the next few years, Aunt Didi slowly fed Willa morsels of the truth of what they were. They were children of the divine Morrigan, an ancient Irish goddess associated with fate, death, war, and sovereignty. They began to explore the young girl's magical talents and innate gifts like shape-shifting and prophesizing abilities but concentrated mostly on fate determination. Outside of magic, they worked ardenty on Willa's ability to stay in control of her emotions since so much hung in the balance.

The two demigoddess took refuge in the small supernatural shadow society in the town and passed themselves off as witches. In her later teen years, she began to experience episodes of what she assumed was sleepwalking. Waking up ever so often with dirty feet and tattered night clothes, her Aunt didn't think it was anything supernatural and dismissed it as mundane.

A fundamental experience just after graduation shifted her life direction. While attending a friend's delivery in the hospital, the baby began to experience difficulty, and they lost the fetal heartbeat. A moment later, the soon-to-be mother's eyes rolled to the back of her head as she began to seize. Willa was scared by what she witnessed as the nurses manically worked to unplug equipment and roll her friend down to the OR. She followed as they left the room and realized she could do something.

All it took was a thought, a mere wish.

As the group waited for the elevator, you could hear a pin drop. Willa called down the corridor, "It's going to be alright." No sooner did the words leave her mouth than the fetal heartbeat monitor beeped and continued to do so rhythmically. The baby was delivered twenty minutes later via c-section without further complications.

After the experience, Willa felt called to nursing, where she could make the most impact on others' lives. Help those through healing and sure will. It felt exhilarating to shift circumstances. She saved many lives. Soon, she found herself working as an OB nurse and eventually left the hospital and joined a midwife practice after becoming licensed. During this time, Aunt Didi decided it was time to move on. People noticed she wasn't aging, and someone regretfully felt emboldened enough to mention it.

Before leaving, she pulled the rug out from under Willa, telling her they weren't cousins at all but instead sisters separated by a few centuries. The fabrication seemed to make more sense at the time, she nonchalantly inserted. With little explanation other than their mother Badb was complete shit and without a maternal bone in her body, Willa was lucky someone stepped in. Didi left for Salem, Massachusetts, and decided to live slightly more openly by running a divination cafe, playing into the witchy scene there.

Meanwhile, Willa flourished at the practice, and her reputation for positive and safe outcomes were celebrated, and kept her schedule busy. It was only a few months after Didi left that she experienced her first stillborn, and she was the cause of it. During the labor, there were flashes of scenes of the monster that the little baby was to become. She panicked and made a choice to stop it. The event shook her to the very core, and she left the practice and finally decided to move on from the small town–the only place she'd ever called home. After all, there was a whole world out there.

Gifts & Talents

Divination & Prophesy:

Through scrying or a quick pull of cards, she can accurately predict outcomes. Other times, when she tucked away, she forces a meditative state to have visions. Sometimes things just slip through though when meeting someone or touching something. All five of the clairs have been well developed. Sometimes, when it becomes overwhelming, she will use wards to block things out.

Shapeshifting:

It takes a lot of her magical strength, but she has managed to shapeshift into a crow, fox, and a dog at this point. One time to piss off her Didi she shifted into her Aunt and mimicked her around the house. The gift is something she rarely uses but knows if she spent more time honing it, she'd become better.

Fate Determination:

Whether it be a basketball game or someone's life, Willa can alter and change the course by rewriting fate. Done with only pushing a determined thought, it is her greatest gift. She tries to be objective with it, but emotions do slip in from time to time. This isn't without limitations. She has to be present at the event. *this can be countered by anti-magic or a more powerful deity

Banshee & Death Calling:

Oh, that sleepwalking bit isn't exactly what it seems. During the episodes, she wanders out in search of particular people and delivers them a warning that their death is imminent. She'll appear out of nowhere and softly start crying. Whether you inspect or run, it's always the same outcome. Those soft cries turn to wailing, then to ear-piercing screams. If you're close enough to see, her eyes have turned inky black, and her lower jaw dislocates and drops in a hideous display. In three days, death will come.

Verse #2: Fox Shifter

Full  Name: Willa Ann Townsend

Known  Alias(es): N/A

Age: 26-32

Gender: Cis female

Birthday: 10/7 Libra

Heritage: Irish & German

Religion: Atheist

Sexual  &  Romantic  Orientation: pansexual & panromantic

Residencies:  Verse Dependent

Highest  Education  Level: Associate Degree Vet Tech

Occupation: Vet tech, bartender, or verse dependent

Faceclaim:  Holland Roden

Eyes: Hazel

Hair: Long red hair to mid-back

Weight: 135 lbs

Height: 5'3

Body Type: Curvy

Piercing & Tattoos: 3 piercings in each ear

Mental Disorders: N/A

Willa and her family had been originally part of the MacCabe pack but left two weeks ago. It was a difficult time for the young woman having to leave the only thing she’d ever known as her community. Up until recently, she’d been engaged with a werewolf by the name of Joshua Smith. The two had been dating for just over two years, and they had finally settled down and were saving up to buy a house. Getting married and popping out some little shifters was next on the list when things suddenly changed. Joshua all a sudden was pulled into the inner sanctum of Markus. Immediately, she saw a shift in her fiance. He started spouting the nonsense from Markus’ mouth and making her feel subservient. Naturally, she left his dumb ass; mad that she’d wasted so much time on him. Unfortunately, she’d found out she was pregnant. They hadn’t been careful considering they both intended a life together. Willa was so confused by the predicament she’d figured she’d at least give him a last chance to come back to his senses. However, when she told him about the pregnancy he warned her if she didn’t take care of it he’d take care of them both. There was no way he’d have her humiliating him with a pregnancy and a half-breed.

Scared for her life, Willa searched for a powerful witch who helped her end the pregnancy. Shortly, after repeatably hearing how wonderful the Malone Pack was she ended up approaching hoping they’d let her, and her parents in.

*Shifter Lore- When werewolves and witches mate, their offspring become a blend. They carry some magical gifts and the ability to shift into an animal form. They won't experience their first shift until puberty,y and their animal form will present itself for the first time. They often blend in with either covens or packs, given their parentage.

[periodicresetofcivilizations]

Awakening the Serpent Power: The Truth About Chakras & Kundalini (Beyond Psychology!)

Title: The Serpent Power: The Chakras

Tags: #Evola #Tantra #Yoga #Kundalini #Metaphysics #Tradition #Chakras #ShivaShakti #Initiation #HathaYoga

The Microcosm-Macrocosm Analogy

The body mirrors the cosmos; inner forces correspond to outer powers.

The Three Bodies

Material (waking state), subtle (dream state), causal (deep sleep). The fourth state (turiya) transcends all.

Hatha Yoga’s Goal

To awaken superconsciousness, not regression into trance or hypnosis.

The Chakras

Seven centers along the spine, each corresponding to a tattva (element) and a divine power.

Kundalini Shakti

Latent at the base (muladhara), coiled like a serpent. Awakening it reverses polarity from procreative to spiritual.

Prana and Apana

Opposing currents unified in yoga—solar (pingala) and lunar (ida)—consumed in the sushumna (central channel).

The Awakening

Kundalini rises through the chakras, dissolving duality (Shiva-Shakti union at each center).

Beyond Time

Sushumna’s ascent suspends temporal consciousness, leading to immortality.

The Sahasrara

Crown chakra—Shiva’s abode—final reintegration beyond form.

Rejection of Modern Distortions

Psychoanalysis (Freud, Jung) misinterprets yoga as therapy; it is a path for the elect, not the neurotic.

The Serpent Power: The Chakras

Hatha yoga, particularly in its Tantric form, is synonymous with Kundalini yoga. Its Buddhist counterpart is vajrarupa-guhya—the "mystery of the diamond-thunderbolt body." This discipline operates on the premise of a microcosmic-macrocosmic correspondence: all cosmic forces are mirrored within the human body. The Tantras declare: "That which appears without only so appears because it exists within."

The human body is not merely physical but comprises three dimensions: the material (sthula-rupa), the subtle (sukshma-rupa), and the causal (karana-rupa). Ordinary consciousness is bound to the material body, while the subtle and causal bodies correspond to higher states of being, typically inaccessible to the common man. Hatha yoga seeks to awaken these latent dimensions, transcending the limitations of ordinary existence.

Modern psychoanalysis, particularly the theories of Freud and Jung, fundamentally misunderstands yoga. Psychoanalysis reduces the unconscious to a dark, irrational substratum, whereas yoga treats it as a field of metaphysical realities that can be illuminated and mastered. Yoga does not aim to heal neurosis but to elevate a healthy individual beyond the human condition.

The Chakras and Kundalini

The body's occult anatomy consists of centers (chakras) that correspond to cosmic principles (tattvas). These centers—muladhara, svadhishthana, manipura, anahata, vishuddha, ajna, and sahasrara—are loci of spiritual power. The muladhara-chakra, at the base of the spine, houses Kundalini Shakti—the dormant serpent-power symbolizing latent divine energy.

Kundalini's awakening requires reversing the natural flow of vital currents (prana and apana), unifying the solar (pingala) and lunar (ida) channels, and directing energy through the central sushumna—the "Middle Path" leading to transcendence. This process dissolves temporal consciousness, symbolizing a metaphysical rebirth beyond death.

The Ascent Through the Chakras

Each chakra represents a stage in the reabsorption (laya) of Shakti into Shiva, reversing the cosmic process of manifestation. The lower chakras correspond to elemental forces, while the higher (ajna and sahasrara) pertain to pure intellect and supreme unity. The awakening of each center involves the union of its presiding deity (Shiva-aspect) and Shakti, dissolving duality.

The culmination is the sahasrara, the "thousand-petaled lotus" at the crown, where Shiva and Shakti reunite in transcendental unity. This is the seat of immortal consciousness, beyond all conditioned existence.

Conclusion

Kundalini yoga is not mere mystical experience but a rigorous path of self-mastery, demanding control over awakened forces. It transcends modern psychological interpretations, aiming instead at metaphysical reintegration—a return to the primordial, unconditioned state.

[darkmaga-returns]

By Bill Osmunson DDS MPH, Fluoride Action Network

Freedom, Science, and Jurisdictional Authorities

I am a comprehensive cosmetic dentist with a master’s degree in public health. I retired after 46 years of clinical practice and teaching. For the first 25 years, I promoted fluoridation. Then, I read both sides of the science, laws, and ethics and became opposed to Community Water Fluoridation (CWF), the addition of fluoride to tap water.

Freedom of choice is fundamental and ethical, especially for a disease that is not considered highly contagious or highly lethal. Almost everyone soon after birth has the bacteria contributing to dental caries. The bacteria also need a receptive host who lacks proper hygiene and frequently eats significant amounts of sugar and refined foods.

Fluoridation is not like a vaccine intended to gain herd immunity. Public health authorities use their “police powers” to medicate each individual without the patient’s consent, individual dosage control, doctor’s prescription and oversight, Food and Drug Administration (FDA CDER NDA) approval, or pharmaceutical-grade product manufactured according to Good Manufacturing Practices for Pharmaceuticals, quality research or safety studies. Individual freedom must be protected.

The FD&C Act charges the Food and Drug Administration to regulate substances intended to treat people.

[justforbooks]

The Oxford Companion to Italian Food by Gillian Riley

Bella Italia! From dumplings to balsamic vinegar, The Oxford Companion to Italian Food by Gillian Riley covers Italy from top to toe.

The variety of Italian food is giddying. No other national cuisine incorporates dishes as diverse as the canederli (dumplings) of the mountainous Trentino region and the couscous of western Sicily, or the wine-infused brasato (pot roast) of Piedmont and the balsamic vinegar of Modena, or the piadina (flatbread) of Romagna and the pane carasau (something like a poppadom) of Sardinia. And despite all the talk of how traditional Italian food is, the great gastronomic mosaic that is Italy continues to shift as it has throughout history; novelties continue to appear: ciabatta was invented by a baking entrepreneur from near Rovigo in the early 1980s.

As if comprehending this cornucopia were not already a daunting enough challenge for the food lover, Italians have made the task even tougher by disseminating endless myths and misconceptions. Everywhere one goes, the people in one small town will swear blind that their salami, their cheese, their nougat is a distinct and altogether more delicious creation than the identical version available across the valley. Then of course there is the peninsula's babel of dialects. There are few uniform terms for even the simplest things. A "World Directory of Pasta Shapes and Names" recently compiled by Italian manufacturers lists 142 different labels for types of pasta - and that's just the ones beginning with C.

For all of these reasons, anyone setting out to write an encyclopedic guide to the thousand cuisines of Italy needs to be brave, brilliant, learned and almost certainly a little unhinged. To judge by her marvellous Oxford Companion to Italian Food, Gillian Riley is all of these things.

Her book is a grand buffet of curious delights. Riley writes to entertain as well as to inform, and never holds back when there is a choice anecdote to relate. We are told how to create a table-top rocket by applying a match to the rolled wrapper of an amaretto biscuit, and how the fettuccine Alfredo that appear on every Italian restaurant menu in the US were invented to charm Douglas Fairbanks and Mary Pickford on their Roman honeymoon.

Understandably, there are also times when Riley seems to get lost in her own erudition. The notion of tipicità, literally "typicality", is fundamental to the way Italians think about their food: it means the way a dish typifies or embodies its place of origin. Riley uses it, in Italian, without explanation and without an entry of its own. She also refers constantly to the great cookery writers of earlier eras. Figures such as Platina, Scappi, Corrado and Artusi have fascinating stories of their own, and they are hugely important in the long history of Italian food. But repeated cross-referencing to these and other names will probably become tiresome for the uninitiated. The occasional entry, like the one on "Apician flavour", is plain baffling, giving the impression of the author muttering to herself. As someone who has spent years trying to get the measure of Italian cuisine, I can only sympathise.

Riley's prevailing tone echoes that of a highbrow tourist bible from an earlier era - a Baedeker or a Blue Guide. So when she writes on the Italian regions, for example, she tends to see the landscape, the legacy of ancient Greece and Rome, and the Renaissance. For my taste at least, The Oxford Companion to Italian Food cites far too many paintings by old masters - on no stronger grounds than that they portray some vegetable or other. Riley has written beautifully on food in art before, but her entry on "Artists" here amounts to an attempt to justify alluding to every artichoke and cauliflower in the Uffizi gallery. On more recent history and culture, Riley is often breezy and unconvincing. The "economic miracle", from 1958-63, is described as a "wave of easy living". Yet, for good and ill, the kind of historical forces that were at work during the miracle - mass migration, industrialism, urbanisation, modern transport, women's entry into the labour market - have shaped the way Italians eat in far more important and fascinating ways than have Virgil or Caravaggio.

The book is at its best when it distils the experience of countless cooks, and blends its learning skilfully with a mouth-watering sense of texture and flavour. Try the page on "Panzanella" for starters, followed by "Salmoriglio" and "Snail", and finished off with "Parmesan" and "Crumiri". Delicious. Riley is never reluctant to express a personal opinion, or intrusive when she does so. Her scepticism about the recent nostalgia for cucina povera ("poor cuisine") is sane and refreshing. She is also good at poking fun at how we garble the grammar of Italian eating. In Italy, nobody "drizzles" olive oil, or puts out a dish of it to dip bread in at the start of a meal.

The Oxford Companion to Italian Food may be eccentric at times, but it is essential browsing for the serious Italo-foodie.

🔴 Be warned: it will also make your copy of Jamie's Italy seem embarrassingly lightweight.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[wonderfulworldofdarklords]

https://redcircle.com/shows/d462cbc8-3fe9-41f5-97b1-f1cbc8306fb6/episodes/50c3bb37-fb48-45aa-a17a-65afcbabcfeb

Welcome to Wonderful World of Darklords! In this episode, we're looking at a property that Disney has adapted for both Mickey Mouse and the Muppets: A Christmas Carol. At its heart, A Christmas Carol is a story of redemption--so how do we square that with darklords, who are fundamentally irredeemable? By sending your PCs into a trippy journey through the past, present, and future of a character who isn't the darklord, that's how. Topics discussed include:

Why we didn't choose Scrooge as our darklord, instead opting for another miser whose prison comes with hate;

Concrete examples of past, present, and future visions for Scrooge, a beloved canon NPC, and two PC archetypes;

Ways for your non-Charisma PCs to help Scrooge be a better person (because even the Ghost of Christmas Future had an astronomical Intimidation bonus);

Various levels of dreamscape weirdness, from "we're literally just doing A Christmas Carol" to "we just cited the last two episodes of Neon Genesis Evangelion;"

And more!

The full write-up for Scrooge and Marley is available for free on DM's Guild: https://www.dmsguild.com/product/504721/Scrooge-and-Marley-A-Ravenloft-Domain-of-Dread?view_as_pub=1

The Verge Games Christmas Carol adventure that we "borrowed" much of this domain from is available on their website: https://vergegames.org/all-products/p/christmas-carol-adventure-book

The Nightmare Lands, which we "borrowed"...pretty much the rest of this domain from, is available on DM's Guild: The Nightmare Lands (2e) - Wizards of the Coast | Ravenloft | AD&D 2nd Ed. | AD&D 2nd Ed. | Ravenloft | Dungeon Masters Guild You

Timestamps

0:00 Introduction

08:27 The Lord

31:33 The Land

40:36 Dread Possibilities

1:27:42 Parting Thoughts

1:50:51 D’s Parting Thoughts

All music recordings are in the public domain (mark 1.0) and are licensed through https://musopen.org:

Chopin Nocturne in B-Flat Minor, Op. 9 No.1 (main theme), performed by Eduardo Vinuela

Chopin Etude Op. 25, No. 12 in C Minor: “Ocean” (darklord theme), performed by Edward Neeman

Chopin Nocturne in F Minor, Op. 55 No. 1 (land theme), performed by Luke Faulkner

Rachmaninoff Morceaux de Fantaisie, Op. 3 - 2. Prélude in C sharp minor (Dread Possibilities), performed by Sergei Rachmaninoff

Chopin Nocturne in E Minor, Op. 72 No. 1 (parting thoughts), performed by Luke Faulkner

Dialog for Yensid was written by Azalin Rex himself @darklordazalin

The Wonderful World of Darklords logo was designed by Halite Jones, whom you can find @halite-jones or on Instagram at http://www.instagram.com/insta_halite

Contact us on:

Gmail: wonderfulworldofdarklords@gmail.com

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