#mighty mountain man...

[pedro-reed]

Uli Latukefu | Countdown (2025) 1x01

[felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna]

nuh uh dude.

[sunderwight]

Fic where Su Xiyan lives but she's like, a huge asshole about it.

Tianlang Jun still gets stuck under the mountain, see, and Su Xiyan's been thoroughly betrayed by her own master, and seemingly not just him but also all the other major sects too. They all sided against her and against her lover based on prejudice. The fact that they were tricked likely wouldn't be known to her, from the outside it would just look as though they all readily dogpiled on at the first opportunity to take down a heavenly demon, even though he never did anything wrong.

Plus her own reputation has been ground to dust, going from the respected head disciple of the second greatest sect to being slandered as a honeypot who seduced a demon emperor in order to bring him down. She was used to destroy the man she loves, she almost died trying to keep her baby, her cultivation's probably taken a massive hit and she has no chance of getting to that mountain and digging her lover out from under it. Even if she could, he believes she betrayed him, so what kind of reception could she hope for?

Not that this will stop her from trying to dig him out anyway, but it's not like she can just snap her fingers and get him out. There's a whole mountain on him, and she's on the run with an infant.

So she decides she's going to make this everyone's problem as much as she can.

For a couple of years she lays low, just trying to rebuild her cultivation and look after the baby. If she's being honest, she's not great at it. She loves her son but maternal instincts don't really kick in, he's kind of a shriveled ball of misery and mess, and she doesn't really see the appeal. It gets better as he starts to get bigger and more of a personality asserts itself, and she can start treating him more like a small human than a wailing parasite that's latched onto her tit.

She would still hire someone else to look after him at the first possible opportunity, but she's paranoid about some aspect of his seal slipping and giving them away. With no body ever recovered, Huan Hua Palace is still looking for her. So she's stuck with childcare and she hates every minute of it and spends most of her time changing diapers just seething about dropping her old shifu into a mountain of shit and watching him suffocate.

Once Binghe is big enough to walk, and Su Xiyan is well enough to fight, they make for the borderlands. Su Xiyan starts teaching her son the earliest forms of cultivation he can learn, but his demon heritage is still sealed and right now he's too weak and small to risk unsealing it. So she focuses on herself, on rebuilding her own strength, turning to demonic methods and forbidden techniques (why not, when one has already been tarred and feathered and was never particularly precious about righteousness to begin with?) and hunting other cultivators just as often as demonic beasts.

Time passes and Su Xiyan begins to build a reputation even worse than Wu Yanzi's. A deadly rogue cultivator known only by some epithet or other who kills even powerful disciples of mighty sects. She experiments with what it would take to destroy a mountain, how much force, and what could provide it. Sacrificial arrays that feed off of the energy of cultivators or demons. Rituals and artifacts that demand high prices. Ways to summon demons or open gateways for them to possess others. She even considers using her son -- his blood is heavenly demon blood, his body is the closest thing she has to a suitable vessel for Tianlang Jun.

It would probably work, is the thing.

As the thought turns around her mind and she washes the blood from her hands, she decides that she's got to send her son away, actually. He's too weak and burdensome (and the fact she'd even consider using him such a way means that not even she is fully safe for him to be around any longer, not with the kinds of things she's doing, not with the kind of creature she's becoming). Now that he's big enough to survive on his own, she can ditch him somewhere to level up and bring him back once he's got enough strength to actually make himself useful.

So she sends him off, tells him not to come back until he's strong, ignores the tears and the hands gripping her robes until she finally has to wrench them away and strand the boy in a city far enough from her hunting grounds that he can't easily get back on his own.

Of course, he does still try, but he's lost and doesn't know where he's going. A kindly washerwoman takes pity on him and takes him in. The now-named Luo Binghe (his mother only ever called him 'son') isn't sure what he's supposed to be doing, but he suspects it's not just keeping house with his new caretaker. However, at the ripe old age of five he doesn't really know what else to do, so he stays and gradually the memories of the cold-eyed woman he called mother start to fade, until he wonders how much of it was merely a dream.

When his second mother dies and encourages him to go become a cultivator, Binghe decides that sounds right, so he goes to the Cang Qiong entrance exams and gets taken in. There's something familiar about his new shizun. Not in his looks, really, but in the way he acts, how he snaps and sneers, how he seems to hate Binghe but also claims him. Luo Binghe finds himself utterly desperate for the man's approval, even though he can't completely explain why. But it feels like, if he could just get this person to love him, the world might make sense.

Shen Qingqiu doesn't love him, though, if anything he hates him, and that only seems to change at random after a qi deviation. Which at first drives Luo Binghe slightly mad trying to figure out what he did and guarantee he can keep it, but gradually his thoughts and feelings on his master start to shift as, it seems, the man becomes someone completely different.

Meanwhile Su Xiyan has built up enough strength and information that she has a plan to move a mountain using a legendary blade that can open portals. She's also gradually begun to infiltrate her old sect again, using dark techniques to turn some of her former shidimei into puppets. By the time the Immortal Alliance Conference comes around, she's built the underpinnings to take the entire sect out from under her old master, and the chaos of the conference provides the perfect opportunity.

Shen Yuan has no idea what he did to cause the Huan Hua Palace Master to get ripped apart by demons during the invasion, and he's even more confused by the woman who materializes during the final hour and does him the favor of throwing Luo Binghe into the Endless Abyss herself, saying something about needing him to fetch a sword for her before she'll welcome him back to her side.

[obsessivevoidkitten]

The Manticore's Game

Kinktober Day 11: Paralytic Venom

Male Manticore Yandere x Gender Neutral Reader CW: Noncon, nonconsensual to consensual, venom, paralysis, non-human genitals, manticore, nibbling, licking, playful yandere, sweet yandere, general yandere behavior, he fucking purrs like a big house cat y'all, happy ending, kinda fluffy Word Count: 1k (I wrote this relatively quickly just today. I hope you all love it. Someone wanted me to write happier endings and yeah I do need a few sprinkled in a bit more often.)

There were reports of a mighty beast-like man devouring sheep from the flocks of the shepherds on the outskirts of the kingdom. It was in your jurisdiction, so you sent some lesser warriors to investigate and resolve the matter, but they had retreated in terror and refused to go back.

You were the head of the lesser noble house that oversaw the region and a skilled knight, and none of your subordinates were up to the task of defeating the monstrosity. So it seemed the task fell to you personally.

Bravely, you went on your own to the mountain village and tracked down the monster's lair. You found him at the entrance to his cave. He towered above you, fangs bared. You could see why the others had retreated. He was a rare and powerful creature, a manticore!

The beast had long shaggy hair that started black but ended in red, yellow eyes, fingertips with retractable claws, massive black and red wings, and a large scorpion tail.

Unlike the others, you fought through your fear and charged. You tried bashing him with your shield. But the manticore blocked the blow with his muscular arm before stabbing its tail into a chink in your armor.

You buckled instantly, falling to the ground like a chunk of lead. You couldn't move and were completely helpless as the monstrous man crouched beside you and removed your armor piece by piece. The last one that he removed was your helmet. After he removed it, you could smell the musk practically rolling off his crotch.

He wore no clothing, though he was covered in fur from the waist down. You were sure he was going to kill you, but instead, he stung you a second time, and you woke up hours later beside the village with no weapons or armor.

It was humiliating. Of course, you had to restore your honor. But you also weren't unfair. The next time you faced him, you used a blunted blade. He hadn't killed you, so you wouldn't kill him. Though you would imprison him as a livestock thief and make him work off his debts.

Once again, you ended up on the ground after the first sting. The beast stood over you and laughed before taking your belongings to taunt you. After that came the second sting, which sent you to sleep. Once more, you woke up outside the village.

It went on like this for months. It became the manticore's favorite game and your greatest embarrassment. He must have collected dozens of sets of armor as trophies.

Once more, you tried to best the beast, and once more, you wound up on the floor. This time was different, though. After removing your bothersome armor, he hauled you into a cotton and feather lined nest.

And, for the first time, the manticore spoke.

"Azin is in rut. Need mate. You're Azin's best friend! Always play games! You're all Azin thinks about. Will make the best mate."

He didn't stop at removing your armor. He took away all your clothing and didn't administer the second sting that would put you to sleep.

Azin purred loudly as he nuzzled his head against various parts of your body. He flipped you onto your back and licked and nibbled on your chest. His cock was hard, It stuck out large and proud from his sheath. It was also much muskier than normal, the strong smell alone made your crotch tingle.

You were a little scared but were more embarrassed than anything else. Maybe the venom had mellowed you out a bit, or maybe you just felt that comfortable with Azin after all the non-lethal combat the two of you had engaged in. If he wanted to hurt you, he would have.

His slimy cock craved the warm embrace of your hole, but even in rut Azin had the presence of mind to stretch you out first. Using gobs of precum as lube, he carefully tended to your entrance with several strong fingers.

Once you were good and prepped, he propped your legs up on his shoulders and then slipped his entire length into you with one fluid motion.

"Ahhhh," he sighed, "You take Azin so well~"

And he filled you so well. You would have been moaning, but all the paralytic he had envenomated you with would allow were soft gasps and whimpers. Azin licked and sucked your neck, your cute little sounds of pleasure spurring him on and into a frenzy. He pushed you into a mating press, his large furry nuts smacking into you as he bred you.

Nothing in your life had ever felt so good. No, not just good, but right. Having him pounding into you just felt right. Your paralyzed managed to shake slightly in orgasm just as he emptied his cum deeply into you.

"Azin loves you so so much! Going to breed you lots and keep you safe always!"

The two of you panted a bit before going several more rounds. When it was finally over, the venom had worn off. You cuddled up to him, his loud rhythmic purring helped lull you into the best sleep you ever had.

Of course, when you woke up, you'd have to do the only thing you could... take him back, marry him, and have him live with you in your little castle. There was really no other honorable option.

Azin's kind mated for life. It would be cruel to abandon him, and you had come to see him more and more as a friend rather than an enemy. You couldn't exactly just imprison him and make him work now.

Marrying him was honestly the perfect solution. With him at the castle, he wouldn't be stealing food. And just the fact that your house had a manticore would ensure safety from political rivals. It would be a great way for him to make up for his unlawful consumption of sheep. What assassin would dare trespass into the home of such a beast?

Sure, you'd be known far and wide as the monster fucking noble, but at least the dick was amazing!

[elfgirlcraftworks]

Let America Be America Again

By Langston Hughes

Let America be America again.

Let it be the dream it used to be.

Let it be the pioneer on the plain

Seeking a home where he himself is free.

(America never was America to me.)

Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed—

Let it be that great strong land of love

Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme

That any man be crushed by one above.

(It never was America to me.)

O, let my land be a land where Liberty

Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,

But opportunity is real, and life is free,

Equality is in the air we breathe.

(There’s never been equality for me,

Nor freedom in this “homeland of the free.”)

Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?

And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?

I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,

I am the Negro bearing slavery’s scars.

I am the red man driven from the land,

I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek—

And finding only the same old stupid plan

Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.

I am the young man, full of strength and hope,

Tangled in that ancient endless chain

Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!

Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!

Of work the men! Of take the pay!

Of owning everything for one’s own greed!

I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.

I am the worker sold to the machine.

I am the Negro, servant to you all.

I am the people, humble, hungry, mean—

Hungry yet today despite the dream.

Beaten yet today—O, Pioneers!

I am the man who never got ahead,

The poorest worker bartered through the years.

Yet I’m the one who dreamt our basic dream

In the Old World while still a serf of kings,

Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,

That even yet its mighty daring sings

In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned

That’s made America the land it has become.

O, I’m the man who sailed those early seas

In search of what I meant to be my home—

For I’m the one who left dark Ireland’s shore,

And Poland’s plain, and England’s grassy lea,

And torn from Black Africa’s strand I came

To build a “homeland of the free.”

The free?

Who said the free? Not me?

Surely not me? The millions on relief today?

The millions shot down when we strike?

The millions who have nothing for our pay?

For all the dreams we’ve dreamed

And all the songs we’ve sung

And all the hopes we’ve held

And all the flags we’ve hung,

The millions who have nothing for our pay—

Except the dream that’s almost dead today.

O, let America be America again—

The land that never has been yet—

And yet must be—the land where every man is free.

The land that’s mine—the poor man’s, Indian’s, Negro’s, ME—

Who made America,

Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,

Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,

Must bring back our mighty dream again.

Sure, call me any ugly name you choose—

The steel of freedom does not stain.

From those who live like leeches on the people’s lives,

We must take back our land again,

America!

O, yes,

I say it plain,

America never was America to me,

And yet I swear this oath—

America will be!

Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,

The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,

We, the people, must redeem

The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.

The mountains and the endless plain—

All, all the stretch of these great green states—

And make America again!

[kashverse]

thank you for being patient with my hiatus :) i hope you enjoy this!

the sukuna household did not half-ass anything—especially when it came to the arts. the living room had been transformed into an elaborate stage for tonight’s grand production: the tale of the brave warrior and the mighty dragon king. 

sheets were draped over furniture to form great mountains, the coffee table was now a treacherous bridge over a deadly chasm, and sukuna’s very expensive velvet armchair had been forcibly declared a tower. mr. pickles and baby sat dutifully at your feet, your loyal underlings, ready to aid in your villainous dragon duties.

“ROOOAAAR!” you boomed, standing atop the couch—sorry, the dragon’s lair—in your most powerful stance, arms crossed, chin tilted up with the authority of a true ruler. your daughter, the wise, strong, and courageous warrior queen, stood before you, her tiny wooden sword held high. 

“foul dragon king!” babykuna declared, pointing dramatically. “you have to release the princess at once!”

from the glorious velvet throne (which was absolutely not meant to be used as a tower, but sukuna had lost that battle the moment babykuna threw herself on the floor and fake-cried for extra drama), sukuna sighed the sigh of a man questioning his life choices. he stretched out his legs, lounging with all the grace of a terribly uninterested captive. “oh noooo,” he drawled, voice flat, expression bored. “i’m trapped. whatever shall i do.”

baby, your ever-faithful minion, let out an enthusiastic howl. mr. pickles, as always, sneezed.  "silence, my beasts!" you commanded, waving a hand. 

mr. pickles stared at you with the eyes of an old man who had been through enough.

"no!" babykuna shouted, turning to her most trusted allies. "do not listen to the dragon king’s evil words!"

baby howled in encouragement. mr. pickles, still questioning his life choices, gave a slow blink.

“warrior!” sukuna suddenly perked up, seemingly realizing that he had been regulated to princess duty. “come, rescue me!”

he spread out his arms—big, dramatic, clearly expecting some grand, heroic moment. and then—

silence.

the warrior queen and the dragon king exchanged a look. a deep, understanding look. a scheming look.

"actually," you stroked your chin, voice thoughtful. “i think i shall keep the princess.” babykuna nodded solemnly. 

"yeah, we don’t need him."

a beat.

"...excuse me?" sukuna squinted.

"mr. pickles," you turned to your most trusted advisor, "what say you?"

mr. pickles stared at sukuna. then at you. then at babykuna. 

and then he rolled over onto his side and started grooming himself.

sukuna’s eye twitched.

"baby?" you prompted. 

baby the tabby let out a single, very conclusive ‘mrep’.

“WHAT ENDING IS THIS?!” sukuna roared, kicking off his imaginary princess skirts in outrage.

but the warrior girl and the dragon king had already turned away, walking into the sunset of their happily-ever-after.

baby was awarded the honorary title of ‘keeper of the sacred tennis ball’. mr. pickles got a nap. and the princess? well, the princess had many questions and zero answers.

[aenramsden]

The following is not my idea; it was the original brainchild of a friend of mine named Omicron, with help from various others including EarthScorpion, TenfoldShields, @havocfett and ShintheNinja:

So, you know what I want to do one day? Run (or play in) a D&D campaign in which the Big Bad Super Dragon that is fuckoff ancient and unfathomably powerful and whose actions have shaped history and bent the course of nations and had repercussions on the whole culture and society in the region where it's set; the Bonus Special Boss for some endgame optional quest after you defeat the direct BBEG and win the campaign...

... is a white dragon.

To explain this for people not deep into 5e monster lore; D&D dragons are sapient beings, and known for their instincts and tendencies, and whenever you meet an big evil dragon that's really old it's usually this ancient creature of terrible intellect Smaug-ing it up all over the place.

Except white dragons are fucking stupid. Like, they're still capable of speech and thought! They're just… feral, hungry morons. And you almost never see them portrayed as ancient wyrms for that reason; they lack majesty. Critical Role did it, yes, but even then, Vorugal is explicitly the most bestial member of the Chroma Conclave, and the others are the more intelligent planners and long-term threats. An ancient white as a nation-defining endboss, though; not a thug for a smarter master but as the strongest and biggest threat around is just not the sort of thing you tend to see.

Adventurers: "Oh wise Therunax the Munificent, gold dragon of Law and Good, what can you tell us adventurers of the evil dragons which rule this land?" Therunax the Munificent, 500-year old Gold Dragon: "Good adventurers, know this: this land is torn apart by the evil of Tiamat's spawn. The eastern marches are the dwelling of Furinar the Plague-Bringer, black dragoness whose hoard is a thousand sicknesses contained in the body of her tributes. The southern volcanic mountains are the roosting of Angrar the Wrathful, the fiery red dragon, who brings magmatic fury on all who do not worship him. And the northern peaks are home to Face-Biter Mike, the oldest and most powerful of all, of whom I dread to speak." Adventurers: "F-Face-Biter Mike???" Therunax: "Oh yes, verily indeed; two thousand years has Mike lived, and his eyes have seen the rise and fall of five empires, and a hundred and score champions have sought to slay him; and each and every one he bit their fucking face off."

Like... I want to see a campaign where Face-Biter Mike is genuinely the most powerful dragon in the region, if not the entire world. Where sometimes he descends on a city to grab himself some meatsicles and causes a localised ice age by the beat of his vast wings and the frigid wastes of his mighty breath and by the chill his mere presence brings to everything for miles around him, and everyone just has to deal with that for the next decade. An entire era of civilization comes to an end, an empire falls, tens of thousands starve in the winter, all because Mike wanted a snack. Where his hoard is an unfathomably vast mass of jewels and artefacts and precious stones frozen in an unmelting glacier, except he is a nouveau riche idiot with fuckall appraising skill, so half of his hoard is coloured glass or worthless knicknacks, and he doesn't give a shit.

"Your Draconic Majesty, this crown is… It's pyrite." "Yeah, well, it's brighter than this dusty old thing made out of real gold, it's my new best treasure. Throw the other one away." "…throw the Burnished Tiara of Bahamut, forged in the First Age of Man, your majesty???" "See? I can't even remember its fucking name." "But my lord-" "DO YOU WANT TO BE A MEATSICLE" "…I will fetch a trash bag, your majesty."

But at the same time, he's not stupid, he's just simple, and in some ways that makes him more dangerous than the usual kinds of scheming Big Bad you see in these things, while simultaneously justifying why Orcus remains on his throne (because he's lazy). Face-Biter Mike doesn't make convoluted plans or run labyrinthine schemes; he just has a talent for violence and a pragmatic, straightforward approach to turning any kind of problem he struggles with into a problem that can be resolved with violence. Face-Biter Mike has one talent and it's horrifying physical power, so his approach to any complicated problem is "how do I turn this into a situation where I can fly down and bite this dude's face off?" with absolutely no regard for the collateral damage or consequences of doing so, because those are also things he can turn into face-bitable problems.

"My lord, the dread necromancer Nikodemion is using his undead dragons to attempt a conquest of the eastern kingdom; his agents are everywhere, his plans are centuries in the making, what can we do against such a mastermind?" "I'm gonna fly over the capital and eat the eastern king." "M-my lord???" "The kingdom will collapse without leadership, Nikodemion will win his war, he'll take the capital and crown himself king." "And that helps us… how?" "Once he does I'll fly over to the capital and eat him." "…" "This is why you advisors all suck. You're all about convoluted plans when the only thing I need to win is know where my enemy is so I can fly down there and eat him. Stop overthinking things."

And, like, yeah, it's a simplistic plan, but when you're several hundred tons of nigh invincible magical death, you don't need brilliant strategy; the smartest way to win a war is, in this case, the simplest. He's not even all that clever at figuring out the consequences of face-biting, he's just memorised the common consequences of doing so.

(If you want to go all in on Mike being the major mover and shaker in the region; Nikodemion only even has a pet zombie dragon because Mike killed the last dragon to show up and contest his turf but wasn't going to eat a whole dragon by himself. Nikodemion got to stick around and amass that much power because Mike ate the Hero of the Realm while he was adventuring because he figured the Hero would come and try to slay him at some point. Nikodemion got started because Mike ate half the leadership of the Academy of High Magic who typically keep evil wizards and necromancers in check. And then eventually this product of Mike's casual, careless actions becomes a big enough problem to bother Mike personally, at which point Mike eats him too.)

He doesn't even really fail upwards, either! He is regularly reduced to nothing but the glacier he stores his hoard in, but he's Face-Biter Mike so nobody wants to commit to actually ending him forever lest they get their faces bitten the fuck off. And his hoard's in a huge-ass magical glacier so nobody can get to it without running into the Invading Russia problem; it's hard to wage war when everything is frozen over and you're both starving and freezing to death. Once he's been beaten back to his central lair and has lost all his holdings… I mean, he's still a problem, but he's a far away problem. So he loses his assets and spends a decade in a cave brooding it up while no one dares risk trying to actually kill him, and then a generation or two later he flies down to a kobold colony and gets himself some minions, or a dragon-worshipping mage comes to offer his service against a pittance from his hoard, or a particularly stupid cult starts thinking they can get in good with him and leech off his power, and then he's (hah) snowballing again.

He's also got a very… well, the kind of weird Charisma that Grineer bosses do. Like Sargas Ruk, who's a malformed idiot, but oddly charismatic. As he's a dragon, that makes him a natural sorcerer and thus Charisma is all he needs. He's pretty relaxed when he isn't in a face-biting mood, and he's kind of infectiously optimistic, because his life has taught him that he will succeed as long as he perseveres. So he just believes it.

And sometimes that's really refreshing to work for, as an evil minion of darkness! It's like, you're coming to your Evil Dragon Lord with terrible news; you've worked for evil overlords before, you know how it goes. You fall to your knees weeping and tell him that you've failed to seize the incredibly powerful magical artifact, you think your life is forfeit. And he's just like "Eh, it's okay, these things are all over the place. Better luck next time. You remember the guy who took it, right?" and you go "Y-yes, oh great lord!" and he's like "Sweet tell me his name later and I'll grab it" and then eats a frozen adventurer he kept around as a snack.

His followers tend to quickly realise that if they fail him, bringing some temple's silver or a sack of brightly coloured beads or a couple of dead cows means he's super forgiving because at least he's got something out of the day. "Oh boy, cows? It's been forever since I had those, ever since the Orc Steppe Nomads took over it's all about goats and onions. Today is a good day." He's a master of delegation by dragon standards, in that he just tells you "Just go get it done, I don't care how" rather than micromanaging you and constantly appearing as an image in smoke or taking over your campfire.

The key part of Face-Biter Mike as a threat to players (because he exists in the context of a D&D campaign) works well in that you can rely on several known quantities:

He will not pull sneaky shit that you don't see coming

He will not make convoluted plans that you must work to unravel

He will consistently attempt to come down and wreck you personally if he finds the opportunity and you are a threat to him

You cannot fight him head-on (at least not until the last leg of the campaign, and ideally as an optional boss rather than mandatory)

So as long as you are good at staying under the radar, thwarting his minions (whom he gives broad orders to with almost zero oversight) and not putting yourself in face-biting range, you can deal with him. If you succeed, it won't be the first time Mike has lost his assets and had to go brood in his glacier for a decade or two before rebuilding. It happens; he can deal with it. And that's a win for you within the context of a single campaign, so take the win.

And if you're not going to use him as an enemy, he works pretty well as a quest-giver, too! The costs for failure are obvious and straightforward, and "do whatever, just get me mine" means that players have a lot of freedom in accomplishing their goals. As far as evil overlords go he is actually one of the least dangerous to work for; his pride is relatively subdued by draconic standards, his goals are simple and typically achievable, and he is easily pleased.

(There's also a good chance he is the forefather of any draconic sorcerer in your party, because Face Biter Mike is a deadbeat dad.)

[wayfind-er]

Positive Depictions of Zeus

Peter Paul Ruben, "Jupiter and Mercury at Philemon and Baucis" (1632)

Titles & Epithets of Zeus

As a Fair and Merciful God

Μειλιχιος [Milichius]: Gracious, Merciful

Ευηνεμος [Evenemus]: Of Fair Winds

As a Bringer of Abundance and Prosperity

Επιδωτης [Epidotes]: Giver of Good

Πλουσιος [Plusius]: Of Wealth

Απημιος [Apemius]: Averter of Ills

As a Leader, Chief, and King

Βασιλευς [Basileus]: King, Chief, Ruler

Ὑπατος [Hypatus]: Supreme, Most High

Monarch of the Sky (by Homer and Virgil)*

Sire of Gods and Men (by Homer and Virgil)*

ἀρχὸς ἁπάντων [Archus Apantôn]: Commander of All Things*

As a Protector of People, Cities, and Homes

Κτησιος [Ctesius]: Of the House, Property

Λαοιτης [Laoites]: Of (all) the People

Φυξιος [Phyxius]: Of Refuge / Puts to Flight

Ξενιος [Xenius]: Of Strangers, Hospitality

ἀγοραῖος [Agoraios]: Protector of Public Places (assemblies)*

If you're interested in other epithets: LINK || LINK*

Artistic Depictions of Zeus

Francisco Bayeu y Subías, "The Fall of the Giants,"

Charles-Antoine Coypel, "Jupiter and Juno on Mount Ida"

Cornelis van Poeleburgh, “Feast of the Gods”

Maurice Denis, "Jupiter bestows Immortality on Psyche"

Myths with Zeus

War of the Titans: In this myth, Zeus' father, Cronus, has received the prophecy that one of his children will dethrone him. Out of fear, Cronus swallows all of his children as soon as his wife, Rhea, births them. Rhea manages to sneak out one, Zeus. Eventually, Zeus saves his siblings and starts a revolution against his father, resulting in a 10-year war called the Titanomachy. Zeus and his siblings end up victorious, and Cronus is dethroned and thrown into the pit of Tartarus.

Vows of Chasity: At the request of Hestia and Artemis, Zeus vowed that he would accept the two to remain as virgin Goddesses.

Reconciliation of Zeus and Hera: Hera was mad at Zeus and left Olympus for unknown reasons. Zeus couldn't change her mind, so he went to the cleverest man in the land, Kithaeron. Kithaeron told Zeus to spread the news that he would marry a nymph and craft a wooden statue to play the bride. Zeus did so, and naturally, Hera came back angry. However, instead of a wedding, Zeus surprised Hera with a grand festival (called Daidala), and the two reconciled. 

Hera & the Lust of Ixon: Ixon, a mortal King, fell in love with Hera during a visit to Olympus. He tried to rape Hera, to which Hera immediately reported to Zeus. To see if what she said was true, Zeus created a cloud in the sky which looked like Hera. Ixon, who saw the cloud and thought it was Hera, attacked it. Zeus punished Ixon by binding him to an eternally spinning wheel of fire in Tartarus.

Forgiveness of Cronus and the Titans: After many, many generations of Humans, Zeus forgave his father, Cronus, and freed him (and Cronus' brothers) from their prison in Tartarus. Zeus then made Cronus the King of the Elysian Islands (Home of Dead Heroes and the otherwise Blessed).

Orphic Hymn 15: To Zeus

"O Zeus, much-honoured, Zeus supremely great, to thee our holy rites we consecrate, our prayers and expiations, king divine, for all things to produce with ease through mind is thine.

Hence mother earth and mountains swelling high proceed from thee, the deep and all within the sky. Kronion (Cronion) king, descending from above, magnanimous, commanding, sceptred Zeus; all-parent, principle and end of all, whose power almighty shakes this earthly ball; even nature trembles at thy mighty nod, loud-sounding, armed with lightning, thundering god.

Source of abundance, purifying king, O various-formed, from whom all natures spring; propitious hear my prayer, give blameless health, with peace divine, and necessary wealth."

Homeric Hymn 23: To the Son of Cronos

“I will sing of Zeus, chiefest among the gods and greatest, all-seeing, the lord of all, the fulfiller who whispers words of wisdom to Themis as she sits leaning towards him.

Be gracious, all-seeing Son of Cronos, most excellent and great!”

Divider by @/vibeswithrenai

[heliosunny]

Your writing for Phainon is soon good 💖 How about something with a Dragon-shifter!Reader who kidnaps Prince!Phainon as dragons do - maybe to get a nice ransom from the royal family - the only problem is that he ain't interested in getting rescued. And may have just slaughtered the knights sent to free him and slay the dragon himself.

Yandere!Phainon x Dragon-shifter!Reader

The sky was dark by the time you reached the ruins of the castle, the stone walls jagged and broken from age, yet still standing against the weight of time. It was a place long forgotten, nestled deep within the mountains, far beyond the reach of any kingdom, perfect for keeping a prince.

“You’re a bold one, I’ll give you that.”

Prince Phainon mused, his voice calm despite the chains coiling around his wrists. His silver-white hair was tousled from the rough flight, his blue eyes gleaming in the dim torchlight.

“Most would hesitate before daring to steal a royal away.”

You ignored him, dragging him forward. You had to admit, his lack of fear was… annoying. Maybe even unsettling. He hadn’t even screamed when you plucked him from his fancy palace, claws closing around him like a vice. He merely stared, as if daring you to drop him.

"Don’t waste your breath" you muttered, shoving open the rusted iron doors. Dust rose from the disturbance, swirling in the air. "You’re not here for conversation."

Phainon chuckled, unfazed. "No? Then why am I here, oh mighty beast?"

You tossed him forward. He landed on his knees with a grunt, but when he lifted his gaze, there was something dangerously amused about the way he looked at you.

"Ransom" you finally said. "Your kingdom will pay handsomely to get their precious prince back."

His laughter filled the place.

Your brow twitched. "What’s so funny?"

Phainon grinned up at you, shoulders shaking. "Oh, you poor, clueless thing. You really think they’ll come for me?" He leaned back, tilting his head. "Let me spare you the disappointment, they won’t. Not before they send someone to kill you first."

You narrowed your eyes. That was expected, of course. Kings rarely sent gold before swords. But it didn’t matter. You could handle any knight they threw your way.

"Then I’ll just have to deal with them." you said.

Phainon hummed, watching you with something unreadable in his gaze. He tilted his head, his smirk never faltering.

"You truly have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into, do you?"

You ignored him. The sooner you got him locked away, the sooner you could rest. The flight back had taken a toll, not that you’d ever admit it. Transforming, carrying a fully grown man in your claws, keeping to the shadows to avoid unnecessary fights… It was exhausting. And the moment you’d dumped Phainon inside the ruined halls of your abandoned castle, all you could think about was tending to your aching limbs.

Chains had been enough to keep him in place, or so you assumed. You doubted he’d escape, and even if he did, where would he go? You were deep in the mountains, miles away from the nearest civilization.

And so, you left him to his own devices, disappearing into one of the castle’s still-standing chambers. A cracked mirror leaned against the wall, reflecting your disheveled form. You frowned, brushing dirt from your arms before pouring water into a rusted basin, splashing it against your face.

Just a quick rinse. Then, rest.

You didn’t notice the absence of chains.

Didn’t hear the soft, amused laughter echoing down the halls.

Didn’t realize your supposed prisoner had already slipped away.

Phainon rolled his shoulders as he strode through the forest, fingers brushing over the hilt of the sword he had so generously reclaimed from the ruins. His smirk widened. Really, he should be thanking you. It had been far too long since he had been truly entertained.

Ahead, the sound of armored footsteps drew his attention. He didn’t slow his pace, letting the knights spot him first. Their reactions were immediate- relief, determination, wariness.

"Your Highness!" One of them, a captain by the look of his insignia, rushed forward. "You’re safe! We came as soon as we heard-"

"Safe?" Phainon interrupted smoothly, tilting his head. "Was I ever in danger?"

The knights exchanged glances. "The beast-"

"Was nothing more than a misguided fool" he finished, brushing nonexistent dust from his sleeve. "I was just about to return, after dealing with my own business of course. No need for all this… concern."

The captain hesitated. "We can’t allow that, Your Highness. We must escort you—"

A sigh. Phainon turned his gaze to the trees, as if contemplating. "Ah, what a shame" he murmured. "I told you I would return."

He moved before they could react.

Steel flashed. Blood spattered against bark. The knights barely had time to scream before his blade cut through them like a whisper. Limbs crumpled, bodies fell. Their eyes, wide with shock, stared at him even in death.

Phainon exhaled, stepping over the corpses without a second thought.

"Now, then" he murmured, wiping his blade clean. "Where were we?"

With a smirk, he turned back toward the castle.

His little dragon was waiting.

Phainon pushed open the heavy wooden door, the creak echoing through the abandoned chamber. His eyes flicked over the dimly lit space, stone walls worn by time, a tattered bed of old furs, and there, lying in the center, a figure.

Not a dragon.

A human.

His brows lifted slightly, the only sign of his surprise. The realization came quickly, his captor was no ordinary beast. The dragon and this person were one and the same.

Leaning against the doorway, he observed you. Your breath was steady, though he noted the faint twitch of your fingers. He could slit your throat now, end this little game before it spiraled further.

But where would the fun be in that?

He stepped closer.

The moment his foot scuffed against the stone, your eyes snapped open.

Your instincts took over before reason could settle in, because your captive was free, because he had a sword again, because he stood over you with an unreadable smirk.

You moved in a flash.

Your hands shot out, grabbing at his limbs, forcing them down. Chains slithered from beneath the bedding, precautions you had set up, ones that now snapped into place with ease. His wrists slammed against the cold floor, and with a sharp twist, you locked his legs as well.

You pressed a knee against his chest, breathing heavy. "How did you escape?"

Phainon merely chuckled, entirely too amused despite his current position. "You should be asking yourself.. how did you fall for it?"

You narrowed your eyes.

His strength was not that of an ordinary man, you realized that when he shifted slightly beneath you, and your balance nearly tipped. He was holding back.

"You really are something else" he mused, tilting his head, the flickering firelight casting shadows over his sharp features. His blue eyes dragged over you, lingering, intrigued. "What should I call you? Or do you prefer ‘beast’?"

You didn’t answer.

His smirk widened. "You’re quite breathtaking up close, you know."

You scowled. "Spare me your empty words."

He laughed. "Oh, but I never lie." He shifted slightly, testing the chains, his muscles tensing beneath you. "And I never let myself be bound for long."

You barely had time to react before he tore free, a sheer burst of strength shattering his restraints like they were nothing. You leaped back, but not fast enough, his hands shot out, grabbing your wrist, flipping you before you could reach for another weapon.

The cold edge of his sword pressed against your throat.

For the first time, you truly looked at him, not as a mere human, but something far more dangerous.

His grip was firm, yet his touch was almost playful. His smirk was unreadable, a dangerous mix of amusement and something else entirely.

"You were saying?" he murmured.

Your lips curled, sharp canines glinting. "You assume too much."

Before his blade could descend, your form shifted- partly.

Your tail, thick with scales, shot forward, blocking the strike with an echoing clang. Sparks flew as his sword clashed against it, the force sending a tremor through the room.

Phainon’s smirk faltered for only a second before morphing into something else- pure, unfiltered intrigue.

"...Oh" he breathed, almost in awe. "Now this is getting interesting."

Phainon barely had time to act before you twisted, your tail sweeping low and knocking him off balance. His sword arm jerked, and you seized the opportunity, shifting back into your human form just enough to move swiftly, you grabbed his wrist, spun behind him, and yanked it up toward his back.

"Persistent" he said, amusement still lacing his voice, even as you forced him down.

"Annoying." you countered, your grip like iron as you shoved him to the cold stone floor.

The chains were still broken, so you resorted to something sturdier. From the corner, you grabbed thick, enchanted rope- strong enough to hold even creatures of great power. You looped it around his wrists, pulling them behind his back, then secured his legs in a way that left minimal room for struggle.

Despite being effectively restrained again, Phainon’s smirk remained, sharp and taunting. "You do like tying me up, don’t you? Should I be flattered or concerned?"

You yanked the rope tighter. "Be quiet."

A chuckle. "As you wish, my dear captor."

With a roll of your eyes, you stepped back, observing your handiwork. He was bound tightly this time, no easy way out, not unless he wanted to snap his own limbs.

But before you could relish your victory, he sighed dramatically.

"At least let me bathe before you keep me here like some caged beast" he drawled, his expression the perfect mixture of false suffering and noble exasperation. "I reek of blood. Is this any way to treat a prince?"

You scoffed. "You are a beast."

"And yet, I still deserve some dignity" he quipped, tilting his head. "Unless you enjoy the scent of dried blood and sweat?"

Your nose wrinkled. You didn’t.

Annoyance prickled at you, but you relented. He was still tied up. What harm could a bath do?

"Fine" you muttered.

Before he could gloat, you grabbed the ropes binding his limbs, dragged him up, and hauled him across the room.

Phainon let out a surprised grunt as you tugged him along. "Ah—so forceful. If you wanted to drag me somewhere private, you could’ve asked."

You ignored him.

The abandoned castle still had an intact bathhouse, a large pool of water fed by an underground spring. With one final tug, you yanked him forward and—

SPLASH!

You threw him in.

Phainon resurfaced with a sharp inhale, his silver hair now plastered to his face, water dripping down his broad shoulders. He blinked once. Twice. Then, he tilted his head up at you, his smirk both impressed and incredulous.

"You know" he mused, "when I asked for a bath, I expected something a little more… dignified."

You crossed your arms. "Be grateful I didn’t throw you off a cliff instead."

"Ah, but would you really? You seem far too attached already."

You grabbed a bucket and unceremoniously dumped more water over his head.

"Pfah!" He sputtered, shaking his head like a wet dog before blinking up at you again, lips curling into something downright mischievous. "If you wanted to get my clothes off, you could've just said so."

Your face twitched.

You promptly turned and walked out, leaving him tied up in the bath to deal with himself.

"Wait—! You’re just leaving me here?"

"You'll figure it out."

His laughter echoed behind you. "I like you more and more, little dragon."

The morning greeted you with an unfamiliar sound—soft, deep, and far too close. A hum. A HUM?

It took a moment for your groggy mind to register it. A gentle, unhurried melody, smooth as silk, drifting through the cool air of your chamber. You stirred, cracking one eye open, only to groan and bury your face into the pillow.

Phainon.

The silver-haired prince, your supposed prisoner, sat beside your bed, his arms resting casually on the frame as he leaned forward, watching you with the ease of a man who belonged there. He was freshly bathed from last night, his damp silver locks tousled slightly, his tunic loose at the collar. But what was most irritating was the absolute serenity in his expression as he continued to hum.

It wasn’t even an unpleasant sound. If anything, it was oddly calming.

"Shut up" you muttered, dragging the blanket over your head.

Phainon merely chuckled, his voice still low with sleep. "Good morning to you too, little dragon."

"Not a morning person?"

You groaned louder, pressing your hands over your ears.

His humming didn’t stop. If anything, it turned into an actual song, low, lyrical words spilling effortlessly from his lips.

You flung a pillow at him.

He caught it easily, smirking. "Tsk, so violent. I’m just trying to lighten the mood."

"You shouldn’t be here." You finally sat up, glaring. "How are you here?"

Phainon tilted his head, eyes glinting with amusement. "You tied me up, threw me into a bath, and then left me. Did you really think that would keep me contained?"

Your frown deepened. He was strong, you knew that, but you had used enchanted rope this time. He shouldn’t have been able to slip free so easily.

As if reading your thoughts, Phainon propped his chin on one hand, smirking. "I’ll let you in on a secret," he murmured, voice dipping. "I’ve never been trapped. I just enjoy watching you try."

You hated how easily his words sent a flicker of unease down your spine.

But before you could reply, the distant sound of armor clanking and hurried footsteps caught your attention.

Phainon let out a sigh, stretching leisurely, as if the mere idea of more interruptions exhausted him. "Ah. Took them long enough."

You shot up, shoving him aside. "Stay here."

You didn’t wait for his response. Rushing down the stone corridors, you made your way to the castle’s entrance. The knights were already spilling into the ruins, swords drawn, scanning the area. Their captain, a broad-shouldered man with a scar across his cheek—stepped forward.

"You there!" he barked. "We received word that Prince Phainon was taken by a dragon. Where is he?"

You hesitated. Your first instinct was to tell them you were the dragon, but something in your gut warned you against it. You had no love for humans, but you weren’t bloodthirsty either. You had taken Phainon for ransom, not war.

But before you could decide how to respond— Phainon let out a chuckle.

He stepped out from behind you, his gaze sweeping over the assembled knights like a wolf among sheep. His sword was already in his hand.

The captain’s face twisted in relief. "Your Highness! We came to rescue you—"

"Rescue me?" Phainon repeated, voice laced with mockery. "From what, exactly?"

The knights stiffened. "From the dragon—!"

Phainon then moved.

Steel sliced through the air, swift and merciless. Blood sprayed across the stone.

Silence.

Then, chaos.

The remaining knights recoiled in horror, some shouting, some scrambling to draw their weapons. But it was already too late.

You could only watch.

Your breath hitched as the last knight staggered back, his sword shaking in his grasp. "Y-Your Highness, what—?"

Phainon drove his blade clean through the man’s chest.

A ragged gasp. A final shudder. Then, nothing.

As the last body collapsed, Phainon exhaled, flicking blood from his blade. His posture remained relaxed, unaffected, as if he had merely completed a morning exercise.

Then, slowly, he turned to you.

His smirk was still there, unchanged, unwavering. But his eyes…

Cold. Sharp. Unrelenting.

He murmured, voice smooth as silk. "Where were we?"

Your breath came in ragged bursts. The scent of blood—fresh, thick, suffocating, filled the abandoned halls. Around you, bodies lay strewn, once armored knights reduced to mere corpses. And at the center of it all stood him.

Phainon, the prince you had kidnapped, the human you thought was nothing more than an arrogant, troublesome captive. Now, standing before you, bathed in crimson, he was something else entirely.

"You…" Your voice was hoarse, almost unrecognizable. "What have you done?"

Phainon tilted his head, flicking stray droplets of blood from his blade. "What needed to be done" he said simply, as if that explained everything.

Your claws curled. You could feel the shift pulling at your skin, your instincts screaming at you to fight. "They came to help you."

He chuckled. "Did they?" His piercing blue eyes met yours, unblinking. "Or did they come to drag me back to a place I had no intention of returning to?"

You gritted your teeth. "You killed your own men!"

"And yet, here I stand." He took a step toward you, slow and deliberate. "And you, little dragon, haven’t run. Haven’t struck me down. Why is that?"

Your pulse pounded in your ears. You had so many reasons. The problem was, you couldn’t pick one.

Because you were stunned. Because your mind still reeled from what you had just witnessed.

"You’re a monster" you snarled.

Phainon exhaled, his smirk softening, something almost fond flickering across his blood-smeared features. "I never claimed to be a hero."

That was it. That was the moment your restraint snapped.

You lunged.

Your tail lashed out, striking toward him like a whip, but he was fast. He sidestepped, blade flicking up just in time to meet your claws. Sparks flew as steel met scale.

"That’s more like it" he purred.

You growled, twisting, your tail sweeping at his legs. He jumped back, but you were already on him again, clawed hands gripping his tunic, shoving him hard against the stone wall.

"You think this is amusing?" you hissed, your breath hot against his face.

Phainon smiled.

"You’re magnificent when you’re angry" he murmured.

Your grip tightened. "I should rip you apart."

His smirk didn’t waver. "But you won’t."

Damn him for being right.

You hated that you hesitated. You hated that your instincts, your dragon instincts, were at war with something else entirely.

"You’ve fascinated me from the moment you took me" he confessed. "At first, I thought it was amusement. Curiosity." He tilted his head, the sharp edges of his expression easing just slightly. "But it’s more than that, isn’t it?"

"You could have killed me" he continued, as if weaving the truth between you both. "Yet you didn’t." His eyes traced your face, your form, like he was memorizing every detail. "And I could have killed you. Yet I won’t."

Your chest heaved. "Why?"

His fingers brushed your wrist, so gently, so deliberately.

"Because I don’t want to." His smile turned wicked. "Because I want you."

Your world tilted.

Your claws flexed, your mind screaming at you to reject it. To deny him. But Phainon only looked at you like he had already won. And you hated that you didn’t know if he was wrong.

You were still seething when Phainon led you toward the kingdom’s gates.

You should have run. You should have killed him.

But instead, you were here, walking beside the man who should have been your prisoner, yet somehow, you felt like the one who had been captured.

The city was alive with murmurs the moment the two of you entered. The scent of blood still clung to Phainon’s clothes, a stark contrast to his relaxed demeanor. People gasped, whispered, stepped aside as he walked through the streets with you in tow.

But it was nothing compared to the reaction inside the royal palace.

The moment the throne room doors burst open, the king and queen, seated on their ornate thrones, turned with sharp, wide-eyed disbelief.

"Phainon?" the king's voice was filled with stunned relief. "You're alive?"

The queen clutched her chest. "The knights said.." She hesitated, gaze flickering toward you. "Who is this?"

You barely had time to part your lips before Phainon slung an arm around your shoulders and pulled you against him.

His next words sent a ripple of shock through the room.

"This?" His smirk was downright predatory. "This one belongs to me now."

The king's expression darkened. "Phainon!"

"You sent knights to retrieve me," he interrupted smoothly. "And they failed. Miserably." He glanced down at you, as if you were some prize he had won rather than a kidnapper-turned-reluctant-companion. "So I took something better in return."

Your lips parted in disbelief. "Excuse me?"

His grip tightened ever so slightly. "Careful, little dragon," he murmured against your ear, low enough that only you could hear. "You wouldn’t want them thinking you’re protesting too much, now would you?"

Your body tensed. He was toying with you. In front of his entire court.

The queen’s hands trembled. "You’re injured—"

"A small price for something so valuable." Phainon mused, tilting his head. "Wouldn’t you agree?"

The nobles in the room exchanged whispers, none daring to speak aloud.

The king exhaled slowly, fingers tightening over the armrest of his throne. "What are you planning, Phainon?"

The prince's smirk widened. "Why, to keep them, of course."

The king finally spoke, his voice cold and measured. "Phainon, do you even understand what you're saying? You cannot simply claim someone as yours—"

"Oh, but I already have." Phainon’s grip on you was firm, his tone laced with amusement. "And I dare anyone to take them from me."

The challenge hung thick in the air, sending another wave of murmurs through the court.

You clenched your fists, resisting the urge to bare your fangs. "I am not some trinket to be owned."

Phainon turned to you, unbothered by your defiance, his lips curling into a lazy smirk. "Of course not." His hand brushed against yours, a deliberate taunt. "You’re something much rarer than that."

You glared at him, heat rising to your cheeks, not from flattery, but from the sheer audacity of this human.

"Fine" you bit out, eyes narrowing. "But don’t think for a second that this means I belong to you. Make sure to keep your promise."

Phainon chuckled, tilting his head as if indulging a joke only he understood. Then, leaning in, he whispered just loud enough for you to hear:

"Oh, little dragon… you just haven't realized it yet."

And with that, the prince turned back to his stunned parents, still grinning like a man who had won everything.

You exhaled slowly. Knowing at least you won't have to live a miserable life anymore.

-----

[next]

[saphirafoxgirlspost1]

(Open Rp) Alternate story Journey to the west 2: Demon strikes back in "Beauty and the Monkey King"

Long ago in a Distant Land, A land With mountains and barrens where no Birds nor creature was stirring except the sound of the galloping Hooves of the Mighty Kirin who wore a Golden Saddles and armor with Jewels on it.. and The Rider is None other Than Princess Saphira lorraina Fox Of Sakutopia and She is On the Journey to the west to Seek the beautiful Oracle herself. The reason why She heads to west is because It's been 5 Months since the Engagement is Called Off On Prince Daniel Jamerson Rooster after He was Caught cheating on saphira with another woman and being expose right in front of everyone including the Jade emperor himself, not only that She grieves on her dead daughter whom he Killed her beloved daughter in cold blood after she was born and made her passed away by abusing saphira when the daughter is in her womb.. Now Saphira made a Vow to Go to the Oracle to Seek out the husband whom he will be worthy for her hand in marriage.. Then at the 5 finger mountain, She hears someone calling for help.. She looked down and saw a Poor old man who's hair is not even grown on the top of his head.. She asked if he's alright and all, then he told her that he's alright. So she Comes down and asked Him who he is and then he answers that he is named "Sun wukong" known as the monkey king but saphira didn't believe him and neither is Saphira's Pet Marmoset companion Name "Mochi", She and Mochi Thought this man was crazy until when she got out of there..Mochi pointed at the lotus, She is amazed and thought she'll pick the lotus and put it on her beloved daughters urns..when she picked the lotus, it began to burn the lotus as she screams..and everything is on fire..as Mochi shrieks and chitters and began to hide in the kimono, She turns and hears the laughing as she began to ask him if he's alright but suddenly the fireball shoots up from the cave as she looked up as it landed right in front of her to reveal Himself, Lo and behold Sun wukong in the flesh as her eyes widen with shocked and in awe, Then he grabbed her by the Kimono and throws her to the air as she fell, he caught her Right on time and saphira was Suprised and before he said anything, 3 demon hunters appears and try to catch him but they were defeated by Sun wukong himself and then he told her this,

"Since you Free Me Princess, I shall make you my queen as an appreciation." But his moment is interrupted by a Monk Name "Master Tang" known as Golden Cicada.. During the battles, Saphira Saw Buddha putting his one hand down on sun wukong. She close her eyes and then Everything went black Until 2 hours later She awaken and looked around, No monkey king, No master tang, Nothing but a rock barren and shattered Mountains. She could've Swore it was just a dream or so, As the Time went by During her Journey and She began to put her white Cloak along with a celestial Fox mask Hidden her beautiful Face when She enters the Carnival and saw the Familiar face, She realized it was the Same Monk That Fought Sun wukong with his Buddha's palm.. When Master Tang Sees the mystery Fox masked woman he asked to pay to see the Shows.. She nodded and Brings out a Best Chest of Gold and silvers as well and She said, "We Meet Again Master Tang, It's been awhile since we last Encounter." Master Tang was Shocked to see the princess again and seeing Her marmoset companion looked at him and tilted her head..and Then Master Tang said that it was a pleasure to meet a princess in person and he told that it's showtime, he introduce her With Pigsy as Pigsy saw her and began to asked who she is and whats behind the mask, She sees him as a man but behind his disguise he is a Pig, Then He introduce him with Sandy The fish man.. Saphira is amazed by him with his freaky ways, then The Monk began to say "And Finally His excellency the-" Then Saphira cut off, " The Handsome Monkey king Himself, we meet at last.~" She said with a giggles..as people was angered because they thought the travelers are Fakes and all, Master tang Begged the monkey king to Perform as Saphira was right under his branch but then he Sluggishly got off from the branch and he Landed on her and his face on her Big Milky breast as she gasp and her face turns red, She takes a look to see if he's really a monkey king and saw a Golden crown on him. She is convinced that he is.. Then She said, "Oh great Sage Equal to Heaven, Please Show Us the Skills. Show everyone Who you and your brothers really are." Then He began to gets up and then did the good tricks alright but it cause alot of damages..and Then Master Tang Said with an Apoligentic face…

[nostalgebraist]

I feel like I've had the same experience several times now: someone does a new translation of a non-English literary classic, and all the critics praise it to the moon, so I go and try to read it, and it's turns out it's just . . . bad? Like, really bad? And weirdly bad?

A while back, I wrote about the case of Pevear and Volokhonsky. Here's another example, which I encountered while doing background research for my novel Almost Nowhere.

----

One of my novel's major characters is a literary translator, famous for his rendition of the Persian epic poem Shahnameh ("Book of Kings").

To help me write this character, I tried to read the Shahnameh myself. I started out – where else? – with the translation that seemed to be the gold standard, and which was certainly the most critically lauded.

Namely, the 2006 translation by Dick Davis, in prose with occasional shifts into verse.

Here's how the Shahnameh begins, in Davis' translation:

What does the Persian poet say about the first man to seek the crown of world sovereignty? No one has any knowledge of those first days, unless he has heard tales passed down from father to son. This is what those tales tell: The first man to be king, and to establish the ceremonies associated with the crown and throne, was Kayumars. When he became lord of the world, he lived first in the mountains, where he established his throne, and he and his people dressed in leopard skins. It was he who first taught men about the preparation of food and clothing, which were new in the world at that time. Seated on his throne, as splendid as the sun, he reigned for thirty years. He was like a tall cypress tree topped by the full moon, and the royal farr shone from him. All the animals of the world, wild and tame alike, reverently paid homage to him, bowing down before his throne, and their obedience increased his glory and good fortune.

And here is the same opening, in the 1905 translation by Arthur and Edmond Warner (which I only discovered much later in the process of writing Almost Nowhere):

What saith the rustic bard? Who first designed To gain the crown of power among mankind? Who placed the diadem upon his brow? The record of those days hath perished now Unless one, having borne in memory Tales told by sire to son, declare to thee Who was the first to use the royal style And stood the head of all the mighty file. He who compiled the ancient legendary, And tales of paladins, saith Gaiúmart Invented crown and throne, and was a Sháh. This order, Grace, and lustre came to earth When Sol was dominant in Aries And shone so brightly that the world grew young. Its lord was Gaiúmart, who dwelt at first Upon a mountain; thence his throne and fortune Rose. He and all his troop wore leopard-skins, And under him the arts of life began, For food and dress were in their infancy. He reigned o'er all the earth for thirty years, In goodness like a sun upon the throne, And as a full moon o'er a lofty cypress So shone he from the seat of king of kings. The cattle and the divers beasts of prey Grew tame before him; men stood not erect Before his throne but bent, as though in prayer, Awed by the splendour of his high estate, And thence received their Faith.

Now, I can't speak at all about the source text. I have no idea how faithful or unfaithful these two translations are, and in what ways, in which places.

Still, though. I mean like, come on.

This is an epic poem about ancient kings and larger-than-life heroes.

This is a national epic, half myth and half history, narrating the proud folkloric lineage claimed by a real-world empire.

There is a way that such things are supposed to sound, in English. And it sure as hell isn't this:

What does the Persian poet say about the first man to seek the crown of world sovereignty?

Excuse me? That's your opening line? I thought I was reading a poem, here, not taking a fucking AP World Literature exam!

----

Postscript

Some of the critical praise for the Davis translation, quoted on the back cover of my copy (emphasis mine):

"A poet himself, Davis brings to his translation a nuanced awareness of Ferdowsi's subtle rhythms and cadences. His "Shahnameh" is rendered in an exquisite blend of poetry and prose, with none of the antiquated flourishes that so often mar translations of epic poetry." (Reza Aslan, The New York Times Book Review) "Thanks to Davis's magnificent translation, Ferdowsi and the Shahnameh live again in English.” (Michael Dirda, Washington Post) "A magnificent accomplishment . . . [Davis’s translation] is not only the fullest representation of Ferdowsi’s masterpiece in English but the best." (The New York Sun)

[hotheadedhero]

Think You're Cute

'Like 'em Big Series'

AN: I have so many stories to write but I had to do this. Blaming being sick, m'kay? Fever has got me bad and these meds got me loopy. Thinking we need some good, silly fun in our lives, right? Plus, now that I've watched Rise, I'm hungry for some big Raph appreciation. I know I ain't the only one

Part 2

All characters are aged up

Raphael x Reader

Warnings: near peril, easily smitten, possible errors due to fever (what kind of fever is up for deliberation🥴)

Cutting right to the chase. You like big dudes. That doesn't necessarily mean muscles, either. You just love you a big man - someone with a bit of something-something to them. More to love, you know? Given your track record with the greater world, it shouldn't be all that much of a mystery. Cats? Get yourself a tiger that you can cuddle into. Jumpers? Comfort central, baby. Beds? If you can't spread eagle then you see no point. The old-age saying does declare that the bigger the better, so who are you to disagree? How true that is may be up for debate but it’s merely as simple as understanding what your preferences are.

However, this makes dating a difficult ballpark to play in. No matter how tall, jacked, or voluptuous someone is, it never feels like enough. Human biology and genetics can only go so far in the conceivably possible sense. You just want to be absolutely engulfed when you get a hug. Is that such a crime? Apparently, it is. Unfortunately, you also seem to come across the worst jerks when you attempt to date within this set of criteria. One might argue it's your karmic justice for being so superficial and picky but a woman has needs. Not those kinds of needs, either. Get your head out of the gutter.

All hope seems lost and after yet again, another failed date, you decide to call it in for the evening and make your way home. A fresh failure and another wonderful outfit gone to waste. By no means is it anything flashy but you put a lot of work into it: pencil skirt, turtle neck sweater, and a nice pair of boots to compliment the look. The whole shebang! All of that effort for nothing. This is the last time you spend three hours doing your hair and makeup. Block after block, your feet grow heavier with every step. What you would give to come across a mountain-like man you can climb who is also a kindred spirit. Perhaps this dream guy will forever be that - a dream. Men like that don't just fall out of the sky.

"Look out!!"

The sudden shout almost scares you into tripping over and you look behind yourself, wishing you hadn’t. Two very large, very dangerous-looking figures entangled in battle, those of which are approaching your helpless little self. You quickly duck as the giants hurdle over you. One falls on its side whilst the other claws and skids against the ground, regaining its balance. It shakes its head and locks onto you, a guttural snarl rumbling past its jowls. Such a creature is surely from the stuff of nightmares. An indescribable nightmare whose sights are set on you. The smart option would be running away but it's as though your shoes have melted into the pavement. Pawing into the tarmac, the beastly thing growls and lunges for you. Great. This is how you die: torn limb from limb by a demon dog. Well, assuming your clothes join you, at least you’ll look like a total babe in the afterlife.

"Oh no ya’ don't," the other one yells from behind the predator, grabbing it by its tail. “Pretty ladies are not food!”

With a mighty tug, he pulls it back and swings it as far away from you as possible. You release a shaky breath, legs trembling beneath you. That was far too close for comfort. The fight isn’t quite over, however. Just as it approaches him, the green goliath swivels on his feet, full 180, and whacks the creature's jaw with a closed fist. His speed alone has you in awe but the force is astounding, practically earth-shattering. It completely knocks the air around you and pushes you onto your backside.

When the dust clears, the first thing you see is your saviour panting, his spiky shell(?) pointed towards you. Just past him in the distance, you notice three more figures in blue, purple, and orange taking a closer look at the unconscious tyrant. You swear one of them pokes at it with a stick. Witnessing strange beings such as this isn't entirely new. Anyone who's watched Chateau Pretenche knows about the celebrity chef turning into a grotesque pigman. To describe it in one word? Horrifying. It's just whether people choose to believe it genuinely happened or if these bizarre entities exist. Being up close and personally observing it now puts your scepticism in check.

As the humanoid turtle calms, he turns to face you, recapturing your attention. A red mask sits over his eyes and there’s a noticeable snaggle tooth poking past his upper lip. Typically, the prerogative is keeping out of sight but it’s much too late for that. He gradually advances towards you. You watch him warily and he keeps his movements slow for that very reason. It wouldn’t be a shock if you were to try and make an escape. He wouldn’t blame you. Currently, all he wants to do is make sure you weren’t hurt during that fiasco provided you don’t suddenly come out of your bewilderment and run off. You have good reason to but he just saved you. Either that or he’s as ravenous as that beast and wants you all to himself. The irrational conclusion remains as such - irrational - when he descends to one knee and outstretches a hand. There’s an irrefutable kindness in his eyes; a caring nature that can’t be replicated in the face of savage brutes.

"You okay?" he asks.

You continue to gawk without a word but, bit by bit, you reach out for his offer. Your fingers lightly trace the centre of his palm before comfortably trusting the proposal. His hand engulfs yours completely and Raph hopes to mercy that you don’t realise how sweaty he’s getting. He can feel his heart beating like crazy. He wonders how much of that is the adrenaline from the fight and how much of it is being in the presence of such a beautiful gal. As he helps you to your feet, he rises to his own. Someone of his stature shouldn’t be capable of being this delicate but he is. It has you running through a loop and you unintentionally stare at the remarkable behemoth.

Quite pathetically, you nod, unable to verbally respond to his question. How can you? You are effectively starstruck. Once you gloss over the turtle-y features, all you see is the sheer size of him as he towers over you. Height, width, the magnitude of those arms! All of it is glorious. You can hear the universe asking, “You want a big man, huh? How about one who isn’t human?” to which you answer, “Who gives a damn?”. If the only way a man can be this big is not to be human, so be it.

Amidst a whisper, your mouth moves on its own, "You're beautiful."

"What?"

"Huh?" Blinking out of your trance, you realise what you’ve said and giggle sheepishly, "I mean, you're be... ba... booming! Totally awesome with the whole- uh... saving thing." Nailed it. 

He blinks right back down at you. This is certainly a first. He can feel his face heating up and he withdraws his hand lest you endure the wrath of his bashfulness, opting to hold the back of his head. At this moment, he seems to look anywhere but you.

"Heh. Gee, thanks." His humility is adorable and you’re glad he doesn’t question your initial statement. He turns to you once more, regaining some composure. "You sure you're okay, though? That thing was pretty scary looking."

It’s clear that you haven’t sustained any physical injuries but even bearing witness to something so unsightly can have lasting effects on one's mind. His brows furrow gently in concern down at you and it occurs to you that there’s a soft heart under all of that shell and muscle. Bonus points. This makes you smile for the first time in front of him and Raphael is sure that the streetlights got brighter.

You laugh fondly, “Yeah, I’m okay. Thank you.” Twiddling your fingers, your lips purse up in his direction.  “Is there any way I can repay you?”

He places his hands on his hips and chuckles cutely, “Just doing my duty, ma’am.”

He may be indulging in his alter ego - the Red Angel of Preventing Harm - but it’s not every day he gets paid thanks when he saves someone. It’s also not every day he gets to save such a pretty woman, either. You, however, can’t just leave it at that. There must be some way in which you can properly thank him. Ulterior motives include getting to know this already loveable lug better but shh. It feels like the odds are finally turning in your favour and you won’t let this slip away from your grasp. That’s when it hits you.

Muttering under your breath, you erratically search through the confines of your little handbag. You are certain that you had one in here somewhere. In the spare pocket maybe? Ah! Found it. Fumbling to take the lid off of your pen, you hold out your hand, gesturing for his. He slowly complies, to which you jot down a series of digits on his palm accompanied by your name and a tiny 'x'. 

"Gimme a text sometime," is the last thing he hears before you disappear around a corner.

Oh? Oh. Ohhh. Wow. Getting your number is the last thing he expected. Did he get hit on the head during that scuffle or something? Was everything from the last few minutes a dream? He bores holes into the writing on his skin, scanning it over and over, scared that it’ll disappear if he so much as blinks. A dumb, wobbly smile not so gracefully decorates his lips as he trudges back to the turtle tank. He takes his seat but it’s obvious that he isn’t all there. Being so caught up in his rose-tinted bubble, he doesn’t register his brothers' voices. In an effort to gain his attention, Michelangelo jumps onto his shoulder, partly intrigued by what their leader is so absorbed by.

"Oh me gosh!” the young brother screams in shrill excitement, “Raph's in love!"

Careful not to smudge the neat ink, he’s quick to hide his hand against his chest. "That's crazy talk!”

Donatello sniffs the air and mockingly covers his nose. "The overwhelming manifestation of your nervous stink indicates otherwise, dear brother."

"I got a girl’s number!” he continues to defend, feeling his face go all kinds of red. “'Course, I'm nervous but that don’t mean I’m in love."

Lies and slander. It was practically love at first sight. He just doesn’t like the idea of his brothers knowing that. It’s easy pickings to be made fun of.

"Don't worry, Big Red. Lucky for you, you got a guy who knows all about the charm." Leonardo points both thumbs at himself as he falls back into his seat and props his legs up on the dashboard. "First, you just need to..."

The "helpful" advice drowns out as the large snapper opens and gazes at his palm again. He just can't comprehend how a gorgeous individual such as yourself could take one look at him and give him your number. It's puzzling but he supposes there’s a first for everything? That also doesn't mean he won't text you. The only thing getting in the way of that is fear. Raphael thinks he’d rather go toe-to-toe with that mutant dog again than have to face the risk of embarrassing himself. To anyone who knows him, it’s no surprise that he caves under pressure. No. He will do it! A chance like this is one in a million.

Oh boy. What could possibly go wrong?

[lichtluxx]

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ﾟ Much is said about Lucifer, how he fell from the heavens for rebelling. But little is known about his vast history, so I decided to make a post to comment a little. It's not like I know everything, there's still a lot I need to research, but research is ongoing, so I'll probably update this post as I learn new things about him.

First of all, Lucifer was not always an "evil name". Canonized by the Catholic Church - although many do not know him - Saint Lucifer was a bishop of the Archdiocese of Calhari, in Sardinia. He became well known for his staunch opposition to Arianism, an anti-Trinitarian Christological view held by the followers of Arius, a Christian priest of Alexandria in the times of the early Church.

Arius denied the existence of consubstantiality between Jesus and God, conceiving Christ as a pre-existent and created being, subordinate to God and his son. For Arius and the Arians, Jesus was not God but rather a man who descended from him, like all others who walked the Earth. Therefore, for Saint Lucifer, Jesus was God made flesh, the creator himself manifested in matter.

His name shows that Lucifer was not, at least in the 4th century, a synonym for "Adversary". In fact, the proper name "Lucifer" was not used to refer to the "devil" in ancient times. Before, the word was used only in its common meaning, as something that announced the dawn, the morning star. Nothing more, nothing less.

His name literally comes from the Latin Lux (Light) and Ferre (Bearer).

The word "lucifer" is a common noun, meaning "light-bearer" or "morning star". It is "lucifer" with a lowercase "l", unlike the proper name, "Lucifer". Incidentally, this is not the only occasion in which the term "lucifer" is used with this meaning.

The Vulgate of Saint Jerome includes, in the book of Job, the word "lucifer" (cf. Job 11:17), which is translated as "dawn" in the edition of João Ferreira de Almeida itself.

Saint Peter, when referring to the voice of God the Father confirming the mission of Jesus, asks that the words of the prophecy be held firm, "donec dies illucescat, et lucifer oriatur in cordibus vestris – until the day dawns and the morning star rises in your hearts" (2 Pt 1:19).

"Lucifer," as the entity we know, is not in the Bible. In Isaiah 14:12, the Hebrew word is celestial. Significantly, "star of man," it is clearly a reference to Venus — the planet with which Lucifer is most associated. The text itself is about the king of Babylon and does not refer to the "Adversary" of the Bible.

Jewish sources generally do not identify the figure in Isaiah as being a reference to Satan or any other kind of demonic figure, but later Christian scholars started to interpret it as a reference to Satan, who is elsewhere said to be cast down from heaven, although at first, it looks like they did not see "Lucifer" as a name, but read the passage as being a poetic comparison to the morning star itself.

These interpretations have fallen in and out of favor, but in the Renaissance, it became more popular to use Lucifer as a personal name of the devil.

"Lucifer" is the Latin term that Jerome used in the Vulgate to translate helel. Most moderns believe that Isaiah is using a well-known mythological tale as an analogy to the failure and consequences of the rebellion and king of Babylon.

According to Canaanite history, the morning star is personified as the god Attar, who attempted to occupy the throne of Baal and, finding himself unable to do so, descended and ruled the underworld. The original myth may have been about the lesser god Helel attempting to dethrone the Canaanite supreme god El, who lived on a mountain to the north.

Hermann Gunkel's reconstruction of the myth told of a mighty warrior named Hêlal, whose ambition was to ascend higher than all the other star deities, but who had to descend into the depths; thus, he portrayed as a battle the process by which the bright morning star fails to reach the highest point in the sky before being extinguished by the rising sun.

In Greco-Roman civilization, Lucifer was the name of the planet Venus when it appeared in the morning. It corresponds to the Greek names Phosphorus ("light-bearer") and Eosphorus ("dawn-bearer").

The Latin name of the entity was later absorbed into Christianity as a name for the devil. Modern scholarship generally translates the term in the relevant biblical passage (Isaiah 14:12), where the Greek Septuagint reads ὁ ἑωσφόρος ὁ πρωὶ ἀνατέλλων, as "morning star" or "shining one" rather than a proper name, Lucifer, as found in the Latin Vulgate.

In LaVeyan Satanism, Lucifer is described by The Satanic Bible as one of the four crown princes of hell, particularly that of the East, the 'lord of the air', and is called the bringer of light, the morning star, intellectualism, and enlightenment, which its true. He rules over those aspects and more.

As a name for the planet in its morning aspect, "Lucifer" (Light-Bearer) is a proper name. In Greco-Roman civilization, he was often personified and considered a god and in the Roman version considered the son of Aurora and Cephalus or, in his Greek counterpart, Eos and Helios. At that time, he was represented as a boy bearing a torch.

Regardless of the version, as the Lord of Light and Knowledge, Lucifer is demanding of his followers, but kind and gentle - he has a very cute epithet, which is the sweet prince. Lucifer is nothing if not charming, a protector who always works to help you become better. Growth is constant, Lucifer is the epitome of growth, direct and sweet at the same time, telling you what you need to do and letting you figure out how to do it.

How did such an entity have its image distorted to what we know today?

In the Book of Isaiah, chapter 14, the king of Babylon is condemned in a prophetic vision by the prophet Isaiah and is called הֵילֵל בֶּן-שָׁחַר (Helel ben Shachar, Hebrew for "the bright one, son of the morning"), who is addressed as הילל בן שחר (Hêlêl ben Šāḥar).

The title "Hêlêl ben Šāḥar" refers to the planet Venus as the morning star, and this is how the Hebrew word is usually interpreted. The Hebrew word transliterated as Hêlêl or Heylel occurs only once in the Hebrew Bible. The Septuagint translates הֵילֵל in Greek as Ἑωσφόρος (Heōsphoros), "bringer of the dawn", the ancient Greek name for the morning star.

Similarly, the Vulgate translates הֵילֵל in Latin as Lucifer, the name in that language for the morning star. According to Strong's Concordance based on the King James Bible, the original Hebrew word means "shining one, light-bearer," and the English translation given in the King James text is the Latin name for the planet Venus, "Lucifer," as it was already in the Wycliffe Bible.

The morning star metaphor that Isaiah 14:12 applied to a king of Babylon gave rise to the general use of the Latin word for "morning star/lucifer", capitalized, as the original name of the devil before his fall, linking Isaiah 14:12 with Luke 10 ("I saw Satan fall like lightning from heaven") and interpreting the passage in Isaiah as an allegory of Satan's fall from heaven.

Considering pride as a grave sin that reaches its peak in self-deification, Lucifer (Hêlêl) became the model for the devil. As a result, Lucifer was identified with the devil in Christianity, but what really perpetuated his image as king of demons, during the Renaissance, it became more poplar to use Lucifer as the devil's name; it used to pops up in a lot of Christian popular literature, such as Dante Alighieri's Inferno, Joost van den Vondel's Lucifer, and John Milton's Paradise Lost.

Early medieval Christianity made a strong distinction between Lucifer and Satan. While Lucifer, as the devil, is fixed in Hell, Satan carries out Lucifer's desires as his vassal. In true, Satan is a title, derived probably from the word Shaitam, and it means Adversary.

You can read about his other origins here

[rockingbytheseaside]

✦ I still love you, even though I miss you.

(sfw, angst, slight yandere - Pierro x gn reader, hinted to be connected with the abyss)

Pierro is a patient man.

Just as the immovable, snowy mountains of Snezhnaya, so is Pierro’s patience unbudging and certain. One would say The Jester’s gaze is even colder than those icy peaks on the horizon. It is no wonder a man of his caliber is the founder of the Fatui. His calculating attitude always lets him be five steps ahead of everyone, and it is precisely why you are here now.

You were in bed. Your chamber within the Snezhnayan Palace is pristine, and practically untouched even by you. The windows showcased a snowy landscape, and if that sight didn’t bring chills to anyone, then the ominous walls of the Palace certainly did. This luxurious room did not emit warmth, even if a small fireplace was lit.

No; This room was your confinement after your battle with the Fatui Harbingers. Now you were recovering, your body and mind unconscious

The Jester sat on the nearby chair, silently observing your sleeping form. There was barely a sound or motion within this secured chamber, save for his own troubled sigh. You have been slumbering in oblivion for days now, the impact of your previous battle forced you to exhaust the last drop of your mightiness, leaving even his top Harbingers wounded. In fact, The Zapolyarny Palace was still recovering from the destruction you brought into Snezhnaya. But now you are here, and after 500 years, the back of Pierro’s gloved hand caresses your skin in trembling worship.

To even reach this moment took many years, he thought to himself.

A long time ago, when The Doctor first became the 2nd of The Harbingers, Pierro assigned him a prolonged task. Use knowledge to locate that which can traverse the Abyss. Not a benign task, one may say; but one that required Il Dottore to use his expertise from his Akademiya days. One thing led to another, and The Doctor found that same thing that would be sent to the Abyss - A puppet.

A long time ago, when The Balladeer first became the 6th of The Harbingers, Pierro also assigned him a prolonged task. Search the Abyss for as much as he can. A straightforward assignment; alas it lacked much directive on what he was supposed to search there. Nonetheless, Scaramouche’s rank never allowed him to inquire further about the Jester, so he relied on any intel he could find. And find he did, in the murky insanity that lay hidden within the Abyss, some valuable information - The sky is a lie, there are those whose fate is not governed by the stars.

A long time ago, when The Captain first became the 1st of The Harbingers, Pierro assigned him a prolonged task. Prepare yourself to face the strongest opponent in the Abyss, for when the time comes you will be on the front line against the one The Jester seeks. Il Capitano was humbly keen, and as always accepted with a solemn nod. The strongest man in Teyvat would face the strongest being of the Abyss, and the Harbinger could not wait to meet the elusive entity.

Pierro was a patient man. He didn’t doubt that his army of harbingers would confirm that which he already suspected. Always several steps ahead of them. But now his plans were proceeding – getting a lead on the Abyss.

Not because the Abyss is an enemy of Teyvat and the Fatui, no. But because Pierro has suspected for centuries that an entity was harboring in the depth of darkness, hidden away from all mortal eyes. You, who was so brutally ripped from him after the Cataclysm, were alive and taking root in the realm of the Abyss.

Pierro still recalls the days of his youth, puerile and hardworking, when the kingdom of Khaenri’ah was still in its prime. You were so proud of him when he first got appointed as a royal court sage. No stars could compare your delight whenever you supported him with love and affection, the lingering memories of your small kisses still haunting the Director to this day. So naive and foolish. He was on the verge of starting a life with you, daydreaming of calling you his cherished spouse and building a home where the two of you would live out your peaceful days.

Those peaceful days never ensued, and he never managed to give you the ring he bought. The Cataclysm ushered the land with a veil of sin, with you forcing him to flee into Teyvat, while you vanished without a trace.

He almost thought you had perished, and mourned you every day until he built his Fatui organization from the ashes of sorrow.

Every action he took, every Harbinger he recruited, every order he gave, every plan he perfected – all for the intricate strategy of seeking you out from the Abyss, and bringing you back to his arms. Even if he had to sacrifice his best men and burn the Irminsul into cinders, he had no reservations.

Now he is back in the present, where you lay unconscious in bed, secured like a hidden gem within the Palace and pacified after a ferocious battle. Every day, The Jester checked on your well-being, secured your health, and waited patiently by your bedside. He never thought this day would come, and you would probably detest him for doing all this. It would be a bittersweet reunion once you wake up.

But Pierro was always a patient man. If it took 500 years to reach you, he wouldn’t mind another 500 years only to taste the sweetness of your kisses and envelop you in his embrace where you belong.

[andhumanslovedstories]

Do you know the Langston Hughes poem "Let America Be America Again"? I think you would enjoy reading it.

I know it's cool among leftists to hate America and wish it harm, and yes it's built on a LOT of harms, but your post resonated with me. It's the country we have, and it IS our duty to keep the freedoms we have and extend them to everyone.

god Langston Hughes is always hitting

Let America Be America Again

Let America be America again. Let it be the dream it used to be. Let it be the pioneer on the plain Seeking a home where he himself is free.

(America never was America to me.)

Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed— Let it be that great strong land of love Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme That any man be crushed by one above.

(It never was America to me.)

O, let my land be a land where Liberty Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath, But opportunity is real, and life is free, Equality is in the air we breathe.

(There's never been equality for me, Nor freedom in this "homeland of the free.")

Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark? And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?

I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart, I am the Negro bearing slavery's scars. I am the red man driven from the land, I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek— And finding only the same old stupid plan Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.

I am the young man, full of strength and hope, Tangled in that ancient endless chain Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land! Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need! Of work the men! Of take the pay! Of owning everything for one's own greed!

I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil. I am the worker sold to the machine. I am the Negro, servant to you all. I am the people, humble, hungry, mean— Hungry yet today despite the dream. Beaten yet today—O, Pioneers! I am the man who never got ahead, The poorest worker bartered through the years.

Yet I'm the one who dreamt our basic dream In the Old World while still a serf of kings, Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true, That even yet its mighty daring sings In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned That's made America the land it has become. O, I'm the man who sailed those early seas In search of what I meant to be my home— For I'm the one who left dark Ireland's shore, And Poland's plain, and England's grassy lea, And torn from Black Africa's strand I came To build a "homeland of the free."

The free?

Who said the free? Not me? Surely not me? The millions on relief today? The millions shot down when we strike? The millions who have nothing for our pay? For all the dreams we've dreamed And all the songs we've sung And all the hopes we've held And all the flags we've hung, The millions who have nothing for our pay— Except the dream that's almost dead today.

O, let America be America again— The land that never has been yet— And yet must be—the land where every man is free. The land that's mine—the poor man's, Indian's, Negro's, ME— Who made America, Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain, Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain, Must bring back our mighty dream again.

Sure, call me any ugly name you choose— The steel of freedom does not stain. From those who live like leeches on the people's lives, We must take back our land again, America!

O, yes, I say it plain, America never was America to me, And yet I swear this oath— America will be!

Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death, The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies, We, the people, must redeem The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers. The mountains and the endless plain— All, all the stretch of these great green states— And make America again!

[mediumgayitalian]

“I just think improvements could be made,” says Will, absentmindedly taking a patient’s vitals and totally oblivious to Nico’s fervent praying for death. “Like, take Sisyphus, for example. I think he would be much happier if there was a big number at the top of the mountain —” he pulls away from the increasingly bemused daughter of Venus he is meant to be treating, waving his hands about in emphasis — “that incremented with each successful rock push. You know? And also if they let him spend those points on temporary tattoos or stickers or the such.”

He opens a dinky purple plastic treasure box, fishing out a sucker for himself and then offering the bounty to the legionnaire. She hums thoughtfully, deciding eventually on a glittery sun tattoo and using a random fever-breaking washcloth to stick it immediately in the dead centre of her forehead. Will dismisses her cheerfully.

“I just think it would improve the general morale of the area.”

“That’s — no,” Nico says, dragging his hand down his face. “There’s no improving morale, it is an eternal punishment. He cheated Death!”

Will waves a hand. “Bah.”

“Wh — don’t ‘bah’ me! He bound Thanatos up with leather string! He stuffed him under a mattress!”

“Thanatos is an all-powerful Nyxian deity,” Will points out. “If he stayed stuck under the mattress, that’s lowkey a skill issue.”

Nico sits in gobsmacked silence for several minutes. Will does not appear to notice.

“Don’t — say that,” Nico hisses, glancing around. “Christo, Will, you’re going to get smited.”

“I don’t think anyone will smite me. I’m not important enough. If I was important enough, they’d listen to me, vis-a-vis improving the Underworld vis-a-vis improving Sisyphus’ condition. Here, drink this, it’ll make you feel better.”

“What is your fascination with that man,” argues Nico weakly, accepting the drink and taking a wary sip. “Oh, huh, bubblegum.” He drinks half of it in one go. “That’s not too bad.”

“Yeah, I know you, di Angelo. You’re not mysterious.”

Nico’a jaw drops, and drops further at Will’s snickering. “I — am so.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Well I would be more mysterious if you didn’t lock me in here four times longer than you said you would!”

Will slows down, sets down his suture needle, walks away from his patient — this time Conor Stoll, who holds closed his gaping leg wound with practiced patience — and walks over to Nico’s bed, hands on his hips, eyebrows raised to the mighty heavens.

“People who disappeared into the shadows and had to be dragged back by sheer force of Will — I mean that exactly as it sounds — do not get to complain to me.”

Nico settles back into his stupid infirmary bed cushions, bright red and scowling. As if it’s his fault the shadows tried to devour him —

“It actually is directly your fault, Mr. I Want To Valiantly and Dramatically Sacrifice Myself to the Nether Instead of Listening to my Doctor so I can Avoid That Foolishness.”

Nico ignores him, chugging the rest of his bubblegum-flavoured whatever-it-is, until he rolls his eyes and returns to Connor, who has at this point fainted from blood loss. Will flicks him on the forehead with impressive force and grace and he snorts right back awake. Nico catches himself feeling impressed and shoves it immediately away with a glower.

“Hmph. Go back to Sisyphus. You were less annoying when you were advocating that one of the original mortal sinners be pardoned.”

“Gladly! Do you think Sisyphus would be sad if they took away his rock and gave him a functionally identical one —”

“Oh my gods I take it back youre the most annoying person on Earth —”

“I can see the Doors of Death, I think,” comments Connor absently, and is ignored.

“It’s not annoying to care about the afterlife!”

“Focus on your own! How about that!”

“That’s depressing!”

Nico throws up his hands. “You’re an emergency field medic! Your life is depressing!”

Will snorts. “True,” he concedes. He pauses for a moment, and then Nico can tell, by the twitch of his stupid shoulders, that he is making that stupid smirking expression — “Although you know what would make it less depressing —”

“If the word ‘Sisyphus’ leaves your mouth I am going to leap out of this prison bed and maul you to death —”

“—if I was only sure —”

“— I’m not kidding Solace —”

“— that the state of my fellow dead man —”

“— I’ll be at your fucking judgement day, asshole, don’t test me —”

“— would be one of one of blissful, deserved relief.” Will glances backward, grinning. “By fellow dead I mean my homegirl Sisyphus, if that was in any way unclear.”

Nico brings up his hands and mimes strangling the infernal son of Apollo. It makes him laugh, dimple-cheeked and wide-mouthed, and Nico’s stomach flips.

“You’ll die by my hand, Solace, I mean it.”

“Yeah, yeah, di Angelo, I’m real scared of a five-foot —”

Connor’s heart monitor lets out a long, continuous beep.

“Oh, shit, my bad. Clear!”