#they have their ancient fashion sense and refuse to change it

[ps-aeiou-vowels]

i made a narrative character for my friend @gay-robot's lancer game. they aren't a pilot but they're very involved with the crew

we call them old they/themkins (pun on old man jenkins) but to everyone else they're just gramps or grandpa bc they act it and are older than everyone

certified gilf that's anywhere from seventy to twelve thousand years old. was cryogenically frozen and severely displaced through time and space (and blinkspace.)

can't remember their entire life. it's a wonder their brain wasn't just Liquified with how long they were dreaming (and WHERE they were dreaming)

wheelchair user. their flesh hands aren't great for many reasons so they got four new ones synced to their spine

they use the language understanding chip in their brain to make dad jokes and puns and nothing else useful

has sci-fi narcolepsy that's cool and extremely normal. entirely unrelated but guess what i was just diagnosed with

they see memories when they sleep! it's just that those memories may not [Belong to them.] who said that

anyways please accept my final message. you don't get any context for it

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

If Yves's darling wanted to know more about say his family or childhood or something how would it go? Honestly just an excuse to hear some of his backstory since he's basically an enigma, not even for just to solve the mystery, but because some would love to know about their significant other, no? Hope this makes sense

Yves will go around in circles, seemingly teasing you with little bits of lore but never truly divulging anything. He's vague and the information he gives out is that you already deduced. If you pay attention carefully, there's always something distracting you from hearing about his past. Be it an advert for your favorite TV or animated series, you suddenly got so bored, a friend or family member called for you, being paged for work, and so on.

It's not that he has something nefarious to hide. Yves just didn't see the need for you to know.

And... dear god, does he hate being reminded that he is old. Bless his ancestors for letting him win the jackpot of genetics, but it still does change the fact that he is ancient. He knows, logically, there isn't anything wrong with it. Wisdom comes with maturation and Yves is still privileged enough to have the peak physique of a man in his mid-twenties.

You think he is around your age. Definitely a couple years older with his mannerisms and attitude toward life. But you are sorely mistaken, whatever age you thought he was, he is much older. Much, much older. And it is something he doesn't like people knowing. Don't you know it's rude to ask a gentleman his age?

You thought you had him when you saw his identity card. 34. He is still the sexiest, most desired man you ever met in your life. 34 doesn't seem like anything out of the blue. He is financially stable, he has a strong sense of self, he knows way more than you can imagine and he has a sharp, rapid-spin mind. You quizzed him about it, what Yves did was snatch his card away from you and give you a light scolding for going through his personal items when he claimed to never have gone through yours.

Maybe you felt guilty, maybe you didn't. But both of you agreed to not rummage through each other's private belongings. So this is a boundary broken.

He really doesn't have a last name. His identity card simply displayed Yves. He walked away before you could grill him about it, refusing to talk to you because of this perceived disrespect.

You tried to do some more sleuthing. Hours and hours of work and you came up with... nothing. There is nothing on this man you can find or confirm. The only Yves you can find is the Luxury fashion brand or its etymology.

You gave up. It's not like he is mistreating you or putting your life in danger. Yves feels like someone a bit too good to be true, but what can you gain from departing from bliss? You thought he probably had a dark past he was trying to amend. Maybe it is just too painful for him to reiterate his major life events, maybe it's best to not press further.

Sighing, it's time to apologize to him. And so, you did, shamefully hanging your head low and muttering apologies to your boyfriend. You found him in his office reading a binder full of papers in a language you cannot understand. Be it French, Chinese, Hindi etcetera, you're not at all fluent in that.

He forgave you. Removing his reading glasses before setting them down on his Mahogany desk, smiling and inviting you into a hug. You don't really care at this point, he feels nice and warm, protecting you against the suddenly chilly air biting your skin.

It's such a shame that you're too illiterate to read his literal autobiography, his own detailed research dossier, right under your nose. You can't see it, but Yves is staring at his records from the corner of his eyes while rubbing your back up and down.

It must be aging. He's getting sloppier. You shouldn't be in the same room as that binder. Yet, here you are. Mere inches away.

Once you had enough of cuddling for the time being, you excused yourself and left him in his office to do his thing. Yves heaved a sigh before shutting his classified documents. Something peaked out from between pages. Something hard, flat, and rectangular. Like a certain government-issued card.

He pulled it out to see what it was. Immediately after, he pushed it back in. Yves silently picked the heap up and tidied after himself.

If only you had moved a little more erratically, if only you had been more 'excited' to see him that you would flail your arms around, you would have knocked it out of there and into the open.

You would have then discovered that he was also 34 on his 1st birthday.

[ofsappho]

Treehouse Ask: I hope you are doing well this holiday season? My ask regards Morpheus' proposal of marriage to Reader. How does she feel about becoming his wife? She's currently adjusting to becoming his queen, but how does she feel about the idea of tying her mortal self to him in holy matrimony?

Hi!!! Thank you sm for resending this ask and I hope you’re doing well too.

Yesterday I had a surgical procedure where they stuck some really big needles into my spinal column while I was under anesthesia to inject steroids. Still feeling pretty achy and not great, but big needles will do that to you lol.

Anyways on to the good stuff.

I’m going to start with getting into Morpheus and then Reader’s perspectives, to add context.

I’ve mentioned before about how I’m approaching Morpheus as a very old fashioned/proper being used to a specific standard and protocol when it comes to interpersonal relationships of all kinds. Not only is he a royal king, but he’s also an ancient god who follows ancient rules (for the most part). As a king and a god, he wouldn’t be beholden to any of his partners or feel a sense of accountability from them. They just weren’t equals. He could do as he pleased and demand what he wanted and they couldn’t. His past marriage with Calliope and past romances with Nada, Killala, and Alianora reflect this. (I also want to emphasize that the reason why Morpheus behaved this way in the past in treehouse is because that’s simply the way he learned how to behave in relationships. That was custom, both in the Waking world, which affects the dreaming, and the custom when it comes to royalty and people in power in general. And he was/is a selfish being so this feeds into that for him.)

He does truly love Reader and want to marry her, but the only way he knows how to love her is how he loved people in the past, which was dysfunctional/neglectful/toxic. Morpheus never learned how to be another way.

But he wants Reader more than he’s ever wanted anyone else and is like, if I can obtain her and secure her to me, everything else will fall into place! A lil delulu lol, but he’s not the god of thinking shit through.

On the other hand, Reader is a modern woman. Not just a modern woman, a modern woman who walked into this relationship with the expectation of modern treatment. Being treated equitably, being mutually responsible and accountable towards one another. Complete trust, honesty, and respect.

She’s not truly opposed to marrying him, but she’s less concerned with the “marriage” part of this equation as she is about the parts of a relationship that make a marriage successful. Can she trust him, will he remain true to her, will he protect her and not mistreat her, will he remain obsessed with her and not grow distant or bored. That’s where Morpheus’s one track mind and her clash.

She wants this relationship but on her terms, not solely his, from a position that can be negotiated from.

While Reader clearly isn’t secure in their relationship at the moment, she’s secure enough in herself that she isn’t afraid to hold Morpheus accountable even if it might jeopardize their future.

Spoiler alert - she does eventually agree to marry him and they have a fairy tale wedding before the baby is born and I’m sooo excited hehe.

But right now they’re essentially going through marriage negotiations, as royalty once arranged marriages. But they’re not negotiating over alliances or land or titles, Morpheus finally has met his match who wants something much more important than those things.

And every time she refuses Morpheus, he comes back with a better offer, so to speak. He’s already learned he can’t dazzle her with jewels and gold and things. He has to actually change for the better as a person to keep her. (More Hades and Persephone influences!)

(The way I see it, Calliope’s royal father, King Zeus, would have done all of the negotiating with Morpheus over their marriage. That’s what was done in Ancient Greece and what was/is done all over the world. Negotiating over the possession of Calliope, taking her from her father’s house and adding her to Morpheus’s house (aka family). This is a scenario that naturally lent itself to objectifying Calliope, placing her on a lower status to her husband.)

Reader is a very very special character to me. Not only does she represent me and how I view the world and how I view other people, she also represents the person I wish I could be and the strength/courage/bravery I wish for all people. By giving her her happy ending that she acquired on her own merits and strengths, not by compromising who she was but because she stuck to her guns, I hope to give us all a future where we love and are loved for who we are, not in spite of it.

[darthstitch]

the end of the fairy tale

Let's talk about Nada.

So, for those who haven't read the comics, I'm going to say it now, even if the comics were already released 30-odd years ago, okay? SPOILERS. MAJOR SPOILERS. VERY LIKELY THE PLOT OF SANDMAN SEASON 2.

There.

The second thing I am going to say is this: THIS DOES NOT EXCUSE/EXONERATE DREAM OF THE ENDLESS FROM ANY OF HIS SHITTY ACTIONS. BECAUSE THEY WERE REALLY, REALLY HORRIBLE. HEINOUS. CRUEL. HE WAS A FUCKING IDIOT.

Look, I love the fucking idiot, okay? But yeah, the day I read that particular part in the comics was the day I absolutely wished I could reach into that world and shake him into sense. Like, DREAM, YOU MORON, YOU COME BACK HERE AND FIX THIS RIGHT THIS INSTANT GODDAMNIT. YOU FUCKING KNOW BETTER THAN THIS.

Thankfully, Death took care of that for me, in true Pinay Ate fashion.

Buckle up kids, here we go.

In the comics, Queen Nada was the first love interest that we see for Dream of the Endless. At least, the first that we knew of, since Endless Nights wasn't going to be written and published until years later.

It plays out like a classic myth, that tribal people tell each other, as part of a rite of passage for their youth. Queen Nada is the beautiful queen of a great and ancient city somewhere in Africa. She falls in love with a handsome and mysterious man. Despite multiple warnings and obstacles in her way, she goes on a quest to find Mr. Mystery and she eventually does find him.

It's worth noting that Dream here is again shown to be different from the usual pale, white, ghostly dude that we know. We're reminded that the Dream we see as a "default" is based on our perceptions. He appears as an eldritch godlike being, all flame and majesty to the Martian Manhunter.

To Nada, he is a beautiful young man of her own race but alas, when she finds him, she realizes that he's not a mortal. She recognizes him for what he is and is terrified, because to love an Endless is to court disaster. It's forbidden.

I won't recount the whole tale, but suffice it to say, that Dream eagerly pursues her once he's figured out that she's madly in love with him. She tries to run away but eventually she gives into Dream and they have this one incredible night of passion. But because she apparently broke this taboo, her kingdom is completely destroyed.

Dream tries to offer her the Queenship of the Dreaming, but obviously, that's not going to fly with Nada, who's absolutely broken that all of her innocent people had to pay the price for her foolish passions and love. She chooses to kill herself and while Dream still tries to persuade her to spend her afterlife with him, she refuses.

And that's why he sends her to hell. It takes about 10,000 years, but after Desire needles him (as usual) and Death points out (in a gentler fashion) that he'd behaved abominably, Dream decides to do the right thing and get her out of hell. It helps that he's just experienced imprisonment as well (we'd later learn that this has happened twice) and after some shenanigans, he does set her free.

Dream awkwardly attempts to apologize and he ends up getting rightfully smacked in the face, because, Dream, you moron, that's not how you say sorry. OMG.

DASURV.

This is one of the reasons why Tom Sturridge's Morpheus took me a little off guard. His apology to Lucienne and his closure with Calliope are leagues away from this, where he shows a lot more empathy, sensitivity and maturity. I'm looking forward to seeing how the show is going to handle that moment, since they've been doing such a great job of adapting and making changes to the source material while still staying true to the spirit of the entire saga.

But I digress. Dream does really make it right with Nada and she gets to reincarnate and live her new life, finally free of all the bullshit.

For a long time, I had wondered how Dream of the Endless could've been so cruel and petulant and capricious. I did understand that The Sandman wasn't a classic "hero" tale where the lead character would make the "right" choice every time. Dream does change and grow and develop for the better over the course of the series, which is why it's so heartbreaking to lose him in the end, just when it seems he's finally getting his shit together.

And then I read Endless Nights and I finally understood.

Poor Nada was basically Dream's rebound love from the disaster that was Killala of the Glow.

Killala was a trainwreck in the making. From the comics, it seemed like Dream had been the one who did the courting, dazzling and wooing her. She's into it, but she doesn't seem to understand Dream's real nature and it's fairly clear that she's attracted to Dream and very much charmed, but it's Dream who's fallen hard and fast for her.

It's also worth noting that the restriction against loving mortals was not yet in place. It's Killala who causes that restriction to happen. Given that she falls in love with the star of her own solar system, it's significant that the one who doles out punishment for Nada falling in love with Dream and consummating that love is our sun.

I honestly think that Killala and Dream would've still broken up, even without Desire's meddling, but it might have happened gradually, over time and Dream might have learned a far more different, gentler lesson in loving mortals. Instead, he gets faced with Killala openly betraying him and running off with Sto-Oa. Desire laughs in Dream's face about it and admits that they thought it was a fun joke.

And Dream does absolutely nothing, except to storm away.

Killala isn't punished, isn't condemned to hell, doesn't suffer some unspeakable fate. We're told that she was happy with her love, even though she does die, eventually, since she's mortal.

So it's no wonder that Dream had overreacted so badly with Nada. It was Nada who had initially pursued him. It was Nada who had gone through all these trials and tribulations to prove her love for him. She was the one who essentially did the courting and the wooing. To Dream, who was still feeling bruised and battered after getting rejected by Killala, it had to be a heady feeling, to be loved and wanted like that.

Was it any wonder that he absolutely would not let Nada go after this? That he would try to hold on to her, try to keep her by his side, damn the consequences?

It's also significant that the Dream Nada sees, essentially looks like a teenager of her own age - a clear sign that Dream himself isn't emotionally mature enough or had developed that conscientious streak that made him so endearing much later in his life. He was young (in Endless terms), he was hurting over his last love and his sibling's cruelty, and he just wanted, very much, to be loved and have his fairy tale happily ever after.

Again, this doesn't excuse his cruelty. But at least we can better understand where he's coming from and appreciate how much character growth he'd gone through, because he does, in the end, set things right with Nada the best way he possibly could. And while it's not a fairy tale ending, it's a satisfying one.

[alephskoteinos]

One thing I didn't think about when writing about the original Shin Megami Tensei V is that, given the nature of default Neutral ending in comparison to the "true" Neutral ending, it cannot conceive the creation of a new world that isn't ruled from a throne. The whole point of SMT V is that, with God dead, the throne from which he ruled creation has become vacant, and so a Nahobino has to step in and take over as the new ruler of the cosmos and thus, in a sense, act as its Demiurge in recreating the world. In retrospect, I think there is the possibility that Neutrality could have actually been very radical if it posed the inevitable recreation of the world as the attempt to create a new world without anyone ruling it - no thrones, no Demiurges, just a new headless world of life without dominion. But SMT V presents creation as something that can't be separated from dominion (the throne), a process that must be directed by a Demiurge, someone who will rule the world. Even in the Chaos path where the rule of the cosmos is shared by multiple deities (in the basic fashion of ancient pre-Christian polytheism), that all still requires you to assume God's throne, his former place as the world's Demiurge, to take the right to rule the cosmos and then share power with multiple gods. Demiurgic authority is central to the possibility of creation as presented by the game, and the game does basically nothing substantial to challenge it. In fact, it actually undermines the very idea of rejecting that throne.

There's two Neutral endings in the original Shin Megami Tensei V: one is a "bad" Neutral ending, the other is the "true" Neutral one. The "bad" one has you listen to Yakumo, the human who hates demons and wants to kill them all while happily employing the power of demons, and destroy the throne, thus defying the Nahobino's duty/destiny to create and rule the new world, in order to end the struggle between the gods and the demons on behalf of a world meant only for humans. But this leads to nothing: no new world, no final boss fight with Lucifer, not even the salvation or restoration of the old world as it was before everything happened (as in Nocturne's Freedom ending). The long struggle for survival continues seemingly without end because you refused to rule a new creation, and the world will still be engulfed in chaos. The horror for Goko is that the whole point of being the creator of the world is to bring order to chaos, like a good Demiurge or dictator should. As for the "true" Neutral ending, you create a new world that only humans can live in, but to do so, instead of destroying the throne, you assume the throne as the distant, quasi-deistic ruler of a universe inhabited only by humans, yet nothing actually changes. You consume Lucifer's Knowledge to free the world from "the Mandala System" (basically just a contrived reference to the entire cycle of death and rebirth that Nocturne was all about), but then Goko strongly implies that even after you supposedly did that your new world is going to come to an end.

"Real freedom", as in freedom from the "Mandala System", is ultimately meant to be defined by absolute rule. The law of the "Mandala System" has it that even if you create a new world, it will be destroyed, which means the order you create will dissolve into chaos: a new Da'at (a Netherworld populated by demons) will eventually appear, thus signalling the world's destruction, and you will eventually be defeated in a fight to the death with a new Nahobino, who will then take the throne and create a new world to replace the one you created. Thinking back, it actually seems like the whole point of the "true" Neutral ending is that "ending the cycle" simply means trying to find a way to make sure that your new world will last forever, by which is ultimately meant that you will be the absolute ruler of the cosmos forever. Creation, and even liberation, are matters of dominion, demiurgic authority, and absolute rule. And once it occurs to you, it makes the game even sadder, because not even the Chaos path really differs from this, even though it presents the possibilities of a seemingly anarchic cosmos (many gods, sharing rule over the cosmos, but apparently no clear authority).

I hope Vengeance is different. I hope that all this stuff about the Qadistu really does mean that, despite the thematic emphasis on vengeance as opposed to creation, we get to see a creation not dependent on the absolute rule of demiurgic authority. But then, with respect to the original SMT V, perhaps it's the humanistic angle, the whole theme of "a world for humanity alone" that pervades Neutrality (and often defines Neutrality in virtually all of the SMT games), that was always going to exclude the possibilities I'm trying to get at here.

[casperheights]

Welcome to your official introduction into the AU/Rewrite of DP known as “Gravewalking.”

This au will be tagged with #gravewalking au

(fun fact I didn’t know that was an actual word until like 2 minutes ago I made it up like 3 months ago as a play on Grimwalkers from TOH)

A little summary of what you’re getting into, at least with season 1 winky face (this is the summary i wrote for when i eventually post this on ao3 or smth): After an accident that leaves Danny with ghostly abilities (because no, there’s no way he’s dead), said creatures seem to be coming out of the woodwork, sometimes quite literally. The 15 year old High School Freshman takes it upon himself to keep the town safe since his accident is the reason they’re getting through. Oh, and he keeps breaking the lights. That’s probably not important.

–

OR; A rewrite of Danny Phantom as a fruity No One Knows AU and I’m changing his powers to electricity based. Homie was electrocuted it makes more sense imo

Basic info you might want: 

The AU itself: This is a no one knows au!!!! Sam and Tucker do not know. While they heard about the accident, in classic nok aus fashion, Danny is refusing to give them details and is pushing them away. In a classic Finch fashion, I made the death of a ghost correspond to their abilities. As such, Danny has electricity-based powers. 

Genre: Superhero, obv, thats what DP is, a little comedy, but mostly HORROR ELEMENTS!!! I love horror. Psychological? Probably. Body? Definitely.

The ghosts: While some ghosts will not make an appearance (most likely at least. Look man i'm still working on it), your favs are going to be completely revamped! Every ghost that will show up I hope to flesh out well :) except maybe one-time villains/cameos. I have created a whole system of ghost typing ranging from Will-o-the-wisps and Shades to Liminals (who are often called, ahem, Gravewalkers) and Lords/Ancients. Each ghost typing has their own abilities and whatnot (think like the ghosts in Phasmophobia). And since some of my typings would BUTCHER a few characters including Danny, ghost types can overlap :D For example, in this au Danny is a liminal banshee, and by the end of the series he’ll be a liminal banshee and [REDACTED]! This mostly applies to higher level ghosts since those are more titular than anything, but it will also apply to a few of the main cast of full ghosts.

The characters: The characters you know and love are back, but a few with a bit more substance. Team Phantom is overall pretty similar, just adjusted to fit headcanons I’ve inserted into the au. Vlad is not an incel anymore and now is taking Daddy Issues to the extreme! This definitely won’t have any negative consequences for Phantom. Oh, hes also like, 5x more manipulative. Danielle is back and BETTER. While I quite liked her in canon, now she makes more sense. Instead of going by “Dani,” she decided to be less confusing and pick a cooler name (her words) and goes by “Elle!” Pronounced like the letter L shes built different (its not because I keep reading “Ellie” wrong or anything). She is also physically the same age as Danny. She also has a dual ghost type, but you can wait for that I’ll do like a proper character intro or smth.

Season 1 (the only season i’m giving you a peak of rn): Season 1 is mostly a learning period for Danny. Unlike canon where the origin story is left to the intro until a retcon in season 2, the Accident is told through flashbacks, Daredevil style. Overall, this season will be the slowest, as it’s more for building the world, establishing characters and motives, and other stuff to make the next seasons flow as well as possible. Think like the Owl House where season 1 has more filler that progressively gets fewer and further between as it continues. This season ends with what very well might be a rewrite of one of everyone’s favourite episodes from canon. You can speculate what one that is.

Hope this sounds interesting. None of it is set in stone atm and if you have any questions about it feel free to ask!!!

[dropintomanga]

HIRAETH - The Middle and The End of It All

Continuing where I left off months ago, it’s time to explore the last two volumes of Yuhki Kamatani’s HIRAETH - The End of the Journey. The ending does end with a sense of loss, but it doesn’t mean that we can’t move forward despite of it.

Talk about suicide and suicidal ideation after the jump, so just a warning.

In Volume 2, the trio of Mika, Hibino, and Hani continue their trip towards the underworld, Yomotsu Hirasaka (also known as Yomi), to die. Along the way, they run into a researcher named Chihiro Awashima, who knows about Hibino’s immortality. While she wants to hopefully use the knowledge of immortality to improve the medical world, Chihiro’s also desperate to find a way to save a friend who’s dying of a terminal illness. Chihiro challenges Mika’s way of thinking (her desire to die after losing her best friend) by saying death is absolutely scary. Hibino tries to ignore Chihiro with vague answers about his immortality and once the trio makes an attempt to escape her grasp, Chihiro appears and collapses in front of them. She the admits that she lied about her friend and that she’s the one who is dying - from cancer. Chihiro then cries out in desperation how much she wants to accomplish something meaningful before dying. 

Hibino and Hani do convince Chihiro to accept her impending death and that her life still has meaning even if she doesn’t feel like it. There’s something Hani to Chihiro says that made me think.

“You believe the meaning of human life is to accomplish something before you die. How fascinating. While I thought of nothing but I was letting go...”

I listened to a podcast about this whole chase to find meaning in life. Sure, meaning means more than happiness. But I now wonder if we’re all being gamified to find meaning/purpose or else we’ll never be successful. It feels no different than trying to be a “personal brand” and sacrificing your mental health for it. It’s okay to accept that things can be meaningless; it doesn’t change the fact that there’s still things worth living for in life. Chihiro’s search for immortality felt like she wanted to feel pragmatically useful to someone who may need her because society told her to.

Near the end of Volume 2, Hani mysterious vanishes in front of Mika and Hibino. The think about how their life turned out as a god. They wondered why they decided to hang around Mika and humor her wish to die. Hani then realizes that there’s a cherished memory they long forgot. A flashback of when Hani and Hibino first met happens. It turns out that Hani was the soulmate Hibino was searching for. Hani returns and while the reunion is a happy one, everyone will go their separate ways the closer they get to Yomi.

At the start of Volume 3, Hibino encounters an old man he met a long time ago, which causes him to unlock traumatic memories of the people who died before him. Hibino keeps a notebook of said people’s words for his memory’s sake and now wants to get rid of it as he feels trapped by them. Mika refuses to let Hibino throw everything away. Hani jumps into the conversation via violent fashion as they felt insulted by Hibino’s actions because they strongly feel memories should be treasured.

The focus on memory becomes important as Hibino reveals that he knew about Hani for a long time and the two already met a long time ago in ancient Japan. After being around each other for a few years, Hani ends up having to disappear. Hibino and Hani would make a promise that they would meet again if somehow Hibino ends up losing his immortality. Yet that memory was long forgotten until Hani displayed insecurity over how they will be remembered, which triggered Hibino’s remembrance.

The subject of holding onto painful memories can be a tricky one to navigate. In modern society, there’s often a bunch of victim blaming towards people who can’t seem to move on from losing loved ones. We’re always told to move forward and ignore the grief that comes with such memories. But as HIRAETH shows, if an immortal and a god struggle with grief and despair, why would anyone think humans can do better?

The ending is a bittersweet one. Hani eventually disappears, but is glad Hibino treasured him. Hibino dies right after Hani disappears. Mika is about to join the afterlife with no hesitation to see her best friend who died, but decides to go back to the world of the living after hearing a bird sing. She credits the new memories she made with Hani and Hibino that made her re-think her desire to die. 

The most touching part of the end is when Chihiro re-appears in the final chapter. She tells Mika that Hibino reached out to her to take care of his personal affairs (which were trivial) before his eventual passing. Both Mika and Chihiro laugh over Hibino’s actions. And Mika says one of the most powerful lines regarding loss with a huge smile on her face.

“I'm so weird. I can’t shake how sad I feel, but here I am, laughing.” 

I’m gonna get into something I haven’t really talked about here. 4 years ago, a pet bird of mine died after having him for 12 years. The morning he died, I saw him looking very ill. I left for work and came home to find him dead. I was in a state of disbelief and sadness. I did tell some of my friends about my pet bird’s death and one of them told me to celebrate their life. Although I’m not going to pretend that my pet bird thought like a human, he looked like he had fun while he was alive because he sung quite a lot in loud and happy fashion. I laugh now when I think about the times my bird made me smile with his behaviors.

Over the past couple of years, I’ve been reading up on grief and ways to talk about it without dismissing the subject entirely. One thing that stood out to me was when someone talks about a loved one who passed away, the first thing asked is “What happened to them?” I think people do this because they want to be certain that whatever befell the person who died won’t happen to them. A better thing to say is “Tell me more about them. Tell me how they lived. Tell me what were they liked. Tell me your favorite memories of them.”

There’s a huge collective silence that subtly makes its mark when talking about emotional memories. There’s cases where people might be deemed “too emotional” and put on a “someone to avoid” list. However, if you really want to feel connected to someone, being a bit more emotional than usual is what makes relationships stronger, not weaker.

People going through grief often don’t get a proper chance to talk about the ones they lost with love. There needs to be a better collective response in giving opportunities to them to speak out. Accepting death and all it brings is what really moves us to treasure and move forward in life. At least, that’s what Kamatani is trying to say with HIRAETH and their approach in talking about death.

HIREATH is an amazing manga that talks about a subject rarely talked about in Western culture. It’s uncomfortable to read at times due to so much focus on facing one’s mortality, but the characters make you feel alive and ensure that it’s okay to face it when you have the people you love at your side. And more importantly, accepting the pain of the past can lead to a present and future that you want to fight for and cherish.

To quote a BBC article on the subject of hiraeth (which is a concept in the country of Wales and the source of inspiration for the manga),

"It (Hiraeth) can be quite revealing, in a way. It can give you an idea of how you want to live, so you can try to embody that happiness and bring it with you into everyday life."

[dfroza]

everyone has their personal “opinions” while on earth

but when death arrives everyone has to face the eternal.

and so facing the fear of this is essential beforehand, and it takes courage and humility. courage to believe, to trust in grace, and the humility to receive it.

the Light has been revealed and some embrace it, while others turn away.

(Light is Love)

some don’t want any part in the True Light, but it is Love who is forming A new Family of reborn daughters & sons of our heavenly Father who will inherit beautiful earth in its rebirth that will be ruled by the eternal King. the True Kingdom will come upon this earth (first earth) to upend the temporal “kingdoms” and governments of men. but then, after a thousand years of time, this planet will be burned up, it will pass away.

(Anew, genesis) points to the creation of A new heaven & earth that is pure True nature. restoring our Creator’s original dream of the “genesis” yet made entirely new.

And the commandment we have been given is Love. but Love also means forgiveness and releasing offense, the same that we need ourselves for our wrongs. we are forgiven as we also forgive. although sometimes forgiving someone for a wrong done doesn’t lead the offender to reconcile a severed relationship. but we still can’t hold on to offense, even if it means separating oneself from another, parting ways. sometimes an offender keeps doing things that are wrong, refusing to repent, to change. pray for them even if keeping a distance is necessary. through patience and time they may change for the better. everyone has to choose their behavior.

we can’t live in hate.

A set of lines from John’s ancient writing:

My loved ones, in one sense, I am not writing a new command for you. I am only reminding you of the old command. It’s a word you already know, a word that has existed from the beginning. However, in another sense, I am writing a new command for you. The new command is the truth that He lived; and now you are living it, too, because the darkness is fading and the true light is already shining among you.

Anyone who says, “I live in the light,” but hates his brother or sister is still living in the shadows. Anyone who loves his brother or sister lives in the light and will not trip because his conscience is clear. But anyone who hates his brother is in the darkness, stumbling around with no idea where he is going, blinded by the darkness.

The Letter of 1st John, Chapter 2:7-11 (The Voice)

we need to notice (recognize) the wonder (the good) that exists in our daily lives.

(giving thanks)

A word from Today’s email by Israel365:

Hallel, the Hebrew word for “praise,” is the linguistic root of the most common word used in the worship of God by people around the world: Hallelujah!

In Judaism there is a special collection of Psalms (113-118) that collectively are called Hallel. The Hallel Psalms are sung in joyous fashion on special holidays such as Passover, Sukkot, and Hanukkah.

The primary goal of Hallel is recognizing God’s ability to override the laws of nature and perform miracles and acts of salvation on our behalf. Although we are meant to view every phenomenon in nature – from the flowering of a rose to the rainfall that gives life to the land – as an act of God, it’s easy to become used to nature and forget that God is the hidden Mover behind it all. And so God, on occasion, performs miracles to remind us of the truth that all of nature is really in His hands. The Baal Shem Tov, the great 18th century founder of the Hasidic movement, taught that if we would understand that every moment we are alive is indeed a miracle, we would praise God all day long, everyday.

By praising God, we recognize the goodness that is in the world and in our own lives. Focusing on the good enables us to banish any sense of despair or worry. As modern psychology teaches, being positive and seeing the good breeds more positivity and goodness in a person’s life.

In his Book of Psalms, King David taught us how to open our hearts and truly praise God with all of our being. It’s fitting that the last of the 150 psalms ends with the verse, “Let everything that has breath praise God, Hallelujah!” (Psalms 150:6).

[sadprosed]

𝑺𝑪𝑬𝑵𝑨𝑹𝑰𝑶  𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑷𝑻𝑺.

↬   OF  FAIRYTALES,  FOLKLORE  AND  FAEKIND.

scenarios  inspired  by  various  settings,  encounters  &  magic  tucked  between  pages,  fashioned  by  the  author.

+   feel  free  to  change  pronouns  /  roles  !

FAIRYTALES.

‘  let  me  guess,  you  thought  a  true  love’s  kiss  would  help  you.  ’

‘  you  will  always  follow  the  trail  in  the  wood,  and  it  will  guide  you  on  the  same  path,  to  the  same  cottage,  the  same  witch.  it  will  always  be  your  undoing.  ’

‘  i  have  never  seen  a  more  tragic  creature.  how  might  i  help  you  ?  ’

‘  you  must  take  this  knife  and  plunge  it  into  his  /  her  /  their  heart.  ’

‘  forget  yourself.  that  is  how  you  break  your  curse.  ’

‘  remove  this  thorn  from  my  hand,  and  you  will  be  rewarded.  ’

‘  i’m  tired  of  being  a  prince.  i  think  i  would  actually  enjoy  being  a  frog.  ’

‘  tell  me  of  the  beast,  and  i  will  hunt  it  for  you.  ’

‘  mice  are  never  just  mice,  and  pumpkins  are  rarely  just  pumpkins.  ’

‘  i  don’t  think  breaking  a  spell  should  be  this  simple.  ’

‘  i  never  thought  i’d  return  here,  to  the  site  where  it  all  began.  ’

‘  are  you  an  orphan  ?  it’s  just  that  they’re  always  finding  themselves  in  magical  predicaments.  ’

‘  the  mirror  speaks  falsely  in  your  ear.  it  is  your  true  curse.  ’

‘  my  heart  feels  uneasy,  although  i  am  free.  is  it  supposed  to  ?  ’

‘  i’m  sorry,  it’s  just  that  i  thought  this  is  the  part  of  the  quest  where  the  animals  ought  to  start  talking  to  me.  ’

‘  of  course  i  plan  on  going  to  the  ball.  why  wouldn’t  i  ?  ’

‘  jealousy  has  made  more  witches  out  of  women  than  adam’s  rib.  ’

‘  where  has  choosing  goodheartedness  and  having  golden  hair  ever  gotten  you  ?  ’

 ‘  are  you  a  helpful  wizard,  or  the  kind  that  sits  in  a  tower  reading  moldy  books  ?  ’

‘  i’m  dreadfully  bored.  who  knew  waiting  for  a  prince  was  so  strenuous  ?  ’

‘  we  all  have  towers  we  must  leave,  and  magic  that  will  try  to  thwart  us.  ’

‘  i’m  afraid  for  the  clock  to  strike.  the  hour  will  ring  in  the  place  of  my  heartbeat  when  we  must  be  parted.  ’

‘  i  had  no  idea  carpets  could  fly.  or  pigs  for  that  matter.  ’  

‘  what  would  happen  if  the  knight  did  not  arrive  to  the  castle,  and  the  dragon  made  a  den  of  it  and  a  hoard  of  its  people  and  prize  of  its  princess  ?  ’

‘  i  sometimes  think  i  was  switched  out  at  birth,  like  a  lizard  in  a  bird’s  nest.  i  belong  somewhere  else.  ’

‘   in  another  kingdom  exists  a  throne  and  a  crown  that  is  mine  by  right.  ’

‘  if  i  did  not  wake  up  one  day,  i  would  still  be  waiting  on  a spinning  wheel,  dutifully  bored.  ’  

‘  something  in  me  knows  you  are  here  for  my  heart.  ’

FOLKLORE.

‘  in  all  the  myths  i’ve  heard,  it’s  never  been  worthwhile  to  approach  strange  sights.  it’s  best  to  turn  around  and  pretend  you  never  saw  them.  ’

‘  nothing  is  folklore  until  it  exists  longer  than  consciousness  remembers,  and  lives  in  spite  of  it.  ’

‘  i’ve  heard  your  name  before,  in  songs  and  lengthy  ballads.  ’

‘  whatever  has  led  you  here  to  me,  there  is  destiny  in  its  making.  ’

‘  the  beast  returns  every  century  or  so,  and  tries  to  devour  us.  it  will  come  again  before  long.  ’

‘  a  pretty  face  is  not  nothing.  it  earns  you  a  hearth  and  a  kind  hand,  after  all.  ’

‘  their  lips  are  red  as  blood,  and  their  teeth  carve  ruin  into  throats.  ’

‘  aren’t  dragons  supposed  to  breathe  fire  and  make  a  fuss  about  having  their  treasure  found  ?  ’

‘  someday  you  will  become  a  pilgrim,  a  saint,  or  a  favored  story,  while  i  will  be  a  voice  on  the  wind.  ’

‘  the  stories  say  brides  don’t  live  to  the  light  before  demons  devour  them.  why  should  i  become  one  ?  ’

‘  there  was  another  girl  like  you  once,  in  a  small  town  like  this  one.  i  can’t  remember  if  she  became  the  monster  or  died  trying  to  escape  it.  ’

‘  remember  to  festoon  the  hearth  with  garlic,  or  rosemary,  or  one  of  those  mundane  herbs  that  keep  evil  out.  ’

‘  that  sounds  like  nothing  but  a  tall  tale,  but  i’m  certain  smaller  minds  would  eat  it  up.  ’

‘  to  cross  this  bridge,  you’ll  have  to  pay  a  heavy  toll.  ’

‘  don’t  stray  too  far  from  the  path  set  before  you,  or  something  interesting  might  happen.  ’

‘  i’ve  passed  that  yard  of  crops  a  million  times,  but  the  crow  never  moved  from  its  post  until  this  morning.  ’

‘   it  is  as  though  ancient  fears  are  still  in  us  like  scars  or  stitches.  ’

‘  graveyards  aren’t  where  you  find  ghosts.  look  for  them  in  places  that  feel  like  memories  you  shouldn’t  have.  ’

‘  stories  reap  princes  from  peasants  as  if  their  skins  were  crops  in  the  ground.  ’

‘  what  form  does  your  fear  take  ?  surely  not  that  of  a  bear  or  a  lion.  such  things  are  too  assuring.  ’

‘  i  found  myself  where  everything  was  too  familiar  to  be  real.  ’

‘  in  safe  beds  on  cold  dark  nights,  we  learn  to  face  the  monsters  in  our  own  minds.  ’

FAEKIND.

‘  you’re  not  to  partake  in  a  fairy  feast.  don’t  you  know  it’s  the  food  that  will  devour  you  ?  ’

‘  i’m  sorry  you  did  not  read  the  eyes  of  the  trees  before  finding  yourself  here.  ’

‘  i  wish  to  go  back.  i  want  to  forget  everything.  ’

‘  you  think  that  believing  in  us  is  enough  to  protect  you  ?  that  it  will  kill  us  if  you  forget,  and  we  prey  upon  your  unknowing  ?  ’

‘  step  around  the  ring  three  times,  like  a  backwards  clock.  that’s  how  you  get  to  fairyland.  ’  

‘  i’ve  never  heard  such  sweet  music  before.  ’

‘  where  the  trees  begin  to  twist  and  groan  in  their  roots,  remember  you  must  not  make  a  right  turn.  ’

‘  i  didn’t  feel  like  i’d  stepped  into  another  world,  but  like  it  stepped  into  me.  i  knew  i  was  there  and  forgot  i’d  left  anything  behind.  ’

‘  how  amusing.  a  human  !  ’

‘  would  you  be  my  bride  if  i  were  to  take  you  into  the  ground  ?  ’

‘  i  know  of  tunnels  you  might  take,  the  burrows  of  trolls  and  rabbits.  ’

‘  don’t  take  anything  from  this  realm,  none  of  it  is  worth  the  price  of  keeping.  ’

‘  there  are  courts  by  many  titles  in  the  lands  beyond  the  veil,  all  of  them  other.  ’

‘  names  are  not  like  currency  here;  they  are  more  precious  than  diamonds  and  legacies.  ’

‘  did  you  think  all  of  us  looked  like  goblins  ?  ’

‘  getting  here  is  easy,  but  getting  home  is  quite  the  trick.  ’

‘  i  shall  give  you  a  riddle,  and  it  will  puzzle  you  until  you  know  the  answer  but  forget  your  own  soul.  ’

‘  a  bloodline  is  nothing  when  you’ve  outlived  civilizations.  ’

‘  refusing  my  hospitality  is  like  human  sin,  and  it  will  bring  worse  upon  you.  ’

‘  everything  here  is  and  isn’t,  and  things  are  and  aren’t.  ’

‘  on  lonely  nights  i  stare  into  the  trees,  and  a  strange  face  leers  back.  ’

‘  the  thrones  here  are  made  of  bones  and  blood,  and  built  upon  decay.  ’

‘  a  third  time  is  not  a  charm,  but  a  bargain.  it  says  that  you  want  something  enough  to  wager  your  sense.  ’

‘  it  is  dangerous  to  think  that  magical  beings  do  not  have  human  intensities.  ’

[love-archon]

Shoulder Angel

Summary: Genshin boys as your guardian angel and demon ^^ 

Zhongli and Childe

• Morax is literally the name of a demon.

• He appears before you on the eve of your contract, sharply dressed in elegant (and form-fitting) clothes, and calmly states his name and titles: a president of hell, overseer of thirty demonic legions, and provider of knowledge of astrology and stone. 

• There's a long silence after he's done, as though he's waiting for something... or someone. Then Morax awkwardly clears his throat, and that's when the angel comes crashing in. 

• "Be not afraid!" he announces, picking himself up from the floor. You aren't yet sure why you should be afraid of a skinny white boy with orange hair, but you suppose it's just something all angels say. 

• You didn't get the angel's name, but when your friends come over and see the two very attractive men in your house that previously weren't there before, he's quick to spin a lie about him being a family friend of yours, Ajax, who's staying with you for an indefinite amount of time. 

• Morax is less accustomed to lying on the spot, latching onto Ajax's story and introducing himself as Zhongli... another family friend. Who also coincidentally happens to be staying with you, yes. 

• To be honest, Zhongli is nicer to hang out with than Ajax. He is knowledgeable about many things, and recounts grand historical events as though they happened yesterday. His deep, velvety-smooth voice has you unconsciously hanging on to his every word.

• But no matter how civil and friendly he is, take care not to forget what he's really here for. Morax takes contracts seriously, and although he refuses to outright lie, he still wants you to sign the second contract- one that gives him the legal right to claim your soul when you die. 

• (Your saving grace is that even though he's not willing to play dirty, the angel certainly is).

• Meanwhile, you're pretty sure that if you make one wrong step when you're out with Ajax, he'll be fired for not protecting you properly. He's always itching for a fight or chasing the thrilling high that comes with danger some other way. But if anyone dares threaten you, he’s immediately at your side, ready to defend you if they come any closer.

• Sometimes, when his focus slips, you see his true form underneath the human glamor- hulking, plated with armor, and a pearlescent wheel for an eye- and suddenly his "be not afraid" line makes much more sense, and terrifyingly so.

• It's never visible for more than a second before Ajax is back, with his lean build and countable freckles and two eyes as blue as the deepest sea, smiling at you reassuringly and pretending nothing happened.  

• He trusts you enough to not intervene when you're around Zhongli, because as far as he's concerned, your soul might as well be in Ajax’s palm. But he still delights in tormenting the lesser demons that appear near you, drawn by Morax's power- summoning blades of holy water to easily tear them to shreds. 

• What? Just because he's a guardian angel doesn't mean he has to be nice.

Scaramouche and Kazuha

• In the window of time when summer turns to fall, and maple leaves change from green to shades of red, Kazuha comes to you. 

• Kazuha is the perfect angel. 

• He knows the hidden language of nature, guiding you away from treacherous storms and lightning strikes. Traveling with him means you can sleep safely under the stars without a care, and he's always there with a wise saying or elegant poem that reminds you to do the right thing. 

• Although he sounds a little old-fashioned when he speaks, his soft voice and gentle, kind eyes persuade you to listen anyway. 

• He's sweet and calm, but always ready to faithfully defend you from evil with his heavenly sword.

• Which is why it vexes him when there's one ancient evil, reeking of ozone, that he just can't seem to exorcise.

• You can't get a real name out of him- he's too spiteful and cunning to ever reveal it to you. It's either Balladeer, or Skirmisher, 散兵, or Scaramouche, which sounds the most like a name instead of a title. So Scaramouche is what you call him... for now. 

• He doesn't bother trying to tempt you into anything, and seems determined to hang around you only to be a nuisance. It deeply irritates Kazuha, which only encourages Scaramouche more. 

• Then one day he realizes that making you flustered isn't just fun, but also drives the angel up the walls. 

• Like a new favorite toy, he quickly figures out what gets the best reactions out of you, but is smart enough to know when to stop before he goes too far. He always does it when Kazuha does something particularly cute or nice to you, dragging your attention away from him.

• Even so, your guardian angel has faith that in the end, you'll do the right thing. 

• "I know you'll make the correct choice," Kazuha says to you, smiling gently. The fading light of the sun softens his features even more, making them shine like gold. 

• "I know you'll make the correct choice," Scaramouche mockingly drawls, and the air suddenly grows chilly and hums with static. His icy finger draws a line down your arm, making you flinch from the cold. "After all, I'm much better than that angel, right?"

Venti and Xiao

• You're thrown off at first by the angelic wings and snarling mask, respectively. But make no mistake- 

• No matter how cute he may be, Barbatos is a duke of hell, who delights in speaking in riddles and encourages you to laze around and procrastinate when you really shouldn't. He jokingly invites you to share a drink with him, and is only stopped by a firm "no" or Xiao appearing behind him with glowing green eyes and a warning growl. 

• And despite Xiao sighing in exasperation whenever he has to get you out of trouble, he always appears by your side to defend you wherever you're in danger- you only need speak his name. 

• It’s no secret that beneath his distant exterior, Xiao has a soft spot for you, and cares for your wellbeing even if the things humans do mystify him at times. 

• Surprisingly, the two of them get along with each other, when Barbatos isn't trying to pull you into one of his schemes ("Barbatos sounds so mean," he whined once, after being scolded by the both of you. "You should call me Venti instead!")

• Xiao had a different name, once, when he was forced to serve a false and evil god. He refuses to speak of it with you, so don't try, but sometimes, late at night, the illusions over his skin come undone, and you’re sad to see just how much damage has been done in his years of servitude. 

• You only know that one day, someone came along and freed him, giving him his new name. He refuses to talk about that person either, although it sounds like they're not with him anymore. 

• But being granted freedom didn’t remove the agony inflicted on him, and it was Venti’s song that saved him from being consumed by pain. He secretly dreams of being able to dance to that music again, unburdened by his debts. And although he may never admit it, being with you gives him the same lightness in his heart.

• Venti doesn't care about trying to get the upper hand on Xiao or anything. He believes that humans should always have the freedom to choose without outside influence, anyway.  

• But sometimes, just to mess with him, he transforms into what must be his real form: a tiny, fairy-like creature dressed in white. He floats around you like a ball of dandelion fluff in a spring breeze, and cutely nuzzles your cheek to make you laugh. 

• Then he throws Xiao a smug look when you're not looking, and the guardian's shaky grip on his polearm nearly makes it crack. 

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Anonymous asked: As a beginner in Classics I love your Classicist themed posts. I find your caption perfect posts a lot to think upon. I suppose it’s been more than a few years since you read Classics at Cambridge but my question is do you still bother to read any Classic texts and if so what are you currently reading?

I don’t know whether to be flattered or get depressed by your (sincere) remarks. Thank you so much for reminding me how old I must come across as my youngish Millennial bones are already starting to creak from all my sins of past sport injuries and physical exertions. I’m reminded of what J.R.R Tolkien wrote, “I feel thin, sort of stretched, like butter scraped over too much bread.” I know the feeling (sigh).

But pay heed, dear follower, to what Menander said of old age, Τίμα το γήρας, ου γαρ έρχεται μόνον (respect old age, for it does not come alone). Presumably he means we all carry baggage. One hopes that will be wisdom which is often in the form of experience, suffering, and regret. So I’m not ready to trade in my high heels and hiking boots for a walking stick and granny glasses just yet.

To answer your question, yes, I still to read Classical literature and poetry in their original text alongside trustworthy translations. Every day in fact. 

I learned Latin when I was around 8 or 9 years old and Greek came later - my father and grandfather are Classicists - and so it would be hard to shake it off even if I tried.

So why ‘bother’ to read Classics? There are several reasons. First, the Classics are the Swiss Army knife to unpick my understanding other European languages that I grew up with learning. Second, it increases my cultural literacy out of which you can form informed aesthetic judgements about any art form from art, music, and literature. Third, Classical history is our shared history which is so important to fathom one’s roots and traditions. Fourth, spending time with the Classics - poetry, myth, literature, history - inspires moral insight and virtue. Fifth, grappling with classical literature informs the mind by developing intellectual discipline, reason, and logic.

And finally, and perhaps one I find especially important, is that engaging with Classical literature, poetry, or history, is incredibly humbling; for the classical world first codified the great virtues of prudence, temperance, justice, loyalty, sacrifice, and courage. These are qualities that we all painfully fall short of in our every day lives and yet we still aspire to such heights.

I’m quite eclectic in my reading. I don’t really have a method other than what my mood happens to be. I have my trusty battered note book and pen and I sit my arse down to translate passages wherever I can carve out a place to think. It’s my answer to staving off premature dementia when I really get old because quite frankly I’m useless at Soduku. We spend so much time staring at screens and passively texting that we don’t allow ourselves to slow down and think that physically writing gives you that luxury of slow motion time and space. In writing things out you are taking the time to reflect on thoughts behind the written word.

I do make a point of reading Homer’s The Odyssey every year because it’s just one of my favourite stories of all time. Herodotus and Thucydides were authors I used to read almost every day when I was in the military and especially when I went out to war in Afghanistan. Not so much these days. Of the Greek poets, I still read Euripides for weighty stuff and Aristophanes for toilet humour. Aeschylus, Archilochus and Alcman, Sappho, Hesiod, and Mimnermus, Anacreon, Simonides, and others I read sporadically.

I read more Latin than Greek if I am honest. From Seneca, Caesar, Cicero, Sallust, Tacitus, Livy, Apuleius, Virgil, Ovid, the younger Pliny to Augustine (yes, that Saint Augustine of Hippo). Again, there is no method. I pull out a copy from my book shelves and put it in my tote bag when I know I’m going on a plane trip for work reasons.

At the moment I am spending time with Horace. More precisely, his famous odes.

Of all the Greek and Latin poets, I feel spiritually comfortable with Horace. He praises a simple life of moderation in a much gentler tone than other Roman writers. Although Horace’s odes were written in imitation of Greek writers like Sappho, I like his take on friendship, love, alcohol, Roman politics and poetry itself. With the arguable exception of Virgil, there is no more celebrated Roman poet than Horace. His Odes set a fashion among English speakers that come to bear on poets to this day. His Ars Poetica, a rumination on the art of poetry in the form of a letter, is one of the seminal works of literary criticism. Ben Jonson, Pope, Auden, and Frost are but a few of the major poets of the English language who owe a debt to the Roman.

We owe to Horace the phrases, “carpe diem” or “seize the day” and the “golden mean” for his beloved moderation. Victorian poet Alfred Lord Tennyson, of Ancient Mariner fame, praised the odes in verse and Wilfred Owen’s great World War I poem, Dulce et Decorum est, is a response to Horace’s oft-quoted belief that it is “sweet and fitting” to die for one’s country.

Unlike many poets, Horace lived a full life. And not always a happy one. Horace was born in Venusia, a small town in southern Italy, to a formerly enslaved mother. He was fortunate to have been the recipient of intense parental direction. His father spent a comparable fortune on his education, sending him to Rome to study. He later studied in Athens amidst the Stoics and Epicurean philosophers, immersing himself in Greek poetry. While led a life of scholarly idyll in Athens, a revolution came to Rome. Julius Caesar was murdered, and Horace fatefully lined up behind Brutus in the conflicts that would ensue. His learning enabled him to become a commander during the Battle of Philippi, but Horace saw his forces routed by those of Octavian and Mark Antony, another stop on the former’s road to becoming Emperor Augustus.

When he returned to Italy, Horace found that his family’s estate had been expropriated by Rome, and Horace was, according to his writings, left destitute. In 39 B.C., after Augustus granted amnesty, Horace became a secretary in the Roman treasury by buying the position of questor's scribe. In 38, Horace met and became the client of the artists' patron Maecenas, a close lieutenant to Augustus, who provided Horace with a villa in the Sabine Hills. From there he began to write his satires. Horace became the major lyric Latin poet of the era of the Augustus age. He is famed for his Odes as well as his caustic satires, and his book on writing, the Ars Poetica. His life and career were owed to Augustus, who was close to his patron, Maecenas. From this lofty, if tenuous, position, Horace became the voice of the new Roman Empire. When Horace died at age 59, he left his estate to Augustus and was buried near the tomb of his patron Maecenas.

Horace’s simple diction and exquisite arrangement give the odes an inevitable quality; the expression makes familiar thoughts new. While the language of the odes may be simple, their structure is complex. The odes can be seen as rhetorical arguments with a kind of logic that leads the reader to sometimes unexpected places. His odes speak of a love of the countryside that dedicates a farmer to his ancestral lands; exposes the ambition that drives one man to Olympic glory, another to political acclaim, and a third to wealth; the greed that compels the merchant to brave dangerous seas again and again rather than live modestly but safely; and even the tensions between the sexes that are at the root of the odes about relationships with women.

What I like then about Horace is his sense of moderation and he shows the gap between what we think we want and what we actually need. Horace has a preference for the small and simple over the grandiose. He’s all for independence and self-reliance.

If there is one thing I would nit pick Horace upon is his flippancy to the value of the religious and spiritual. The gods are often on his lips, but, in defiance of much contemporary feeling, he absolutely denied an afterlife - which as a Christian I would disagree with. So inevitably “gather ye rosebuds while ye may” is an ever recurrent theme, though Horace insists on a Golden Mean of moderation - deploring excess and always refusing, deprecating, dissuading.

All in all he champions the quiet life, a prayer I think many men and women pray to the gods to grant them when they are caught in the open Aegean, and a dark cloud has blotted out the moon, and the sailors no longer have the bright stars to guide them. A quiet life is the prayer of Thrace when madness leads to war. A quiet life is the prayer of the Medes when fighting with painted quivers: a commodity, Grosphus, that cannot be bought by jewels or purple or gold? For no riches, no consul’s lictor, can move on the disorders of an unhappy mind and the anxieties that flutter around coffered ceilings.

Caelum non animum mutant qui trans mare currunt (they change their sky, not their soul, who rush across the sea.)

Part of Horace’s persona - lack of political ambition, satisfaction with his life, gratitude for his land, and pride in his craft and the recognition it wins him - is an expression of an intricate web of awareness of place. Reading Horace will centre you and get you to focus on what is most important in life. In Horace’s discussion of what people in his society value, and where they place their energy and time, we can find something familiar. Horace brings his reader to the question - what do we value?  

Much like many of our own societies, Rome was bustling with trade and commerce, ambition, and an area of vast, diverse civilisation. People there faced similar decisions as we do today, in what we pursue and why. As many of us debate our place and purpose in our world, our poet reassures us all. We have been coursing through Mondays for thousands of years. Horace beckons us: take a brief moment from the day’s busy hours. Stretch a little, close your eyes while facing the warm sun, and hear the birds and the quiet stream. The mind that is happy for the present should refuse to worry about what is further ahead; it should dilute bitter things with a mild smile.

I would encourage anyone to read these treasures in translations. For you though, as a budding Classicist, read the texts in Latin and Greek if you can. Wrestle with the word. The struggle is its own reward. Whether one reads from the original or from a worthy translation, the moral virtue (one hopes) is wisdom and enlightenment.

Pulvis et umbra sumus

(We are but dust and shadow.)

Thanks for your question.

[ssurveycorpss]

You can delete this if this isn't allowed, but can I request X for all the warriors?

asking for multiple characters is totally fine (as long as you're not requesting full one shots lol) i'll update my rules! also the layout of these is a little different than the others bc this one is just a little fun lol.

i included zeke, reiner, pieck, porco, and colt. i definitely wont write for the four kiddos or marcel but i can write for annie and bertholdt if you request them.

tags: modern au, cigarette/nicotine mention in zeke's, alcohol mention in colt's, emetophobia warning for colts, mention of car accidents in porco's, sfw, not every single one is romantic lol sorry and colts is missing one headcanon bc i only have two for him

hc game

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

zeke jaeger:

pretentious coffee fan. owns like a 300 dollar espresso maker and refuses to drink starbucks. spends like 8 dollars minimum on a latte and lurks on the coffee subreddits. its almost comical how he drinks fancy coffee and only smokes cigarettes and not e cigs... so pretentious...

acts like he has no interest in social media but spends hours trying to pick a lyric from an obscure band for his caption. has like 3 posts, lots of followers, and less following. will post the occasional story with you in it but otherwise not much going on there.

coaches little league baseball despite not liking kids that much because he doesn't really have time for coaching middle or high schoolers. his kids are fucking ruthless they are like monsters on the field and every other team is terrified of them. you know how they don't keep score for kids softball and stuff like that? zeke does anyways and he tells them every time they win. does well with baseball moms bc their kids could go pro no matter what and hes really good looking and suburban moms could use the eye candy.

more under the cut!

reiner braun:

his favorite music genre is bubblegum kpop. porco groans everytime reiner has the aux bc he just plays really preppy cute songs kpop songs about falling in love after school. he doesn't like... stan any of the groups like he doesn't know every detail of their lives but he casually watches their interviews sometimes and knows all the member names of his favorite groups. he has a photocard from an album you gave him, and it sits in his phone case behind a polaroid of you two. also he learns the dances sometimes.

likes watching cartoons sometimes, he wont binge watch an entire season of them but if he has sometimes he'll throw on a cute mindless cartoon just to relax. he usually watches slice of life and romance tv shows in general, stuff without much tension or drama and is just cute.

good cook, terrible baker. if he bakes something it will look awful and taste kind of bad. but his cooking is really good, once you guys got comfortable together instead of going out to eat you opt for him cooking for you two instead.

pieck finger:

likes to buy her clothes second hand. she's a really well dressed girl but she's not concerned with being overly trendy, so she finds that a lot of stores don't really have things she likes. she likes long hemlines and almost everything is cropped these days, so she opts for thrift stores and vintage stores to get things her style. plus she saves a lot of money. she really suits pearl jewelry and has a timeless sense of fashion.

she has a minivan and will drive anyone anywhere, and she rarely asks for gas money. often picks up zeke porco and reiner when they hang out and will always pick you up for dates. her car is ancient but runs like a charm because shes knowledgeable about maintenance, and super fuel efficient.

has a really old phone with no cracks or scratches or anything. doesn't see the point in getting a new one until one day she notices how convenient porco's brand new up to date iphone is and starts saving up for one, but every time she saves up enough a new one comes out.

porco galliard:

plays volleyball, and is on a scholarship for it. jumps really high and is really lithe and quick, making him a good libero (but this is the extent of my volleyball knowledge so i will not make anymore comment. please let me know what position porco plays.)

gets in (non fatal) car accidents surprisingly often, and speeding tickets even more. marcel is tired of it because it is throwing his insurance costs over the roof and forces him to enroll in lessons but they really don't help.

he is the one to pay for the streaming services and has everyone else plus you leech off his account. he complains abt it but texts the gc every time he changes the password so he doesn't really have the right.

colt grice:

on the blacklist for several frats because he went to their block parties, drank too much, and vomited in someones bed, another person's cat's litterbox, a different persons laundry basket, a different different persons moms sweater, and another frats oven. he's really apologetic and always cleans up and reimburses everyone as much as he can, but he is a menace and is only allowed in if he promises not to drink. on that drinking note if you need advice, go out for drinks with colt. he will get incredibly inebriated, give you the best wisdom and advice you've ever heard, and forget everything the next day.

really bad at video games but really fun to play them with. doesnt get on very often, but will play when he has some free time or is asked by his friends. only on weekends and only for like two hours at a time. the video game system at his house doesnt even belong to him its Falcos.

[maggiec70]

Fun in the Country

My version of Joachim and his BFF, Jean-Boy, at the spa in Bareges and then adjourning to one of J-B's little country properties for more typical Gascon amusements. As always, these shenanigans are seen through the viewpoint of the former Milanese contessa/current aide-de-camp. She disapproves.

Joachim Murat sent Jean a note a few days later. I’m leaving Madrid tomorrow. We should meet at Barèges. It’s a decent spa and not far from you.”

“Why would you want to visit with Prince Murat?” Mariana asked when Jean showed her the note. “You’re always scrapping about something.”

“Not always. Besides, Joachim is entertaining, even when he doesn’t mean to be.”

Mariana resigned herself to a two-day ride to the Pyrenean spa and then days of constant Gascon bragging from two masters of the genre. As rowdy as it promised to be, she hoped the change of scenery would sweep away the last of her anger. Jean had done what she insisted. He’d waved the required documents conferring the majority of his country properties to Jean-Claude under the nose of an elderly black-clad lawyer who creaked each time he moved.

“Give me an official copy,” she’d ordered the lawyer, her peremptory tone causing his furry white eyebrows to rise as his brass-rimmed spectacles slid down his nose. He should have been used to her by then, after her questions directed at him like an artillery assault had determined—finally—that he had the requisite legal acumen and ethics for the task.

“Why did you want a copy?” Jean had asked her when the lawyer scurried away, portfolio clutched tightly beneath one arm. “Don’t you trust me?”

“That’s not the problem. You won’t be here when those documents become an issue. I don’t trust anyone but myself to handle this matter properly.” And if she weren’t around, she would entrust it to one of the phalanx of attorneys who managed her affairs. After all this time with her, they were eminently trustworthy and as ruthless as the Sforzas.

Now, comfortably settled in Barèges, almost everyone drank gallons of rough red wine and told amazingly obscene stories that made Mariana cringe in embarrassment. Neither Jean nor Murat went anywhere near the spa until two days later, complaining of headaches, and by then, she hoped they would both drown. She left whenever she could to explore the neat, tiny village tucked away in a hollow of the hulking, snow-covered Pyrenees, wondering if the change of scene was worth much. She was still angry, but not for the same reasons.

“I don’t know Jean anymore. What’s come over him?” she asked Joseph one evening during a long and raucous meal.

“Given the right circumstances, men revert to a certain type. Be patient—it’ll pass.”

“I can’t imagine you behaving in such a fashion.”

“I have, but you’ve never seen it. You’ll feel better if you ignore it all.”

She couldn’t ignore anything and cringed when Jean suggested they abandon the spa for one of his country properties. “Plenty of room, much more than here. Nobody to disturb us unless we invite them,” he explained, definitely listing to one side.

Murat agreed at once. “Excellent idea, as long as there’s plenty to drink. If you know some lovely ladies to make the time pass pleasantly, be sure to invite them.”

“I’ve got enough Armagnac to put you on your imperial backside every night. As for ladies, I’ll send for as many as you like,” Jean promised in a haze of Bordeaux-inspired grandiloquence. Although the rest of their aides grinned at the prospect, Mariana was livid.

That night she sat rigidly upright in bed, every nerve quivering with anger, while Jean undressed. He wobbled as he tried to get his boots off, and she snickered at him. She hoped he would fall on his face and lie on the rough-planked floor until morning.

“What’s the matter with you?” He tossed the boots aside and fumbled with the buttons on his coat.

“How can you take Prince Murat to that refurbished abbey you bought? How can you promise to amuse him for however long he wishes and send spurious billets-doux to all the women in the countryside? Besides,” she snorted, growing angrier as she spoke, “who’d write them? I expect you’ll ask me since you can’t string three coherent words together. You do know what this makes you?”

Jean did not bother to put on his nightshirt and crawled in bed naked, collapsing against the pillows, one arm flung across his face. “I’m sure you’ll explain. My head’s splitting, so don’t take too long.”

“You’ll be an imperial procurer, in the basest sense of the phrase.”

“Humph!”

“While the prince amuses himself with whichever ladies are besotted enough to accept your invitations, you doubtless expect me to entertain you.”

“You do it anyway.”

Mariana knew neither her anger nor her disapproval would matter in the morning. Leaning over, she blew out the candles. Jean was instantly asleep, snoring gently.

“Merde alors!” She threw a pillow at him, but he never moved.

The following day, not very early, they exchanged pleasant Barèges for the rather outré former abbey of Bouillas near Lectoure. “Surely the monks had better taste than this,” Mariana said after she’d struggled with an ancient, stout wooden door and opened it onto a riotous jumble of gothic, rococo, and Louis Quinze furnishings in the refectory. “If the bedchambers are like this, I won’t be able to sleep.”

“Yes, you will,” Jean replied and led her upstairs.

“It looks like a cheap bordello,” Mariana hissed at him after half a dozen young ladies arrived, as promised, the next evening, “and now it smells like one. I hope the ghosts of the poor, dispersed monks haunt you.”

He grinned at her over the nearly bare shoulder of a blonde in a primrose satin gown determined to charm him, one way or another. Stifling an impulse to slap them both, Mariana stalked out of the refectory and up the stairs.

She sat on the bed in their chamber, full of the most opulently overdone furnishings imaginable. There was scarcely enough room to walk from the door to the bed to the clothes-press to the recessed windows with their thick, wavy glass without bumping into a piece of furniture or a low stool or tripping on the layers of Turkey carpets covering the dark wooden floor. She ignored the assaults on her senses, balled her hands into fists, and swore that this nonsense would end in the next hour or she’d pack up and leave. The muscles in her neck and shoulders tight from anger, she didn’t care what Murat or Joseph or Marcellin or anyone else did where she could see or hear them. But she refused to spend another moment watching overdressed, painted, and perfumed women fawn over Jean. “I’ll put them in their places,” she muttered, sliding off the bed, “and if it causes an uproar, as well as the end of my military career, so be it.”

Mariana yanked off her boots and tossed them in the corner. She stripped off sash, coat, waistcoat, and neckcloth, throwing them across a chair. With an impatient jerk, she removed her shirt and untied the bands across her breasts, shook her hair free of its heavy braid, and ran her fingers through it, coaxing it into its usual waves and curls. After rummaging through her trunk and Jean’s, she deliberately omitted her lace-trimmed drawers and pulled on a clean pair of tight doeskin breeches, silk stockings, and flat-heeled shoes. She took one of his shirts, the cotton batiste so soft it clung to her skin. She thought about dipping the shirt in cold water and then putting it on, as Thérèse Tallien had done with her muslin gowns during the wilder days of the Directory. Instead, she left the laces undone and tied her sash low on her hips, the heavy fringed ends swinging gracefully as she walked. She found her emerald and diamond earrings tied in the corner of a handkerchief and put them on, pleased with the way they sparkled and swayed, unconcerned with the incongruity of fine jewelry and her motley attire. Creeping down the hall and into a chamber occupied by one of the female guests, she splashed herself with perfume from a cut crystal bottle. “About what I expected,” she said, wrinkling her nose at the heavy scent of ambergris.

Mariana descended the stairs, hoping the worn treads wouldn’t creak. No one noticed her until she had sauntered halfway across the room and shoved the primrose-clad woman’s soft, bejeweled hand from Jean’s arm.

“This one belongs to me,” she said, ignoring the woman’s stunned expression and the sudden quiet in the room. Mariana perched on Jean’s knee, buried her hands in his hair, and kissed him until she ran out of breath.

“You’ve been a fool, keeping this beautiful creature hidden from the world,” Murat said. “Ma foi, I think you’ve outdone Masséna. Where’d you find her?”

“It’s a very long story,” Jean said. “I can’t tell you right now.”

Mariana enjoyed watching him squirm, although not from the prince’s comments. “What’s the matter, mon cher? Are your breeches too tight?” She nipped at his ear. “You probably shouldn’t stand up.”

“The hell I won’t!” Jean pushed her off his knee, stood abruptly, and grasped her wrist so tightly that she winced. He strode from the room, pulling her along to the sound of Murat’s approving whistle.

...and you can imagine the rest if you like. I remember laughing the entire time I spent writing the entire scene, pleased that I'd pretty well nailed it. Nothing like real historical people having sex, is there?

[neonponders]

*sigh* catch me projecting on a Saturday.

I read this post ( @lazybakerart you wizard - ALSO IT’S YOUR BIRTHDAY?????? HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!! 🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹) and am now thinking about a sugardaddy!Billy with an ace!Steve. (*emphasis on grey ace*)

* Please nobody attack me for writing about leather fashion. I’m vegetarian and it’s fiction. Live a little. *

Read on ao3 ~

🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹

Steve just kind of stared at the box on the restaurant table. It wasn’t a ring box, but it was velvet. Goodness knew how many of these he’d seen in his life.

Steve knew wealth. He knew money, and all of the material variations therein.

He’d gotten pedicures with his mother before his father declared such a thing unfit for a boy coming into puberty. If you look like a man, act like a man. As if men didn’t have feet, or something.

Then he went to the salon. That wasn’t so easy to take away. Ventures with her son seemed to be the only things keeping Mrs. Harrington from being connected to her husband’s hip, so Mr. Harrington let them both have this one. Steve, fresh out of graduation, being given a hairdresser’s chair to accomplish summer-fresh highlights.

Mrs. Harrington was also the type of woman to enjoy shoes. Everyone has a thing. For some, they had bags. Others, jewelry. Vintage furniture. Designer wallpaper. Mrs. Harrington enjoyed shoes. It was where Steve learned to carry a woman’s bags, but he didn’t stay outside of the store. He learned how to clean suede, the difference between a 130 So Kate and an ordinary heel. What fetish meant in terms of fashion. He can convert heels sizes in millimeters to inches faster than a cashier calculating change.

Tommy and Carol had joked about Steve’s father having a different kind of fetish. Nothing to do with fashion, and everything to do with sex. Steve had foolishly let them into his mother’s bedroom and they were having a field day with a shoe closet that cost more than both of their houses combined. Still smelling of Nancy and pool chlorine, Steve as good as ended that friendship right there.

Because they didn’t get it.

Mr. Harrington certainly didn’t get it. Could never have such a sexual inclination because he didn’t understand pampering or indulgent interests.

He understood favors. Material apologies.

Mrs. Harrington had a collection of pearls and diamonds that she never wore.

Steve knew she liked opals and pink, pink rubies, because Steve liked opals too. Because he used his father’s money to buy ruby studs his mother actually wore. Because he gets her oldest, broken bracelet with green amber fixed, and she wears it until it breaks again. And then she presented Steve with a thin, gold chain to go around his ankle. With a gleaming, green amber stone flanked by two opals.

The green goes with our eyes, she said. Someone special will see the green in all that brown. It’s why we look good in reds.

Steve was still looking at the box on the table.

“It’s not going to catch fire, the longer you glare at it.”

His dark hazel, creek water eyes slanted up to the man sitting opposite him.

Billy Hargrove.

Stubborn to a fault. Gorgeous as Lucifer with wings freshly burnt off. And just as dangerous.

“I thought I said no more gifts.”

“And I ignored you. Open it.”

Steve went about it like ripping off a bandaid. He sighed at the window beside their booth, wrenching the thing open to see -

Diamonds.

He shut it with a loud clap and set it on Billy’s placemat. “No, thanks.”

The man’s features froze in tolerant stoicism, but he eased the box inside his suit jacket pocket. “You’re a hard one to shop for.”

Steve’s eyes widened dramatically over his wine glass of water. Not because he was sober - he’d willingly pay for an overpriced red, himself, if the handsome asshole weren’t trying to wave his wallet everywhere. “You can stop trying to buy your way into my pants any time you want.”

“If that’s all I wanted, I would’ve stopped three months ago.”

Three months ago,

When Billy breezed into Steve’s life as easily as he had senior year of high school. The two of them certainly deserved some kind of award for having a bizarre history.

Within a handful of months, Billy had arrived upon a turbulent time in Steve’s life, and then left nearly as quickly. Billy witnessed Steve and Nancy’s break-up, Steve’s fall from Hawkins High grace, and even beat his face a little bit. Because that’s what teenage men with bad emotional processing and even worse communication skills do.

Now, almost ten years later, Billy had some kind of empire behind him and Steve, well, didn’t. He had no idea what Billy’s job consisted of, but he got little hints. Mostly the negative space from Billy’s lack of discussing his job told Steve a whole lot.

Steve, who worked two jobs and occasional gigs wherever he was needed. During one such time, while Steve managed the cables and sound boards for Robin’s band, Billy Hargrove sauntered up to him with just as much charm mixed with hauteur as he’d ever displayed.

It wasn’t like meeting an old friend, because they had never been more than acquaintances, and roughly ten years was enough time for a personality to evolve ten different ways.

Steve couldn’t say how much he and Billy had evolved, really, but there was a point in there somewhere.

Maybe it lived in the, “I never expected to see you in a dyke club, pretty boy,” since it was all the coming out either of them needed.

Or the wanton kisses and fervent hands underneath the neon rainbow on the venue’s wall.

Maybe the point sat in the things Billy wanted, and what Steve was reticent to provide. Because Billy was a king who knew what he liked, and seemed particularly talented at walking into Steve’s personal crises like an anniversary.

Steve craved.

But he didn’t know what he craved. What he yearned for. He knew Billy’s kisses made his brain go molten and fuzzy. He knew Billy’s smell brought him just as much comfort, excitement, and anxiety. He knew finally being outside of sex-crazed high school had deflated something in him. The expectations to perform. He knew losing Robin’s stupid game of You Rule / You Suck gave him a secret gift of relief.

But he still craved. He wanted touch but he wanted to be alone. He wanted companionship but he didn’t want sex. But he did enjoy sex, except he didn’t want the expectation of it.

Well.

That was it, wasn’t it?

Billy Hargrove, who could have anyone he wanted plastered to his stupid, unbuttoned chest, had sought out Steve. Steve, king of mixed signals, Harrington. It was only a matter of time before he got his face beaten again. For wasting Billy’s time. For refusing Billy’s advances even though Steve clearly enjoyed Billy’s lips on his neck, and Billy’s hand on his inner thigh. For wanting Billy’s company and flirtation without the rules that finished in the bedroom.

So Steve refused the gifts. The material favors he could’ve sold for a better apartment. Fucked his way to owning a house that his mom would feel comfortable visiting. Be an unfeeling toy who could pay for his mother’s shoes and his own pedicures.

“Steve?”

He turned away from the window and the city’s electric constellations. “Hm?”

“Where’d you go?”

The back of Steve’s throat ached. He looked down at their appetizer plates and decided, “I think I’m going home.” After a second of them both hearing it out loud, Steve said with more conviction, “I need to be home right now. I’m sorry. Thanks for dinner.”

He almost reached for his wallet to pay for his half of the artichoke dip, but reconsidered. He took his old prom tuxedo jacket off on the way to the elevator, waiting for the doors to close before he pressed his face into the old fibers.

It would be easier if Steve didn’t know money. If wealth were a foreign pillow he had never slept on; could be spoiled into never giving it up again.

Like a true mother with a sixth sense, Steve withdrew a package from his mailbox when he returned to his apartment building. Mrs. Harrington’s versions of care packages were fashion magazines, a subscription to The New Yorker, polaroids of her latest closet pieces, and Steve’s favorite candy.

He loved it all. He didn’t need laminated recipes, bags of rice, or resupplied hair products. He went up to his bedroom, stripped down to nothing, and fell into bed with the hefty parcel. Fruity hard candies fell out like confetti, and he stuck a green apple square inside his cheek while he looked through her baggie of polaroids.

Peach suede 130s. Steve felt a warm tickle in his belly at that. She only wore 130s if she was pissed at his father. A woman in 130s walked with the force of a storm, mostly because the damn things were nearly intolerable to wear without a platform.

Another pair of diamond earrings. One of these days, people were going to realize how boring clear rocks were.

Dark, amethyst Miu Mius with the heel and toe encrusted with pearls. Steve’s dad must’ve really pissed her off to warrant that apology.

The magazine subscription had piled up, so he had three New Yorkers to read, but he opened the tome of Vogue first. His mother dog-earred her favorite articles, scent samples, and spreads. She often favored the androgynous and male fragrances. Steve liked that a whole lot. He wasn’t sure if she did that for him because he liked them, or if he liked them because she did that.

He held the magazine to his face as he went to the kitchen, smelling the first fragrance sample while he reached for his cache of boxed cake mix. It was a funfetti kind of night. He rattled the package of sprinkles in his hand while reading about some summer collection where the runway happened in a Greek ampitheatre. Sounded fun. Sounded like a great vacation. Beach, wine, and then modern art fusing with ancient architecture.

Steve didn’t excel in chemistry, but he knew a different kind of magic.

Which didn’t actually include baking. The cake emerged a little dark, but he cut off the burnt top, iced it to glorious, sugar perfection, and took a slice to bed with him. He turned the parcel upside-down for the last of the candy to come out so he could throw the envelope away -

Two bottles of nail polish landed heavily on the bed. Steve lifted the darker bottle to see a purple so ebony he thought it was black until he opened it to see the paint up close.

Purple and peach. To match his mother’s shoes.

Not many people understood his parents’ methods of producing or avoiding affection. But Steve did. He shook up the poison violet and painted his toenails in between forkfuls of cake.

He didn’t hear from Billy the next day.

Or the next.

As bad as Steve felt, he couldn’t say he minded. Nor would he be surprised if Billy never called him again. The idea brought a lonely peace during the commute to work, reading his magazines on the train before keeping them safe in a folder that he stuffed inside his backpack. Even if Steve’s chest felt like a cold balloon, with its latex worn thin and tired, he had his little things to keep him warm.

Then a knock on his apartment door.

Steve answered it with a cheek full of cake, interrupted from making his grocery list of actual nutritional value - 

Billy had never visited before. Steve stared at him long enough for him to ask, “Are you going to let me in?”

Steve glanced at the box under his arm and turned into his apartment with a sigh. Billy closed the door behind him as he remarked, “You don’t know what’s in it yet.”

There wasn’t exactly anywhere for Steve to theatrically storm off to. His kitchen was also his living room, and a half-wall partitioned the bedroom off to the side. His apartment was one long rectangle, and Steve remained stuck in the middle of it.

“Billy, I don’t know what you want from me that you think you can get from expensive things.”

“I don’t recall asking for anything in return,” he drawled while removing his coat.

“Don’t take that off,” Steve retorted.

“I’m taking it off.”

“This isn’t going to be a long visit.”

“Would you at least open the damn thing first?” Billy presented the box on the flat of his hand like a waiter’s tray.

Steve knew a shoe box when he saw one. He swatted the lid off the box before he even meant to. He was so tired of this game. Of these rules. He doesn’t want to see some snotty designer sneaker that isn’t to his taste. Some item the rules would dictate he accept without complaint. Or some chunky, foamy plastic, glorified tennis shoe that is over hyped . . .

He sees the red first.

It’s not a sneaker.

Hot Chick heels. 100mm. Black suede on top, red bottom. The leather around the heel scallop-cut like minimalist flower petals.

Steve’s breath has stopped in his chest. The pad of his thumb moved across the soft, matte leather before he stops himself. He tries to look stern when he dares to peek up at Billy, but those water-turquoise eyes are steady on him, absorbing his every reaction.

“These don’t exist in suede.”

Because they didn’t. Hot Chicks came in patent leather only.

“They do now.”

“Louboutin sizes down.”

“Then we’ll have them stretched.”

Steve is losing. Billy knows he’s losing. Billy - he -

“How - ?” Steve begins but stops. He closed his eyes and swallowed, only to flinch a little when Billy grasped his chin, holding him in place as he leaned in to lick the corner of his mouth free of icing.

“Will you try them on for me?”

Steve feels a mixture of defeat mixed in with petulance and vulnerable glee as he warily takes the box to his humble couch. Billy looked at his bed, and then to the kitchen on the other side of the apartment. He strolled into it and lifted the knife for a slice.

Steve, meanwhile, took his time. He opened the paper from where it had floated back over the shoes. He lifted the box to inhale the leather. He took one shoe out just to...see it. Look at it. Read the number stamped on the red arch.

Steve had to remove his socks, revealing his lacquered toes as Billy sat next to him with a plate. He eased the coffee table out of the way, giving Steve room to wiggle his foot into the severe 100mm heel.

They were hardly glamorous under his old, cut-off sweats.

But.

He’d never actually seen his feet in heels before. Never bothered to try to find his size.

Billy handed him the other shoe, and stood up with a ready hand. Steve wiggled into it and accepted his hold as he stood up.

How do you walk in those? he’d once asked his mother.

Trust the heel, my love, she’d answered, strolling around her bedroom in her 130s. If you’ve paid enough for it, it better hold up your entire form, and your dating baggage.

Steve had laughed, but listened to her every word. Move like a wheel barrow. You pivot on your toes, like the wheel, and rest on the heels.

“I’ve got you,” Billy purred when Steve teetered. Just a little.

“Why did you get me these?” Steve had to ask while he began to ease his arm off of Billy’s shoulders.

“Might’ve had a look inside your mail,” he admitted shamelessly. “I thought you might’ve ordered something and I could finally see what you liked. Instead, it’s the one thing I’ve seen you accept.”

“You’re a creep,” Steve declared, but he couldn’t look away from his feet as he strolled around the coffee table.

Billy laughed and sat down to his cake. “This is good.”

“It’s from a box.”

“It’s still good.”

Things . . . changed, after that. Billy came over just to come over. And he pestered Steve with endless questions.

“Do you like these?” he asked with his nose against the magazine pages.

Steve towered over him in his heels, but he’d wash dishes in whatever he wanted, thanks very much. And leather needed to be worn, as his mother taught him. Plastic is trash. If it comes from a living creature, it lives on a creature.

Steve snorted beside him. “My mom crimps those pages.”

“But do you like them?”

“They’re fun in magazines, but perfumes were never really my thing.”

“What is your thing?”

“Right now? You, elbows deep in here.”

Billy perked right out of the magazine only to lock onto the sink. “Because you’re having trouble reaching it now?”

Steve meant to have a witty come-back, but he got caught up in his own giggles. “Yeah.”

Then,

“Can I stay the night?”

Something must have flashed across his face, because Billy added, “Not for sex. I’ve taken the hint, all right?”

Steve slowly unfolded his socks where he sat on the foot of the bed. “Why do you want to?”

Billy wiped his hands on the dish towel and padded across the room to sit beside him. “Because I want to taste you before I sleep. And I wanna taste you when I wake up. I want your snark in my ears all the time - ”

“All the time?” Steve repeated, deadpan.

“Yeah, all the time. I can’t believe it either.”

Billy’s features were warm, unbelievably warm as he watched Steve laugh. “Of course I want to have sex with you. But I miss you when... I miss you all the time. It’s embarrassing.”

Steve rolled his eyes onto him, to which Billy defended, “I have things to do.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re the big man in town,” Steve babied, pushing his chest so he toppled backward.

“I am, actually,” he crooned, his hands finding Steve’s legs easily when he straddled him. “I’d work better with you on my desk.”

“My hairy legs and scraped up heels?” Steve threatened breathily, holding Billy’s cheek and jaw in one hand while he leaned over him so all Billy could see was Steve.

“All of it,” he exhaled, and pulled Steve’s head the last inch for a kiss.

Billy’s next gift was a pair of slippers. Plush, soft, and perfect after an afternoon in 100s.

Then he gave Steve a massage. Steve could accept those with ease. The balls of his feet hurt and even blushed a faint indigo from being so unused to heels. The warm attention of Billy’s hands on the arches of his feet, heels, and ankles; as well as the cold tennis balls he stored in Steve’s freezer to roll along his feet.

By then, he’d seen Steve’s anklet. So the next shoe box Steve opened were dark green suede, as poisonously dark as his mother’s violet heels. The toe was bare, but the heel was encrusted with opals. The milky stones flashed green and orange as Steve walked in the 120mm heel.

“How do they feel?”

Steve, with far more mastery over heels now, pivoted on his toes and planted one on the couch in between Billy’s thighs. His warm hand cradled Steve’s ankle immediately.

“What if I shaved for these?”

“Then I’d never take my hands off you.”

“So nothing would change,” Steve giggled, teasing gone as he landed on Billy’s lap. The man underneath him hummed his mirth into Steve’s mouth, his other hand burying in Steve’s hair while he let Steve control the kiss, explore his mouth.

“I thought they’d go with your eyes,” he said when the kiss petered off and Steve kissed his nose. Billy touched the pad of his thumb high on Steve’s cheek. “There’s a little bit of green there.”

Steve let Billy fuck him in those shoes.

Because he finally craved all the way, beyond fear of rules. Beyond the existence of toys. He craved Billy deeper than skin, and Billy gave it to him.

And when Billy got him a pair of 130s . . . blood red and spiked with tiny, crimson points, he let Steve fuck him.

[askmalal]

You've talked about Horus and Konrad before, but what about Lorgar? Did you ever contact him while he was on his Pilgrimage? What about after his seclusion on Sicarus? If so, did you ever try to sway him to become one of your followers? Or did you let the "big four" claim him?

This is a complicated question. I like that sort of thing..

Lorgar is, as I think many of my veteran readers and cultists will know, someone with whom I've had a contentious relationship. The Second Primarch said one of my favorite things about Lorgar, when she said, "Oh, Lorgar, you know the letter of the law but not its meaning."

Lorgar was, still is, always searching or something. He wants something to believe in, something to give him a sense of self worth and purpose beyond being a genetically engineered killing machine. I do not think one can blame him: the entities who comprise the cacophony of my thoughts inform me that many of your kind go through similar questions of meaning and purpose. I suppose that's yet another aspect of Free Will.

Entities like myself have never questioned our purpose, and while we may well question our methodologies or even our own morality, we were created for specific purposes, which each of us understands throughout their existence (even if, as in the case of my siblings, they often forget it.)

Lorgar is...Let's do a small thought exercise, shall we?

Imagine that you and Lorgar are playing a game. How about a chess variant? Note the precise way in which he arranges his pieces before you begin playing, even if you, as a host, have already set out the pieces for play.

Now, change the dynamics. Inform him that you will be playing a game of assymetric chess. There really is a form of this: it's called "Spartan Chess," in the English speaking parts of your world. Essentially, one player (White, or the Persians) plays in the standard fashion, whilst the other player (Black, or the Spartans) plays in a completely different style. Allow him the courtesy of playing White - moving first and playing with the traditional pieces.

Note the way that he makes his moves: in textbook, but unimaginative fashion. Note that he seems to have read every word he can about the great opening moves of modern International Chess. But note that, in response to your moves, he is at a complete loss. He doesn't know what to do. He doesn't know how to respond, because the moves you are making, whilst legal, are completely foreign to his mind, focused as it is upon International Chess. He breaks down. Cannot focus. And eventually, declares he will never play this form of Chess again. It is "unfair." To be polite, suggest playing something different, let's say, oh...

Chaturanga. Yes, that first known ancestor of chess.

"Chaturanga," for which the ancient rules, whilst mostly agreed upon, are sometimes debated. Watch as he struggles to decide which interpretation is valid. Does the Alfil jump two spaces diagonally, or does it move one space forward and jump two diagonally? Does it move every direction but backward? Does it move in the manner of the modern Bishop?

This is, in a nutshell, the mental condition of the Seventeenth Son. He focuses upon words, rules, but never their meaning. In another life, he might have been a "numbers" person, or a stereotypical Engineer. Full of knowledge but often lacking an appreciation for the abstract. Willing to play a game but only in order to maximize his chances of victory.

This is Lorgar.

And so when approached with the simple words, "I will show you the Truth of the Universe," he asks for the bibliography... When you tell him to meditate, he focuses upon meaningless mantras and refuses to open his mind.

Locking yourself in a cage filled with books is very different from reading them. And reading them for content is very different than reading them for understanding.

Lorgar is respectful. Lorgar is brilliant. But Lorgar is unimaginative, and so he allows others to manipulate him: Erebus, Kor Phaeron, the Emperor himself, while knowing full bloody well that these entities cannot be trusted. At one point, you'll note, his loyal retainers tell him that Erebus is poisoning his mind, ruining his Legion. But Lorgar Aurelian doesn't care... Lorgar Aurelian would rather spend his time contemplating the meaning of the universe. But only if that meaning can be rationed out in written words and a consistent narrative. This isn't Faith...

It is memorization.

Thank you for your question, Little Mortal.

[scarletarosa]

Athena

Greek goddess of logic, truth, intelligence, knowledge, wit, wisdom, war, battle strategy, heroism, protection, law, justice, order, good counsel, skill, victory, and handicrafts

Athena (Roman: Minerva) is the magnificent goddess of Truth, she is a tremendous being of light who ensouls the cosmic consciousness of Truth and grants it to the world. She is the guardian over all knowledge and despises ignorance, facing it and destroying it like light ripping through darkness. She was one of the most important goddesses of Ancient Greece and is said to have led the Greeks to their homeland and supported their development by teaching them many things. She was also their greatest protectress and would valiantly defend them while defending their cities, even mentoring them in particular battle techniques. As a very complex goddess, Athena would watch over many areas of life, including all forms of education, crafts/inventions, and philosophical thinking. She also is one of the three Virgin goddesses (along with Artemis and Hestia) who are never swayed by romance or lust, since Athena values being solely devoted to the realm of the mind. 

Mythology: Many ages ago when Zeus was less moral than he is nowadays, he was very jealous of anyone who threatened his position of power. When he learnt that his wife, Metis, the goddess of wisdom, may birth his successor, he became desperate to end their lives. Zeus devoured Metis while she was pregnant, thinking this would secure him. But when the time came, Zeus began feeling tremendous headaches. As even he couldn’t bear them, Hephaestus struck Zeus with his axe and Athena leapt out of Zeus’ head, fully armed and with a furious cry. This frightened some of the deities, but Zeus, however, was delighted and full of pride. In this story of Athena’s birth, we see her as enraged wisdom that fights as a defender and upholder of justice.

A popular myth of Athena is the story of Arachne, a mortal craftswoman who boasted that she was more skillful than Athena herself. Athena offered her a chance to repent, but after Arachne refused, she challenged her to a weaving duel. The goddess fashioned a beautiful tapestry which illustrated the gruesome fate of the mortals who had the hubris of challenging the gods. Arachne, on the other hand, chose to depict stories of the mortals unjustly victimized by the gods. But she didn’t even have a chance to finish it for the enraged Athena tore Arachne’s fabric to pieces and turned her into a spider. As such, Arachne is doomed to weave ever since. This was a myth written by the Greeks as a warning against hubris, and does not portray an actual event, especially since Arachne is actually a goddess of spiders and wasn’t a cursed human.

Roles: Despite Athena’s connection to war, she moreso represents the strategy behind it and the ability to protect and bring about order (whereas Ares represents battle-lust, Athena fights out of necessity). She was also known to bestow victory in war, as she is at times seen accompanied by Nike, the goddess of victory. Through these connections, Athena is the patroness of heroes and is known to wisely advise them in their quests and grant divine weapons in times of need.

Other than the art of battle, Athena is known as a skillful inventor and even holds the title of ‘protectress of agriculture’. She is represented as the inventor of the plough and rake: she created the olive tree (the greatest blessing of Attica), taught the people to yoke oxen to the plough, took care of the breeding of horses, invented the bridle, instructed people how to tame horses, and much more. At the beginning of spring, offerings were given to Athena in advance for the protection she was to afford to crops and fields. Besides the tools of agriculture, Athena was said to be the inventor of numbers, science, hand-made crafts, chariots, and other such helpful things. 

Athena is a magnificently powerful goddess who can easily strike fear into her enemies. In times of battle, she is known to have lightning flashing from her eyes, and can even overpower Ares himself with her strategic mind during combat. She is peace gained through battle, courage gained through struggle, and clarity gained through wisdom. She has explained to me that the Aegis (the head of Medusa) on her breastplate represents her victory over her own shadow, the part of one’s psyche that creates negative emotions such as fear or cruelty. This is a true mark of wisdom and shows even further just how glorious Athena is. She can always be relied upon for sage advice in any matter, and knows how to directly tell someone what needs to be done or how they should change to become better. Athena says that she is also the goddess who inspires women to be more than their domestic roles that are pressured on them. She inspires rebellion in their hearts and teaches them how to fight and overcome oppression. Thus, Athena is the glorious warrior goddess of illuminating truth and courage; there is nothing that can break her down. 

Appearance: a tall woman in her 30′s with long brown hair, gray eyes, and wears either a white dress or silver armour

Personality: Overall, Athena is wise, intelligent, serious, diligent, straightforward, courageous, determined, perfectionistic, and a steadfast protector of peace. She has a very strong sense of morality and is able to keep calm and collected under a great deal of pressure. She loves to spread knowledge to others, but does not guide us through everything since she seeks to make her devotees independent. She greatly values strength of character, open-mindedness, and the desire to make oneself better no matter what. Athena can be a bit motherly at times with those she likes, but not too much in a “soft” way but more like a quiet and dedicated mother who wants the best for you. Although she does not have much patience for most people, especially if they are unwilling to take responsibility or overcome their ignorance. She also has no patience for people who disrespect her or disregard her nature as a virgin goddess. When Athena is angered, she becomes terrifying and cold. Lightening begins flashing out from her eyes and is relentless in bringing her fury upon whoever offended her. 

Athena is very empowering and knows exactly what to say when her devotees feel down or lost, for she can see past clouded emotions and into the clarity of truth. She also hates injustices of any kind and seeks to destroy all ignorance. She is a very protective warrior and an Illuminator, following the path that Lucifer teaches about wisdom through adversity. She is also a very close friend of the goddess Lilith, so they work well together for gaining Illumination. One of the most sacred animals of Athena is the serpent, which sheds its skin to be reborn, making it a symbol of wisdom and knowledge. This is one of the lesson that she often teaches to her followers, that their current self must die to be reborn in wisdom. In some of her statues, a giant snake can be seen beside her.

| Symbolism of Athena |

Owls

Eagles

Doves

Snakes

Helmets

Shields

Weapons

Olive Tree

Books

| Some of her epithets |

Alkis (The Strong)

Areia (The Warlike)

Ærgáni (Instructor of the Arts)

Axiopoinos (The Avenger)

Día (Heavenly)

Drákaina (She-Dragon)

Chalinitis (Tamer of Horses)

Erganê (The Worker)

Mêchaneus (Skillful Inventor)

Mítir Tǽkhni (Mother of the Arts)

Paiônia (The Healer)

Kóri (The Maiden)

Parthenos (The Virgin)

Pallas (The One who Brandishes Her Weapon)

Lýteira kakóhn (Deliverer from Evil)

Omvrimóthymos (Strong of Spirit)

Oplophóros (The Warrior)

Ormásteira (She Who Urges You Forward)

Polias (Protector of the City)

Polæmitókos (Bringer of Necessary War)

Polývoulos (Exceedingly Wise)

Nikephoros (Bringer of Victory)

Sóhteira (Saviour) 

Devotional Actions: Above all, Athena values offerings of action. She expects those devoted to her to constantly seek to improve themselves by gaining spiritual advancement, overcoming their Egos, and gaining as much knowledge as they can. Wisdom is embraced through battling hardships, analyzing yourself, and learning from trial and error. Dedication to what she teaches pleases her far more than physical offerings.

Offerings: Fine quality white wine (esp. if flower-scented), olives, olive oil, milk, bread, goat cheese, pomegranates, citrus, apples, cherries, figs, white lilies, myrrh incense, sandalwood, almonds, honey, cakes, cooked lamb or goat, beeswax candles, non-fiction books, fancy pens, quills, pottery, paintings, swords, daggers, silver armour, snakeskin, owl feathers, votive owls, clear crystals, silver jewelry, chess games, wool, knitting tools, pretty antiques, white marble, artworks, poetry, snake statuettes, and imagery of her sacred animals.