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author-morgan · 2 years

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Kryptic ↟ Deimos

forty - are you not entertained masterlist But the great leveler, Death: not even the gods can defend a man, not even one they love, that day when fate takes hold and lays him out at last. Death submits to no one, not even Dread and Destruction. They are both weapons of flesh and bone, of warm blood and beating hearts, and they cannot be controlled.

"I'VE COME TO fight," Lesya announces, standing before the gates of the arena. She nor Deimos had ever ventured to the fighting pits, but there are many among the Cult who had —all fodder for the Beast of Sparta. Today, his reign would end by her hand.

"For glory or for riches?" The old gatekeeper asks. No one came to the arena in Pephka seeking an honorable death anymore —the age of heroes is gone. The crowd may cheer and sing praises of the champions, but the walls of the arena no longer shook as they once did when contenders stepped onto the sands.

"So long as the crowd sees blood spilled, why does it matter?" Lesya refutes, impatient. The gatekeeper sighs. He has no doubt the woman before him is a warrior. The whispers of demigods walking amongst the realm of men have traveled on the winds. Lesya is not here to become a Hero of the Arena, but Skoura thinks she has the makings, even if it is vengeance burning in her laurel eyes. "I am here for Belos," she announces, and she will not leave until he is slain —body lying cold in the sands of the arena.

But the Beast of Sparta is only one of the champions, and scores of men lay between the twin blades on Lesya's back and Belos himself. Skoura motions around to the monuments celebrating the champions, and the scores of defected soldiers and mercenaries come to try their luck. "Then you must carve your way through the other contenders to see the ranks of our champions," he says. My blades are ready, old man, Lesya thinks, tired of the conversation —she has come for blood, for vengeance, not for conversation. Skoura motions above, and the gates to the area begin to swing open. "Your name, fighter?" He asks.

"Enyo," Lesya answers, no hesitation —the name which will strike fear into the heart of all those who knew of the Cult of Kosmos.

SHE BRACES HER weight against one of the wooden pillars supporting the netting above the arena floor —forehead slick with sweat against her forearm, chest heaving with exertion. The crowd still shouts and cheers from above, and among them, she finds her brothers. They do not hail her as the others do. Their faces are a solemn mask of concern that one could almost mistake for pity.

Scattered around the sands are no less than twenty-five corpses. There were no more left to challenge her except for Belos himself. Straightening, she steps back —staggering, finally feeling pain blossom in her thigh. There's a bloody cut just below the tassels of her dark leather belt. Lesya goes to the nearest corpse, ripping a long strip of linen from the man's chiton, and binds the wound, quickly.

Deep from the labyrinth of the pits comes the booming echo of a war drum —impending doom and dread. She paces the sands like a caged beast kicked one too many times.

The drums grow louder as the iron gate at the far end of the arena lifts. Belos strides forth with his massive shield and labrys held aloft. From behind him stride a dozen more men wielding shields and spears, maces, and swords. Whispers made their way through the arena that the disgraced champion of the Cult of Kosmos had come to fight —Belos would not chance losing to her. "You've come to die, whore?" He bellows, knocking the broad head of his labrys against the bronze shield —the crowd erupts in roaring cheers.

The vanguard encircles her, weapons leveled and shields raised. She curses Belos for his cowardice. That he hides behind weaker men and cannot face her alone. Lesya stands her ground at the center, leaving one blade sheathed on her back, daring one of the Spartiates to make the first move. A heartbeat passes before one of them acts, thrusting the end of his spear forward. She catches the wooden lance and rips it free, breaking it over her knee, and spins —ducking under the man's shield. He lets out a wail of pain when she thrusts the splintered end of the lance into his chest. His cry is silenced by a quick cut to the throat and a warm spray of blood.

Another tries the impale her with a dull spear, but she rolls forward, under the blow, and springs back to her feet, driving the other half of the broken spear into his thigh and her own blade upward through the chinstrap of his helm. "He's cheating!" Timotheus grits out, leaning onto the wooden and rope railing, looking down into the arena. No other champion fought with a host of men to protect them. "We have to help her!"

"We can't," Tundareos reminds him, unable to tear his gaze away from his sister. "The rules," he utters, "it would forfeit her life." Lesya hammers her blade into the man's ribs, cracking through his exomis, skin, gristle, and bone. Pressing deeper as blood sluices from the gash and over her hands. She rips the blade back, and he falls in paroxysms of agony, unable to breathe with the blood filling his lungs.

Two more lunges at her, and one scores her breastbone through the linen of her chiton with a swipe of his spear, the other nearly crushing her head with a heavy iron mace. Too many, Lesya curses, knowing she grows slower with each blow absorbed and strike dealt. And Belos, the Beast of Sparta himself, weighs the moment to strike the killing blow. Kosmos will reward him handsomely for bringing Enyo's head back to Delphi. Lesya scrambles backward, knees knocking against one of the weapons racks.

The iron banded wood is rough and splintering under her fingers, but she surrenders her blades and hefts up the shield, stooping low as the iron mace swings above. Before the man can turn to swing again, Lesya smashes his face with the iron boss —breaking his nose, forcing the mace from his hands. Discarding the shield, she rushes to recover the mace and heaves the heavy weapon high above her head before chopping downward with a harsh scream. Blood spatters when the flanges bite into flesh and bone. The man crumbles instantly, his skull split wide open, and the crowd grows louder still —drunk at the sight of blood.

Belos remains behind her bidding his time, leaning on the heel of his great two-handed labrys. She hears the whistle of the sword cutting through the air and ducks, twisting out of the way, recovering a discarded spear. A swift cut to the backs of his knees and the Spartan falls, unable to stand again. His misery ends as Lesya thrusts the spear through his throat, pinning him upright with blood gurgling from his gaping mouth. The last of the vanguard protecting their champion, but then Belos is upon her without mercy.

Lesya steps back and out of the sweeping arc of his axe, feet sliding on the slick sand. Regaining her balance is almost impossible. As quickly as she evades one blow, the next comes. Belos roars, aggravated, and throws aside his shield, using both hands on the labrys. She dances around him, always out of reach, but then he charges forward like a raging bull and pins her against the wall of the arena with the wooden lance pressed into her throat.

The Beast snarls, pressing harder and pushing upward, the tips of her toes leaving the ground. For the briefest of moments, Lesya begins to panic —she has never met a foe she could not overcome— but Belos will not claim her.

Kicking out, her foot finds purchase on his bent knee, and the leverage is enough for her to reach back and unsheathe the blade on her back. He tries to pull it from her grasp, but his grip falters, and Lesya drives the blade into his shoulder with a harrowing scream. Belos drops his labrys, and Lesya darts around him, picking up a dulled sword from one of his defenders as he pulls out the blade and throws it down, recovering his axe.

Belos feels the cold bite of iron just above the inside of his knee. He swings his axe down as Lesya quickly jerks the blade back, then his left leg twists and gives, blood spurting from the gash.

The champion tries to stand in his stupor but cannot rise, and in place of the roaring crowd is only stunned silence. She takes the labrys from his grasp and uses the blade's edge to knock off his one-horned helmet, revealing the disfigured face beneath —one half marred by flames, the taut mass of scarred flesh pulls his lips into a permanent, sickly grin. Belos grits his teeth, fingers curled around the hilt of a dagger at the back of his armor, one last chance. It is not enough. He moves to strike, but Lesya kicks the blade from his hand and begins to pace around him —a rusting iron sword held tight in her bloodied right hand.

She steps behind him and jerks his head back. Lesya will make sure Belos looks upon her as he draws his final breaths. Her cry is harrowing as she saws through Belos' thick neck with the dulled sword, but then she severs the last tendons, and his head comes free —body flopping forward, still twitching with the last beats of his cruel heart staining the sand.

Lesya stumbles, lifting the maimed head high for all to see. The crowd erupts a mix of cheers from those blood-drunk and protests from those who know what this defeat means —upheaval in the rankings of the arena. She paces to one of the spear racks at the center of the arena, skewering the champion's head on a spike next to the decaying head of another felled contender. The Beast of Sparta is slain.

But the deafening roar of the crowd fades as Lesya steps away. The blood-lust stupor dissipates, ushering in pain. Her leg gives way, streaked with blood and the fabric of her chiton is torn open. The blood on her hand is dark and drying —not her own— but when she presses a hand to her side, it feels as though she's been touched by the Monger's hot poker again, and the blood on her fingertips and running down her front is bright red, slick and warm. Lesya looks up at the crowd, wishing to rise once more, yet she cannot do so. For a wavering moment, she straightens, then falls —laurel eyes turned upward to see a full moon shining down through the netted ceiling.

TUNDAREOS IS THE first to fling himself from the stands and into the arena, feet carrying him toward his sister as soon as he hits the sand. "Lesya!" She does not move. He falls to his knees at her side, skimming the burgeoning bruises and open wounds. Her eyes are open wide and darting around. For the first time, Tundareos sees fear in his sister's eyes. Even demigods fear death. Time is not on their side, and they will find little aid from those who head the fighting pits. "Fuck," he hisses, moving swiftly —stripping off his chlamys.

Covering the wound, he brings her hands over the cloth and urges her to press down to stay the bleeding before lifting her into his arms and starting toward the gates. "My–" Lesya grimaces, voice fading as she points to the bloody twin blades lying on the arena floor "–my blades." He curses her for worrying about something so trivial, but Timotheus sees what she is pointing at and reclaims the two blades, following his brother —and fearing it may be too late.

They come across a Spartan camp on the shores not far from the arena. "Hold!" The Spartiate at the entrance calls, leveling his spear to stop them from coming closer. The small group looks to be vagabonds who've lost their way, but as they draw closer, the soldier sees a woman covered in blood with hair like flames. The men with her have little regard for their safety, expressions of worry twisting their faces. The Spartan lowers his spear but not his guard as they draw nearer.

"Do you have supplies to spare?" Timotheus asks, desperate and hoping they will not recognize him as a former Athenian commander. Their arrival brings the rest of the Spartans occupying the camp to the entrance.

"I know her!" One of the hoplites points out. It was hard to forget fighting alongside a copper-haired goddess of war. "We fought together on Pylos." He'd seen her save Brasidas and face down the champion of Athens. It's a sight he will not soon forget and is enough for them to welcome the trio into the small camp, albeit reluctantly. They point to the captain's tent, and the soldier most skilled in medicine joins them.

The Spartan peels back the stained chlamys and grimaces. It is not a clean-cut, and they do not have the means to properly suture the flesh back together, but she would not have made it to Lato for better treatment. He calls for water, linen, and boiled wine then looks back at the two men who accompanied her. It does not seem possible one renowned across Hellas for fighting like Enyo or Eris with the strength of a dozen men should be wounded in such a manner. "The fighting pits," Tundareos says, sensing the question before the Spartan can ask.

He does what he can with what little supplies he has. The bleeding ceased, and the dried blood and sand washed clean from her side and leg. Only time will determine if the copper-haired demigoddess of war will live to fight again. "The wound is clean, but–" the soldier spares a glance back at the thick linens wrapped around Lesya's middle "–I have seen men die from less," he confesses. Demigoddess or not, she still bleeds like every other man, and only someone of great strength and with the gods' favor could overcome such a wound.

Tundareos shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose when he sees Lesya stir and wake. "By the gods," he starts, "you're a bigger fool than I thought." She turns her head to look at him as he paces. "Were you trying to get yourself killed?" He doesn't try to hide the anger in his voice. Tundareos spent his life searching for his sister, and now that he's found her...he cannot bring himself to think of losing her —to know he'd given up his life for this. Lesya doesn't answer, the pounding in her head is nigh deafening.

"Is that why you wanted to come here?" He asks. But death would be too easy, and the gods were not so merciful as to let it end. She turns her head, feeling hot tears slip from her eyes. I am still Enyo, after all. "I will not pretend to know what you feel, Lesya, but if you continue to do this, it will kill you," Tundareos says, and Lesya knows he's right. There is little choice for her, and they both know it. "I will not watch you do this to yourself."

Lesya grits her teeth, forcing herself to sit up —the pain is almost paralyzing. "If I do not hunt them," she says, breathing labored, "then they will never stop hunting me." She will have no peace until the last cultist is snuffed out, ripped from this world by the roots. Until then, she must pursue them and break their hold on Hellas —must find Deimos. "I am a fool," Lesya admits, barely a whisper. "But–" she shakes her head "–what they did to me. I can't forget, and I won't forgive." But revenge is its own executioner.

[taglist: @wallsarecrumbling @novastale @fucking-dip-shit @erzsebetrosztoczy @maximalblaze @balmacedapascal @kitkitvm @overratedsun @thepreciouspurrsian @alexandra-alle @mrsragnarlodbrok] if your name is italicized, tumblr would not let me tag you. if you’d like to be added to my taglist for Kryptic, or any other taglist, just let me know with this Google Form!

#Alexios #Deimos #Alexios x OC #Deimos x OC #Alexios Imagine #Deimos Imagine #Alexios Fanfiction #Deimos Fanfiction #Assassin's Creed Imagine #Assassin's Creed Fanfiction #Assassin's Creed Odyssey #story: Kryptic #my writing #holy hell its been a hot minute #hope you all enjoy #and hope it was worth this long wait #the end is nigh #i hope u like the gladiator and spartacus references #felt fitting for this chapter

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7amaspayrollmanager · 2 years

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I actually decided to read some of the original sources of the third servile war (spartacus war)

#these historians are writing after the fact but its pretty detailed #im gonna watch some breakups in this show if they follow the basic account that spartacus army split #they mentioned crixus and onomaeus by name? i was like oh this is real ppl #these historians also said that he couldve marched on rome like it was a worry could u imagine #whats also funny is that one of the accounts said he was more greek which means oh hes not stupid like other thracians which is #extremely narcissistic bc it cant be like that other ppl who are not roman or greek are also as complex as you it has to be that #spartacus is special uniquely greek for his ppl #i actually got the accounts by reading the book i used for my thesis #its just greek and roman slavery a sourcebook by thomas wiedemann #u can get it at zlibrary #on to the 4th season #technically third bc i did not watch the second one bc it was a prequel series

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zvaigzdelasas · 7 months

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It’s odd nowadays to imagine the liberal city of San Francisco officially flying a Confederate flag for any reason, but sure enough, there it was, officially flying over San Francisco’s Civic Center Plaza. The city’s Black population, including Richard Bradley, was not happy about it.

The flag was actually part of a historical effort. It was flying with 18 other flags from American history, detailing how the country had changed over its 200-plus years. [...] [S]upporters of the local Spartacist League, Spartacus Youth League and Labor Black League for Social Defense [were uneasy] with seeing it raised in a public square. In 1984, the groups descended on Civic Center Plaza to protest its inclusion in the historical project.

One of those protesters was Richard Bradley, originally from South Carolina, who grew up with a personal view of what that flag meant. He came dressed as a Union soldier and would make history by climbing the flagpole and tearing the Confederate banner down. Some 37 years after the event, San Francisco’s ABC7 affiliate aired a story about a local school, Dianne Feinstein Elementary, voting to change its name. The reason it was dropping Senator Feinstein’s name was because she was Mayor of San Francisco at the time, and after the rebel flag was torn down, she ordered a new one put in its place in an attempt to curry favor with the pro-South Dixiecrats coming to the city.

With news of the school renaming, photos of Bradley tearing down the flag resurfaced on the internet. ABC reporter Lyanne Melendez reached out to find Richard Bradley via a broadcast in January 2021. Bradley, it turned out, was alive and well at age 70, and was once again living in his native South Carolina. He told the reporters that even at age 70, he would climb any pole once again to take down a Confederate flag, saying it represents the ugliness of the world we live in. He also thought dropping Feinstein’s name from the elementary school was a good idea.[...]

Feinstein finally gave in to the protestors in 1984 after replacing the flag the first time. The second time it was torn down, a member of the International Longshore and Warehouse Union Local 6 burned the flag. As it burned, the crowd cheered and broke into a rendition of “John Brown’s Body,” an abolitionist song sung by Union troops during the war.

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theehorsepusssy · 6 months

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TheeHorsepussys Portland : Vaseline Alley aka Stark Street aka Harvey Weinstein ( I always get that mixed up) Harvey Milk Blvd

Documenting some gay-ass history for the kids

Red Arrow - 2 blocks to Touche. Not gay but spent most of the 90s in that bar. Fancy looking dining room/pool room but mostly service industry clientele. Hard to find a spot to do drugs discreetly.

Green - Everyday Music. Where to sell vinyl for dope money.

Yellow - Big BIG abandoned, scary building. Looked haunted. Was eventually renovated. But gave you the heebie-jeebies walking past it at night. Gay bashing zone

Green Arrow - The City Nightclub. Underage nightclub. Chicken Hawks(is that Gus Van Sant?), lots of drugs, good DJ downstairs, GREAT DJ upstairs

Red - The Henry Weinhard Brewery (demolished) Made the area smell really, really awful. Gagging thinking of it.

(Stark Street starts to the right here. It looks like they built some weird barrier in the intersection..probably cuz drunk gays in middle of street)

Orange - The Bathhouse. Home away from home. I would sell rip-off size bags of meth to subsidize my habit. Sucked a huge penis here. Gagging thinking of it. Gay bar downstairs was called either Flossies or Silverado or both. Male strippers. Would buy my shitty little bags of dope.

Blue Arrow - at one moment in the 90s, a sex club I think owned by Fantasy Video. Robert would meet his side piece there . The director Todd Haynes, I fuzzily recall reading, was a patron. I went once. Weird vibe. There was a plaque on the wall outside the entrance commemorating the recording of Louie, Louie.

Orange - The Eagle. Bar where it was common to have sex. I saw a guy take a foot up his butt. Cops started randomly coming in to cock block. There is a new bar called the Eagle up in NE Portland up by the Heroin Fred Meyer (I suppose they all are now)

Blue - Transient hotel above the store I hated buying cigarettes from but can't recall why. Maybe it was expensive.

Green - Greasy spoon called Roxys. Horrible breakfast food 24/7. I think it used to be down the street on Everett. Had a tiny basement bar. Moved to Vaseline Alley in 90s. Had ginormous picture of Quentin Tarantino or some shit. Very 90s

Yellow - Three Sisters (Six Titties) dive bar/gay bar. Never really went there. At some point was a male strippers bar. Robert had me escort one of his side pieces there. Kid thought the stripper was really into him. I tried to explain. I won $600 on the poker machine and drove the kid home.

Orange - Django Records. Large amounts of cheap used records. 3 for a dollar bins! I bought Eyehategod In the Name of Suffering here. Also the Cruising soundtrack...33cents!

Red - Fancy, expensive hotel. Yell really loud underneath the windows. They like that. Cops always parked along this stretch. Drunk gays got their first DUIs around here.

Mint- block of amnesia. I don't think it existed

Red - Boxes. Gay bar where you did lines of coke/mda/meth in the bathroom without hassle. TV sets with Oprah or Steel Magnolias, shit like that on. Spartacus Leather fetish store was down a couple doors. Inside Boxes, you could take a wood paneled passage through the fish restaurant kitchen ( I don't think anyone ever ate there) and end up at.....

Green - the Brig. Named because dance floor had bars around it like a jail cell. Imagine the creative dance moves as the queens grappled bars, ass out while Madonna songs played on a loop. Your meth dealer could be found here, doing a fan dance. Don't wear black. Semen stains show up under the blacklights. (or do)

Yellow - the house paint store. Eventually became the Panorama in the age of MDMA. Rave type music. Went there once to meet a dealer. Obnoxious experience.

White - Silverado. Country Western night most nights. My roommate dj'd andtaught line dancing but dance floor was like 10 sq ft so it was just the gays holding hands and boot scootin' in a little circle for eternity. Bar I could get into underage.

Orange - Ben Stark Hotel. Like outta Barton Fink. But really,really seedy. Had some weird sex in there. Now a boutique hotel owned by some Donald Trump guy Gordon Someone who did something once. Probably haunted.

Brown - Scandals. Beer /wine bar. Big windows so you can people-watch and talk shit. Used to go in there underage until I got thrown out snorting a rail of MDA off the tabletop. Had electronic darts and video poker in the 90s. Me and Robert had a domestic dispute there.

Red - row of funky vintage/antique shops. Someone used to broadcast a pirate radio station somewhere around there in the 90s

Blue - Portland Underground. Small venue had some big shows early 90s. Top floor is where I swear I saw Econochrist play. But it's an office building. Maybe confused

Yellow. OBryant Square aka Paranoid Park. Skateboarders and street drugs. I got "chased" by AF Nazis here. Probably more like I ran my fat ass up the street after this girl I knew screamed "run!" And they probably just laughed. I didn't look back. I think it's demolished now.

White arrow- up the block toward the Galleria. Second floor toilet was really cruisy. Careful of cockblocking rent-a-cops. Kiosk by cafe I think was only place downtown to buy pipe to smoke pot

#long ass post #TheeHorsepussys Portland

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rayshippouuchiha · 6 months

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Imagine Tsuna in Persona 5, aka Sojiro is Nana's cousin and upon seeing her neglect of her kid he takes Tsuna in alongside Futaba.

Tsuna becomes a Phantom Theif during Futaba's Palace. His Persona is Spartacus, later Ares because rebellion (Ares apparently has rebellion as one of his domains) and specializes in Physical spells.

His Confidant is Aeon and let's the player get hints on what to say to other Confidants.

I need this so so much

#RayRambles #Persona 5 #KHR #katekyo hitman reborn #prompt

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eelhound · 1 year

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"Fantasy and science fiction in their very conception offer alternatives to the reader’s present, actual world. Young people in general welcome this kind of story because in their vigour and eagerness for experience they welcome alternatives, possibilities, change. Having come to fear even the imagination of true change, many adults refuse all imaginative literature, priding themselves on seeing nothing beyond what they already know, or think they know.

Yet, as if it feared its own troubling powers, much science fiction and fantasy is timid and reactionary in its social invention, fantasy clinging to feudalism, science fiction to military and imperial hierarchy. Both usually reward their hero, whether a man or woman, only for doing outstandingly manly deeds. (I wrote this way for years myself. In The Left Hand of Darkness, my hero is genderless but his heroics are almost exclusively manly.) In science fiction particularly, one also often meets the idea I discussed above, that anyone of inferior status, if not a rebel constantly ready to seize freedom through daring and violent action, is either despicable or simply of no consequence.

In a world so morally simplified, if a slave is not Spartacus, he is nobody. This is merciless and unrealistic. Most slaves, most oppressed people, are part of a social order which, by the very terms of their oppression, they have no opportunity even to perceive as capable of being changed.

The exercise of imagination is dangerous to those who profit from the way things are because it has the power to show that the way things are is not permanent, not universal, not necessary.

Having that real though limited power to put established institutions into question, imaginative literature has also the responsibility of power. The storyteller is the truth-teller.

It is sad that so many stories that might offer a true vision settle for patriotic or religious platitude, technological miracle working, or wishful thinking, the writers not trying to imagine truth. The fashionably noir dystopia merely reverses the platitudes and uses acid instead of saccharine, while still evading engagement with human suffering and with genuine possibility. The imaginative fiction I admire presents alternatives to the status quo which not only question the ubiquity and necessity of extant institutions, but enlarge the field of social possibility and moral understanding. This may be done in as naively hopeful a tone as the first three Star Trek television series, or through such complex, sophisticated, and ambiguous constructions of thought and technique as the novels of Philip K. Dick or Carol Emshwiller; but the movement is recognizably the same – the impulse to make change imaginable.

We will not know our own injustice if we cannot imagine justice. We will not be free if we do not imagine freedom. We cannot demand that anyone try to attain justice and freedom who has not had a chance to imagine them as attainable.

I want to close and crown these inconclusive meditations with the words of a writer who never spoke anything but truth, and always spoke it quietly, Primo Levi, who lived a year in Auschwitz, and knew what injustice is.

The ascent of the privileged, not only in the Lager but in all human coexistence, is an anguishing but unfailing phenomenon: only in utopias is it absent. It is the duty of righteous men to make war on all undeserved privilege, but one must not forget that this is a war without end."

- Ursula K. Le Guin, from "A War Without End." Utopia, 2016.

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ballet-symphonie · 7 months

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Let’s play a game: which dancers are fit for a role in repertoire that their company doesn’t do?

Tiler Peck-Etudes. She would nail the musicality aspect of the lead ballerina. Chun Wai Chan should partner her, Roman Mejia should be the soloist that does the cabrioles and pirouette combos in the Mazurka section.

(She mentioned that she really wants to do Giselle and Manon, but tbh I don’t think she’s a dancer that can carry a strong story)

Nela-Etoile variation from Paquita, Aspiccia from La Fille du Pharoan.

Olga Smirnova-Titania in Balanchine’s Midsummer (Het Nationaale does do The Dream, so I definitely want to see her as Titania in that though haha)

Osipova-The Sleepwalker in La Somnambula, the lead in La Valse, the lead in white in Balanchine’s Walpurgisnacht (aka Faust), Dew Drop in Balanchine’s Nutcracker.

Vishneva (in her prime)-Jeanne from Flames of Paris, also Aspiccia.

Novikova-Phrygia from Spartacus, Adelaide in Flames of Paris

Tereshkina-Aegina from Spartacus

Oooh some interesting choices here.

I'd kill for a Tiler Peck in Etudes. I also think it would be super fascinating to see the Balanchine style in such a classical ballet. We differ on Giselle, I think she would be wonderfully charming, especially in Act 1. She'd need someone of substance to coach her, I hear Ferri is coming back stateside for the Met season?

Marianela would be a dream in Paquita Etoile, I can just imagine her sailing around endlessly in those attitudes so smoothly. I'm not significantly attached to any version of Pharoh's Daughter. What I am much more interested in is Marianela in a full-length Raymonda. I have been tempted by the far too low-quality video of her doing the Hungarian Wedding Variation and I need the whole thing.

Smirnova will certainly get that role, although I'm more interested in her trying her chops in more modern-era works.

I've read some reviews of City Ballet this season saying that La Somnambula has felt a bit flat this season without a compelling leading lady. If nothing else, Osipova can absolutely bring the drama needed for that role. Dewdrop could also be interesting, but we'd need Bolshoi era Osipova and her speed.

I could take or leave Vishenva in Flames of Paris and we've already talked about Pharoah's Daughter. I'd rather see her in some more MacMillan (Mayerling or Isadora) or Maillot (Perhaps Katherina in Taming of the Shrew or Daphnis and Chloe)

Nothing to say about the Novikova and Tereshkina choices, both would be excellent in those roles. I'd also throw Swanilda to Novikova.

#ballet #ballet ask #too many people to tag #ballerina

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romanceclub-lovers · 5 months

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🔔Q&A and interesting facts: part 2 of Dmitry screenwriter of Gladiator Chronicles broadcast ⚔️

Dmitry’s new idea has not yet been accepted, discussions are currently underway. He would like to do something unique with Romance Club, to get to the top in terms of the number of reads (here Dmitry said that he was joking, and the admin cried).

Dmitry really liked the chapters - they were dynamic. He also really liked the tracks that Dmitry (composer) wrote for the final chapter.

Dmitry doesn't associate himself with Hotch. As an author, he relied on his own experience when creating the character, so each of his characters is a part of Dmitry. Some more, some less. He associates himself more with Cassius.

Afiy and Orvon got used to each other a long time ago, there was jealousy, but now, although they are not friends, they are good acquaintances.

For some time, Dmitry was very fond of the series “Spartacus”, the image of Augusta was inspired by this series - she is powerful, older than MC, and experienced. The images of Cassius and Hotch are jesters.

There will be an ending with Hotch. Dmitry "saw" the ending of Hotch's route a certain way, so he is happy that the ending with this hero will turn out exactly the way he intended it.

Dmitry really likes all the art and the creativity of readers in general.

It is difficult for Dmitry to combine work with the theater, but the participants of the theater in which he works adapt to each other’s schedules.

The GC setting is more interesting to men. When they chose the theme of the story, they wanted to attract men to the Romance Club. And they seem to have succeeded.

It was important for Dmitry in GC to hook the entire audience, to create a good plot.

It’s difficult for Dmitry to come up with new ideas, but it’s easy to develop ready-made ones.

Advice for aspiring screenwriters: don’t feel sorry for your characters, imagine that they are real people, don’t be afraid to stick more knives into them.

The great popularity of Hotch thread surprised Dmitry. He's pleased that readers have found some chemistry between Rix and Hotch.

Hotch was not originally planned as a route.

Dmitry really liked the scene in space.

In the story there are 7 branches(route) and one path of loner (single) Dmitry tried very hard to write everything down and preserve the character of the heroes.

The sequel, according to Dmitry, will not be as relevant as the prequel.

Cassius - he was still a tomboy in the past.

Caesar admired Cassius, treated him like a brother, but was not in love with him. Nevertheless, Dmitry is pleased that chemistry was noticed between these characters.

Dmitry really likes the first intimate scene with Augusta and the CG for this scene.

Dmitry would follow the path of balance, which is not found in the story.

Dmitry would give himself the following advice: “don’t make more than 4 branches.”(route) Also, he would have revealed the second half of the second season differently.

There will be less variability in Dmitry's new story.

In the finale they will explain why Tory and Gars “get together” by default if there is no route with Tori.

Dmitry does not see the chemistry between Afiy and Orvon.

In the path with Stortia there will be an additional scene where she will explain the reason for her strained relationship with Corvius.

Dmitry will not write a story in a zombie apocalypse setting.

Cassius is most like Dmitry; he is a charismatic and intelligent character.

We'll learn why Labelle and Caesar are so similar.

Dmitry’s favorite meme according to GC:

Credit art: morromo_art

Creating a route with Labelle was difficult.

Dmitry would not like to write a volume for LSE(Love Sin&Evil).

Dmitry agrees that the plot sank in the second season, but not in the 3rd season.

The relationship between Rix and Labelle is very tender and reverent.

There will be several endings; in the epilogue we will be told about the fate of different characters.

Labelle did not have a serious relationship before Rix; this is not relevant for the story.

A new story from Dmitry is in development, but he said that more stories from Anna (Rage of the Titans”) and Natalia (“Hollywood Story,” “Sin of London”) are in the progress. Most likely, he will let the ladies go first.

Works similar in setting to GC: “Star Wars” (films), “Dune” (book), “Spartacus” (TV series).

Rix and Labelle's relationship will be like a long marathon with a happy ending.

The avatars that appeared in the profile in the official application contain a spoiler for the ending (but not a critical one).

Dmitry likes books and films based on Harry Potter.

Dmitry loves both cats and dogs, but he lives in an apartment, so he can’t get a dog yet. But he has a cat.

There will be no hidden endings in the final of the GC, but there will be achievements that can be considered such endings. It will be on the way alone.

Dmitry used to read fan fiction about GC.

Dmitry undertook to finish the short story “Path of the Valkyrie” (originally by Alexandra Koval) if no one else could do it except him.

Dmitry likes the universes of “The Lord of the Rings” and “The Hobbit”. In January, a short film based on VK will be released, where Dmitry played an orc.

Hotch's wounds are worse than previously shown due to the importance of preventing the spread of infection.

Perhaps there will be a separate section dedicated to the theater.

Dmitry really likes the series of books “The Secret City” by Vadim Panov.

Source link below 👇

#romance club #romance club game #rc #rc writers #gladiator chronicles #rc gc #rc spoilers #not my art

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hold-him-down · 9 months

Note

What is your favorite whump movies or tv shows?

TV shows (non-exhaustive list):

The Fall (season 3 episodes 1-3 (heavy, heavy, perfect med whump))

The Flash (season 1 & 2)

Graceland (specifically season 3, episode 8, but also late season 2 early season 3, and also some smattering in between)

Daredevil (season 1, this has some of the best scenes, like the BEST)

Roswell (season 1, the white room if you like lab whump go on the n*tflix and watch this episode)

Buffy the Vampire Slayer (throughout, but there are a lot of specific scenes that I love)

Spartacus, Blood and Sand (entire first season)

House/ER/Greys/Chicago Med (first handful of seasons, for my med whump)

Outlander (season 1, periodically, but I don't love it generally)

Movies/Scenes from Movies (it should be noted that I much more frequently perseverate on like feel-good light movies, I find that finding truly whumpy movies is rare and my overall preference is for light movies, since whumpy movies usually only have a handful of whumpy scenes and then you have to pay attention to the rest :))

Life Like (I just recently watched this and died 100 times over, it makes zero sense but we just don't look that deep)

Hunger Games Catching Fire (Whipping Scene)

X-Men/Wolverine Movies

Mad Max Fury Road

Papillon

The Shape of Water (nonhuman)

Upgrade

Captain America Winter Soldier

Some Recent Whumpy Reads (you didn't ask for this but I'm on one now)

The Foxhole Court series (easiest whumpiest read, keep your expectations low and get through the end of book 2 before dipping, you won't regret)

A Little Life (check the TW on google before embarking)

The Billionaire Series by Alexis Hall (ok it's not super whumpy but your imagination can really get carried away here)

The Last Sun by KD Edwards (specifically the first book but peachy swears by all 3 currently released)

The Darkness Outside Us

Captive Prince

Happy Head

What else? Whumpy Theatre?

The Inheritance (Toronto, Miami, and Columbus OH coming up if you're interested)

The Book of Mormon

A Little Life

Once on this Island

Life of Pi

Smuta (this is too niche to see right now but maybe one day)

#my greatest passion in life is talking about whump in media #i have lots of niche scene recommendations #but here's the gist #whump recommendations #whump in tv #whump in movies #whump in plays #whump in books #anonymous #thanks for indulging me!#peachy-panic recommends all books to me so if you want one that isn't on this list she's your gal

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likegemstone · 24 days

Text

hi, I'm gem!

29 (she/they/any)

I write, I draw, and I talk a lot about my mental health recovery journey.

But enough about me! Let's talk about the love of my life, Her Broken Magic, a serialized fantasy novel about a soft, sweet girl who loves giant, terrifying monsters, and is on a journey to heal, well, her broken magic. Oh, also, it's free to read! (links!)

I like to describe it as Spartacus: Blood and Sand meets Avatar: The Last Airbender with also some influences of Netflix's Castlevania animated series thrown in there :) Basically it is a high fantasy southern gothic story with an Ancient Roman aesthetic and late 1800s technology, and also there are big, deadly monsters who are Good Boys and honestly are as involved in the story as the people characters, like some even have POV scenes lol.

I do covers for each episode that gets released, and here are the covers that I've done so far:

And the blurb!

Belle is a practitioner of Chaos magic and a lover of monsters; Daivad is a traitor prince and a symbol of rebellion. And the goddess Mother Dark has brought them together for a purpose far greater than either can imagine. Growing up in the circus, Belle learned to love the odd and the dangerous, including giant nightbeasts and wicked magic. Five years ago, she performed her Chaos magic before the royal family, the Earthbreakers, whose very name is synonymous with Order. For her blasphemy, Belle’s mother was imprisoned, her circus family was destroyed, and Belle was condemned to atone for her sins in the bed of the violent Crown Prince. But her place at the prince’s side has given her a unique opportunity. Guided by the goddess Mother Dark, Belle and her best friend, the powerful, battlehammer-toting Jac, have managed to track down the Traitor Prince, Daivad Earthbreaker, an Inhuman who has become the face of rebellion and who has as much reason to hate his family as Belle does. Belle only wants his help in freeing her mother, but Mother Dark has bigger plans for them both.

This is Belle! She is 25 at the beginning of the story, an acrobat/dancer who adores monsters and also has the COOLEST magical tattoo knives. She is very sweet and really weird and will 100% remember your dog's name forever but will completely forget to even ask yours.

And here is Daivad! He's 28 at the beginning of the story and he is a Tough Guy™ whose height is never actually stated but is widely acknowledged as Unreasonable. His weakness, apparently, is freckled blondes, and he also keeps accidentally adopting people despite the fact that he insists he Just Wants To Be Left Alone.

Sorry, Dai, apparently I can only add 10 images.

Side Note: the above feet are not an indication of Daivad's lack of toes, they are an indication of my lack of interest in drawing said toes (see: Belle's feet above). I promise he has toes.

Relevant tags are:

HBM, my art, my ocs, any of my ocs names, and my writing. There's probably others I forgot but I will (maybe) add them in later.

Thank you for reading this post, and if you do choose to read HBM please please tell me your thoughts and feelings on it!! Nothing brings me more joy than hearing from readers!!!

Love,

gem <3

#intro post #writeblr #writblr #artblr #novel #fiction #fantasy #web novel #web series #writing #art #queer author #indie author #queer artist #book recs #book recommendation

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the8thsphynx · 9 months

Text

Tiger & Bunny Characters and what FGO Servant Class I HC Them As

(Disclaimer: These are personal headcanons of fictional media and I’m not interested in arguing with strangers online about it)

Kotetsu Kaburagi

Class: Berserker

Reason: Tbh his strong sense of right and wrong and his ability to barrel through anything keeping him from being a hero has gotta be SOME type of Madness Enhancement.

See Spartacus.

Also his title as a human wreckingball. and that all the hottest men are berseker classes

Barnaby Brooks Jr.

Class: Saber

Reason: I WAS thinking Lancer because of his kick, but honestly he could work as a Saberface. Also a lot of Sabers have that ‘thing’ with a fated journey and internal struggle-but-noble-in-heart going on, so it clicks better for me.

Nathan Seymor

Class: Rider

Reason: Initially I imagined them as a Caster, but with the car being a key part of their gimmick and aesthetic as a hero, I think Rider would be the better fit for them.

Keith Goodman

Class: Archer

Reason: Initially I thought Rider, since his schtick is flying, so while it's not a 'vehicle' persay I think it still can apply to him. However, a friend of mine pointed out that Archer could work for him better since his attacks are very ranged-based.

Antonio Lopez

Class: Berserker

Reason: Tbh I can't think of him in any other class. With him literally being a walking tank and all.

Pao Lin Huang

Class: Lancer

Reason: Not just because she fights with a staff, but because I think the Lancer Gang would adore her instantly.

Ivan Karelin

Class: Assassin

Reason: ...I feel like I shouldn't need to explain this, but to any non-Tiger & Bunny fans; his power is shapeshifting.

Karina Lyle

Class: Archer

Reason: I thought Caster but I think it would be so much neater if we let her be an Archer.

Yuri Petrov

Class: Avenger

Reason: f*cking look at him.

As if his aesthetics didn't scream it enough, his tragic backstory and morally grey motivations absolutely will.

...We simply have no choice but to stan <3.

Albert Maverick

Class: Pretender

Reason: Okay so I actually have a good reason for this. Since his power is memory erasure and implanting, I thought it would be cool to think of him as 'pretending' to be something he isn't to the target.

Mr. Legend

Class: Ruler

Reason: Because I am a horrible human being.

Kaede Kaburagi

Class: Caster

Reason: This one was tough, but ultimately Caster is the best class I can come up with for someone with copycat powers.

Ryan Goldsmith

Class: Archer

Reason: His powers are also very ranged-based, but also because of how teetering on the line of 'Gilgamesh-face' he is.

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kirishimasensei · 2 years

Text

what spring does with the cherry trees (part II)

You stay at your godfather’s ludus for the summer, where you meet Bakugou Katsuki, his champion gladiator.

part I | part II

ii. "How to un-want what the body has wanted,

explain how the flesh in its wisdom was wrong?"

Enji has already moved Katsuki’s living quarters. No longer does he sleep in the dank, dark bowels of the villa, but across the training arena, underneath the open sky. His room is one of four, the three unoccupied on either side of his own, built into the mountainous cliffs that surround the Villa Todoroki. It offers him not only a reprieve from the commotion of the ludus, but privacy as well, of which you are thankful for.

And while the night gives way to celebration for his fellow gladiators, the champion chooses to spend his time in said cell, apart from the others, instead of reveling in the joy that he himself brought to the House of Todoroki.

You try not to retch at the sights and smells and sounds, all so overpowering to the senses. The gladiators and the whores bought for the night are lost in their celebration, drinking and fucking, paying you no mind. But even so, you attempt to not draw attention to yourself, winding your way through the maze of bodies like a mouse, nose turned toward promising reward.

You only feel as though you can breathe again once you step outside underneath the night sky, but just barely. The air is dry, the ground parched from lack of rain, the dust unsettling with every step. It’s still hot, despite the late hour, and you can feel the promise of sweat prickling at you skin as you make your way across the training arena.

Your heart is pounding, stomach fluttering as you knock on Katsuki’s cell door, and in your eagerness, you open it before the gladiator has the opportunity to grant you entry.

You close the door behind yourself, hand lingering on the rough wood to give yourself another moment before turning toward the gladiator. You watch as Katsuki stands from the bed with a slow and weary stretch, not at all threatened by your sudden appearance.

You have never been so close to him before, always looking down at him from the villa balcony or pulvinus at the arena. And from your position now, you can see that the gladiator is even bigger than you imagined, taking up all the space in the already miniscule cell.

Katsuki is bare but for his subligaria, a piece of folded cloth barely covering his most intimate parts. His skin glows in the candle light, with the light too accentuating the lines around his eyes. He looks… tired, world-weary, but even so, he still maintains an air of strength and superiority about him, staring down at you through a slitted gaze.

You look back at him beneath fluttering eyelashes as he walks toward you, only a few sauntering steps to get to where you stand in front of the door. You can feel your heartbeat hastening as Katsuki’s eyes, so ruby red, never waver in their gaze.

A small smirk slowly forms upon the gladiator’s face, and in your momentary weakness from the glorious sight, you don’t respond quickly enough when Katsuki reaches out and takes your jaw in his calloused hand. He turns your head first this way and then that, and although you are unsure of his intentions, you allow him to do so. After a moment of appraisal, Katsuki releases you, but makes no move to retreat.

“You’re bold to be here,” he says, voice rough but quiet.

“I am bold to my purpose,” you reply, attempting to steady your own voice. “I come bearing gifts. Wine for our champion.”

You hold up the amphora of wine that you have brought with you to emphasize your point, along with two cups. You then sit the cups on a small table, but before you can pour the win, Katsuki lets out a laugh, startling and confusing you.

“Do you find me amusing?” you ask, cheeks aflame.

Katsuki takes a step even closer to you, and you don’t know whether to stay put, firm in your courage, or to move away, farther from his reach. You choose to stand your ground, not giving the gladiator any reason to doubt your devotion.

“Though you do bear a striking resemblance to your slave,” Katsuki says, “I am neither simple nor blind.”

You are stunned to silence. No one has ever caught on to your scheme, recognizing you in the guise of your companion. No one has ever given you a second look while hiding true self behind false facade. And there you are with this man, not but for a moment, in darkness and shadow, and he can see through you like glass.

“I wonder what venture is so great,” Katsuki continues, “that you would put yourself in such compromising position.”

There’s no point in denying it now. No reason not to voice true intent.

“I have noticed how eyes wander to the balcony as you train,” you tell him, “in them something akin to desire. The same in which is reflected in my own.”

“Desire?” Katsuki repeats, a question.

“Yes,” you reply, regaining confidence. “And I desire only the finest in all things. Silks from the ports of Neapolis, exotic furs from across the seas. The most exquisite foods, the sweetest confections. And now I desire the finest gladiator, a warrior from beyond the mountains, standing a masterpiece as though chiseled by the gods themselves. Better than the softest furs, the most succulent fruits. Better than all the wonders of the world combined.”

With a trembling hand, you allow yourself to reach out and touch the gladiator, fingers fluttering down the hard expense of his chest. His skin is hot, slick with oil from his cleansing. Oh! You think, to be the strigil in which he must hold so tightly in hand every night, to feel the curves of his body, the hard planes. How such a simple thing causes you envy, yet Katsuki is here with you now, and you would touch him, memorizing his every inch, every detail of his form, carved so carefully as though lovingly tended to by the greatest master of the art.

You follow the trail of golden hair that leads down from Katsuki’s stomach to the top of his subligaria, disappearing beneath the rough fabric.

“You are a thing of beauty, are you not?” you say, your voice soft, curious, speaking more to yourself than to the gladiator.

Your hand doesn’t wander any further down, but instead, you run his palm back up Katsuki’s stomach, his chest, his neck. Your fingers trail across the braid down the side of the man’s scalp, behind his ear, but before you can sink your fingers into his hair, Katsuki grabs your wrist and stops you.

“You see me as a thing to add to your collection?” he asks. “A trinket for you to use?”

You stare at thim in confusion, taken aback at his tone. You thought the gladiator would be flattered by your appreciation. Did he not realize that your declaration was one of praise, words a reflection of the heart?

“I did not mean it as a slight,” you tell him.

Katsuki growls, “Though I receive it as one.”

“Most men in your position would be pleased!”

“My position?” he repeats, jerking you closer by your wrist. “You think because you are Roman and I am slave, I would drop to fucking knees to please you? That I should be flattered that you would deign to look upon me with something other than contempt?”

“No! I merely –”

“You are used to getting what you want,” Katsuki continues. “But I do not want a spoiled Roman whore.”

You gasp at his words, heart-broken, and begin to fight against him. But the man is immovable and you cannot pull your wrist from his firm grasp. In your struggle, you drop the amphora resting in your other arm to the ground, the clay shattering and wine covering your feet.

You use your hand, now free, to try to push Katsuki away, but the gladiator only takes that wrist in his other hand, trapping you completely.

“Have you been so long a slave,” you ask, fatigued from your struggle, “that you have forgotten when someone does not treat you as one?!”

Katsuki’s nostrils flare, eyes darken like molten lava, as he forces you back against the door. He holds both of your wrists in his grasp, above your head, and in your fear, you no longer fights against him, allowing the gladiator to do with you what he wishes in hopes that you will be left with no more than bruised skin.

“You have not treated me like a slave?” Katsuki asks.

His voice is soft again as he bends down to speak to you, his lips so close to the yours that they would brush if he so desired them too. It’s a cruel imitation of a near kiss, so like the one you would have risked all to receive before you stepped foot in the gladiator’s cell.

“You come here to use me,” Katsuki says, “deceive me. You want me for your own pleasure, with no thought to my will, my choice.”

You’re trembling, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes. You’re ashamed, suddenly, struck dumb at the gladiator’s words. In your hubris, you thought your presence a gift, with no thought it would be denied or ill-received. You did not consider how such deception would make Katsuki feel. Even if he did give into desire, how would he react if he knew that desire was misplaced, projected on to the wrong person?

You turn your face away, lest the gladiator see your tears fall, but Katsuki grabs your jaw with one of his hands, making you look up at thim again.

“To what end?” Katsuki asks, his brow softening with the question. “Do you merely wish to fuck a gladiator? There are many others who would have you.”

“Apologies,” you plead, more tears trailing down your cheeks, but whether from fear, humiliation, or rejection, you know not. “Desire was born of good intentions.”

Katuski lets you go, but he does not yet move away. You bring your wrists down, close to your chest, and rub the sore and aching bones, the skin that is sure to bruise.

“If you truly wish to please me,” Katsuki says, “send me someone who could actually stir my cock.”

The gladiator turns from you and walks to bed, lays down with his hands behind his head, eyes closed. It’s a clear dismissal and you don’t have to be told any more clearly to leave. You open the door to flee, but before you can, you hear Katsuki’s voice once more.

“Send more wine, too, if you would,” he says. “I would not want the night of my victory to go to waste.”

Hiroko is occupying your bed when you return to your chambers. Hiroko’s room is joined to yours, but she is playing her part, pretending to be you, and you are glad of it. You need familiar and loving arms to comfort you after such a devastating night.

“You’ve returned too soon,” Hiroko whispers as you crawl into bed beside her.

“He did not want me,” you reply, trying to control the tremor in your voice.

You feel shattered, scattered into infinite pieces, left trailing from Katsuki’s cell to your own room. You’re scared, sorrowful, and full of desire to sleep so that you may be free of this waking nightmare.

"How could he not want you?” Hiroko asks.

“He called me a ‘spoiled Roman whore,’” you tell her, flinching at the thought. “His words do ring true.”

“That beast!” Hiroko gasps. “How dare he say such a thing! And you, determining worth on the words of a gladiator!”

You hold on tighter to your companion, not having strength enough for anymore words. Hiroko persists, though, not allowing you to hide from cruel reality.

“How did he know it was you?” she asks. “Did you tell him?”

“No,” you reply. “We are not so alike as I thought. You are wise and I should’ve listened to you, but instead I chose to play a child’s game. How will I ever be able to face the morning sun?”

Hiroko strokes your hair, comforting you. “Sol is a merciful god,” she says. “He will show you mercy as he rides his chariot across the sky. You must only take leave of your bed and the task is done.”

The two of you lay in the dark, in the silence. Hiroko’s words do lift some of the weight from your shoulders. Has the world ended because you have been denied? No, you suppose, tomorrow will come and you will move on. No matter how difficult the thought seems.

“Your step-brother comes one week hence, for the Vulcanalia,“ Hiroko tells you. “Your godfather came to inform you when you were away.”

You sigh, fresh tears flowing. “Oh, how the gods piss on me this night.”

Your step-brother is the last person you want to see, though the only family you have left, even if not by blood. The only true blood you have in the world is Hiroko, though Rome does not recognize the kinship, and by unfortunate fate she is condemned to be a slave.

After your mother died, so long ago, your father married the widow Shigaraki, your step-brother’s mother. And then she, too, died. Along with a child as she was giving birth. And if those tragedies were not enough, your father passed within the last year, while you were away at school, leaving Tomura, his eldest male child, as his heir and the master of his home.

Tomura, being a legatus – a high ranking military officer – was often away from home, leaving you as sole steward of the villa after you finished school. But then Tomura married Himiko, a senator’s daughter, and since she came to live at the villa with you, you could not stand to be there any longer, and had to leave. Thankfully, your godfather allowed you to stay at the Villa Todoroki.

“Himiko will be close in tow, no doubt,” you say to your companion.

“She is the spoiled whore,” Hiroko replies, the lilt of humor in her voice. “But worry not, for Touya accompanies them as well.”

Now, that piques your interest. Todoroki Touya is Enji's eldest son, Shouto's brother. And, as you and Shouto were childhood friends, so were Touya and Tomura friends, what seemed so long ago. In more recent years, their relationship has turned more into that of rivals, but that is no matter to you, who have always fancied the eldest Todoroki. And what's more, like Tomura, Touya is a legatus now, but yet free from the bond of marriage.

You think that this visit could prove very profitable.

“Remove gladiator from thoughts and turn them toward proper men,” Hiroko says, and you can tell by her tone that the discussion is ended.

ii. Cecilia Woloch, from “Postcard Beginning With a Quote from Mark C., Avenue de l'Opéra,” Carpathia

#mdni #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou imagine #bnha imagine

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