I wanted to ask you if you had any thoughts of how the ladies that learned from their predecessors were trained and how it differed from those that learned by themselves.
Do you think devouring the previous lady grants them their memories?
Practically speaking did the "ladies in training" have tutors - I'm sure they had books - did any of the ladies try to kill their apprentices or was that against the rules (in seafarers the lady lost the duel but six spared her - was that the only way a girl could learn from a tutor or were there other ways? Now I'm thinking about a lady who welcomes their successor despite knowing they will die). Then again that cycle seems to have only happened 5/6 times, so maybe not?
Mist you always ask the most INSIGHTFUL of questions... genuinely you sound so interested and it warms my heart.... thank u for giving me the chance of yapping away about my girlies...
(I saw your other question about the Lady's kimono btw!! I will answer it separately bc it is more of a lore question and it applies to the actual game rather than just the AU i concocted by accidentally hallucinating the Ladies into the narrative as concrete charactersâĄ)
!! SEAFARERS/AU TALK AHEAD !!
SO! I have a concrete belief that in canon the "ritual" was never as an official ceremony as it was presented by the Lady in the final chapter. Hers definitely felt like it had something ritualistic and private about it, sort of like a tradition, but much like the cycle itself it is not necessarily set in stone and thus linear. Meaning everyone could bend it as they pleased.
The important factor is to get a successor out of it - through whichever means one would prefer.
However I do think it was an event born... somewhat spontaneously? The way I've envisioned her, I'm certain it wouldn't have been Fox's chosen way of doing things - we all know how that wentđ
(Fly high queen... the only lady im certain for a fact is looking down on us instead of upđ)
If her death was as gruesome as I personally believe it to be (and as the imagery suggests, let's be honest...) I can't imagine it as anything other than a spontaneous fit of hunger. I do believe the idea of "battling it out" came with Tengu - far more combactive than Fox ever was. Though her specific case is interesting because she technically already has a "spare" in the form of Scarecrow, although I doubt she would have ever taken the role of acting Lady upon herself. There is also a strong theme of multiple simultaneous Ladies in Scarecrow's rooms specifically (with the three big Lady statues and whatnot).
(They way the statues in Scarecrow's room match their pillars always kills me. They want me to KMS)
For the record I do not think the sisters took Teapot in. The divide between the first three and the last two was strong enough in the Residence for me to put that idea to rest. If anyone, besides the Lady herself, would have tried to kill their successor it would have been them. And likewise, for a successor to have a caretaker, they would have to be taken in before the passage ever takes place.
So in terms of tutoring and caretaking, I'd say it was like this:
First GEN.
Fox > the Sisters (caretaker, not necessarily tutor)
The Sisters / Teapot (neither)
Second GEN.
Teapot > Rascal (tutor AND caretaker)
Rascal > Six (meant to be neither, now begrudging tutor & caretaker)
Not all Ladies are made equal...
I do think the Maw itself went through the most changes under Teapot's rule specifically because she was thrust into this situation she didn't want with little to no guidance. And it's funny you mention a lady welcoming her successor because that is exactly what I think Teapot did to get herself out.
Her time with Rascal was incredibly brief (and far more impactful than Rascal herself would ever admit), but I think it was very focused on imparting all the knowledge Teapot had to learn on her own onto her.
On this note -- I think about how her room is sealed into a place designed to be unreachable... and how the piano is far too small for someone like an adult Rascal but perfectly sized for a child... the watered roses...
(Banging my head against a wall and throwing up)
As for the successors themselves, if one dies on the way there (or gets ritualistically killed)... a new one will pop up eventually. The Maw needs an heir after all: the Nowhere will bend backwards for it to have one. Although I doubt this has ever happened - at least in Seafarers' universe.
For the memories -- YES! It's a big part of why the Ladies are anchored to the Maw whether they'd willingly remain regardless (like Rascal) or want to leave (Teapot). The weight of guilt and trauma of a previous generation would wear out anybody. And of course, they later add in their own -- both in powers and in memories.
Having a sister there would make one more desperate to stay alive methinks.
But what do you mean by the divide between the sisters and teapot? Teapots statue is found in the room next to where you find tengu's (albeit locked from the other side) while scarecrows is on a whole other floor.
I was meeting a client at a famous museumâs lounge for lunch (fancy, I know) and had an hour to kill afterwards so I joined the first random docent tour I could find. The woman who took us around was a great-grandmother from the Bronx âback when that was nothing to brag aboutâ and she was doing a talk on alternative mediums within art.
What I thought that meant: telling us about unique sculpture materials and paint mixtures.
What that actually meant: an 84yo woman gingerly holding a beautifully beaded and embroidered dress (apparently from Ukraine and at least 200 years old) and, with tears in her eyes, showing how each individual thread was spun by hand and weaved into place on a cottage floor loom, with bright blue silk embroidery thread and hand-blown beads intricately piercing the work of other labor for days upon days, as the labor of a dozen talented people came together to make something so beautiful for a village girlâs wedding day.
What it also meant: in 1948, a young girl lived in a cramped tenement-like third floor apartment in Manhattan, with a father who had just joined them after not having been allowed to escape through Poland with his pregnant wife nine years earlier. She sits in her fatherâs lap and watches with wide, quiet eyes as her motherâs deft hands fly across fabric with bright blue silk thread (echoing hands from over a century years earlier). Thread that her mother had salvaged from white embroidery scraps at the tailorâs shop where she worked and spent the last few days carefully dying in the kitchen sink and drying on the roof.
The dress is in the traditional Hungarian fashion and is folded across her motherâs lap: her mother doesnât had a pattern, but she doesnât need one to make her daughterâs dress for the fifth grade dance. The dress would end up differing significantly from the pure white, petticoated first communion dresses worn by her daughterâs majority-Catholic classmates, but the young girl would love it all the more for its uniqueness and bright blue thread.
And now, that same young girl (and maybe also the villager from 19th century Ukraine) stands in front of us, trying not to clutch the old fabric too hard as her voice shakes with the emotion of all the love and humanity that is poured into the labor of art. The village girl and the girl in the Bronx were very different people: different centuries, different religions, different ages, and different continents. But the love in the stitches and beads on their dresses was the same. And she tells us that when we look at the labor of art, we donât just see the work to create that piece - we see the labor of our own creations and the creations of others for us, and the value in something so seemingly frivolous.
But, maybe more importantly, she says that we only admire this piece in a museum because it happened to survive the love of the wearer and those who owned it afterwards, but there have been quite literally billions of small, quiet works of art in billions of small, quiet homes all over the world, for millennia. That your grandmotherâs quilt is used as a picnic blanket just as Van Goghâs works hung in his poor friendsâ hallways. That your fatherâs hand-painted model plane sets are displayed in your parentsâ livingroom as Grecian vases are displayed in museums. That your older sisterâs engineering drawings in a steady, fine-lined hand are akin to Da Vinciâs scribbles of flying machines.
I donât think thereâs any dramatic conclusions to be drawn from these thoughts - theyâve been echoed by thousands of other people across the centuries. However, if you ever feel bad for spending all of your time sewing, knitting, drawing, building lego sets, or whatever else - especially if you feel like you have to somehow monetize or show off your work online to justify your labor - please know that thereâs an 84yo museum docent in the Bronx who would cry simply at the thought of you spending so much effort to quietly create something thatâs beautiful to you.
I love the latest chapter of a reign of shadows. I drew a floor plan of raven and damian's dorm rooms, would you mind correcting me on what layout I've gotten wrong? (This ask should contain a picture in case it doesn't go through)
Raven's room is smaller than damian's bedroom lmao
I love this!! Tbh I'd think Damian's bathroom might be a tad bigger lol. I was thinking it would be maybe longer than it is a square? If that makes sense. Also, Damian's bed is bigger. (Ha I wonder why. Ha I wonder what's gonna happen there. *couch* excuse me). Like think california king-size bed. I would also assume he has a comfy chair or something near a bookshelf for some reading. And Raven's room is much smaller! Her desk might be next to her bed, since that's the only place where it fits. But, yeah, looks about right!!!
Updated version until further clarification. I considered making her desk touch her bed but decided the academy probably wouldn't give her a desk that big lmao
the first law of tragedies: the end is already written and inevitable. the second law of tragedies: your actions are all your own and you can choose to get off this ride whenever you want. the third law of tragedies: we both know that you are never going to do that.
#i mean. bro #i hate to break this to you but #you are in fact good at the small amount of piano ur playing #it is not fake
Dude taught himself to compose and calls it fake
âJust string it together in any order, the more random it is the more complex itâll sound" improvising music on the fly was one of Mozartâs party tricks
Not saying this guy is Mozart but heâs smart and clever and talented and way, way underappreciating himself
if you grow mushrooms over a toxic waste site, chemical spill, or other polluted growing medium, they will suck up the toxins into their fruiting bodies with such effectiveness that they are being studied for their ability to clean up tainted industrial sites. itâs called mycoremediation.
if you do this with edible mushrooms, they are no longer technically edible, but on the other hand they make a great way to poison your enemies. this is called murder and itâs usually frowned upon, but they wonât see it coming and you get bragging rights afterwards about your ability to kill people with a pizza topping.
Sorry this was not precisely most peopleâs idea of ânice.â Let me add that you are a glow of comforting absurdity in an ever-more-fucked-up world.
A hairdresser noticed that with oil spills, one of the biggest issues was the impact on wildlife because oil loves clinging to fur and feathers.
They used felting methods to create like a mat of hair & used it on a small scale test & it worked really well, the hair mainly stayed on top of the water like the oil & absorbed it like a sponge while leaving creatures & plants alone.
NASA is now working on large scale uses with the help of donated clippings from hair dressers and pet groomers.
And the hair can then be composted with the help of mushrooms.
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@inverted-typo You wanted a fluffy story and this was the best I could do, so I hope you like it.
Damian curled his arm around his baby protectively as he made his way past the lobby of Wayne Enterprises. Heâd been constantly offended by too many employees trying to touch the precious bundle curled close to his chest already and he wasnât going to keep Raven waiting so strangers could look and coo their fill. If she was already waiting for them outside, Damian was determined to wrap her up in his coat and drive her and their little love home, where it was warmer and would bring a rosy glow to her cheeks.
Their child had been wonderfully cooperative in giving Raven a break, looking around curiously and babbling happily from the safety of his chest while he did paperwork and other mindless tasks. The warm weight was wonderfully comforting and, not for the first time, Damian thanked whatever higher power had allowed their child to inherit Ravenâs gentle temperament. He had imagined their first child would scream in insult whenever parted from their mother, but to his surprise, and Ravenâs gentle amusement, their child was dissatisfied most being parted from him.
Her adorable scowls and wails melted his heart and he had assured Raven that the childcare facilities in Wayne Enterprises were more than sufficient to allow him to take their little love along a short workday.
It had been an unproductive day, as though his baby had been good-humored, there had been no end to the parade of visitors looking for any excuse to âdrop byâ his office. Damian caught the eye of one particularly bothersome man who had made several visits and overstayed to tell him advice âparent to parentâ and grimaced, making no attempt to hide his distaste. This man was the last person he wanted to see. Or second last - Drake had also made several visits when he realized how many people would take his visits as permission to follow him and take pictures - and how this bothered his brother.Â
âHabibi!â Ravenâs welcome voice broke his thoughts and he turned to her, beaming.Â
âBeloved!â Damian hurried over to her. âBelabed!â His baby squeaked, catching sight of her. Raven brushed her hand over both their faces and Damian trapped it in his own, kissing her knuckles.
âYour fingers are cold, beloved. Iâll turn up the heat in the car.â He put his hand on the small of her back, guiding her to where his car was parked. Raven rolled her eyes teasingly, happily accustomed to him doting on her. He liked that look on her, smiling and accepting what was her due instead of trying to be as small and unbothersome as possible.Â
âYou know, our daughter has been calling me âbelovedâ as often as she calls me âmamaâ.â Damian snuck a look at her and saw her smiling softly. Warmth swelled in his chest at the sight and his lips tugged upwards, helpless as always at the sight of her. âI wonder if she thinks itâs my name.â Raven continued.
Damian hummed thoughtfully while he opened the car door and gently guided her inside. She sighed in relief at being off her feet and reached out to strap their baby in.Â
He got in and drove, turning the heat up high. It was unacceptable for either member of his precious family to shiver while he could warm them. He could feel Raven smile at the back of his head and suppressed another smile. Even where he couldnât see her, she influenced his mood. He missed having her tucked into his side already, where he could hold her hand and look at her expressions.
The snores of their baby were a lovely sound to listen to as he drove home, and when they arrived Raven was half asleep as well.Â
âBeloved.â Damian gently roused her. âWeâre home. Are you too tired to walk?â
âNo, I can manage.â Raven mumbled groggily, stumbling to her feet and yawning while he picked up their snoring child. He guided them both inside and to the bedroom. A nap before dinner would restore both their spirits.
The empath sighed in pleasure as she slipped underneath the thick quilt, wriggling until she was comfortable and looking at him expectantly. He smiled helplessly again, slipping a blanket over their daughter in her crib, changing quickly and curling around her small frame.
âBeloved, what would you like to eat today? We still have some pork belly left.â Damian mused. Raven snuggled closer until he could feel her mouth move as she spoke. âWe have some soup left too.â She murmured. âAnd we can make garlic bread.â
âWhatever you wish, beloved.â Damian dropped a kiss on the top of her head.
A gurgle from their slowly waking baby prompted both of them to look at her. âShe really does call me beloved, even when weâre alone, you know.â She said sleepily. âDoes she have a nickname for you, too?â
Damian pulled the quilt to cover her shoulder and rubbed her shoulders, sighing. âShe may have one. Itâs hard to tell which babbles are words right now.â
Raven rolled onto her back, her eyes sparkling. Her hair was splayed around her head, so dark it looked like ink on his sheets. âIf she learnt it from hearing you call me beloved so often, perhaps sheâd call you names I call you. Darling?â She mused. They looked towards their content daughter for a reaction, but she only looked back at them. âSweetheart? Habibi?â
âHabeebee!â Their daughter squealed, looking at Damian. Raven laughed, looking at Damian in delight.Â
Her lips, her cheeks, her eyes. She looked like she was glowing, so bright and happy it hurt to look at her. Damian wanted to tell her how beautiful she was, and how much he loved her, but it was hard to breathe looking at her, let alone talking to her, and he wouldnât take his eyes off her for anything. He swallowed thickly.
Kissing her would mean only being able to see a part of her expression, but heâd be able to feel her smiling against his mouth. While he tried to decide what to do, he kissed her knuckles again instead. Her smile widened, and he drank in the sight greedily. Unable to resist her, Damian captured her lips with a long kiss.Â
It worked out wonderfully, as Raven was even more beautiful when she had been kissed breathless. And yet, Damian was finally able to breathe. He wondered if he had caught his breath by stealing hers. âYou look so beautiful tonight, beloved.â Damian caught her jaw and guided her into another deep kiss.Â
It was a wonderful thought, that their daughter would remind Raven of his love whenever she called for her mother with the names he'd taught her. Just as lovely as being reminded of her love whenever their baby called for him.
âBelobed!â Their daughter demanded as they broke apart. He missed her lips for a moment before she burst into laughter and his lips curved up. Heâd cook dinner later - right now, he wanted to see how many endearments he could teach their baby, and coax another laugh, another smile, another kiss from his wife.
Raven can seperate her soul from her body (her soul self). Do you think she'd put a little piece into an earring or something damian could wear while fighting when they het married? No matter how far away, he'd have a little piece of her, literally, and he treasures it and is so protective over it. Maybe he can use it to teleport to her or other magic.
I had the thought that if raven gets pregnant, they may move to wherever damian grew up. She loves him, all of him and so much of him was shaped by the places he grew up, the arabic language, the food, the clothes, so she wants their children to grow up like him. But that may be silly.
Ooooh! I love the idea of having kind of a soul token for him!! And itâs just a small enough piece that she wouldnât be harmed if something happened to it. But Damian guards and absolutely treasures it. I like the idea of it an earring! Something that isnât easily detachable or lost.
I think Raven would miss Azarath and she canât really take her kids there anymore so sheâs like, letâs take after dad then đ but she does wish she could show her kids her home world sometimes.
He keeps trying to work himself up but all his detective family members have caught on and are shadowing him. He finally gets some alone time with raven right before they go to sleep and while they are chatting and cuddling in bed, he slips the ring on her finger. "Marry me?" Simple but nervous. Buries his face in her hair while he waits for her answer. (He put the ring on her himself bc he was too nervous to wait until after she had said yes. If she has his ring on his finger, that's half the battle won in his mind).
NOT WAITING FOR AN ANSWER is very on brand đđ I love this idea. He usually doesnât get nervous or embarrassed heâs beside himself right now. Oh this one is really cute
In case the esim process confuses you or you aren't able to buy them yourself for any other reason, crips for esims for Gaza is collecting donations, they've almost met their goal of $150,000 raised. Donating allows them to buy esims in bulk which allows them to obtain more than individuals would be able to. I just donated and it was super easy as you can use paypal.
Crips for eSims for Gaza is a collaboration between Jane Shi, Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha, and Alice Wong.Â
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