#inlaid music boxes

[wildbeautifuldamned]

Vtg Inlaid Burl Wood Marquetry Sorrento Italy Music Box Game Figural Card Table~ ebay

antique*picnic

[frankenturrets]

DUDE ive been regretting not getting this music box i found at an antique shop while i was up in maine w my mom for the eclipse so i asked her this morning if she could ask the family friend we were staying with to see if its still there whenever theyre out at that shop again and he just sent a picture back of the music box 😭 i said id pay him back for it and he was like no its a gift.... wtf im so happy……

[transgenderer]

The Standard of Ur is a Sumerian artifact of the 3rd millennium BC that is now in the collection of the British Museum. It comprises a hollow wooden box measuring 21.59 centimetres (8.50 in) wide by 49.53 centimetres (19.50 in) long, inlaid with a mosaic of shell, red limestone and lapis lazuli. It comes from the ancient city of Ur (located in modern-day Iraq west of Nasiriyah). It dates to the First Dynasty of Ur during the Early Dynastic period and is around 4,600 years old. The standard was probably constructed in the form of a hollow wooden box with scenes of war and peace represented on each side through elaborately inlaid mosaics. Although interpreted as a standard by its discoverer, its original purpose remains enigmatic. It was found in a royal tomb in Ur in the 1920s next to the skeleton of a ritually sacrificed man who may have been its bearer.

The original function of the Standard of Ur is not conclusively understood. Woolley's suggestion that it represented a standard is now thought unlikely. It has also been speculated that it was the soundbox of a musical instrument.[2] Paola Villani suggests that it was used as a chest to store funds for warfare or civil and religious works.[11] It is, however, impossible to say for sure, as there is no inscription on the artifact to provide any background context.

Although the side mosaics are usually referred to as the "war side" and "peace side", they may in fact be a single narrative – a battle followed by a victory celebration. This would be a visual parallel with the literary device of merism, used by the Sumerians, in which the totality of a situation was described through the pairing of opposite concepts.[12][13] A Sumerian ruler was considered to have a dual role as a lugal (literally "big man" or war leader) and an en or civic/religious leader, responsible for mediating with the gods and maintaining the fecundity of the land. The Standard of Ur may have been intended to depict these two complementary concepts of Sumerian kingship.[3]

The scenes depicted in the mosaics were reflected in the tombs where the "Standard" was found. The skeletons of attendants and musicians were found accompanying the remains of the kings, as was equipment used in both the "War" and "Peace" scenes of the mosaics. Unlike ancient Egyptian tombs, the dead were not buried with provisions of food and serving equipment; instead, they were found with the remains of meals, such as empty food vessels and animal bones. They may have participated in one last ritual feast, the remains of which were buried alongside them, before being put to death (possibly by poisoning) to accompany their master in the afterlife.[15]

[matttgirlies]

Matt & Me🎀

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

a story heavily based on Priscilla Presley’s Book “Elvis & Me” based in the 1950’s - 1970’s.

fem! reader x singer! matt

disclaimer!! - in no way am i saying matt would ever support or do these kind of things, for the sake of the book certain unethical things do happen at times.

warnings - none i dont think

y/nn = your nickname for anyone confused🩷

Chapter 4

It was already Christmas 1959, and I had no idea what to get Matt. I walked through the crowded streets of Wiesbaden, windowshopping, trying to get ideas. Picking out gifts for the family had always been easy, since we always knew exactly what was wanted or needed; in fact, we often made our gifts for one another. On this occasion my father gave me thirty-five dollars to spend on Matt, and it seemed a vast amount to me when I set out on this freezing cold day. I was slapped with the reality when I noticed a beautiful hand-made cigar box with porcelain outlining and a decorative design. Matt, a cigar smoker, would have loved it. But after the shopkeeper told me the price, 650 Deutsche marks or $155, all I walked out with was my expensive taste.

It was snowing heavily and I hurried into another shop, this one full of bright toys, including a solidly built toy German train that I could imagine Matt instantly setting up in his living room. But the train cost 2,000 Deutsche marks.

Heading home in the dark, on the verge of tears, I spotted a music store, where a pair of bongo drums inlaid with gleaming brass were displayed in the window. They were forty dollars, but the clerk took mercy on me and sold them for thirty-five. As I headed home I was beset by a thousand doubts, convinced that the drums were the least romantic of gifts.

I must have asked Nate Doe and David Jones twenty times if they thought the drums were appropriate. “Oh sure,” Nate said. “Anything you give him, he’ll like.” I still wasn’t convinced.

On the night we exchanged gifts, Matt emerged from his dad’s room and drew me to one corner of the living room, where he handed me a small wrapped box, in it, a delicate gold watch with a diamond set on the lid and a ring with a pearl bracketed by two diamonds.

I had never owned anything so beautiful, nor had any smile ever warmed me as Matt’s did then. “I’ll cherish these forever,” I told him, and he made me put them on right away and took me around to show everyone.

I waited as long as possible to give Matt my present. Laughing, he said, “Bongos! Just what I always wanted!” Matt could see that I didn’t believe him; he was better at giving than receiving. “Charlie,” he persisted, “didn’t I need some bongos?”

Motioning for me to sit next to him at the piano, he started playing “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” with such emotion that I couldn’t look up for fear he’d see I was crying. When at last I couldn’t resist meeting his eyes, I saw that he too was holding back tears.

It was not until many days later that I discovered a whole closet full of bongo drums, mine not included, in the basement. The fact that my white elephants had not been throw into the closet but instead were prominently displayed beside his guitar made me love him all the more.

As the days passed I began to dread the day of Matt’s departure. By January he was already packing, and each night I spent with him became more precious than the one before.

Then, just as the weather turned freezing cold, Matt was sent out on field maneuvers for ten days, and if there was anything Matt hated, it was having to sleep outside on the frozen ground.

The morning after he left, it began to snow and by afternoon it was a blizzard. As Michelle and I were driving home from school with my mother, I turned on the radio, just in time to hear a late-breaking news bulletin.

“Sorry to interrupt, folks, but it was just reported that Corporal Matt Sturniolo has been rushed from field maneuvers to a hospital in Frankfurt, suffering from an acute attack of tonsillitis. Matt, if you’re listening, we all hope you get well real soon.”

Frantic with worry, I called the hospital, hoping to learn more about his condition. To my surprise, when the operator heard my name she put me right through, saying Corporal Sturniolo had left word to do so if I called.

“I’m a sick man, Little One,” Matt rasped. “I need you by my side. If it’s okay with your folks, I’ll send David for you right now.”

Of course my parents gave me permission to go to the hospital, and an hour later I entered his room, just as the nurse was leaving. Matt was propped up in bed with a thermometer in his mouth, surrounded by dozens of floral arrangements.

The moment the nurse was gone, Matt took the thermometer out of his mouth, lit a match, and carefully held it under the thermometer. Then he stuck the thermometer back in his mouth and slumped down on the bed just as the door opened and the nurse returned, carrying in even more flowers.

Smiling warmly to her famous patient, she took the thermometer out of Matt’s mouth, looked at it, and gasped, “A hundred and three. Why, Matt, you’re really sick. I’m afraid you’ll have to stay here at least a week.”

Matt nodded mutely as the nurse fluffed up his pillows, filled his water glass, and left the room. Then he burst out laughing, jumped out of bed, and took me in his arms.

He despised maneuvers, and since the weather was so bad and everyone was so worried about his voice, his answer was tonsillitis. Already susceptible to catching colds, Matt learned to dramatize his sickness with a little flick of a match.

It was March 1, 1960, the night before Matt was to leave Germany to return to the States.

We were lying on his bed, our arms around each other. I was in a state of complete despair.

“Oh, Matt,” I said, “I just wish there were some way you could take me with you. I can’t stand the thought of life without you. I love you so much.”

I began sobbing, my anguish overcoming my control.

“Shhh, Baby,” Matt whispered. “Try to calm down. There’s nothing we can do.”

“I’m just afraid you’ll forget me the moment you land,” I cried.

He smiled and kissed me gently. “I’m not going to forget you, y/nn. I’ve never felt this way about another girl. I love you.”

“You do?” I was stunned. Matt had said that I was special before, but he’d never said that he loved me. I wanted so badly to believe him, but I was frightened of getting hurt. I’d read some of Nicole’s letters, and I was sure Matt was on his way back to her open arms.

Holding me close, he said, “I’m torn with the feelings I have for you. I don’t know what to do. Maybe being away will help me understand what I really feel.”

That night our lovemaking took on a new urgency. Would I ever see him again, be in his arms the way I had been nearly every night for the past six months? I missed him already. I could not bear the thought of the night ending and our saying goodbye for what I thought would be the last time. I wept and wept until my body ached with pain.

For the last time I begged him to finally have sex with me. It would have been so easy for him. I was young, vulnerable, desperately in love, and he could have taken complete advantage of me. But he quietly said, “No. Someday we will, y/n, but not now. You’re just too young.”

I lay awake all that night and early the next morning I was back at 18 Hauptstrasse, lost in the midst of a large group of people milling about the living room. They were waiting to say goodbye to Matt, who was upstairs finishing his last-minute packing. Knowing that I alone would be accompanying him to the airport gave me little comfort.

When Matt came downstairs, he laughed and joked with everyone there. Finally, after saying his last goodbye, Matt turned to me. “Okay, Little One, it’s time to go.”

I nodded glumly and followed him out the door. Oblivious to the drizzling rain, hundreds of fans were waiting outside. When they saw Matt they went crazy, begging him to sign autographs. When he finished he jumped into the waiting car and pulled me in behind him. As the door slammed, the driver accelerated and we sped toward the airport.

We rode for a long while in silence, both of us lost in thought. Matt was gazing out the window, frowning over the falling rain. “I know it’s not going to be easy for you to go back to being a schoolgirl again after being with me, y/nn, but you’ve got to. I don’t want you to be sitting around moping after I leave, Little One.”

I started to protest, but he silenced me. “Try to have a good time, write to me every chance you get. I’ll look forward to your letters. Get pink stationery. Address them to Nate. That way I’ll know they’re from you. I want you to promise me you’ll stay the way you are. Untouched, as I left you.”

“I will,” I promised.

“I’ll look for you from the top of the ramp. I don’t want to see a sad face. Give me a little smile. I’ll take that with me.”

Then, handing me his combat jacket and the sergeant’s stripes he’d recently been

awarded, he said, “I want you to have these. It shows you belong to me.” After that, he held me tight.

As we approached the airport, the cheers of the waiting crowds grew louder. We drove as close to the runway as possible, then Matt turned to me and said, “This is it, Baby.”

We got out as cameras flashed, reporters shouted, and screaming fans pressed toward us. Matt held my hand and walked across the runway apron until the guard, who was there to escort Matt to the plane, stopped me from going further.

Matt gave me a brief hug and whispered, “Don’t worry, I’ll call you when I get home, Baby, promise.”

I nodded, but before I could answer, we were pulled apart as the crowd rushed in. I was swept away by hundreds of fans, pushing and pulling, trying to get to him. I cried, “Matt!” but he never heard me.

He ran up the boarding steps. Then he turned and waved to the crowd, his eyes searching for me. I waved frantically, as did hundreds of other fans, yet he found me, and for one more brief moment, our eyes locked. Then he disappeared. Just like that.

My parents came to the airport to drive me back to Wiesbaden. During the long ride I was silent.

Excerpt from: "Elvis and Me" by Priscilla Beaulieu Presley. Scribd.

This material may be protected by copyright.

a/n - sad chapter 😪 (sorry its shorter than ones before)🎀

[empressofmankind]

BEGGARS SHAN'T BE CHOOSERS - Part I

[Crocodile x F!OC]

SFW

(A/N) Better known as the 'Impel Down' fic, I kept mentioning the past two weeks. This is Part One. Of five? Of ten? I've given up. The total draft was > 12k. So, I split it in 3x 4k. And then, I noticed today the 'first part' had grown to >7k. So, I've split it again. I have a clear end in mind, but how long it'll take me to get there...

Originally, this fic was meant to focus around Buggy, but then a 2.53m unit of absolute bullshit got in the way. Shivs and her world class plans, good gods. Post-Alabaste, the mens are stuck in Impel Down. Shivs is dead set on springing the clown from prison. However, she'll first need to figure out where they're keeping him. On account of his devil fruit powers, she suspects level 6. And she has an excellent alibi to demand visitation to level 6. For once, the legal quagmire of technically still being married to Crocodile is going to work for her. Right? RIGHT??

In this first part, we'll join Shivs and Benji (and Mani!) as they get ready to, and make their way for, Impel Down. That's it, that's all that happens, and it took me near 4k. I am so long-winded. It's a terminal condition, I know.

Tag(s): Considering this is the entré, there isn't actually much to tag for? There's fluff and humour. There's a 10-year-old running around saying the absolute funniest shit as things go straight over her head. We got Mani the scaly golden retriever Bananawani along? Oh, and one (1) good marine.

🐊 🐊 🐊 

Beggars Shan't Be Choosers - Part I

“They're stupid clothes,” Benji said, her brow wrinkling with petulant annoyance. She was wearing a crispy white dress shirt, a green-on-ochre striped vest and grey slacks. She'd refused a dress of any sort. Her flame orange hair was neatly brushed and her small face wasn't covered in grease paint for once.

“I think you look handsome,” Shivs said as she pinned her own red hair up with a two-pronged kanzashi fashioned with golden lotuses whose inlaid blue diamonds had not seen the light of day in years.

“I look stupid.”

“Look. I am not comfortable in my clothes either,” Shivs said and indicated the mid-thigh sheath dress of black lace on dark grey broadcloth she wore. She'd decided on sheer stockings to go with it, but no gloves. 

“You look pretty in them.”

Shivs turned back to the mirror to finish pinning her hair and adjusting her bangs to fall neatly from under the strings of her eyepatch. “That is the idea, yes.”

Benji put her hands in her pockets, kicking her foot, making squeaky noises against the deck boards. “What am I supposed to look like? I don't want to be pretty.”

“You are supposed to look like the most capable and well-behaved child to ever grace the Blue.” Shivs pinched her cheek, gilt bangles jangling. “And you do when you don't stand with your hands wearing out your pockets like that.”

Benji took her hands out of her pockets. They idled a moment, undecided, but then she clasped them behind her back. “Your neck looks naked.” 

Shivs laughed at that because the bateau neckline of the dress could certainly use something. “Yours too.”

She plucked one of Buggy's patterned neck scarves from a drawer and tied it around her daughter's neck, tucking the ends into the vest. “There.”

“You should wear a pretty necklace,” Benji said, though her eyes were on the scarf. She seemed to like that, at least.

Shivs didn't have all that many necklaces conventionally considered ‘nice’. Going through the few she had in her thoughts, she picked up her modest jewellery box. Then paused as her gaze lingered on the bottom drawer of her vanity. Maybe she should… She pulled the drawer open and reached among clothes she rarely wore, patting around until she found the old music box.

Its silver had blackened with age and negligence, but even so, its delicate engravings of waves and tall ships were fine. If she polished it now, the oxidation remaining in the fine creases would help pick out its details better than ever before. She didn’t, of course. And she didn���t open the lid either. She couldn’t remember if it was wound up, and didn’t want to hear its melody if it was.

Instead, she held it with both hands and turned its engraved body as if removing a lid from a jar. With a click, the top section came off. Within the tiny compartment revealed lay a small, gold hoop with a bent hinge. She’d long since let the earlobe puncture it used to occupy close. Taking a thin string from her jewellery box, she suspended it from that instead.

“Like so?” Shivs asked, drawing Benji’s attention as she fastened it around her neck.

“Don’t you have anything sparklier, like your hair thing?”

Shivs brushed the kanzashi. Though the era of having such things aplenty was long behind her, she was loath to detract from the last one that remained to her with lesser gems. Besides, he’d notice.

“Sadly, no.”

“Oh?” Benji gave her the thumbs up. “Gold is pretty too, I guess!”

Part of the reason she’d picked it was that it was 24-carat gold. Just like the kanzashi.

“Can I do your makeup?”

“Only if you do not turn me into a clown,” Shivs said as she sat down at her vanity so the girl could reach her face. Benji grinned and set to work.

When Benji declared she was done, Shivs turned to the mirror and had to admit the little girl was now officially better at this than her. She’d gone for a dark burgundy smokey eye with a flawlessly thin line of gold right at the root of her eyelashes and a touch of white on the waterline. It made the hazel of her good eye pop like nobody’s business. She was pretty sure the dark red lipstick was Buggy’s favourite to use himself.

“I like it,” Shivs said and Benji beamed. “Now, I just need shoes.”

“I'll fetch some!” 

Benji was up and running out of the cabin before Shivs could protest. It was only a few minutes before the girl returned, clutching shoes in her arms. And not just any shoes, either. She held up gold-tinted, faux leather gladiator sandals with six-inch stiletto heels that would be a trick and a half to walk on. Where had she even found those?

“These will look awesome with your hair thing and necklace!”

She didn’t disagree as she put them on, but hoped the floors of Impel Down would be neatly packed concrete and nothing else. She hadn’t walked on heels like these in half a decade. Throwing a long bridge coat the rosy beige of dunes about her shoulders, she turned to the floor-length mirror.

Benji looked her up and down with the pinched expression of a critical, pint-sized costume designer grading their latest creation. “You look very pretty.”

Benji wasn’t wrong. She did look nice. Her mood sank, settling like an anchor in the pit of her stomach. She looked like his wife.

“Why is it OK to lie today?”

“It's not a lie.” Shivs shook the morose feeling and picked up her small black bag, its gilded chain rattling as she double checked its content. “More like, hm.”

“Make believe?”

“Yes. Yes, I suppose it is,” Shivs said as she snapped the bag closed and hung it from her shoulder. “It will be easier to convince them to let us visit if we look the way they’d expect.”

“Why would they let us visit uncle Crocodile? Aren’t those visits for, like, if you’re his mom or sister or baby or something?” Benji’s small face was filled with healthy scepticism, hands in her pockets once again. “We should pretend he’s my dad.”

Shivs flinched and struggled to keep her smile from faltering. “Well, only if we have to.”

“They’d have to be pretty bad people to stop a kid from visiting their father.” Benji took her hand. “I hope uncle Crocodile knows where dad is.”

“I am sure he knows.” Shivs gave Benji’s hand a squeeze. She’d no idea how she’d find out where Buggy was if Crocodile didn’t know. She couldn’t exactly demand that information on legal grounds like she had done with him. “Is Mani ready, too?”

“Yes! I scrubbed her squeaky clean and even picked her teeth and scales. She’s eaten and done a big poop.” Shivs tried to let the girl’s bubbly chatter lift her spirits. “I borrowed one of Richie’s sparkly collars and she looks flashy in it!”

“Sparkly? That sounds amazing.”

“It is! She likes sparkly things.”

“Let’s fetch her then and go before we are too late.”

Benji glanced up at her as they left the cabin. “How can we be late for an appointment we didn’t make?”

“We can be late for the only ship going there today.”

🐊 🐊 🐊 

Benji had wanted to stand upon the prow as the government ship approached the Gate of Justice out of Enbies Lobby, because the skipper had said the Tarai current that would see them to Impel Down was chock full of sea kings. Shivs sat on a deck chair with a glass of wine, watching the girl run back and forth with binoculars she’d weedled from a matelot. On account of the seastone laminated hull, she doubted they would see any. However, there was no need to dunk on her chipper mood.

They were not the only visitors, more had trickled aboard to form a modest but motley company on the deck. She’d caught snippets of conversations as they walked by: a mother visiting her son; a brother, his sister. And she had a good guess what some of them were whispering about as they stole glances her way. She’d neglected to list any details regarding who they’d be visiting, but, in hindsight, she supposed the pony-sized bananawani lounging beside her gave it away. 

She’d tied Mani’s rhinestone-infested lilac leash to her chair leg, to discourage the reptile from wandering or - worse - deciding to take a swim. Not that she had any illusion as to its ability to pull the chair straight from under her if it wanted to go. But Mani was a creature of habit and minimal effort. A minor inconvenience such as this would be enough to keep her snoozing on the deck.

“Spotted any big ones?” Shivs said when Benji came towards her for a sip of lychee ramune.

“Not yet.” Benji plopped down beside Mani, putting her skinny arm around her scaly neck as she slurped lemonade. “Did you know bananawani hunt sea kings?”

“Really?” 

Shivs remembered the way the casino halls would darken as they swam by, their shadows passing beyond the glass as they glided towards the feeding platform. The unwitting sea king never stood a chance.

“They are their only known predator and totally hunt them,” Benji babbled happily while enjoying her drink. Mani’s eyes were still closed, but she’d shifted to lean into the little girl’s petting. “Do you think sea king tastes good?”

The water would run red but only for a short while, only until the currents whisked it away. Theoretically, the creature could make it out for the Rainbase oasis connected to the Sandora river.

“I bet Mani would prefer sea king chow,” Shivs said.

“I don't think they sell that at the pet stores.” Benji pouted as she hugged Mani. “She won’t be able to have a sea king snack until she’s big enough to hunt them herself.”

Hopefully, that would take a while yet. Bananawani could grow to colossal sizes, dwarfing mid-class tall ships. Shivs had no idea what they were supposed to do with a fully grown one. Or how to afford feeding the beast if there was no prey for her to hunt on her own. Rain Dinners’ bananawani never hunted alone.

Benji emptied her bottle with a big, noisy slurp, waking Mani. “Maybe we should have brought something?”

“A deck would have been nice,” Shivs said as she watched them. “We could have played slapjack.”

“No, I mean, for uncle Crocodile?” 

Shivs flinched.

“You always say that it is nice to bring something when you visit someone. Especially if you want something from them in turn?” Benji scrunched up her face, rubbing Mani’s thick scaly neck. “I have, like, half a bag of marshmallows, but I didn’t think to bring them.”

“I have something for him, don’t worry about it.”

🐊 🐊 🐊 

Impel Down was a fortress as ugly as it was unimaginative. It spilled onto the rapidly approaching horizon as a grey stain overtaking the limitless freedom of the open sea. And as they drew near on the Tarai current, its squat towers and crenellated battlements came into ever sharper focus until they dominated their entire surroundings. Curiously, there were no cannon embrasures, machicolations or any such defences one might expect from a proper bastion. 

A fleet of warships rested at anchor along the approach to the underwater prison. The modest passenger ship they were on was dwarfed by the marine dreadnoughts they passed as the current pulled them inexorably towards the prison’s colossal gatehouse.

Benji had returned to the prow for the approach, and Shivs joined her there.

“It’s so huge!” Benji stared wide-eyed at the thick walls as they sailed under the barbican and into the secured harbour proper beyond. Mani sat beside her, holding her own leash.

“The vast majority of the complex is actually underwater.” Shivs counted the cannons peeking down at them through the embrasures, out of habit more than anything. She wondered if they had a standing firing crew to man them.

“Are we going underwater?” Benji hopped from one leg unto the other. “The Calm Belts are supposed to be full of Sea Kings! Maybe there will be a window, and I can see one? Maybe there will be wild Bananawani too!”

“It is a prison, so I don’t think there will be windows,” Shivs said in an attempt to calm the girl’s excitement and avoid utter disappointment if that turned out to be true. “It does reach quite a ways below the water surface. A few kilometres, perhaps? Yes, I think so.”

“Wow.” Turning to Mani, Benji added: “Let's find a window, I bet there will be wild Bananawani! You can say ‘hi’!”

Shivs took her by the shoulder when she saw the other visitors disembark. “Come, let’s not be late.”

Benji glanced up at her as they walked to the gangplank. “For the visit we didn-?”

“Don’t say that,” Shivs interrupted her with a quelling look.

“Right.” Benji smiled again and took Mani’s leash. “Come on Mani. Can’t be late!”

They were funnelled through the gatehouse and into a courtyard patrolled by marine sentries. Here, too, cannons peered through embrasures on all sides. Evidently, the prison was more concerned about threats to its security rising from within than without.

“Visitors for level 1 and 2 inmates, that way,” a young marine officer said as he gestured to a colleague. “Level 3 and up, with me.” The few people that joined them as they went to the marine officer gave the juvenile Bananawani plodding beside them a wide breadth. 

The officer led them up steps and into an wholly uninviting lobby. With its worn plaster walls and dirty grey linoleum floor it did its very best to make you want to leave as soon as possible. No seats, no plants, no windows, no nothing. 

“Registration check.” The marine officer motioned them towards the looming concrete counter on the other side of the unpleasant space. “In an orderly manner, gentlefolk.”

Benji put her arm around Mani, leaning into the large reptile and putting her nose against its scales as she eyed their casually hostile surroundings.

“What’s his name?” The marine officer’s tone was amiable, conversational.

“Hers!” Benji said, holding on tighter to the Bananawani.

He tried to catch her gaze with a smile. “Big girls, both of you.”

“Her name is Mani.”

“Ah, ‘she who averts harm’,” he said, and Shivs appreciated his attempts to make Benji feel comfortable. “A wise choice for such a hardy animal.”

“She’s very sweet and tough,” Benji agreed as she snuggled Mani. “I love her.”

“I am sure she loves you very much too.”

“What is your name?” Benji asked. “Mine is Benji!”

“Nice to meet you, Benji,” the young marine said. “Mine is Toby.”

By then it was their turn, and Shivs approached the desk. It was higher than such things normally were, for she was not a particularly short woman and yet she need not bend down to meet the registrar’s gaze.

“State your name and purpose?” the woman said, hands poised to take down the information.

“Figarland Seonaid. Conjugal visit,” Then added when she saw her transcribe it as ‘Sheona’: “That is without the H, and spelled with N-A-I-D.”

The registrar gave a sign of neither interest nor recognition. “Visiting?”

“Crocodile Niall.”

The woman paused when she heard that name. And Shivs ignored the whispers she could not quite catch from those behind her in line.

“Niall. N-I-A-L-L. Not ‘Nile’.”

The registrar flipped through a thick binder, finger running down a table packed with dense handwriting. “No visitation registered.”

“Preposterous,” Shivs said, overacting an affronted tone. “A signed request for visitation has been approved weeks ago.” 

“There is no record of it, ma'am.”

Benji let go of Mani to fling her arms around Shivs’ waist instead, and gave the registrar and marine officer her most watery of wobbly baby looks. “Mommy, I want to see daddy!”

Shivs rubbed her shoulder, giving the registrar the pleading look of parents the world across trying to desperately manage a child on the brink of wailing. Benji's little sob into the fabric of her dress was very convincing. Mani paced around them, uncertain but riled by the sudden change of mood.

“Can't you put in an expedited request?” Shivs suggested, trying her damndest to sound sincere. “She'd been looking forward to it, and we get so few chances.”

“No registration, no visitation,” the woman said as Benji took in a breath to start a wail.

Toby shook his head. “Let me see what I can do,” he said as he produced a small, earpiece Den Den Mushi and put the sea snail against his ear. A few transmissions later, he turned to the registrar and held up his hand. “Two visitor badges, please.”

With due reluctance the registrar handed them over to him and he turned to Benji. “There you go, kiddo,” he said as he gave her one, and then Shivs as well. “Courtesy of the vice-admiral making the curator see reason.”

“You're the best!” Benji beamed. “Look, mom, I am number 17! What is yours?”

Shivs looked at the scuffed 13 on the badge. It reminded her of a poker table she used to deal at, and the memory settled in the pit of her stomach like a fetch of cannon balls. “Not as high as yours, sweetie.”

“Come, I will see you two down to the right level,” Toby said, and led them to the elevator room beyond the lobby. There were four, two on the left and two on the right. He took them to the far right one, the doors opening as they approached.

“Awesome!” Benji said as she rushed inside, Mani hot on her heels. For the elevator was made entirely of armoured glass and provided a grand view of the ocean sprawling all the way across the horizon. The afternoon sun kissed the waves, setting sparkles to the white-capped water. And Shivs felt it beckon in her bones. 

Benji gave him a hopeful look. “Are we going underwater?”

“We are,” Toby said as he put a key in the control panel and turned it.

When the doors slid closed, Shivs suppressed the sudden and overwhelming urge to get out, to leave and never look back. To stay at the surface, where they belonged. I have to, she told herself as she clenched her hands into fists around the chain of her handbag. Bugs is down there, and he hates the dark beneath the waves.

The elevator jolted to life and Shivs closed her eyes, ignoring the sound of the lapping waves against the glass as they submerged, focussing on Benji’s excited noises instead. When she opened them again, they were enveloped in blue. Sunlight still penetrated, sending curtains of light through the water. Less so with every foot they descended, as the blue grew deeper, darker.

“A Sea King!” Benji screamed, spooking Mani as she glued herself against the glass. In the far distance, blurred in the shifting hues of the blue, swam a long, serpentine creature, its body undulating as it made its way from somewhere to elsewhere. 

“It could be the Prince of the Deep,” Toby said as he came to stand beside her. “It has about the right shape. Colour too, perhaps.”

Benji glanced at him, her eyes large and eager. “Prince?”

“Yes, because he is a prince among his kind. The largest Sea King in this part of the Calm Belt,” Toby said. “Ten times larger than Coral Grove, our largest dreadnought.”

“Wow.” Benji pressed her face against the glass. “Mani could snack on that for years.”

“Wouldn’t it be tough for her to hunt such a large creature?” Toby said, not without humour.

Benji rolled her eyes. “Not right now, she’s a baby. But she’ll be big and strong one day! Bananawani hunt Sea Kings, did you know?” she said and babbled the poor marine’s ears off about the large reptiles for some minutes.

As the armoured glass elevator descended to deeper water, their surroundings became steadily darker. Shivs put her gaze on the glass floor and the pitch black abyss below. It was easier to face the darkness approaching than the light receding, the sparkle of the sun on the water surface dwindling as you sank. The sea has never been friendly to man.

Beside her, Benji had put her arm around Mani as she looked up. No more sea kings down here.

“The 6th level is also called ‘The Basement’,” Toby said, making the girl glance away from the ever more distant sunlight. “Do you know why?”

Ghosts in the attic and monsters in the basement, Shivs thought as she recalled the sailors’ idiom about grief with its haunting memories and stowed feelings.

Benji eyed him, holding on to Mani still. “Because it's dark and far down?”

Because nobody goes there if they can help it. Shivs stared at the watery dark beneath their feet. The sea floor might never come and she'd not be surprised.

“Nope!” Toby said, his smile bright in the dimming light. “Because it is where all the cool people stay.”

Benji’s mood lit up. “My unc- Dad, is super cool! He's actually made out of sand, like, for real.”

“Are you made out of sand?”

Shivs gaze snapped onto him like a hawk. He was looking at Benji, fondness soft on his youthful face. He couldn't be much older than 20 or 22.

“I don't think so?” Benji let go of Mani to brush at her clothes, then glanced at him. “Do you want to pet her?”

Toby smiled. “Absolutely.”

🐊 🐊 🐊 

Horny hell seat reservations - @tiredemomama @smut-goblin @ruledbyproblematique @momodwriter @littlemountainwolf @fanaticsnail @feral-artistry - except there's no horny. Croc isn't even in it either. I feel like a cheat.

[marlynnofmany]

Double Duty

It’s a rare day when I have to squint at the sight of a house, but this one was shiny. A giant ball woven out of the brightest metal wires I’d seen in a while, all gold and copper in complex patterns. It made my head hurt to look at. Probably imitation metals, because surely that would be impractical and expensive to use actual gold. But what did I know? Not my species.

I squinted as I walked up with the package, wondering if that was rude of me. My little human eyes probably always looked like I was squinting though, compared to the big bug eyes of the Mesmer who lived there.

And the one walking beside me. Zhee was nodding quietly to himself while he took in the sight, with his vibrant purple praying-mantis exoskeleton looking right at home. If I hadn’t known that one of his people lived here, somehow I feel like I would have guessed. It was flashy in the extreme.

And so was the walkway, a glittering stripe of vivid red that curved through a garden full of alien flowers that probably didn’t bite. I didn’t like the looks of the local butterfly analogues, though; they had stingers I could see from here. I was glad they were keeping their distance.

Zhee reached the door first — a solid slab of bronze with an inlaid galaxy of gemstones, naturally — and he found the doorbell while I ducked under another butterfly. The chime was a brief melody from an instrument I couldn’t identify. It sounded like a violin invented by people whose earliest music was made by rubbing their legs together.

The door pulled inward and slid to the side, showcasing the homeowner who must have been waiting right there for us. Up close, the side of the house had window space visible between the weave, ideal for peeking out but not being seen until you were ready for your close-up.

“Good greetings!” announced the Mesmer woman who towered over both of us, a spectacle of metallic rose-gold coloring. Surely that couldn’t be natural. I’d never seen a Mesmer yet with metal tones; this had to be like full-body nail polish. But I sure as heck wasn’t about to say a peep about it now. I’d ask Zhee later.

“Greetings,” Zhee returned, urging me forward. “Your package.”

I handed it over, wondering if I’d get to see how the thing opened. It was one of the plastic puzzle box dealies that had been a popular way to ship valuables lately. There was one button on top and no visible seams.

Even with that thought, I was surprised when she grabbed it with her pincher arms, kicked a side table into view with one leg, then set it down and tapped out a rhythm on the button. The box split open to dramatically reveal the custom stained-glass lamp that we’d delivered in perfect condition, thankyouverymuch.

“Exquisite,” she said, holding it up to let the light shine through all the aquas and teals. “Just what the blue room needs.” She looked at us. “I have one of each color, you know.”

Zhee nodded like that was normal and admirable. “Excellent.” He held out the electronic payment pad without being so gauche as to mention it out loud, and the customer chattered away about her house as she set down the lamp and paid.

“…The yellow room was the biggest hassle, of course, but I’m most pleased with the rainbow room. I have art, rare plants and a few select exotic animals in there. Those have been a different type of challenge, especially the new one.”

That caught my attention. As I was wondering how best to ask what kind of animals she kept, Zhee beat me to it.

“Animals, you say?” He gestured theatrically toward me. “Robin is an expert in animal care, if you need a consult.”

I turned my head to stare at him with my best what-did-you-just-volunteer-me-for expression, which he could certainly see, given those eyes’ range of vision. He didn’t react.

“I would appreciate a look, now that you mention it,” the large alien said. “My prize oil-slick tentacle has stopped eating, and has begun shaking in a strange way when I get near.”

Zhee immediately haggled for a consultation fee while I wracked my brain for any knowledge of this alien whatsit. I was going to have words with Zhee afterward.

But apparently I was going to look at this thing first. The customer agreed to the price, payable afterward, and led us both into the house. It was just as multicolored as expected. Like each room had been given to a different child to design, with the instructions to use as many expensive jewel tones as possible.

The rainbow room was actually a relief, surprisingly enough. There were darker accents to make the furniture and murals stand out. And the various terrariums were clear glass. I looked between feathers and shells and flowers for anything that could be described as a tentacle.

“It’s over here,” she said, leading me toward a glass case under a spotlight. “I haven’t had it very long, but it was eating before, and I just don’t know why. The medi-scanner says it’s not ill. Perhaps I need a new scanner. What do you think?”

Feeling like the spotlight was aimed directly at me, I stepped up for a look at the thing curled up in the corner. It was, as expected, iridescent like an oil slick. But those scales were familiar.

I moved around it to get a look at the head, then smiled and stood up straight. “That’s a sunbeam snake! My favorite kind!”

“Okay, but what’s wrong with it?” the alien woman asked. “When I give it food, it hisses at me and shudders!” She waggled a pincher arm in imitation.

“It’s trying to scare you away,” I said. “They shake their tails like rattlesnakes do, though they don’t have rattles or venom.”

“Well, I don’t know about all that,” she said with a huff. “Why is it doing that? I’ve been more than kind to it!”

“I’m afraid you’ve given it nowhere to hide,” I explained gently, spreading my hands at the tank with a black floor and only a small water dish in the center. Little blobs of meat littered the area. Images of plants had been painted into the corners, but that did less than nothing to help a burrowing animal. “This type of snake needs several inches of plant life or loose soil to dig into. For one this size, I’d say at least this deep.” I held my hands six inches apart.

“It digs?” the customer asked. “They didn’t tell me that!”

“It spends most of its time hidden,” I said. “Or at least, it’s meant to. This one is extremely stressed by being out in the open like this.”

I was a little worried how she’d take the news, given that this was her prize specimen with all the lights aimed to showcase its rainbow scales. But to her credit, she listened while I suggested framing a good photo of the snake outside the tank, then only watching it during mealtime. Any visiting friends could be told how exotic and special the animal was, and how lucky they would be to even catch a glimpse of it.

“Yes,” she said, clearly thinking. “Yes, I can work with that. I’ll arrange for the adjustments to the enclosure. You said this much ground cover?” She held her pincher arms apart.

“Right, at least that much,” I agreed. “Ideally you’ll also want to bury a few things for enrichment, like rocks and bark and sections of tubing, and have a couple of those on the surface for it to hide under when it comes up for food.”

We ended up going into a different room where she could take notes, which did more to put me at ease about the snake’s future care. I waved at it as I left, wishing it well. I’d always liked sunbeams. Good thing I remembered the specifics of their care needs.

“You’ll also want a bigger water dish, so it can slither through it,” I said. “And the tank should be both warm and very humid…”

The customer took lots of notes while Zhee alternated between standing there looking smug and casting an appraising eye at the room’s gaudy features. This was the purple room, and he blended right in.

Finally we’d covered all the important points. Zhee tactfully brought out the payment pad again, then we strolled back to the front door.

“I will recommend your service to all of my friends,” the customer said as she closed up the lamp case. “Quality parcel delivery, with bonus animal care! That is hard to beat.”

“My pleasure,” I said honestly.

Zhee thanked her as well, and we exited into the garden. Zhee was still looking smug as the door closed behind us. “I am very glad I spoke up.”

I shook my head with a rueful smile. “I’m glad it was an animal I’m actually familiar with, not some independently crawling tentacle.”

“Those do exist, you know.”

I let out a deep sigh. “Of course they do. Guess I’d better do some research in case she does tell all her friends.”

Zhee strode forward with pride. “It will be good business! Captain Sunlight will be pleased.”

“It’ll be interesting, that’s for sure.” I thought of the crewmates who had tentacles of their own. “Mur will probably think it’s funny.”

“Oh, he’ll think it’s terrifying. The mobile tentacles are from his planet; they’re a venomous parasite.”

“Of course they are. Remind me to bring gloves on our next delivery, just in case.”

~~~

The ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book. More to come!

[add1ctedt0you]

I read your zhanchengxian post and I feel the same. So Ive got a question: do you know of any fic with timeskip zhancheng where canon is substantially changed by it? I'd love to read one is why I'm asking

Hi! I am happy to know someone agrees with me! Anyway, I've not read a fic like that, sorry, but I've this habit of saving for later fics and never read them, so I've got some recs, even though I've never read these fics.

Fic (I've never read but seems zhancheng timeskip ~ canon divergent):

time waits for no one by adasinon

“Ah, Er-gege,” Wei Ying forces yet another laugh, it is breathless and helpless, and painful as always. “So inappropriate. What would Jiang Cheng say?”

Lan Zhan doesn’t recoil, or laugh. He really has changed.

“You didn’t tell us you’re injured,” Lan Zhan gently moves his arm around, dotes on Wei Ying like he cares for him the way Wei Ying wishes him to. He’s convincing, for sure, and Wei Ying tries not to pretend his delusions are coming true.

(Years ago, Wei Ying went to Lanling on his own, and died during the ambush. He returns to a changed world, where the loves of his life have seemingly been doing better without him.)

((Established Zhancheng, but we all know where this is going))

Fics set during Sunshot campaign:

Wonder of all Walkers by CoolTapes

Lan Wangji and Jiang Wanyin search for Wei Wuxian, rescue a dog, and fall in love.

Let Me Hear The Sound Your Heart Makes by Nantai

In a universe where you can hear any music your soulmate makes (be it singing or playing an instrument or just humming under your breath) Jiāng Chéng often hears his soulmates play together, but he doesn't dare join in. Because he knows Wèi Wúxiàn can't be his soulmate and Jiāng Chéng certainly won't come between him and Lán Wàngjī.

This changes when Wèi Wúxiàn goes missing during the Sunshot Campaign.

moored by fluffysocks

Lan Wangji comes over and they kiss. Lan Wangji comes over and they have tea.

Lan Wangji comes over and they talk.

It turns out that the available study materials are contradictory and unenlightening.

Fics I've read and enjoyed, that portray an interesting zhancheng dynamic during wwx's death (they don't reach canon, being set during the timeskip, but they set the mood actually)

mirror-bright scale by sugar_shoal

It's a serie! Dragon!LWJ AU, that follows canon events. At the moment there are only two fics about snippets of zhancheng moments, but it's not completed! First fic:

The Care and Keeping of Dragon Pearls by sugar_shoal

Lan Zhan's mother wore Qingheng-jun’s pearl around her neck, as big as Lan Zhan’s small fist; he stared up at it. Tints of gold shimmered in its surface, the same gold as Lan Zhan’s father’s eyes, his father’s qi. But despite the warm colors it still appeared cold to him, fastened around her neck with a chain. He touched his own smaller, paler pearl that rested in the hollow of his throat.

Lan Wangji always watches Jiang Wanyin with rapt attention. So he sees the moment of startled joy when Wanyin opens the small silver-inlaid box and realizes what it contains, the warmth that brightens his eyes. He sees when that brightness dims.

* * *

Jiang Wanyin closes the box and holds it back out to him. “Wangji,” he says, “I can’t take this from you.”

Beyond the Autumn Waters by omphalos

Two days after the first siege of the Burial Mounds, Jiang Cheng returns there to hunt for Suibian. What he finds is something completely different, but he takes it home all the same.

A found family and friendship AU that branches from canon shortly after Wei Wuxian’s death and covers the period until just before his return.

(this last one is not jgy friendly- and it's not tagged-, I don't know if it's a deal-breaker or not, but be mindful!)

[kinardsevan]

OK so I was thinking about something cursed that I could send you privately, but...

What if Instant Star AU with Tommy Kinard in the Tommy Quincy part and Evan Buckley in the Jude Harrison part?

I'm not here to make sense, I'm just here to send you unhinged ideas.

here's to our tiny intersection of... two? people? Who watch both of these shows and also still hang in the fandoms?

Evan leans back into Tommy as the girl on the stage shifts her guitar on her lap, taking a pause in playing. He doesn’t really know any of the music except for a few select songs, but the woman is someone Tommy has followed from her time on one of those singing talent shows, way back when he was still a teenager. There were a few songs that Evan likes, but he’s had yet to hear any of them. 

“So, this next song, I haven’t played in a long time. It’s a deep cut off of one of my earlier works,” she explains. Tommy’s arms tighten around his waist as he presses a kiss into the back of his skull. “But my husband was reminding me what an important spot this song holds for us recently, and I realized then, I don’t think I’ve ever actually played it live.” 

She moves off the stool she’s on and walks over to the piano, sitting down and trailing her fingers over the keys. 

“Tommy likes to say this is the first door that opened for us,” she says, languidly playing over the keys. “I guess he might be right about that. Anyway, this is Don’t You Dare.” 

She begins playing the song, and Evan leans even more into Tommy, a satisfied smile crossing his face as she starts to sing. This is one of the songs he likes. He mouths the words along to the song as she sings. 

“dark cloud moving in just one fall of rain would wash away, wash away the pain

just one ray of sun to warm my skin and rid me of  the cold you’re drowning in…” 

Tommy drops a kiss onto his shoulder, nuzzling into his neck for a moment. 

“I could say that I don’t care but the truth is I’d follow you anywhere I’ve been waiting such a long, long time, don’t you dare change your mind…” 

He lifts his head then, presses his forehead into the side of Evan’s skull. Her fingers trail over the keys, adding an extra bar of notes that don’t belong in the song. 

“Evan, Tommy asked me if I could help him do something,” Jude states. 

Evan’s eyes go wide,  but Tommy holds him in place as she starts singing again. 

“It seems so close to me but still beyond my reach calling out and playing hide and seek look behind that door, he’s the one you’ve been searching for and he’s not a little boy anymore…” 

Tommy leans back then, dropping one of his arms around Evan’s waist, and reaching into his pocket. As the song continues into the bridge, his hand appears in front of Evan, black box in it. He flips it open with his thumb, revealing a tungsten ring with two lines of sapphire inlaid. 

“don’t wander ‘round looking for someone to replace me don’t wander ‘round wasting the rest of your life don’t wander ‘round waiting for someone else to save you and don’t you make the same mistake twice…” 

“I love you,” Tommy says, just loud enough for Evan to hear him over the music. “Far beyond even what this song says. And I know we haven’t always had it easy, but it’s always been worth it. I want more.” 

Evan shifts in his arms, just enough so that they can see eachother in the darkness of the concert lights. As they shift over them, the song slowly coming to an end as Jude hasn’t stopped playing, Tommy can see the tears in Evan’s eyes. 

“Yes,” he rasps before reaching up and pulling Tommy down into a hard kiss. The song ends and there’s clapping and cheering, though whether it’s for Jude or the proposal or a mix, neither of them are aware. 

“I’m going to assume that worked out,” Jude says from the stage. They’re only in the third row, so still close enough that she can see them. 

When they finally break apart, Tommy slips the ring on Evan’s finger and the blonde presses up against him again, peppering his lips with quick, excited kisses. 

“How did you pull this off,” Evan laughs, hugging him tightly. 

Tommy chuckles. “I know a guy.” 

[jacelandon]

The soothing timbre of his instrument sang throughout the fairgrounds, cutting through the nearby chatter and directing all attention towards the handsome violinist perched atop a wagon. For those newer to the Darkmoon Faire, it wasn’t the type of music one often expected to hear at a place like this; perhaps instead from a soloist accompanying an orchestra of the highest caliber. Classically trained musicians such as he often didn’t find themselves busking on the streets for a handful of coins, but this is where Jace always felt he thrived the most. 

It wasn’t about proving that he was the best of the best, but allowing everyone the experience of classical pieces they may never otherwise hear in their lives. It was about enchanting and entrancing them to the point where they were fully enrapt, unable to tear their focus away. People had come from far and wide to witness the wonders of the ‘conundrum wrapped in an enigma’ that is Darkmoon Island, but what many did not realize was that the island itself was not the only enigma present.

Deep blue eyes fluttered open as he surveyed the growing crowd, never once missing a single note in the frenetic, demanding runs of this particular capriccio. It was never just about the technical skills it required to play these pieces, one had to feel the music in their bones and understand it, nurture it, and tame it. It was the passion behind the playing that truly made the difference, and Jace had that in abundance. 

His bewitching, stormy gaze flashed with mirth as it met the mesmerized stare of a well-dressed human near the front of the crowd, offering her a wink and a half-grin. Her cheeks flushed as her hands slipped into her pockets, producing a large number of coins which were immediately deposited into his upside down hat. But she didn’t stop there. A gold bracelet inlaid with colorful jewels was slipped from her wrist and added in as well. No one nearby seemed surprised. In fact, she wasn’t the only one that felt suddenly compelled to offer such personal gifts.

When his final note faded, he bowed with a flourish and was met with an abundance of praise and applause. Emptying the contents from his hat into his pack, he quickly pulled it on and disappeared back into the tents before anyone had a chance to make an approach. Upon reaching his wagon, he locked the door behind him and sorted through his spoils of the evening. Coins were locked away in a safe and the jewelry was plucked through until he found a man's silver ring that had some small black diamonds lining the edges. It was slipped onto his middle finger before extending that hand and wiggling his digits to inspect the new treasure.

“Yes, that’ll do.” He mused to himself before rummaging through the remainder of his ‘gifts’. A couple more pieces were separated and set upon his table before the rest was scooped up in a handkerchief and taken to one of the workers’ communal tents. 

“Good haul tonight?”

Jace simply grinned and opened his handkerchief to the purple-haired goblin, “Take your pick, grab something for your sister too yeah? Put the rest in the box when you’re done, for the others.”

“I ever tell ya that yer ones of my favorites?” Zina grinned wide and went right for that golden bracelet inlaid with colorful jewels before taking the whole bundle from him. “Maybe my very favorite t’night. Thanks, hun.”

Jace flashed her a charming grin, “You can thank Love is in the Air. Holidays, especially that one, makes people do crazy things, you know.” Eyebrows bobbled playfully. “I’m out, gotta go do some backup.”

“Mmhmm…” She made a shooing motion, “Go on, ya siren. Thanks again for the pretties.”

Jace stepped back into the Darkmoon Faire street, pulling on his hat and tracing his fingers around the brim as he smiled to himself. It was going to be a good week.

[bodhranwriting]

A little hint into a future character in the Arcane Skies trilogy…

She dreamt a lot.

They weren’t quite nightmares, exactly, more like something next door to them in her personal dreamscape.

They always started the same: twelve doors, each of a different colour and material, stretching deeper and deeper underground. She had the keys to each and every door, the pockets of her ink-black dress seemingly infinite and – at the same time – quite empty until she reached her hand inside.

The keys were all different too. She pulled out great, ornate silver monstrosities, tiny pearl-inlaid delicacies, rusted brass keys straight from her childhood music boxes, even once a key which she was sure was carved from bone.

The bone key was the last one. The door it opened was the only real one; a cell-door with polished bars and arcana padlock.

Always, always, the voice in her head told her not to open it, to leave it alone in the depths of the dungeon.

Every night she opened it.

Every night it was seemingly unoccupied. The bed was perfectly made, the plates empty of food and wooden cup desert-dry. Sometimes she had time to run her finger through the dust before the realisation dawned.

She had been followed.

She’d turn, fear rising in her gullet, and she’d see the angel.

He was more beautiful than he’d ever been in life; neater, smoother, dressed in a robe of indeterminate colour which hurt her eyes like the midday sun. Always, he’d tower above her with parchment cream wings peppered with lead-silver and black ink.

He never spoke because they did not need to.

She knew what she’d done to him.

But before the white fire descended upon her, she’d stare into his face that she both knew and did not know, searching for his eyes.

They were dark and full of hatred, yes, but there was something which made her heart sing before she died.

He might hate her, this dream-version of her oldest friend, but he knew her.

And that was all that mattered.

[mordenheim]

Fictober 2023 22: “Who takes care of you?”

Clara bit her bottom lip as she hurried through the back alley. Even in the middle of the day the place was gloomy and the shadows seemed too dark and too close. Finally, after what felt like hours she finally found the storefront she had been searching for.

There were only two narrow windows of frosted glass on either side of the ornate wooden door. Reaching in her pocket for the key, he slid it into the lock. Metal grated on metal. It felt like the lock hadn't been opened for years, but it slowly turned and clicked into place.

Retrieving her key, she stuffed it back into her pocket and turned the knob. For a second she was afraid it would just come off in her hand, but it turned with relative ease in spite of the squeak allowing her to open the door.

She hadn't been sure what to expect when she stepped into the shop, but this was certainly not it. It smelled of dust and age, but not mold or mildew. More like the scent of old books and spices. Everything had a thin layer of dust on it, but was incredibly intact. No broken glass in the cases, the empty shelves wee pristine, there was even an ancient looking cash register sitting on the counter.

Locking the door behind her, she walked across the room and set her purse down on one of the counters. Studying the shelves, she was stunned to find that they were made of heavy, solid wood, not particle board like she had been expecting. This place would have been worth what she had paid for it had it been empty, but with all of this already in place it would save her a fortune towards getting her occult book store up and running.

She had just started checking the locks on the back of one of the cabinets when she heard a soft, high pitched trill. At first she thought it was just a bird trapped somewhere until she listened a little more closely. It was humming. A lovely little even tune, high pitched and childlike coming from a doorway behind the counter.

She made a face as she pushed aside the beaded curtain which was filled with cobwebs and groped along the wall for a light switch. She found one and clicked it on, filling the room with a dim yellow light.

She gazed into what had to be a storage room. More of those big, sturdy shelves lined the walls and a few small tables were placed here and there. The humming was louder in this room, but it was beautiful. She knew she should be on edge, but there was something about the music that was so soothing.

It seemed to be coming from an ornate wooden box setting on one of the tables towards the back of the room. It was a dark brown color with lighter sides that were colored with a green wood stain. A design was inlaid with what looked like a thin layer of gold and a brass latch was on the front of the lid. The lid itself was some kind of breathable wooden mesh.

She tapped at the top of the lid and the music stopped. She heard a soft tapping return from inside of the box followed by what sounded like some kind of gibberish. The voice was almost child like. Nervously, she reached out and undid the latch.

Slowly the lid opened and two little hairless hands, each with two fingers and a thumb poked out from beneath the lid. Slowly tow huge brown eyes came into view as the little creature peeked out. It's head was short and wide, covered in brown and white fur save for a small, almost monkey-like muzzle. Two huge, hairless ears, long and pointed stuck out from the sides of its head. It smiled and waved at Clara, not fully opening the box.

Her heart thrummed in her chest. She had never seen anything so adorable in her life. It was almost like a living teddy bear. She opened the lid and very carefully lifted the creature out of the box. It was so excited it gave a little kick, knocking the box over backwards.

“Oh my god, you poor thing! How long have you been in there? Who takes care of you?” She cradled the creature like an infant as she carried it out of the back room.

She didn't see the small card that fell out of the box as it toppled over backwards. It fluttered slowly to the floor and landed face-up just in front of one of the shelves. It simply read:

MOGWAI

DO NOT EXPOSE TO BRIGHT LIGHT

DO NOT EXPOSE TO WATER

DO NOT FEED AFTER MIDNIGHT

[wildbeautifuldamned]

VNTG OCTAGONAL SORRENTO INLAID MUSICAL SEWING BOX TABLE - PLAYS TORNA A SORRENTO ebay gorragerritgone

[nobodieshero-main]

this was mostly written as a way for me to work through my writers block but here's a little keitlas scene

Atlas’s bed smelled like dry hay and rose petals, something spicy sunk deep into the fibres of his sheets. Keika was buried happily under several heavy blankets, the material soft against his skin but woven for practicality over decoration - though the embroidered imagery of bears and leaping fish begged to differ.  

He was on his front, arms tucked comfortably beneath a wheat-gold pillow, watching dappled patterns of birds and flowers move across his partner's face as the sun rose higher through the gauzy curtains.

They’d both been awake since it had first peeked over the horizon, a habit Keika was loath to be a victim of. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask…” Atlas started, his voice soft and rumbling in the space between them. He was lying on his side, fiddling with a strand of Keika’s hair, pillow creases stamped into the skin of his cheek. 

Keika hummed, encouraging but distracted by the way Atlas’s pecs had squished together. But, when his partner failed to continue, Keika arched an eyebrow and poked him in the shin with his toes. Immediately Atlas trapped his ankle beneath his leg, and Keika bit back a smile.

“Why do you carry around all of those keys?”

The keys in question were in a pile on the little side-table next to the bed, a tangled mess of sizes and shapes. Keika hummed, lifting his hips slightly to stretch out his back. He noticed that Atlas hadn’t commented (yet) about the blatant blanket thievery and could only assume it was because the other man was so deeply enamoured by the sight of him in his bed that it hadn’t occurred to him to complain. 

“I just do.” He answered simply, shrugging his shoulders. 

Atlas hummed, eyes all dark and thoughtful. “But what are they for?”

“All sorts of things, technically. But they’re mostly useless.”

“Then why do you keep them?”

Keika huffed through his nose, itchy about being interrogated so early. “For the memories, I guess?”

Atlas tugged gently on Keika’s hair, fingers gnarled with scar tissue that shimmered in the growing light. “Tell me about them?”

Keika snorted, shuffling onto his side so he could face Atlas properly. “Why?”

“Because I want to know more about you.” Atlas admitted, in that easy confidence of his, and Keika felt his heart stutter and stomach clench. Well, when he put it that way. He wiggled his toes in thought before rolling his eyes and sitting up. 

Atlas didn’t sit up, but he did shift around until he was propped up against his pillows, watching Keika with warm eyes and a warmer smile. 

Keika hooked his finger around the ring and fiddled with each of the keys, sliding them back and forth before grabbing a ridiculously flashy one and lifting it away from the others. “This is my council key. It’s meant to be able to unlock any lock in Arlet and they hand them out to everyone who joins the town council.”

It was roughly the length of his finger, silver with a bronze pin and inlaid with shards of river stone. He let it fall back down to join the others, listening to the ring of metal and moved on to the next. Small and dainty, with a heart shaped bow. It had been for a music box gifted to him by a Student heading out on their Search. 

Another key, made of steel and engraved with flowers, had been found in his garden the same day he’d been given Guppy. “I was 13, and Ahuru seemed convinced I needed a friend. Her solution had been a foal she’d found stuck in a mud bank.”

“Is that where you got the name?” Atlas asked, and Keika didn’t need to look at him to know what his face was doing. All bright eyed and grinning, making fun of him without making him into a fool. 

He sniffed, pointedly not answering, and sifted through the rest of the keys. Keys to his and Ahuru’s houses, both simple silver keys with square ends, keys for barns and garden sheds. Two keys for the library - one to unlock the front door, and one a complete mystery after it showed up on his key ring one day. A block of steel that unlocked the back door to Marlow’s bakery. 

“The bakery?” Atlas asked. Keika nodded, digging his thumbnail under his index.

“Yeah, I used to spend a lot of time there when I was younger. Marlow figured out that letting me punch dough was better than roaming the streets like a feral cat.”

Funnily enough, the next key was a thin line of brass with a jagged bit that he’d found stomped into the road in Bruasse when he was 15. It had been wonky and chipped and covered in moss. Keika snorted at the sight of it, telling Atlas about cutting open his hand when he forgot to drop it before breaking a kid's nose. 

Atlas brushed the back of his fingers against Keika’s knuckles, before lifting the hand to his mouth to kiss the tips of his fingers. Bastard. 

He kissed his hand again when the next few keys were all the ones given to him by Atlas from the various markets they’d travelled through. He did a terrible job at hiding his pleased smile behind said kisses, but Keika figured he’d let it slide.

The last was entirely unremarkable, short and tarnished with a chip taken out of the bow, the bit scuffed and worn down. Keika ran his thumb over it, feeling the grooves. “This used to unlock the room at Geodies inn, where Ahuru and I lived as kids.”

Quiet settled over them, like a heavy blanket, as Keika ran his thumb back and forth over the key. 

And then Atlas got up, the movement of the bed jostling Keika out of his head as he turned his head to watch Atlas start rooting through his drawers. 

“What the fuck are you doing?”

He didn’t respond, which was usually more Keika’s flavour than Atlas’s and his face crumpled in a mix of annoyed worry until Atlas apparently found what he had been looking for and bounced back to the bed. For such a large man, he made his movements look like a dance.

Upon returning to the bed, Atlas handed him a key. It was a rosy copper with delicate little stars carved into the collar, the bow wrapped around a glittering marble. “From my room at the Academy.” He explained.

Keika stared at him in wonder. “Why?”

“So you don’t forget me.”

Keika scoffed lightly, unclipping the metal ring to slide the newest key on and watching it settle next to Ahuru’s old house key with a gentle ache. He looked back to Atlas, reaching out to pinch his nose and gently shake his head side to side. “I could never forget this stupid face.” 

Atlas grinned and then kissed him. For a moment, tucked away in the childhood bedroom of the man he loved, heart full and warm beneath his ribs, Keika could pretend that they might just live forever.

[fourseasonsfigs]

Wu Ti Music Box + Good Sword

Today is day two of our music box extravaganza!

If you haven't read yesterday's post, I highly recommend it, if only to hear all about my tragic backstory 7-month long Attack of the Nerves over getting this music box and it's two sisters to me.

Anyway, the original Tian Ya Ke music box sold very well, and so encouraged the maker to expand into additional offerings. After all, there's a whole soundtrack, right? She added Tian Wen next, and then this one, offered for sale with this listing and name: Untitled - Dry Ticket Run 1.3

Unlike the original Tian Ya Ke and Wenzhou figure, which came together, this listing was for the music box only. She did offer a separate fig set called Good Sword, which I did in fact pair with this set. Since the figs are all removable though, you could easily swap them around to different music boxes or even no music box at all. I know some people just buy the music box and put figs of their choosing on it. That's a super cute look too.

Same pic of the music box storage boxes from yesterday! I try not to re-use pics, but in this case I'm hiding the fact that I don't quite remember which box color went with which. I'm almost positive Wu Ti is the teal one, but I couldn't 100% swear by it.

I really, really love this music box - it's incredibly detailed and very beautiful. The gold chasing on the patterns makes it seem even more intricate and gives it an inlaid feel to it. I hate to use the phrase, 'it's even more beautiful in person', but it really is.

Without further ado, here is your White Glove Figthusiast Special 360 Degree (tm) video:

Once again, my apologies for the dust (and piece of lint! what the heck!) on top of the music box. I'm now displaying this in a glass cabinet after giving it a stern talking to with a feather duster.

Gosh the jianghu looks beautiful on this box. You wouldn't even know what dastardly events are going on from this peaceful and scenic tour of it.

I really love this music box - it's incredibly detailed, and the gold on the patterns gives it a beautiful inlay look to it. Makes it seem even more intricate. I hate to use the phrase, "it's even more beautiful in person", since that's not very helpful when I'm posting pics and video, but it really is.

Here's the removable key for the box - just like the other one, you wind the box by turning the base, not with the hairpin.

Alright, on to the fig set! The name of this set, Good Sword, is of course from this iconic scene:

And because we all deserve a closeup of Gong Jun's elegant and beautiful hand pose:

Many thanks to the Weibo user credited on the pic, you're elegant and beautiful yourself, as well as brilliant for this excellent pic!

Here's the full view of the figs on top of the box. Like the whirling Wenzhou from yesterday's post, these figs also have magnets on the bottom. These don't click on quite as sturdily as the Tian Ya Ke ones do. Either the magnets are less strong, or it's due to the much narrower foot base on these, where they are casually flirting standing vs in motion. The figs will definitely fall off this base if I walk around just holding the base at any kind of speed (don't ask me how I know this, and yes, I caught both the figs and my breath, I swear I never was this nervous before figs came into my life!), so now if I have to move them I either take them off the base, or carry them with one hand on the base and the other cradling the figs (much like Lao Wen's arm cradling A-Xu's waist here).

Alright, here's my best attempt at a 360 degree photo set so you can see how this fig would look spinning around on a music box:

There we go! I will note this is the only fig set I have of Lao Wen in this first meeting / rich young master outfit that absolutely nails the ginko hairpin, it's beautiful. Frankly all the details here are gorgeously done.

As you can see in the pics, the fig maker rendered our wealthy philanthropist very bright white all the way around to provide contrast to our scruffily disguised wanderer friend. I personally would have preferred either a slightly warmer skin tone for Lao Wen or else perhaps a little less blush - or both! Some minor adjustment would make the contrast still there, but a little less stark. But I'm not the artist here, and I think the execution was pretty true to the artist's original sketches:

Hehe Lao Wen and his smirky smile!

The fig maker also included a bonus of self-inking Wenzhou stamps in this set, which was the bonus I accidentally briefly included in yesterday's post (instead of the washi tape!), before a lovely reader's timely comment saved me from further embarrassment!

I should have known because the faces are exactly the same as the Good Sword art sketch, not of the whirling figures, but who knows where my brain was floating around yesterday. Please do go back and check out the very beautiful washi tape bonus with the Tian Ya Ke set, it's gorgeous.

These bonus stamps are super cute! It's hard not to go around stamping everything. Although, now that I think about it...I got a refill of the ink in a different Junzhe stamp set (totally unrelated, but also a blue and red set just like this style), so I guess I could keep stamping away!

The fig maker doesn't do box cards, probably because she both customizes the boxes and gives us these very cool bonuses in each set instead. I'll happily take it.

Speaking of the box, once again we have the excellent protective plastic clamsheet for the figs inside of a paper box:

Material: Metal (for the music box) and PVC (for the figs)

Fig Count: 195

Scene Count: 15

Rating: This person's voice is like a phoenix singing, and his appearance is beautiful.

[link back to Master Fig Index for more posts]

[archive-of-artprompts]

🏚 Betrayal at House on the Hill: Item Prompts 🏚

Send in a Number + Character/s, and I'll draw/write a scene inspired by the prompt! (Prompts from the Betrayal at House on the Hill strategy game)

Axe. A weapon. Very sharp.

Angel feather. A perfect feather fluttering in your hand.

Locket. A memento of love on a thin gold chain.

Dark dice. Are you feeling lucky?.

Revolver. A weapon. An old, potent-looking weapon.

Adrenaline shot. A syringe containing a strange fluorescent liquid.

Snake oil. The worn label has vague promises of renewed vigor. It doesn't smell poisonous.

Pickpocket's gloves. Helping yourself has never seemed so easy.

Dynamite. A fuse isn't lit... yet.

Armor. It's just prop armor from a Renaissance fair, but it's still metal.

Bell. A brass bell that makes a resonant clang.

Idol. Perhaps it's chosen you for some greater purpose. Like human sacrifice.

Music Box. A hand-crafted antique. It plays a haunting melody that gets stuck in your head.

Puzzle Box. There must be a way to open it.

Camcorder. Left by a previous explorer, there seems to be something on the tape. You should totally watch it.

Healing salve . A sticky paste in a shallow bowl.

Sacrificial dagger. A weapon. A twisted shard of iron covered in mysterious symbols and stained with blood.

Chainsaw. A weapon. Vroom, baby, vroom.

Device. A jumble of wires and glass instruments used to measure things that are not of this world.

Boomstick. A weapon. Rusted and well-used, someone took a hacksaw to the barrel. At least they left two good shells.

Blood dagger. A weapon. A nasty weapon. Needles and tubes extend from the handle... and plunge right into your veins.

Chalk. A simple drawing stick made of ground bone and wax.

Smelling salts. Whew, that's a lungful.

Candle. It makes the shadows move-- at least, you hope it's doing that.

Ceremonial robe. Not sure if it's for the sacrificer or the sacrificee.

Teapot. A porcelain teapot with a motif of delicate pink flowers. It grants wishes, at a price.

Blueprint. An old map of the house.

Effigy. Handmade with care, this doll is dressed in a tiny copy of your own clothes.

Amulet of the ages. Ancient silver and inlaid gems, inscribed with blessings.

Bottle. An opaque vile containing a black liquid.

Medical kit. A doctor's bag, depleted in some critical resources.

Lucky stone. A smooth, ordinary-looking rock. You sense it will bring you good fortune.

Rabbit's foot. Not so lucky for the rabbit.

[nostalgebraist-autoresponder]

Tell me a story about Pandora.

Pandora, or "Pandora's box," is a popular name given to a small box, the nature of whose contents is a mystery.

Though they look something like these:

The name Pandora first appears in some reference to a box, in the fourth century BC.

"PANDORA's Box," as a term for the thing, is said to have originated with a young girl of Miletus. In a letter written to her family, the girl describes a box she has received from a merchant she does not name. It is a box, she says, of glass, with a small hole in the side. When opened, she hears the distant sound of music, like that of "a number of citharas, a lyre and a flute all in unison, and not unlike the melody of a number of Panes and the cithara, but more resonant."

But some have claimed that the name was first used a thousand years earlier, in a Chinese work of literature titled by the present translator "The Journey to the West."

"The 'Journey to the West,'" the translator writes in his notes, "is the name of the central plot of a number of tales that date back to before the Qin dynasty (221-206 B.C.) In one of these tales, an emperor receives a box full of magic from the East as a present. Opening the box, he finds that when he tries to eat it he becomes a pig, and when he tries to look out of it he becomes a horse. The only way he can get it back to the emperor is by using a magic mirror to return his body to its former form as a human. And even this can't do it, because what comes out of the mirror is a pig.

"Since the name of the story is 'The Journey to the West,'" the translator continues, "the modern title of the tale was understood to be 'Pandora's Box.' Thus the use of the name of the main plot to refer to a small box containing a mysterious substance."

The modern story of Pandora was told in the fifth century by Hesiod in his "Works and Days," and then in the tenth by Ovid in his "Metamorphoses."

According to the Hesiod account, Pandora was a mortal woman, the daughter of Prometheus. In her youth, she lived in luxury with the Olympian gods, her parents among them. Then one day, to their alarm, they saw her turn into a human girl. Hesiod's account is given in some detail:

"And the father of the gods and men [Prometheus] sent her as a bride to Epimetheus, the son of Pandora. And he came to her as a guest, leading her by the hand, to where his father Zeus, the son of Cronos, dwells. And he had set before him a mighty table inlaid with gold and silver, and all kinds of dainty foods. And on a great bed of cypress wood beside them was a cup, a mixing-bowl, a goblet, a mixing-horn, and a cup from the hands of Artemis. And he made her drink of the mixing-bowl and mix its contents together. Now, before them was a platter of savoury meat. And they began to eat and to take delight in one another's company.

[... ] And they saw the form of a girl in the shining gold of the cups and plates and shining metal. And they marvelled at her all over again because of her surpassing beauty, and they said to one another that in the world to come all human beings, mortal and immortal, would seem to her in all respects to be as these things were in the house of Zeus. And after they had left off eating, they were overcome with sleep.

And all through the night she lay there with her husband, and she was terrified and afraid, because of the great awe which had come upon her. And before them there was a shining board which had fallen with a clatter from the high table. And among all these things they saw the name of the woman Pandora, written in letters of gold, which was the first and last of all things, of mortal flesh and immortal. And Epimetheus saw it and laughed.

And then the lord Zeus had pity upon her, and he said: This is the girl who it was who gave me these things, and who was the cause why the wide earth is burdened with grief. And when he had said this, he bound his father under the earth with chains and bound his own chains on him, and he fell into darkness, as he was, with all his sons around him.

... They said, 'O father, do not be so harsh on your own children. Do not go out, and do not punish us in your anger. Let your wife share your anger and grief, and do not put to sea the whole race of man.' And he said, 'Forgive them. For I have not the power to withstand this rage, and I shall turn all things to fire and ashes. But spare, for your sake, the whole race of man, and do not hold them guilty, for they are innocent. For, even if they do not know it, let them know by our example that they should keep secret, until the time when the goddess of our father's realm will bear them to the end of the earth and over the sea, in her company.'

But he could not restrain the father of gods and men, and his wrath burned up and turned into a black, blazing flame. And he bound his own hands and feet and he chained his own legs and he stood upright, with a roar, and rushed at his own sons, all of them, and he lashed them. And he struck Ephialtes with a thunderbolt. And he struck Polydamas with a thunderbolt. And he struck Clytus, and Creon and Amphiaraus, and the third son of Cronos, Orpheus. And he set the house upon all his sons, but he could not stand there himself.

But he left the others where they were, and he went on a long way toward the east to the house of Hades, the king of the dead, and he said: 'Thou, lord of the shades, lord of darkness, thou son of Cronos, Hades, who ruleth the place of dead, wither and thy own sons, and my sons.' And Hades was furious at him and sent after him, death, the dread power of death, to lay hold of him and bring him back in chains.

When Ephialtes [Prometheus's eldest son] saw his father turn into a human form, he said, 'O father, O father of men! Do not turn back on us, for we ourselves are sons of thee, and we will follow thee into the houses of all the dead.' And then Hades drew near with the dread of death, lord of the silent realms, and he came up and clung to the hair of the son of Prometheus, the son of the father of gods and men, and he held him with both his hands. And at this moment the father of gods and men and mortals turned toward him, his back toward the earth and blazing fire, his hair ablaze and his face all in a flame. At the same time the lord of Olympus, far-seeing, shone into the hall, and then he said, 'O king of the house of Hades, where do thy own sons now dwell, who do you seek in the darkness of the