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#the great sacred treasure
dapper-lil-arts · 1 year
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DAMN!! NOW THIS IS A TRIAL!!! Happy birthday to Kid icarus uprising, one of my favorite games! Here's to my favorite boss fight in the game, the Great Sacred Treasure -v-
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fantajoseph · 11 months
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Although honestly I do like the idea that Pit would have to retrieve the Lightning Chariot, because in my head, it's one of the new Sacred Treasures.
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tanuki-kimono · 9 months
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Magatama beads collection, great chart put together by author Hasihaniii. Those beads are probably familiar to all Tears of the Kindom players or Inuyasha fans ;)
Those comma shaped beads where used in prehistoric Japan, from Jômon to Yayoi and Kofun periods.
Nobody knows exactly what they were supposed to represent (a fang? a fetus? the moon? something else entirely?). We're simply certain that overtime, they became ritual objects - important enough that one is part of the 3 sacred treasures of Imperial Japan.
I wont translate the chart as it mainly details the shapes, periods, and locations where those artefacts where found :) It's great to see all the different shapes different places/eras came up with. I am especially partial to the weirdly-adorable-animal-looking Komochimagatama 子持勾玉!
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broomsick · 17 days
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Nine unique ways to reconnect with nature
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Why nine? Because it's the sacred number of my path. In my experience, for people like us who need a certain amount of spiritual practice in their lives, feeling close to nature does wonders for the mood. And I know this is easier said than done, which is why I wanted to share a few personal tips, all related to some extent to self care. After all, I feel like we underestimate the tight link between mental health and this feeling of “closeness” with the earth.
Find the sacred in plants, or animals you've always been drawn to. How can you explain this particular connection you feel? Your intuition often reveals truth.
Collect what you see, and don't be afraid to hoard trinkets like treasure. Cool rock, cool stick, cute acorn, fragrant flower, fallen branch... Whatever tickles your fancy.
Go out of your way to enjoy what every season has to offer. Garden in the summer, or chill at the park, carve a pumpkin during the autumn, make hot cocoa during the winter... Find ways to be cozy in every weather!
Look out the window. Do it as often as you can. Look at the sky, observe how windy it is, how bright the sun is, how thick the clouds are!
Give names to the natural elements around you. Simply calling a tree, plant or animal by the name of its species does the trick: names are powerful, and they show that you acknowledge the spirit that resides in everything that lives.
Learn the stories, as many as you can. Anything folklore related to your area! Folklore hides a great deal of generational wisdom and beliefs, and it reveals such a powerful connection between the people and the land.
Cook with fresh ingredients. No need to grow your own everything, or raise your own chickens, or adopt other such backyard farming activities. Simply by making meals out of fresh, local products as often as you can, you might feel as one with the land thanks to which you are fed.
Stop feeling silly when indulging in aesthetics. Make that Pinterest board filled with pictures of flowers! Listen to that song that makes you feel like a woodland fairy! Put on that long, flowy skirt, or that cardigan with knit mushrooms on it! Through these seemingly trivial little joys, we may experience a connection with ourselves that's crucial to feeling close to our mother earth.
Use your hands: craft artsy projects if you can, dig your fingers in the earth, and brush the bark of trees! You body is your best tool when it comes to feeling grounded. It's always the part of yourself that's closest to earth. To use it is to honor it, and to care for it is to care for yourself.
If you reside in the Northern hemisphere, have a great spring season! Hail the King of the Elves and the spirits of the land 💛
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comicaurora · 7 months
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Slowly making my way through the TOTK B roll stream, had a few thoughts on the emptiness of the sky islands. In a way, would it not be more surprising if there were more remains to be seen? Ignoring the whole 'it's a game, decisions were made by the developers' bit, nature can take over surprisingly quickly in the right circumstances. In a way, it's more surprising so much survived in BOTW (like the bomb hut ruins. Fire damaged wood? Should be gone in a decade or two anyway). (contd)
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So the thing about the Sky Islands in Tears of the Kingdom is that, not only are the ruins fairly well-preserved - presumably due to having been in the Sacred Realm for the last 10,000+ years - but even with them damaged and tumbledown, it's fairly clear from the layout of the islands and their structures that they were not residences. That's not something that would've been lost to erosion and time, that's something foundational to the architecture of the place.
When the game designers want to show a place people live on the surface of Hyrule, they hit a few key points: distinct-looking homes with beds, places that make food, and an inn for travelers. The buildings are different sizes, decorated or personalized by the residents. They're laid out relative to one another in a way that allows for easy, convenient traversal. It's intentional design that makes the villages feel lived-in, cozy, and worth protecting.
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Inside the buildings, little details show the presence of living people, even if the building is empty at the time. Table settings, notebooks, pictures on the walls. They feel like they've been shaped by the influence of people, living and working and customizing their environment.
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These are all, to be fair, things that we wouldn't expect to last very long if the town fell to ruin. When we explore the sky islands, we aren't expecting to find well-preserved paper maps or notebooks or anything. But if they were lived-in - if they were Zonai population centers rather than temples, ritual centers and factories - that would still be reflected in the basic layout of the structure itself. A residence is designed to accommodate for every basic need, meaning we'd expect the buildings to have places for them to sleep, to eat, and to relax. On the Sky Islands, we find none of these things.
The most common buildings on the sky islands are these isolated stone one-room ruins. They look and feel like storehouses - a few pots, some crumbled masonry. No doors or interior rooms for privacy, no comforts, no sign of a place to sleep, no adjoining buildings. These things were never homes.
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The Great Sky Island is the only really plausible candidate for a place the Zonai might've actually lived, being about town-sized with several buildings, but it's not laid out like one. The buildings are either small one-room storage sheds or the massive Temple of Time, and there's no sign of other specialized buildings that could have been used for things like food, rest or other necessities. The Great Sky Island feels like a large, beautiful public park built grafted onto the Temple of Time.
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The larger dungeons are more internally complicated, but not in the way that residences are complicated. The water dungeon looks like some kind of huge open park - wide avenues, plazas, devices built for mobility. It feels like a place meant to be traversed and admired, not stayed in.
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The wind dungeon is more clearly built as a weapon platform, nowhere we expect people to live. It makes sense that it feels sterile and lifeless.
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The larger, more complicated sky islands are also designed for clear utility. The spheres are some sort of celestial observatories, featuring a control system, a treasure chest, and nothing else.
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Wildcards like Lightcast Island were clearly built to serve a single purpose - in this case, a lighthouse and attached microdungeon - but contain no signs of life. Zonai came here for a reason, but they didn't stay.
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The glide challenge islands are visually impressive, but ultimately the rings are empty - they don't even have structures on them. They exist for the dive challenge and nothing else.
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Same deal with the labyrinths, which exist explicitly as puzzles and challenges.
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The mines in the depths are also clearly structured for utility - storerooms, construct part repositories and a lot of conveyer belts for moving zoanite. The purpose of the building is very clear just from the layout, and these are not places where anyone was supposed to be staying outside of work hours.
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This, along with the layout of towns on the surface, shows that the designers are very good at constructing architecture that reflects the in-story utility of a place, which means the lack of signs of life in the sky islands is not a limitation of the console or the imagination of the artists - it's an intentional design choice.
The end result of all of this? The Sky Islands feel like somewhere that the Zonai built and visited, but not where they lived. They feel cold and unwelcoming and liminal. There's no sense of loss or tragedy, just a feeling of emptiness - people used to come here, but they don't anymore. There's none of the poignancy of an empty dining table's unused place settings or an abandoned child's toy. None of the Sky Islands that descended during the Upheaval were places where the Zonai lived. At the peak of their power they were mistaken for gods, a massively thriving technologically advanced civilization - I'd expect their homes to be cities, towers of jade and marble bustling with the activity of a post-scarcity utopia. None of the Sky Islands show us anything like that, and given how well the designers can portray a lived-in place even without any people in it, this is assuredly intentional. The Zonai built and visited and used the Sky Islands we can explore, but as a whole they lived somewhere else.
But throughout it all, there's this pervading unease - the fact that there's no obvious tragedy makes the sky islands feel more unnerving. We know just enough of the story to infer that something happened to the Zonai - something bad, if we read into Rauru and Mineru's reaction - but whatever it was left no scars. The Zonai constructs don't even realize anything's amiss. The buildings have been damaged only by time and gravity; the forges and mines and observatories and temples are silent and abandoned, like the Zonai all went home one night for dinner and just never came back.
The Sky Islands don't feel dead, they feel lifeless. A place people passed through but didn't leave their mark on. When Link traverses the islands, he isn't just alone - he doesn't even have the comfort of signs of life. The only evidence he has that anyone ever came to these islands are the fact that somebody built them in the first place. They left no marks, no art, no notes, no diaries, no toys, no graffiti. They're just gone.
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casper-spills · 5 months
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✧ ℌ𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔬𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔖𝔭𝔢𝔠𝔦𝔞𝔩: 𝔚𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔡 𝔬𝔣 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔠𝔥 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲? ✧
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01. Green witch
The Green Witch embraces nature by drawing on the energies from the earth and of untamed things. They commune with the land, with stones and gems and they reley on plants, flowers and herbs. They call to nature for guidance and respects every living being and they have a strong belief that humans must give back to world and protect it. They tend to be animal/environmental activists and they will go the extra mile to spread awareness.
The Green Witch makes their own ritual tools from found objects in nature and they make sure these are ethically sourced materials. They might also work with Animal Guides and Plant Spirits. The forest is the Green Witch's sacred temple and they often spend time hiking or visiting parks and gardens.
Books I recommend:
The Green Witch ~ Arin Murphy-Hiscock
Encyclopaedia of Magical Herbs ~ Scott Cunningham
Occult Botany ~ Paul Sedir
The Treadwell's Book of Plant Magic ~ Christina Oakley Harrington
Wortcunning ~ Nigel G. Pearson
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02. Crystal Witch
Crystal Witches focus their magick on healing and manifesting. Crystals are known for their healing energies due to their ability to raise one's own vibration. Crystals emit this constant vibration, that when met with a lower vibration, has the ability to raise, in turn, providing healing qualities through an energetic level, which can therefore fast track our own physical healing.
Crystal Witches may also be drawn to rocks and stones alike and generally appreciate the gift of nature. They may also be attracted to the study of geology and often work with chakras/practice chakra meditation.
Books I recommend:
The Power of Crystal Healing ~ Emma Lucy Knowles
The Zenned Out Guide to Understanding Crystals ~ Cassie Uhl
The Crystal Workshop ~ Azalea Lee
Crystals for Witches ~ Eliza Mabelle
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03. Kitchen Witch
The Kitchen Witch’s potion is a soup and they’re magical wand is a trusty wooden spoon. Cooking becomes a sacred art for the Kitchen Witch. A Kitchen Witch may not often dedicate a specific time and resources to ceremony, instead they work intuitively rather than ritually to find the magic in everyday life.
Kitchen Witches personalise their space with great intention and care. They instantly know when a space resonates with them or not. They often cook with whole, organic foods and they may also grow their own food. They also tend to enchant ingrediants before using them in a dish and they might sometimes make dishes to treat illnesses.
Books I recommend:
Potions, Elixirs & Brews ~ Anais Alexandre
The Wicca Cookbook ~ Jamie Wood & Tara Seefeldt
Wicca in the Kitchen ~ Scott Cunningham
The Magick of Food ~ Gwion Raven
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`04. Sea Witch
A sea witch is a practitioner of witchcraft whose spiritual focus and magical practices are closely tied to the sea and its elements. They use the potent energy of the ocean as a force to drive spellcraft, cleanse the soul and renew the spirit. Sea Witches forge a deep bond with the sea and its inhabitants, working with its energy to manifest their intentions and achieve their goals.
Sea Witches are naturally sensitive and empathetic. The ocean is their sacred space and often times they might live near the ocean or are very drawn to it. They are also very drawn to stroms and enjoy the rain. They might study oceanic mythology and sea animals. They also often collect seashells, pebbles or other beach treasures and may use them in their craft.
Books I recommend:
Sea Witch's Companion ~ Levannah Morgan
Sea Magic ~ Sandra Kynes
Water Witchcraft ~ Annwyn Avalon
Mermaids ~ Skye Alexander
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05. Divination Witch
The Divination Witch focuses primarily on divination practices such as tarot & oracle, pendulum, scrying, runes, tea leaf reading, meditation, and connecting to your inner guides/higher being. To them, it’s most important to incorporate these divination practices to their everyday life, or at least in ceremonial rituals.
A Divination Witch may draw power from the earthly elements, mediation, or with the help of seasonal changes that open portals and lower the veil between the physical and spiritual worlds. For those highly in-tuned with their intuition, have the ability to hear, see, or sense what others can’t, find themselves as an empath, and have the uncanny ability to predict the future.
Books I recommend:
The Book of Divination ~ Michael Johnstone
I Ching or Book of Changes ~ C.G. Jung & Richard Wilhelm
Tarot Card Meanings ~ Brigit Esselmont
Chakra Healing ~ Margarita Alcantara
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06. Lunar/Cosmic Witch
A Lunar Witch has a fascination and connection with the skies, stars, moon and planets are unparalleled. With the fundamental belief that what happens above in the cosmos is a direct correlation to what happens on Earth, Cosmic Witches focus their study on astrological transits, moon phases, and intertwining that with their own natal birth charts. A strong belief is that as we are born, we are given a blueprint, a snapshot of the skies, that presents past, present and future forecasts of not only ourselves as an individual, but as a collective, sometimes generational viewpoint too.
They draw their power from the Moon and perform certain spells and rituals depending on the phase of the moon.
Books I recommend:
Moon Magic ~ Aurora Kane
Moon Spells ~ Diane Ahlquist
Moon Magic ~ Diane Ahlquist
Witchs Moon ~ Edain McCoy
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✧ 𝔗𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔨𝔰 𝔣𝔬𝔯 100 𝔣𝔬𝔩𝔩𝔬𝔴𝔢𝔯𝔰! ℌ𝔞𝔭𝔭𝔶 ℌ𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔬𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔫! ✧
Special thanks to @rainychibikko @googiekook @attymi @miraclekay97 @julyourwitch @honeytarotmind @honnuey @notakitsune @mercurialstime @artscapismsworld
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lovelykhaleesiii · 5 months
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The Wolf & the Stray Girl. Chapter #1 The Grieving.
PAIRING: Werewolf!Aegon ii Targaryen x fem!Reader [Little Red Riding Hood AU]
WORDS: 1942.
SUMMARY: Nestled in the outskirts of a desolate village, it was known that the woods were a dark, fearsome place not to be ventured. Yet something enchanting lived amongst its shadows, you were certain. And some may call it your bold willingness or others, your naive curiosity, would ultimately uncover the truth.
WARNINGS: mentions of stalker tendencies, mentions of murder/intrusion.
A/N - apologies for the long wait, I took some time away from writing. I sometimes feel my place in this fandom is non-existent. I realise now, that it does not matter. I came here to write for characters I love... that is what I intend to do. thank you for your patience, to those that continue to support me x
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The long, treacherous road that laid ahead of you, the further you would venture into the dark, enchanted woods was not one to be taken lightly. Although, far from harm's way so long as you remained stagnant in your pathway: not befallen to whatever temptations lurked in the shadows beyond the winding, cobblestoned thoroughfare. Your final destination was intended to be a quick visit to your beloved grandmother, with the hopeful, pleasant exchange of goods. Her cinnamon cookies were divine, especially when and almost always freshly baked.
Despite having travelled this familiar road many times before, both with the thorough guidance of your father and your now presumed late elder sister, it never ceased to feel eerie. A nauseating sensation in the deepest pit of your stomach would always churn and writhe with suspicions that curious, watchful eyes lingered over your every move, your every trail. A terrible suspicion that some of these eyes intended to harm you.
The harrowing, cold tone of your father’s stern words had been etched into your malleable mind, like a carving in stone.
“Stay on that path, girl… Or we have lost you already.”
Your father had grown much old and weary of late, since your elder sister had been declared missing. He scouted relentlessly day and night himself, into the woods. Only to return empty handed, with proof of his exhausting endeavours saturated across his seldom face. His eyes once so lively that gleamed bright with joy: a man that could once smile with his eyes, now only distraught with the strained look of grief and despair.
It took you countless attempts to persuade him otherwise, to allow you to venture the journey yourself, until he finally agreed, although with great reluctance. He knew you were much more diligent and obedient than your elder, always adhering to orders without the temptation to cross a boundary. Your father trusted you, however he did not trust whatever creatures laid abed in the lush dark green canopy of the woods.
“Stay on the path, Y/N, my dearest… Or else I cannot bear to live a life where I lose you too.”
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The luminescent indigo pigment of the petals had immediately caught your attention. Your active eyes would wander with marvel, fleeting from the defined path that laid ahead, to beyond the stretch of woods.
"Ocean tears" You breathlessly whisper, your eyelids widening with intrigue as you lust over the rare sight. Ocean Tears were a sacred commodity to come by so naturally: used for medicinal and curative remedies, your mind immediately soared to the sickly, malnourished state of your father. The toll of his insomnia, poor appetite and overall dejected state had been taxing to his health, since the disappearance of your sister. He was not the once formidable, strong man he had once been in the previous years...
The treasure itself was only a few short paces off the pathway itself. Your mind began to scatter, trying to outweigh the risks against the pros. Despite wearingly trying to convince yourself to stay on path, desperate to strain every brain fibre to obligate your body to adhere to your father's wishes, you unconsciously felt your body pacing forward, reaching the very edge of the elevated path. Your eyes darted from each side of the vast forest vicinity: delicately scanning every inch, crevice and shadow of the engulfing green and wooden shrubbery [with the Ocean Tears being the only source of colour in the portrait].
"Forgive me, Father," You utter beneath your breath, before taking a careful leap forwards. Now both feet firmly planted on the soft, soiled grown, the earth beneath felt somewhat alleviating. Having spent a few solid hours, with nothing but the rigid, uneven rocky stones beneath your feet, walking uphill and down, this mundane sensation was a relief like no other.
Only a few seconds had need passing, as you slowly began to regain your instinctual senses, realising the daunting extremity of your decision. Without wanting to spare precious seconds more, you hastily pace forward towards the vibrant flower, basking in the alluring scent, as you push aside the straightened flaps of your crimson red hooded cape. Delicately you begin to pluck at the petals, one fallen strand landing into the base of your woven, wooden basket.
Disciplined in your actions, your once whole and lively senses had once again melt away, unaware of a figure creeping up from the shadows.
"It seems someone has lost their way from the path..."
The unthreatening tone was low and husky, and yet its sudden volume shattering the vast, swallowing silence was frightful: dire enough to freeze your entire being in time.
Your fearful eyes met the immediate, still gaze of the strange man: a handsome, ethereal looking one, nonetheless. With moonlight tinged hair, short, silver strands almost blinding in the radiating beams of sunlight, his unfaltering lilac orbs were encapsulating. Conflicted to stare, yet unable to maintain constant contact. Although there was some distance between you both, you could tell he was a few, solid inches taller than yourself, his physicality sturdy, and robust appearing. There was no doubt, if he caught you in his midst, it would be meaningless to fight agains him. He practically oozed might. Although his facial features softened, almost angelic like, the healed yet evident scars slashed across his pale skin, made him look rugged: proof that he was no stranger to brute savagery.
He took a cautious, slow step forward, almost hesitant to, yet determined. In rhythm, you took a step back instinctually, causing him to take no further step closer.
"I wish not to harm you, I only wish to speak to you."
Although the nerves rattled you, his tempting words had somewhat puzzled you.
Who was this stranger? Had he been watching you from afar this entire time? Why the desire to speak?
"And why would I do that? Do you think of me as some naive prey? You are nothing but a stranger to me, what makes you think I will take your word?"
His endearing glare remained fixated on you this entirety, although you struggled to reciprocate, its enticing nature was captivating. His stout chest heaving generously, before exhaling a defeated sigh.
"You have no reason to trust me, Y/N... Although I have been watching you from the distance, since the moment you departed. I know where you sleep, I know where you seek solace... If you think you can wave me off, just know, I will be lingering. Your scent-"
Once more, he takes a solid pace forward, although this time with a dark, menacing tinge in his eyes, as he looms his head down to your eye level. Another pace further, as you try to maintain the distance between, taking a step back, as you firmly grip your basket's carved handle.
"W-What are you? W-Who are you?" You shamelessly stutter, your skin growing cold, sensing a drop in temperature in your body.
"I could smell you from miles away: that intoxicating scent. First hit me, when you first ventured these woods, that year ago. No matter how hard I tried, and I had tried to fight against it, yet I could not bear to ignore it any longer. From the countless sleepless nights, and long days, I had no choice... And seeing you now... You did not disappoint."
"G-Get away from me!" You recklessly shout: your yells could either result in aid working in your favour or against, drawing more unwarranted attention from dark figures. Your head paced backwards and forwards, from where the man stood ahead of you, inching in closer and closer, as you desperately tried to move yourself back to the footpath.
"I am no ordinary man, Y/N. I am Aegon. And you... You have no ordinary fate."
"Do not speak of my name again, fiend! Leave me alone!"
As you hastily turned your back, taking a risky lunge forward, planting your unsteady foot on top the solid ground of the pathway. You had only turned momentarily, and yet as you resumed your stance once more, you were faced with only the empty, glooming green of the forest, and its chilling silence. A few solid minutes had passed, your attention spanning across the shrubbery, inspecting every inch, for an ounce of proof that this Aegon, remained close by.
Although your body felt rigid and tense, sensing the hot blood coursing through your vessels. Your dense breathing felt heavy and restricting across your chest, as you tried to regain control.
Without a second to spare, you resumed your stroll, although with greater speed. Your mind fled to the echoing, harrowing voice of your father's words, and the guilt began to stir. You rebelled against his advice and the repercussions were close to fatal.
As your mind pondered over Aegon's words, your body carrying itself with each heavy step: your only intent was to make it in one piece...
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The sight was unlike anything you had ever seen... The dark, dried traces of blood smeared across the walls and homily furniture, the broken pieces of wood and stained glass scattered messily across the floor, each careful step, an audible crunch beneath your weight. All details pointed to an intrusion, you had conceded. Your broken voice hopelessly calling out for your grandmother, as you slowly paced across the hallway, eyes peering across the vicinity for a remote sign of her. And yet, only silence had responded.
The hot tears swelling in your eyes had blurred your vision, as you took in each inch and crevice of the household. The day had been a harrowing one indeed, and to be met with this tragic fate, did no justice to ease your mind. As you crept towards the end of the hall, the familiar door to your grandmother's cosy chamber slightly remained unlock, only the disappearing sunlight lurking through. As you steadily pushed over the door, creaking in its hinges as though the house had not been vacant and unkept for years, you were met with a horrifying sight indeed. A pungent, horrid smell wafted through your nostrils, as you captured a glimpse of her unmoving, blood curdling body across the flood board. Suddenly, your vision had darkened into an abyss, the sight disappeared.
"Y/N-" The call of your name was unforeseen, yet its voice sounded eerily familiar. The hand that was stationed over covering your eyes, was sudden yet brought some relief, sparing you the gruesome sight. Your hand clutched at your heart, above your tender breast, as you felt your body being handled, gently guided to turn towards the direction of the voice.
"A-Aegon-" Eyes widening in disbelief as the hand released its clutch over your eyesight: you felt numb towards his presence as the over-looming sense of grief drowned you, otherwise. Your father had suffered enough anguish thus far, you could not bear to bring him the burden of more sorrowful news.
What has become of your family's fate? Had some curse plagued your family? Had some ill-minded person wished nothing more than to bestow such affliction unto you all?
"Y/N, dearest- You need to come with me, right now-"
With no caution to his actions, his warm hands, its raw texture rough felt against your soft palms, as he held your cold peripherals tightly. Reassurance oozed from him, as his large hand further reached over, tenderly brushing aside a fallen, misplaced strand of hair from your face, before his thumb caressed the fallen tear away.
You knew better than to show an ounce of trust towards Aegon, and yet, you felt somewhat protected in his presence.
"Y/N, please-"
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taglist [for this series] - @urmomsgirlfriend1 @backyardfolklore @heavenly1927 @snowprincesa1 @trifoliumviridi @fulltacoparadise @qyburnsghost
general taglist - @chompchompluke @fan-goddess @malfoytargaryen @bibli0thecary @m1ndbrand @connorsui @elegantsplendour @randomdragonfires @sylasthegrim @arcielee @s-we-e-t-t-ea @sahvlren @aemondtargaryensrider @watercolorskyy @hypnos-daughter-certified @aegonslawyer
Aegon ii taglist - @who-told-you-this-was-butter @f4ll-for-you @amiraisgoingthruit @bucknastysbabe @jawline-of-steel
credit for divider - @/firefly-graphics
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you know what i love so so much? the fact that crowley - despite the way he apparently dislikes books and is loud about his disdain for being mistaken for a bookseller - cares about nothing quite as much as aziraphale's great passion and love for his carefully curated collection of literature.
crowley experiences genuine sorrow and compassion when he has to gently remind aziraphale that his bookshop burned down, he looks so sorry, and so heartbroken that he has to be the one to tell aziraphale that his most prized and sacred space is gone. i don't think we ever see him like that before or again, it's a different sort of sadness to the final episode, it's a kind of pain that crowley has never experienced, in which he truly wishes he could take all of aziraphale's hurt away.
and then, in the final moments of the show, in a desperate attempt, crowley uses the one thing he is sure will convince aziraphale to stay. "you can't leave this bookshop." this is where they have built a life for themselves, this shop holds their most treasured memories, and is the core of many fond moments and close experiences they've shared. it is the centre of their entire, carefully constructed life on earth, and if aziraphale leaves then there will be no more core, and without a core there will be no more them. surely aziraphale must see that? but he doesn't, he doesn't sre what crowley sees, doesn't feel what crowley feels when he stands in that bookshop, and he leaves anyway, and crowley is left wondering just when he became the one to care more about the bookshop out of the two of them...
aziraphale loves books loudly. he cares for them and keeps them safe and opens an entire shop just for the excuse to have them, but then doesn't sell a single one. crowley loves books because aziraphale loves them, and in doing so they become exceedingly important to him, and he will do anything to keep them safe if it means keeping his angel happy.
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peachdues · 8 months
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NSFW Giyuu x F!Shrine Maiden
The Great War — NSFW teaser #3
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A/N: here you go, you horny gremlins. A continuation of the first night teaser (but certainly not all of it 😘)
CW: explicit sexual content. Feelings, too. Pussydrunk!Giyuu. MDNI. NSFW under the cut.
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Giyuu’s thrusts quickened, the base of his groin grinding against that sensitive spot between Y/N’s thighs that had her wanting more as she moaned, her thighs squeezing the Hashira’s hips.
His head was thrown back, his eyes tightly shut as the most beautiful sounds of pleasure Y/N had ever heard poured from Giyuu’s mouth.
“I — fuck.” He growled as one arm tightened around her waist to the point of pain, the other grabbing her hand to bring it to his lips in a futile attempt to stifle the sounds lilting from him like song.
His name fell from her lips like a hallowed oath and Y/N’s legs fell to the side, allowing Giyuu to chase the crescent of his release, as his hips pistoned into her with wild abandon.
“Y-Y/N,” her black-haired beauty of a lover grit through clenched teeth, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple. “My treasure, I-I’m gonna-“
The Water Pillar buried his face in the valley between her breasts, and Y/N could feel his length twitch within her.
As Giyuu’s hips slammed into her one final time, so to did the realization that she loved this; she wanted always to be this close to him, wanted always to be unable to tell where she ended and he began.
She loved him.
But the bitter truth was that she’d never again get to hold Giyuu the way she was right then, legs wrapped tightly around his waist as she felt something warm gush through her, a pleasured groan, so beautiful and husky tumbling from the Hashira’s lips as he pressed a sweet kiss against her breast.
She would not get to love him past this most sacred rite.
If she were honest, she’d likely never again experience this intimacy with anyone, for as long as she lived — for how could anyone else ever possibly compare?
Y/N supposed she’d been doomed to never hold onto the people who were meant to love her since the day she was born. She should’ve known better.
But as the roll of Giyuu’s hips into her heat slowed, and his labored breaths eased, Y/N could not find it within herself to regret it; to regret him. Not when he made her feel so complete, buried deep within her. Not when he was kissing her as he was doing right then, slow and sensual, pausing only to murmur her name against her lips with such adoration, it made her heart flutter.
Not when she, fool though she was, loved him.
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virginiaisforvampires · 2 months
Note
Hi! In regards to Lestat’a relationship with god. When he kills the priests etc. he calls Louis a saint. Like saint Louis. Isn’t that a bit contradicting, that he views Louis as something holy?
No. That nickname is layered with a multitude of meaning and symbolism, and I think it was genius of the show to implement that in such an overt manner.
Lestat in The Vampire Lestat about Louis:
Shortly after reaching the colony, I fell fatally in love with Louis, a young dark-haired bourgeois planter, graceful of speech and fastidious of manner, who seemed in his cynicism and self-destructiveness the very twin of Nicolas. He had Nicki’s grim intensity, his rebelliousness, his tortured capacity to believe and not to believe, and finally to despair. Yet Louis gained a hold over me far more powerful than Nicolas had ever had. Even in his cruelest moments, Louis touched the tenderness in me, seducing me with his staggering dependence, his infatuation with my every gesture and every spoken word. And his naiveté conquered me always, his strange bourgeois faith that God was still God even if he turned his back on us, that damnation and salvation established the boundaries of a small and hopeless world. Louis was a sufferer, a thing that loved mortals even more than I did. And I wonder sometimes if I didn’t look to Louis to punish me for what had happened to Nicki, if I didn’t create Louis to be my conscience and to mete out year in and year out the penance I felt I deserved. But I loved him, plain and simple.
Lestat is literally saying here that Louis became his conscience. Louis became his touchstone. Louis became his religion, his god. Something to be worshiped and adored. And Louis being Louis, was a “sufferer.” Louis punished himself for his own self-perceived sins, a martyr — Saint Louis.
There’s also the symbolism of the name. When Lestat bought Nicki an apartment, the apartment was located in the Île Saint-Louis in Paris. This was later the site in which Lestat turned Gabrielle.
Lestat to Louis during their first meeting in 1x01:
“Your name is Louis. Of course it’s Louis.”
“I had planned to make a new life for myself in St. Louis. That was to be my destiny. And now I know I was right. Only it turns out the Saint is not a city, but a handsome man with the most agreeable disposition.”
Lestat to Louis during the poker game in 1x01:
“I believe there is great opportunity in this city, but to seize it, I’ll need protection from the wolves.”
And finally Lestat to Louis during their marriage vows in 1x01:
“I send my love to you and you send it back round to me. And this circle, this home we barely had a glimpse of, know it frightens me as much as it does you.”
Lestat is literally saying Louis is his home. Louis is his shelter. Louis is his safe haven. Louis is his saint, his treasure. Louis is his loving protection from being alone and bereft and godless. Louis is the guiding light, the anchor, Lestat’s savior. All of this while right on the altar, a sacred and holy place, as in their union is something holy and scared. As in Lestat finally has something holy and sacred in his life to be worshiped and to offer him love and protection and guidance and be his rock and his home, his religion — his Saint Louis.
And of course, their bench in Jackson Square, which is right next to the St. Louis Cathedral.
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Holy. Sacred. A religious experience. Something from another realm. His light. His salvation. His prayer. Touching heaven on earth. His Saint Louis. ♥️♥️
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vivalabunbun · 1 year
Text
History Might Have Forgotten
Summary: A new storyteller appears at Alhaitham’s favorite cafe, and you seem to like to pick his brain about reading between the lines.
Word count: 4.2k (The longest one I’ve ever written)
Tags: gn reader x alhaitham, sfw, slow burn, lore heavy (kinda), spoilers for archon quest, just alhaitham being difficult to get along with as usual. Kaveh just here for moral support. I did use in-game dialogue from their post on the cafe message board. Written before 3.4, so some things might be inaccurate later on.
Authors Note: Sorry if the fairytales are kinda wack, I tried to make my own. Also, I looked at a bunch of lore about sumeru and the scarlet king and goddess of flowers and just decided to run with it. Def not pure canon, but I hope you still enjoy!
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“There once was a time when the lord of flowers had accompanied the lord of the forest into the depths of the irminsul, curious about the root of all knowledge in Teyvat. Its bright white branches stretched seemingly endlessly, throughout the realm. She was unprepared for the dull reality of waiting for her friend to finish her sacred tasks of looking after the irminsul. 
Looking around at the knowledge that flowed like a gentle sinkhole towards the tree of the world, whose white branches reflected off the calm pool, the lord of flowers felt the itch to get up and perform a dance. 
Perhaps dancing shall make the time pass by faster, and with that thought, the goddess of flowers closed her eyes letting the beat of imaginary music flow through her divine body. 
Each elegant step, each precise glide of her hands, each graceful twirl faithfully followed by the reflection in the pool of knowledge. Her dance so captivating that the lord of the forest could not help but stop and admire her friend’s dance, as an avatar of the irminsul, she could feel that the sacred tree was also pleased with this performance. 
As the lord of flowers knelt one knee to the ground in a bow, signifying the end of the show…
There was the echo of a drop hitting the waters still surface, followed by a violent rush of water as the surface tension broke, then stillness once more.
A Jinn came into existence. Its birth was witnessed by the lord of the forest and the lord of flowers whom the Jinn mirrored in beauty. 
‘It appears irminsul loved your performance so much, it wanted to create an avatar from your reflection.’ The forest lord interpreted the message from the world tree. 
‘A gift of the highest honor.’ The goddess of flowers spoke, gently caressing the locks which framed the Jinn’s gaze that looked not into her eyes, but into the depths of her heart.” 
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‘What a ridiculous tall tale’, the scribe thought as he took a sip of coffee. 
Teal eyes peering over his cup, in place of where Maddah, the caffeine-addicted man, usually was, stood a fresh face. He remembers Kaveh rambling about how Maddah’s material had become so stale, the owners at Puspa Cafe had invited a wandering storyteller. 
Instead of the exaggerated legends of great battles, lost treasure, and towering monsters told by the jittery man. These stories were different, it was as if the storyteller was painting a scenery into the minds of the listener, slowly immersing them into a mental play. However, as a man of reason, Alhaitham found it hard to ignore the glaring inaccuracies in the stories. 
In the largest expanse of ancient text and scripts of kingdoms gone, there was no mention of such a Jinn. As he thought about the sources of this tale, calm applause rippled through the homely corner of the cafe. 
You had finished telling your tales for the day, a serene smile thanking your listeners as you headed towards the acting manager. A bit eager to collect your payment in the form of a warm meal and a few mora. It had only been a week since the manager approached your street performance near the Grand Bazaar, seemly desperate to invite you to perform at Puspa Cafe. 
Who were you to pass up such a cushy opportunity? A hot meal and a steady stream of mora were more than you could ever ask for. You brought forth your best stories, where one story ended, the next began. However, you would always stop after introducing the next story, ensuring that the anticipation drew your listeners back like bees to a sweet flower. 
Upon your way to settle down at a table to await your meal, the peaceful atmosphere of the cafe was shattered by two bickering voices.
“And that is exactly why I've always despised materialists like you. Art is a precious fruit of leisure. You can't compare it to production and exploitation for commercial purposes!” A blond man exclaimed.
“Leisurely people are like people walking on a spherical ground, they don't exist. Why don't you use your brain and think for a moment? Can the production of anything exist without commercial exchange?” Was the rebuttal from an ashen-haired man.
Oh, and you thought you were supposed to be the entertainment as people dined on their coffee and meals. The clash of wits playing out in front of everyone’s amused glances, something about the reactions of the other patrons told you this was a regular occurrence.
“Have you no understanding of what passion is? Passion comes within the heart, not the cold machine of commercialism!”
“Passion is like a fire, without anything to feed it. It soon will flicker weakly before burning out into ashes. How can any passion survive without mora?” 
“Ugh! I cannot bare to listen to your mangled views of art!”
“Great, shall I take that as a sign that you have found new lodging?”
“How low will you stoop, Scribe??”
“Excuse me.”
Both of their heads snapped toward you, the person who had interfered with their debate. However, your interest could not help but be peeked by the discussion of this comical scene. You had abandoned your original plans of settling down, instead, you had wandered toward this lively table.
 As a supporter of art yourself, you felt the need to come to the blond man’s defense, seeing how his lack of composure is leading him down the path of defeat.
“Apologies, if I am intruding. However, this discussion is far too interesting to not join. May I give my thoughts?”
 The blond man shifted his position at the table, opening up room for you to sit down. 
“Please be my guest, storyteller. Please educate this materialistic man about the basics of human leisure.” 
Placing yourself in front of the ashen-haired man, you made sure to keep your back straight to give yourself an air of confidence. You began your surrebutter.
“While it is true that an aspect of art is tied to commercialism, the true value cannot be fully measured. It cannot be counted like mora, nor measured by a sexton. Thus, causing many scholars to brush art off as a frivolous waste of time. But the value of art can be felt, no? From the layout of this cafe, to the spines of books, to the print of the words. It’s all art.”
The man in front of you just returned a scoff. Oh, you knew you were in for a long debate now. 
Throughout the drawn-out debate, you had gained key information about the two gentlemen that had welcomed you to their table. The blond man’s name was Kaveh, the famous architect and fellow lover of the arts. The ashen-haired man, with whom you were engaged in continuous rounds of rebuttals, was the scribe of the Akademiya, Alhaitham. A stubborn and rational man, you concluded. Unfortunately for him, you can be just as self-willed. 
“As I have stated before. Art holds more than just monetary value, dear scribe. As a graduate of Haravatat, you should know that many of the texts you translated over your studies were preserved by storytellers and artists who first pasted them down in oral tradition, followed by written script and murals.” You signed. 
“That is exactly why we students had to be wary of the inaccuracies and inconsistencies riddled all throughout those texts. Just like with the tale you told earlier, there is no record of such a Jinn existing before, such a significant creation by the sacred tree will most certainly be recorded somewhere. The history that they record is so twisted by biases and failure of human memory, it is rare to gain anything of significant value from them.”
“Oh my, dear scribe were you by chance equating the existence of a character in a folktale correlates with a physical being?” You tried to stifle your snicker.
 “I did not expect you to have such a cute side. I heard that the children in Mondstadt do the same, believing that a man in a red suit will slide down their chimney to give them wonderful little toys. Were you disappointed?” 
Alhaitham narrowed his teal eyes at you in a slight glare. “You know what I mean. There seem to not be any mention of this Jinn in other Sumerian folktales.” 
You couldn’t help the urge to tease him, but you could feel that he did not seem to want to continue the debate after hearing the cackle coming out of his roommate from your little jest. 
“Yes, yes I was just jesting, dear scribe. Please don’t be disappointed. The Jinn could be an analogy of the bond formed between the lord of the forest and the lord of the flowers.” You stood up from your seat. 
Your food had long been eaten, his coffee had long been left untouched. You were at the moment considered an employee of Puspa Cafe in a way, thus you shouldn’t be upsetting the customers now. 
“Let us conclude this debate for today. I believe I have taken enough of your time, gentlemen. How about we continue this discussion another day? Perhaps over a meal again?” You gave him a smile mixed with customer service and genuine hopefulness. 
“Another time?” Alhaitham scoffed, “you want this debate to drag out?”
“Of course,” you noted that he likes to scoff a lot (must be his ego). “It’s to ensure that you will come back to listen to my stories again, maybe you will learn something new. After all, I have to prove to you and the acting manager my ‘commercial value’ no?” 
The tall man simply crossed his arms over his chest, an unreadable expression on his face. However, something in his eyes gave you the hint that you needed to confidently conclude, ‘he’ll be back’. After all, no scholar in your experience would ever turn down an opportunity to gain a new piece of wisdom. 
“I shall take my leave now, I bid you all goodnight. Until the next time we meet.” 
Alhaitham’s eyes followed your figure as you ambled your way toward the acting manager to bid her goodnight, before exiting from the intricately painted door of the cafe, your features highlighted by the warm hues of the setting sun. Once your frame disappeared from his field of view, the scribe realized an error in his interaction with you.
 There was an unequal exchange of information, from Kaveh’s blabbering mouth you had gained knowledge of their names, studies, and employment. Meanwhile, Alhaitham could not recall a time during tonight when you had given him your name, all they knew was that you were a wandering storyteller. 
‘Oh well, it’s trivial at this point.’ He did not even want to imagine how ridiculous a scene would be of the grand scribe chasing down someone simply for a name.
 ‘This unequal exchange of information will be balanced out in due time.’ He finished the rest of his cold coffee, unphased by the bitter taste. As if a thought was distracting his mind from the taste. Or was it the sweet anticipation of a future meeting that had mellowed out that bitterness? 
Good refreshing debates that stimulate his mind were rare to come by, of course, he would want to take this chance to polish his knowledge and beliefs. 
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The moon chased the sun away, then the sun chased the moon away from its place in the sky. Thus, a new day came forth.
 It was five o’clock sharp when Alhaitham placed his pen down, the report in his hand half finished. However, it was no longer his responsibility for the day as dictated by the hands of the grandfather clock in his office. Tidying up his desk and taking his cape off the back of his chair, he knew he had to be quick so as to not run into an Akademiya intern with another mountain of paperwork to place on his oak desk. 
Since the removal of Azar and his group of corrupted sages, as well as the reinstitution of their archon, the piles of paperwork that ended up on his desk only grew exponentially. But, Alhaitham made sure that the paperwork trail will not follow him once he step foot outside his office doors. He made sure to clearly post his working hours right outside his door, it was not his fault that esteemed scholars seem to not be able to read his posting.
 He had arrived at his office at nine o’clock in the morning, worked a full day at his desk reading new research proposals, applications for open positions, and signing off on new amendments issued by the lesser lord. Now that the clock now reads a minute past five, he had concluded that it was enough work for the day. It was not like the entire Akademiya would collapse without their acting grand sage for the night, though he preferred to not have that title. 
Taking long strides across the marble floors of the Akademiya floors, Alhaitham made sure to avoid the searching eyes of others, especially if they happened to be carrying a stack of paper. Exiting out of the grand doors of the building and continuing down the winding path, allowing his skin to get used to the sudden change from the cool crisp air of his office, to the warm afternoon breeze typical of Sumeru. Thus, he began his routine journey toward a certain cafe. 
The moment he pushed open the door to the cafe, he could see the staff take one look at him, then start to prepare his order. There was no need for him to speak a word to any of them as he made his way to his preferred table. The familiar faces of other patrons were all around, more to join as they were still making their way from work to the cafe, the same smell of coffee and samosas wafting through the air. The only change seemed to be that Maddah was not standing in the center of the collection of tables.
In that spot stood you, the nameless storyteller who recently had just arrived, and the person patient (willing) enough to want to continue a debate with him.  
“Thank you all for coming back to hear my stories tonight, “ you began as soon as the last table was occupied. 
“The tale I wish to tell tonight may be a bit different, as I believe it holds a small mystery. Will you be able to decipher it?” 
Alhaitham could feel the weight of your gaze upon him as you questioned the audience. He simply decided to blow off the steam from the coffee that had just been placed on his table, the white vapors bending and warping his view of you. 
“There once was a dove, young and as soft as padisarah petals. It had a lovely coo, which earned the dove the favor of the goddess of flowers. 
‘What a lovely thing you are, just as the same as I. Oh, my little dove will you coo for me?’ The goddess stroked its down feathers.” 
Taking sips of his dark coffee in intervals as he watched you perform, Alhaitham could not help but find the story childish. Certainly not befitting of a cafe frequented by working adults, and yet here you were captivating a room full of weary grown-ups with a children’s tale. It must be your gestures and facial expressions that drew the audience in. 
At this point in the story, it seems to have been established that the dove would only coo about the events of the goddess’s day truthfully. One day, the lord of flowers must have grown tired of its cooing and left the dove on a branch, promising to come back for it. Then came a group of children.
“‘Little dove, little dove, sing us a tale!’ They cheered. 
So the dove, chest puffed with a sense of being wanted, sang the details of the day lived by its goddess. However, halfway through the children began to walk away. 
‘Wait, wait!’ The dove cried. ‘I have not finished.’ 
‘No more! Your tales are far too boring.’ 
‘Boring?’ Thought the dove, ‘but it’s the truth.’
Alone once more the dove gaze longingly at the marketplace in front of it. Eyes peeled for the goddess that promised to return. 
It watched a child drop a piece of flatbread which was then swiftly picked up by a mouse. A cat ran away from a dog that yapped nonstop. Merchants calling people over to their stalls, blacksmiths wiping the sweat from their eyes, and a sumpter beast resting near the edge.
 An idea strung into the mind of the dove, as it used its wings to find the children. 
‘Children! I have a new tale to tell, oh will you please listen to it?’
Resting on the lap of one of the children, the dove began.
‘There once was a mouse who followed the crumbs of bread left by a small child, straight into the watchful eyes of a cat! With a squeak, the mouse ran from the cat as the feline gave chase. 
Only for the cat to step upon the tail of a dog, who howled in pain, then began running after the cat who ran after the mouse. The dog’s clumsy body knocked over a basket of spices that belonged to a merchant, causing the man to let out a cry of despair at his lost profits as he began to chase the dog who ran after the cat who was still running after the mouse. 
The merchant in his rage failed to see the blacksmith, bumping into his arm causing the large man to brand himself with hot iron. The large man roared in pain, then began chasing the merchant who pursued the dog, who ran after the cat, who was hunting the mouse. 
The blacksmith, still nursing his wound, stepped on the head of a sumptering beast, who raged after being awoken from its nap and began charging at the blacksmith, who ran as quickly as he could, causing the merchant to run faster. When the dog saw that the merchant was getting closer, he began to prance faster toward the cat, who let out a hiss as she ran after the mouse who still had the crumb in its mouth.’ 
Finishing the tale, the dove heard laughter ring out from the children. 
‘What a wondrous tale,’ a familiar voice called out. 
It was the goddess, who had returned to search for the little dove and wound up hearing the tale as well. 
‘My little dove, will you coo more tales like this for me?’
Thus, from that day onwards the little dove would coo tales that brought new curiosity to the court where three friends met.” 
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You brought your hands in front of your torso, signaling the end of the story. Giving a slight bow as the patrons began to clap. 
“So, can anyone guess what this story was trying to explain?” You finally revealed the question to the audience. 
A chorus of answers began to ring out from eager scholars and nonscholars alike wanting to test their wisdom.
“Is it an analogy for how lies are more beautiful than truth?”
“No, it must be symbolizing the corruption of truth due to pressure!”
“Was it a warning to entertainers that if their patron gets tired of their ‘coo’, they’ll be abandoned?”
“No, mmm not quite, my that is a dark interpretation. Are you by chance okay, sir Maddah?”
As the ensemble of interpretations dragged on, you could tell the crowd was slowly moving toward the answer you were looking for. 
“Oh! I know it! The story seeks to depict the origin of storytelling!” Kaveh exclaimed, one can only wonder when he had sat down at Alhaitham’s table and began ordering meals and drinks on the former scribe’s tab. 
“Yes! Excellent! I knew a fellow aesthete would get the unwritten meaning!” You clapped and looked toward the blond man with a smile. 
Great, you just inflated his roommate’s already overbearing ego. He could already see that baseless confidence travel its way up Kaveh’s face as he proudly huffed. After you had thanked the audience for being wonder listeners and for participating in your little mystery, you made your way to their table.  
“So, what did you think of the story? Did you find its hidden meaning?” You sat down right in front of him, in the same spot as yesterday. 
“Oh? Like what, how oral recordings of history become so marred and twisted throughout the years by many tongues to the point it is reduced to a mere story for a child?” Alhaitham picked right the debate right there, skipping the pleasantries. You let out a sigh, lips pouting a bit as you rested your head on one hand. 
“My, not even a hello? None the else. Your claim from yesterday just got challenged.” 
“How so?” He placed his cup down, attention solely focused on you now. 
“That same Jinn created from a goddess’s reflection from yesterday’s tale made an appearance in this tale.” You remarked. 
“Nonsense, these stories are not related, there was no mention of a Jinn. Plus, how can I be sure that you did not just craft this tale overnight when this debate was put on hold?” He crossed his arms, the wire of his headphones shifting slightly. 
“It is quite the popular folktale among some of the desert settlements I have visited, the tale of the goddess of flower’s beloved dove, and if you were willing to look past the superficial surface you would have seen the clear indicator. Tell me scribe, what does the line ‘what a lovely thing you are, just as the same as I’, remind you of?” 
Bringing one hand to tuck under his chin as he replayed that line in his head for approximately 5 seconds. 
“It’s what one would say if they were complimenting themselves in front of a mirror.” 
He saw you lift your head up a bit as the beginnings of a smile began to form on your lips. 
“However,” he added, “it’s such a jump to an interpretation from a minuscule detail. Such things do not hold much merit. Ever heard of confirmation bias, the tendency to interpret things to align your preconceived beliefs? ”    
“In the space where truths are recorded, there lies the space for truths not recorded. To interpret this space, one must naturally make some leaps of faith, often by relating the spaces between two written truths, one can find hidden knowledge take shape in that space.” 
“So you are admitting that the interpretation is made up?” 
“No, I’m simply saying that there is a hidden truth. I shall tell you the deeper meaning of this tale since you can’t seem to want to read between the lines. The story acknowledges that history passed through tales gets warped, evidenced by the tall tale spun by the dove about the mouse. However, the key events and characters remained immortalized in the dove’s story.” 
Your food had arrived in front of you, but your eyes never left his. Even as the enticing scent of tahchin beckoned.  
“The mouse was there, as was the cat, as was the merchant, and so on. As this tale continues to be passed down and hear, these events shall always be there. Through war, oppression, and persecution, that snapshot of time can still live through it all. Just waiting for someone to look past the surface and discover the past carefully encased by the cushion of folklore.”        
“What a poetic view of children’s bedtime story of a dove that can talk.” Alhaitham went to pour himself another cup of coffee, just to enjoy the aroma as he would like to have a restful night of sleep. 
“In the spaces where truths are left unrecorded each time one truth is, those truths are just forever lost to time. The question they raise is left unanswered. I have experienced this more than my fair share of times.” The scribe commented. 
“What if stories and art serve to lead you to those answers?”
“What if they lead you further astray?”
And with that, the second act of this debate seems to have drawn to a close. Alhaitham pulled out a book, enjoying the peace that had washed over the table as you shifted your attention to the tahchin. Kaveh had long joined another table for a round of TCG. 
“Dear scribe, can you answer me this? Have you read all text related to the history of Sumeru and its desert?”
Looking up from his book a bit peeved, he answers honestly. “I have not, but I have studied most.”
“So, your previous statement about how there is no record of the Jinn is incorrect. There is no record that you have read.”
“I have already read most.”
“But not all.”
He resisted the urge to press his lips into a thin line at the sight of you eating a spoonful of tahchin, a hint of smugness twinkled in your eyes. As if you had leveled out the rebuttals once more. It seems like this debate might drag on longer than he had anticipated. 
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Authors Note 2: Okay so this story is heavily based on an oc of mine, but I thought it would be more interesting to have it to make it about the reader. But if I feel like it (or if enough people are curious enough) I might post my oc, but this series and blog will stay as a reader insert bc it’s more fun that way no?
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datcloudboi · 3 months
Text
List of Video Games Turning 10 Years Old in 2024
Alien: Isolation
Assassin's Creed: Rogue (the one where you play as an Assassin turned Templar.)
Assassin's Creed: Unity (the one set during the French Revolution.)
Atelier Escha & Logy: Alchemists of the Dusk Sky
Azure Striker Gunvolt
The Banner Saga
Bayonetta 2
The Binding of Isaac: Rebirth
BioShock Infinite: Burial at Sea (the DLC where you go back to Rapture)
A Bird Story (a sort of spin-off of "To the Moon")
BlazBlue: Chrono Phantasma
Borderlands: The Pre-Sequel! (is this a sequel to 1 or a prequel to 1? I forgor)
Bravely Default (in North America)
Broken Sword 5: The Serpent's Curse
Call of Duty: Advanced Warfare (the one with K*vin Sp*cey)
Captain Toad: Treasure Tracker
Castlevania: Lords of Shadow 2 (to date, the last new Castlevania game to release)
Child of Light
The Crew (going offline at the end of March)
D4: Dark Dreams Don't Die (a wonderfully strange game from the guy that made Deadly Premonition)
Danganronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc (in North America)
Danganronpa 2: Goodbye Despair (in North America)
Dark Souls II
Deception IV: Blood Ties
Demon Gaze
Diablo III: Reaper of Souls
Disney Infinity 2.0
Divinity: Original Sin (from the team that would go on to make Baldur's Gate 3)
Donkey Kong Country: Tropical Freeze
Dragon Age: Inquisition (the winner of GOTY at the very first TGAs)
Drakengard 3
Earth Defense Force 2025 (EDF! EDF! EDF!)
The Evil Within (from the creative director of Resident Evil)
Fable Anniversary
Fairy Fencer F
Far Cry 4
Freedom Planet
Guilty Gear Xrd Sign
Hyrule Warriors
Inazuma Eleven (in North America. And digital only.)
Infamous: Second Son (as well as its expansion, First Light)
Kirby: Triple Deluxe
The Last of Us Remastered (just one year after the original version came out...)
The Legend of Korra (the game from PlatinumGames that you can't buy anymore)
Lego Batman 3: Beyond Gotham
Lego The Hobbit
The Lego Movie Videogame
Lethal League (from the team that would go on to make Bomb Rush Cyberfunk)
Lightning Returns: Final Fantasy XIII (the third and final chapter of the Final Fantasy XIII trilogy)
Lisa: The Painful (yes, really)
LittleBigPlanet 3
Lords of the Fallen (not to be confused with Lords of the Fallen, which came out in 2023)
Mario Golf: World Tour
Mario Kart 8 (the original version)
Metal Gear Solid: Ground Zeroes (the prologue to Metal Gear Solid V: The Phantom Pain, which came out 18 months later)
Middle-Earth: Shadow of Mordor
Might & Magic X: Legacy
Murdered: Soul Suspect (it's like Ghost Trick: Phantom Detective, but not as good)
Natural Doctrine
Oddworld: New 'n' Tasty! (a from the ground up remake of the first Oddworld game from 1997)
Pac-Man and the Ghostly Adventures 2 (yes, it got a sequel. I don't know how or why.)
Persona 4 Arena Ultimax
Persona Q: Shadow of the Labyrinth
Pokemon Omega Ruby & Pokemon Alpha Sapphire
Professor Layton and the Azran Legacy (the last time that Professor Layton himself was the protagonist. At least, until the New World of Steam comes out)
Professor Layton vs. Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney
Pushmo World
Risen 3: Titan Lords
Sacred 3
Samurai Warriors 4
Shadowrun: Dragonfall
Shantae and the Pirate's Curse (the 3rd one)
Sherlock Holmes: Crimes and Punishments
Shovel Knight (yes, really)
Skylanders: Trap Team (the 4th one)
Sniper Elite III
Sonic Boom: Rise of Lyric
Sonic Boom: Shattered Crystal
South Park: The Stick of Truth
Steins;Gate (in North America)
Strider (the one from Double Helix)
Sunset Overdrive
Super Smash Bros. for Wii U and Nintendo 3DS (or Smash 4 for short)
Tales of Xillia 2
Tales of Hearts R
The Talos Principle
Theatrhythm Final Fantasy: Curtain Call
Thief (the reboot)
This War of Mine
Toukiden: The Age of Demons
Transformers: Rise of the Dark Spark (this game merged the storyline of the War for/Fall of Cybertron games with the storyline of the Michael Bay movies. I’m not joking)
Transistor
Valiant Hearts: The Great War
The Vanishing of Ethan Carter
The Walking Dead: Season Two
Wasteland 2
Watch Dogs
The Witch and the Hundred Knight
The Wolf Among Us (sequel this year!)
Wolfenstein: The New Order
Yaiba: Ninja Gaiden Z
Yoshi's New Island
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nyupreservation · 11 months
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Preserving Leaf Paintings in an Anglo-Indian Commonplace Book, 1822-1825
Hello, I’m Alexa Machnik, a third-year graduate student at the Conservation Center, Institute of Fine Arts, NYU. I first came to the Barbara Goldsmith Preservation & Conservation Department in Fall 2022 as a student in the graduate course, Conservation in Context, taught by Laura McCann, Director of Preservation. During this course, we delved into the world of library conservation, exploring the value systems that guide preservation decision-making and treatment action in academic research libraries. One of my class projects involved rehousing delicate leaf paintings from an early 19th-century commonplace book, or friendship album, part of the Fales Library holdings in the Special Collections at NYU Libraries (figs. 1-2) [1]. In honor of Preservation Week, I will share the intriguing history of the book and discuss the decisions that were made to preserve the leaves.
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Figure 1 [left]: Front cover of the commonplace book, bound in gold-tooled red morocco leather.   Figure 2 [right]: Ownership label of “Jane Harriet [Blechynden]” on front marbled pastedown.
The book in question was compiled by Jane Harriet Blechynden (1806-1827) in England between 1822 and 1825. It holds her personal collection of handwritten and acquired materials, with contributions from her sisters, Emma and Sarah, who wrote original poems about sisterhood, separation, and their Anglo-Indian ancestry. The three women were the daughters of a British merchant residing in Calcutta, and while born in India, they were educated in England [2]. There is not a great deal known about Jane Harriet’s life in England, but her impending return to India in 1825 is documented in an emotional verse by Emma (fig. 3):
“Thus in parting my sister we’re breaking a link / Which may ne’er be united again / And firm as that chain was ‘tis painful to think / That absence may send it twain.”
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Figure 3: Excerpt from the original poem, “Parting and a Meeting,” signed by Emma.
Jane Harriet’s book offers insights into her personhood, social connections, and sensibilities as an artist and collector. In addition to written entries, she inserted a compendium of acquired materials–pressed flowers, her own original drawings, and numerous paintings–between pages of the book (figs. 4-6).
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Figures 4-6 [left to right]: A small sampling of the ephemeral treasures found in the book, including a dried pressed flower, a drawing on pith possibly by Jane Harriet, and a cut-paper silhouette.
Notably, six of these paintings are executed on the dried leaves of the Bodhi tree, a sacred plant indigenous to Asia with distinct spade-shaped, long-tipped leaves (fig. 7) [3]. Although leaf painting has origins in Buddhist traditions, by the time Jane Harriet collected her leaf paintings, it had already evolved into a form of Chinese export art in Europe. Her leaves depict secular scenes of contemporary life in China and botanical subjects, which are typical of the export genre (fig. 8). Their inclusion in the book implies that Jane was among the many people who partook in the avid collecting of China trade goods during the first few decades of the 19th century, a time when European fascination for Chinese culture and art was at its peak. 
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Figure 7: A leaf painting, as found loose in the book and partially lifted to show the thin, translucent nature of the leaf support.
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Figure 8: Another leaf painting from the book, oriented with the leaf tip at the bottom of the image, depicting flowers and a butterfly.
The initial rush of excitement that I felt at finding the leaf paintings soon turned to concern as I gave thought to their long-term preservation at NYU Libraries, where researchers are expected to handle the book. The leaf paintings were loose in between the pages, which raised a series of “what ifs” about the potential dangers they could encounter. What if the leaves slip from the book? What if they bend or break as the pages are turned? What if the painted surfaces become abraded? The paintings were made with opaque pigment-based watercolors on exceptionally delicate, skeletonized leaves that have been primed with a thin organic coating. Despite being intact, their inherent fragility means that they are vulnerable to even the slightest touch. After considerable discussion, the Conservation Unit decided that in order for the leaf paintings to be preserved and safely accessed by researchers, they should be housed separately from the book. 
I thoroughly examined the condition of the leaves and the painted surfaces in order to make a housing recommendation. Despite some minor damage, all were in stable condition. Thus, the ideal housing would provide support to prevent any further damage, such as paint loss and leaf breakage, and at the same time allow the leaves to maintain their translucency. To achieve this, I opted to mount them in double-sided window mats with a support made from clear polyester film, or Mylar® [4]. The addition of the Mylar® would not only create a stable surface for the leaf paintings but also enable the viewing of both sides (fig. 9).
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Figure 9: View of the double-sided window mat with a Mylar® support.
My next challenge was to figure out how to mount the leaves onto the Mylar® support without the use of adhesive [5]. After consulting with conservation staff and creating mock-ups, short, discreet Mylar® tabs were selected as the best option to secure them into place (figs. 10-11). For this process, I positioned a single leaf painting onto the support and selectively placed the tabs around its perimeter, making sure the tabs did not overlap any areas of paint. I then used a handheld spot-welding pen to fuse the tabs to the support. Since this process was done in-situ, near the leaf, it required lots of precision practice and encouragement from colleagues before I felt confident enough for the task.
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Figure 10: Detail of a mounted leaf painting. Notice that the Mylar® tabs are welded just outside the leaf and extend minimally over the edges, holding it in place with gentle pressure.
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Figure 11: The backside of a mounted leaf painting viewed through the Mylar® support. This gives researchers access to the painting’s verso, where an underdrawing and other signs of artistic process can be discerned.
At the time of writing this post, I successfully housed the six leaf paintings in their double-sided window mats (figs. 12-13). This housing project, while complete, is just one part of the ongoing effort to preserve the commonplace book, and the Conservation Unit is continuing work on other elements of the book to ensure its safe return to Special Collections.
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Figure 12: Example of the completed housing, showing the front of a leaf painting.
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Figure 13: Back of a leaf painting.
Though my involvement in the project has come to an end, I have gained a very special appreciation for the commonplace book and the preservation challenges it presents. The experience of learning directly from NYU Libraries Special Collections was especially invaluable, providing me with opportunities to participate in complex decision-making processes unique to large research libraries driven by user needs. Before signing off, I’d like to extend my gratitude to my supervisors, Laura McCann, Director, and Lindsey Tyne, Conservation Librarian, and the entire team at the Barbara Goldsmith Conservation Lab for their unwavering support and enthusiasm throughout this project. Thank you all very much!
Notes:
[1] A commonplace book is a centralized place for an individual to record information, whether it be their personal thoughts or quotes from outside literary sources. Friendship albums, by contrast, contain handwritten entries from the family, friends, or acquaintances of the owner (often female). Both forms of commonplacing sustained popularity in Europe and America throughout the 19th century. To learn more about this fascinating literary genre, see Jenifer Blouin, “Eternal Perspectives in Nineteenth-Century Friendship Albums,” The Hilltop Review, Vol. 9, Issue 1 (2016) and Victoria E. Burke, “Recent Studies in Commonplace Books,” English Literary Renaissance, Vol. 43, No. 1 (2013), 153-177.
[2] Much of what is known about Jane Harriet (also known in her family as Harriet) comes from the Blechynden papers in the British Library (Add. Mss. 45578-663). This large holding contains the diaries of her father, Richard (Add. Mss. 45581-653), and older brother, Arthur (Add. Mss. 45654-61). For a secondary account of the Blechynden household, see Peter Robb, Sentiment and Self: Richard Blechynden’s Calcutta Diaries, 1791-1822 (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2011).
[3] Michele Matteini, “Written on a Bodhi tree leaf,” Anthropology and Aesthetics, Vol. 75-76 (2021), 45-58. 
[4] The design of the double-sided mats is based on an instructional guide made available by the Library of Congress. “Double-Sided Mat,” Library of Congress, accessed 1 February 2023. 
[5] We chose not to use adhesives or traditional paper-hinging techniques to mount the leaf paintings for several reasons. As noted, the paintings are on fragile, non-paper-based supports that have an organic coating, which may be derived from plant gum. The leaf supports are thin, translucent, and highly vulnerable to breakage, so applying hinges directly with adhesive might permanently alter their appearance or risk further damage to the leaves over time, especially if they need to be removed from the housing in the future.
Photographs: Alexa Machnik
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darth-mortem · 2 months
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My friend @g8se translated my new COD fic. It's ancient Egypt AU with medjay!Soap and Anubis!Ghost.
After a great victory, the commander of the Medjay regiment and the chief guardian of the sacred city of the dead, Jonahkt Bay, is visited by the high priest of Anubis who informs him that the God desires to meet the hero in person. Jonahkt Bay becomes the first mortal, aside from priests and Pharaohs, to be honored with the privilege of seeing the earthly manifestation of the God of the dead and receiving a reward from him. With dedication and reverence, Jonahkt Bay enters the temple, unable to even imagine how the God will reward him. 4886 words.
Ancient Egypt AU, human!Johnny, Anubis!Simon, 18+
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The noble commander of the medjay*** sa-u*, Jonahkt Bay, listened to the reports of his squad leaders about the losses. The bloody battle with treacherous mercenaries who tried to seize Hamunaptra – the sacred city of the dead, the storehouse of countless treasures of the Pharaoh, and the earthly abode of the God of death, Anubis – had ended with a remarkable victory. Jonahkt Bay had never seen the God himself in five years of his service as the chief of the guard of the city, but that didn't stop him from being completely dedicated to this honourable duty.
Rumours say that Anubis chose a person to be the vessel of his divine essence, wisdom, and strength. However, only priests and Pharaohs knew the truth, as they occasionally visited Hamunaptra for an audience with God. Nevertheless, it didn't happen very often. The current Pharaoh seemed to prefer visiting the city of the living Waset and the God Amun Ra, whose earthly abode was in Karnak. Or perhaps Anubis preferred to attend to his affairs in peace and quiet, not wasting time on chit-chat with the ruler, albeit mortal, who would eventually face his judgement like anyone else.
You can keep reading on Ao3 or here
After listening to another squad leader, Jonahkt Bay nodded, indicating that he had accepted the report, and raised his hand, summoning the next one. Suddenly, the massive doors opened, and into the hall where the medjays held their meetings, discussed strategies, and analyzed the moves of past battles, entered a man. He appeared without a knock and without a warning, and anyone else in his place would have already been beheaded. However, the high priest of Anubis could allow himself to appear not only here but also in Jonahkt Bay's personal quarters without facing any punishment.
Seeing the priest, the medjays lowered their heads in respectful bows. But without paying any attention to anyone, he approached the sa-u commander, looked at him with his piercing black eyes, and spoke:
“The God has seen your bravery and dedication, medjay. He wants to see you and reward you for your service. It's an honor that no mortal has received, aside from priests and Pharaohs, for over five centuries. For your own good, medjay, I sincerely hope you won't disgrace yourself or act foolishly. Now, follow me. We must not keep the God waiting.”
Jonahkt Bay followed the priest, feeling the gaze of his squad leaders. Excitement, envy, reverence, and fear were evident in their looks. Apparently, there was more fear than anything else, as there were countless rumors about the grim God of death – each more terrifying than the other. However, Jonahkt, for some reason, was not afraid. Maybe he understood that if Anubis wanted to take his soul, he could do it anytime and anywhere, without summoning him to the temple for a personal audience.
Soon, Jonahkt realized that the high priest was taking him not to the main temple but to one of the buildings on the outskirts of the temple complex. To the medjay's silent question, the priest of Anubis slightly rolled his eyes but still said:
"You cannot present yourself to the God in this state. First, you need to be properly washed, purified, and dressed. While the slaves attend to you, I'll have time to tell you how to behave in the presence of the God."
It all sounded condescending, but Jonahkt was already accustomed to the arrogance of the priests, so he didn't pay much attention. Moreover, he found himself inside the building, and several young boys and girls with slave collars around their neck took him by the arms and led him somewhere into the depths of the building, where the scents of various oils and herbs burned on large round braziers wafted through the air.
Naively, Jonahkt thought they would take him to a bath, and that after he would be given clean clothes and sent back to the high priest. However, the ‘purification’ process turned out to be much longer and more complicated. The bath did take place, but only at the beginning. Afterward, the slaves led the medjay to several baths, each with water of different temperature, aroma, and even colour.
The first bath turned out to be black, ice cold, with water as thick as mercury. The room was almost dark, the braziers barely glowing and filling the air with dense smoke with a strange scent. When Jonahkt was allowed to stand up and leave the bath, the black water droplets didn't drip, but rather rolled off his body. However, it might have been just an illusion, as the smoke and aroma left the medjay's head spinning.
In the second bath, located in a more conventional room lit with windows, two slaves entered the water with Jonahkt and meticulously rubbed his entire body first with some herbs and then with aromatic oil, not hesitating to touch places where no one, except a lawful wife, should touch. Here, it smelled fresh, and the dizziness quickly dissipated from Jonahkt's head.
The third bath repeated the process, but while Jonahkt was pampered by pleasantly warm water, the slaves shaved all of his hair, all over his body. Everything would have been fine, but the high priest observed this procedure, monotonously listing countless rules of behaviour that the medjay must adhere to in the presence of the God.
“You must kneel, touch the floor with your forehead; do not lift your head, do not look into the eyes, do not speak unless the God asks to, only do what he commands...” the priest was babbling on and on.
“And what if he commands, for example, to raise my head?” Jonahkt asked, feeling strong discomfort from what the slaves were doing to him right now.
“He won't command that,” the priest sternly cut him off and continued. “Receive the reward with reverence and gratitude, no matter what it is. Thank at least three times, preferably seven times. Do not touch the God, do not look around...”
Before inviting the medjay to immerse himself in the fourth bath, his body was yet again rubbed with some oil. While he was in the water, the slaves had massaged his neck, shoulders, head, face, and legs, and it was so pleasant that Jonahkt almost forgot about the priest who continued to meticulously list the rules.
After that, the medjay was taken to the fifth room, where, fortunately, there was no bath. High above braziers roze smoke with a strange scent of roses, and in this created mist, Jonahkt was thoroughly dried. Then, he was dressed in a black shendyt, similar to what the priests wore, only shorter – not ankles length, but only knees length. It was fastened with a wide belt, and after that numerous ornaments – bracelets, collars, and necklaces – were placed on Jonahkt’s neck and wrists.
“The sun is setting,” the priest finally spoke, glancing out the window. “I think you are ready for the meeting.”
At the exit from the building, another priest approached Jonahkt and handed him his khopesh, which he hung on his belt. In reality, he expected not to be allowed to appear before Anubis with a sword, but the high priest explained that the mortal weapon could not harm the God, but it also would demonstrate that a true warrior had come.
In the twilight, they approached the dark assembly of Anubis's temple. The entrance was guarded by medjays from his sa-u, who respectfully bowed, allowing their commander and the high priest inside. They passed through several rooms and finally stood in front of massive doors, or rather, gates to the main hall where the God received mortals who came to pay homage, bring gifts, or discuss important matters. The latter, however, was a privilege reserved only for the Pharaoh and the high priest.
“From here on, you will go alone,” Anubis's priest informed. “It's dark inside. Just go straight until you see. And then you already know what to do.”
“Yes, fall on my knees and touch the floor with my forehead,” Jonahkt replied, a bit irritated. “And what will I see?”
The priest cast a long gaze at him, then turned away and waved his hand to the younger attendants, who took hold of the levers of the mechanism that opened the gates and began to turn them. Despite his bravery, the medjay felt a chill run down his spine. His heart jumped almost to his throat, and cold drops of unpleasant sweat rolled down his back. In a few moments, he, Jonahkt Bay, would see a real living God, the master of death, the guide and judge of the dead, the supreme commander of his terrifying army that rises from the sand and returns to the sand when its is accomplished. Honestly, Hamunaptra did not need protection from medjays. The fact that this duty fell on the shoulders of mortals was a manifestation of the God's mercy and trust in them. It was already a sufficient reward for each warrior of the sa-u, including Jonahkt himself. So why does Anubis want to see him here, in his temple? What is he going to say to a mortal? What reward does he want to give?
His legs became like cotton, but Jonahkt did not show his fear and, with all his bravery, entered the vast dark hall of the main temple. The gates behind him began to close, and from the other side, this process was accompanied by a loud creaking, but here, in this dense, bonechilling darkness that seemed physically palpable, the sounds vanished and quickly disappeared, leaving not even a hint of an echo.
Jonahkt moved his legs, slowly navigating through the darkness, but he could not hear his own footsteps, unlike the beating of his heart and the wheezing uneven breath. He walked forward, but it seemed to him that he was motionless, hanging in the midst of boundless darkness, where there were no directions, no top or bottom, nothing and no one. The medjay thought that he had been deceived, thrown Beyond the bounds of the familiar world of the living, and now he would hang in this terrible cold emptiness for eternity – motionless, defenseless, helpless.
The fearless Medjay's legs trembled, his eyes began to sting, and at the moment when he was ready to collapse and curl up in a pitiful cry, his gaze unexpectedly began to distinguish something other than darkness. It turned out he was walking along a wide corridor with tall statues on either side. Underneath each burned brazier, giving weak and dim but still light. The sounds returned, and Jonahkt suddenly felt the coldness of the stone slabs under his bare feet as he stepped on them.
Light flashed unexpectedly and very closely. The medjay stopped and saw that flames blazed up in a few braziers ahead, illuminating the massive throne standing between them. And on this throne sat...
Jonahkt didn't have time to complete this thought because he remembered the priest's instructions, so he quickly fell to his knees, bowing so abruptly that his forehead hit the floor. His heart jumped to his throat again, and the medjay held his breath, hoping that the God would not consider his delay as disrespect and would not destroy him on the spot.
For several long moments, nothing happened. Then Jonahkt heard the rustle of fabric, a soft ringing – probably from jewelry – and heavy footsteps accompanied by a clicking sound, as if from claws touching the stone floor. These sounds approached, making the medjay's heart race even faster, and ceased, as he felt, right by his head. For a few moments, nothing happened again, and then a shadow fell on Jonahkt, something clinked, and he felt the cold and, at the same time, very hot fingers taking him by the chin. Sharp claws – and now the medjay was more than certain that the God's fingers indeed were clawed – pricked his cheeks. A large hand, much larger than his own, lifted Jonahkt's chin, forcing him to raise his head and straighten his back.
The medjay closed his eyes, feeling cold sweat running down his temples. The God's hand threw back his head so that he would probably be staring straight into Anubis's face if he dared to open his eyes. However, the priest's instructions were firmly settled in his memory, so Jonahkt had no intention of testing his fate. Then he heard a voice. Low and powerful, it sounded as if from everywhere, filling all the voids of the gigantic hall, echoing off them and penetrating the mortal's ears. These sounds enchanted Jonahkt so much that he did not immediately grasp the meaning of what the God had said to him.
"Open your eyes, child," Anubis repeated with inhuman patience and unearthly wisdom. "Look at me."
The high priest ordered to do everything the God commanded, so Jonahkt slowly obeyed the command, feeling hot tears rolling down his cheeks. At first, everything before his eyes was blurry, but then his vision cleared, and Jonahkt saw the God leaning over him.
Anubis was unnaturally tall and robust, dressed in a long and luxurious black shendyt with exquisite draping embroidered in gold. It was held by a massive belt made of golden plates engraved with symbols unknown to the medjay. The God's skin was extremely pale, almost white, covered with scars and myriads of black hieroglyphs and unknown symbols that seemed to emerge from within. Anubis's neck was adorned with a massive gold necklace. Feeling parched in his throat, Jonahkt dared to lift his eyes even higher and saw that the God's face was hidden by a mask made from a bone of what seemed like an exceptionally large jackal skull. In the eye sockets, the God’s eyes burned – bright, almost red, but the strangest and most horrifying was not their color. In each eye of the God, there were two irises and two pupils, one larger, and the other one slightly smaller.
"Stand up," Anubis commanded again, not taking his gaze away from Jonahkt's eyes, peering through them straight into his heart and the most secret and darkest corners of his soul.
"I... dare not," the medjay whispered, unable to control his voice.
The God let out a sound very similar to an ordinary human chuckle. Then Anubis pulled Jonahkt's chin again, forcing him to rise on trembling legs, which barely supported him in an upright position.
Anubis released the mortal's chin, crossed his arms over his chest, and in a somehow very human manner tilted his head slightly to the side, continuing to pierce Jonahkt with the gaze of his horrifying eyes. Jonahkt wanted to kneel and bow again, but he could no longer look away from the living God standing before him. Now he could see that Anubis's hands around the forearms smoothly transformed from pale white to sheer black, absolutely inhuman hands with long fingers and sharp claws. The same transformation affected the God's legs. It was now clear what that strange clicking sound when Anubis was approaching the medjay was caused by. As Jonahkt had noticed before, the God was simply extraordinarily tall, probably at least two heads taller than himself. And because of the sharp triangular ears of the bone mask, he seemed even taller.
All this left Jonahkt with no doubts that a real God was standing before him. He radiated an aura of strength, otherworldly wisdom, and majesty, unreachable for anyone, even the mightiest Pharaoh. Anubis evoked feelings of reverent fear and a desire to bow before him. However, the longer Jonahkt looked at him, the more he realized that the God was not as terrifying as he was unbelievably, incredibly beautiful.
Anubis moved again and slowly extended his hand to the mortal. And Jonahkt, now without fear but rather with absolutely sincere enthusiasm, placed his palm in it, gently gripping the black fingers.
"Come with me, child," the God spoke and led the medjay somewhere behind the throne, through the secret doors into the intricate maze of dark corridors.
At some point, the darkness thickened once again, and Jonahkt began to lose the sense of time, but fortunately, it did not last long. Entering through the next set of doors following the God, the medjay realized that he had been brought into gorgeous chambers with a personal bath, numerous shelves of papyrus scrolls, a table with writing tools, and a huge luxurious bed under a semi-transparent canopy. This room simply could not be as large as the main hall of the temple, yet it seemed just like that – the ceiling vanishing into darkness, the smoke rising from the braziers concealing the walls, and the shelves seeming to extend into infinity.
Jonahkt understood that the earthly manifestation of the God requires rest – maybe not as often as a mortal, but still does. And now Anubis brought him, not a priest or a Pharaoh, into the chambers where he rests – reads, writes, or perhaps even sleeps, eats, or drinks wine from those amphorae that Jonahkt noticed near the table.
"Curious?" Anubis asked, and this time his voice sounded almost ordinary, though still absolutely non-human.
Jonahkt became nervous, realizing that the God had noticed him glancing around, maybe even reading his thoughts. However, Anubis didn't get angry; instead, he took the medjay by the shoulders, pricking him with his claws, and gently nudged him forward.
"Go, take a look," he allowed. "Pour yourself some wine if you wish."
Jonahkt wanted to but, of course, didn't dare. He simply took a few steps forward and took a closer look at the table. There was a noticeable disarray; papyri were scattered, writing tools were placed haphazardly, and in the center lay a massive book with pages made of some unusual black metal. Jonahkt didn't dare touch it, but he noticed it was open, and the right half of the page was filled with hieroglyphs and diagrams, while the other half was blank.
"The Book of the Dead," Jonahkt heard the God's voice just behind him and startled in surprise. "Almost completed."
A clawed hand rested on Jonahkt's shoulder again. Anubis pushed him closer to the table, and Jonahkt felt the heat of the God's body against his back, standing as close as possible. Leaning forward, the God extended his other hand, and with a claw, he added a few more hieroglyphs to the page. The metal of the page heated where the God's finger touched it, yielding to carve the written symbols.
"Well, Jonahkt Bay, noble medjay-warrior," Anubis whispered insidiously into the mortal's ear, leaning so close that his mask touched Jonahkt's cheek, "are you ready to receive your well-deserved reward?"
Before Jonahkt could respond, the God swiftly turned him to face him and pushed him in the chest as if not hard, but Jonahkt could not stand on his feet either way. He fell backward, expecting pain from hitting cold the stone floor, but for some reason, he found himself on the bed. Before he could move, Anubis was again looming over him. He growled softly, and his black hands greedily slid over the medjay's tanned body, each touch delivering a pleasure Jonahkt had never felt in his life. He trembled, arched his back, as his fingers clawed at the sheets, crumpling them. The God's eerie eyes were very close, and his claws tore the shendyt, which the slaves had put on the medjay. Jonahkt's breath caught, he moaned weakly, twitched, and then the God's palm covered his eyes as he removed his bone mask.
Medjai felt Anubis's breath on his neck, and then his skin burned at the touch of his lips. Jonahkt caught his breath, and moaned weakly, writhing in ecstasy, not knowing what he wanted more – for the God to stop, or for him to never stop, for this pleasure, so sharp and strong to the point of pain, to last forever. For the two of them to float in this eerie void of the temple, for Anubis' hands to hold the mejai, for his lips and tongue to caress the flesh of a mortal, and for all of this to last for eternity.
Consciousness began to fail him as Anubis covered Jonahkt's lips with his own, and his inhumanly long and flexible tongue slid into the mortal's mouth. Medjay could no longer perceive everything that was happening, he managed to catch only fragments, but even that was more than enough for him. Here the palm of the god disappeared from the eyes of the mortal, but he could no longer see anything, because everything was floating in front of his eyes and bright lights were flashing. Here, the God's black hands again eagerly caressed and fondled the trained warrior's body, which now became soft and yielding. Sharp claws scratched the skin, teeth sank into his collarbone, but the sharp flash of pain immediately extinguishes as Anubis traces the bite marks with his tongue.
At some point, Jonahkt realized they were no longer lying on the bed but were actually floating in the midst of emptiness, maybe just beneath the ceiling of the God's chambers. Anubis had overpowered the mortal, holding him under the back and under the thigh, digging his claws into his leg. With each powerful thrust, Jonahkt's head swayed from side to side, he groaned and cried out from the sharp waves of otherworldly pleasure, desperately clinging to the God's massive shoulders with his fingers. It seemed that Jonahkt was crying and pleading with Anubis either to end these sweet torments or, on the contrary, to never end them.
Worlds were born and died before the medjay’s eyes. He saw majestic pyramids and statues turn into sand under the influence of thousands of years passing by in a single moment. He saw buildings reaching the sky, then collapsing to the ground, engulfed in flames. He witnessed the terrifying wrath of the Gods, a blinding sphere of fire and light that, in moments, reduced hundreds of thousands of people to ashes and turned an entire city into ruins. Jonahkt saw the birth of new stars and observed how they aged – long, infinitely long, but still, their time came to an end, and when it happened, Anubis came to take the last rays of their light.
The God's hand gently cradled the mortal's head. His eerie eyes were very close again; he kissed medjay again, made another thrust, and Jonahkt surrendered in the hands of truly divine pleasure that he had finally achieved. His body twisted in convulsions; he, unable to scream, gasped into Anubis's open lips, clinging to the God's shoulders. The last thing Jonahkt felt was something hot filling him. Then the overwhelmed consciousness of the mortal left him, and he hung limply in the God's arms, not feeling how Anubis tenderly touched his temples with his lips before gently laying him back on the bed.
Consciousness returned to Jonahkt reluctantly and slowly. Weakness enveloped his entire body, but it was oddly pleasant. Several minutes passed before the medjay could open his eyes and realize that he was lying on his stomach on a luxurious bed, gently covered with a blanket. He moved slowly, rolled onto his side, and suddenly remembered everything that had happened to him last night, understanding where he was.
Today, the God's chambers looked different. It was a spacious but entirely ordinary room, flooded with light from windows that were just beneath the ceiling and that Jonahkt hadn't noticed yesterday. There were many shelves, but they didn't disappear into infinity at all. And sitting on a carved chair behind the table was a man who leisurely drank wine from a golden cup and read some papyrus.
"Who..." Jonahkt croaked and coughed, trying to regain his voice that had been strained with yesterday’s activity. "Who are you?"
The man put aside the papyrus, set down the cup, and turned his head to look at Jonahkt. His eyes were ordinary, just like his hands and feet. There were no hieroglyphs on his pale, scarred skin. The man had slightly tired brown eyes, regular facial features, and long gray hair down just to his shoulders, loosely tied in the back with a golden comb.
"Do you not recognize me?" he asked with a low but entirely human voice, and a cheerful smile appeared on his lips.
The man extended his hand, and darkness began to cover it; his fingers lengthened, and claws appeared at their tips. His eyes reddened, and irises slowly split into two. However, it didn't last long, and after a few moments, everything disappeared. But it was enough for Jonahkt to understand that he was still facing a God, albeit in a more human form.
"It's quite exhausting," the man smiled wearily, and then his tone became more serious. "My name is Simenhotep Ouserkaf. Long ago, I was a priest of Amun Ra. He chose my brother as his vessel, and Anubis chose me. I went through inhuman tortures, and by enduring them I became the earthly incarnation of the God of the dead. But enough about me. Tell me, brave warrior, are you satisfied with your reward?"
Jonahkt's face flushed. He remembered everything that had kept his consciousness from slipping away and suddenly sat up, throwing off the blanket. He expected to see traces of the God's claws and teeth on his body, but his skin was clean, except for a few old scars.
"It would be awkward if you left in such a state," Simenhotep explained and rose to his feet, showcasing his inhuman height. "So, will you refuse to share wine and breakfast with me?"
"Who would refuse such an honor?" Jonahkt was still terribly shy, but no longer scared.
"Then get dressed and join me," Simenhotep said.
Next to Jonahkt's bed, he found his clothes intact, as if Anubis hadn't torn them with his claws just yesterday. He had no strength left to wonder, so the medjay quickly dressed and approached the table. Meanwhile, Simenhotep pushed aside the scrolls and a massive metal book, then golden plates with bread, cheese, and meat, as well as another cup filled with wine, appeared on the table from thin air. Anubis, or rather his earthly incarnation, brought another chair, and Jonahkt cautiously sat down, again expecting unpleasant sensations and yet again being mistaken.
"Help yourself," offered Saimenhotep, taking a piece of cheese and eating it with wine.
Only now did Jonahkt realize how hungry he was, so forgetting about all etiquette, he attacked the food. Simenhotep just smiled, watching how quickly the food disappeared from the luxurious golden plates. He managed to grab only a little for himself, but he didn't need it to live; it was only for his pleasure in the taste of drinks and food.
"Thank you," Jonahkt finally said, taking a sip of wine. "Thank you for everything. Especially for yesterday's reward."
Simenhotep smiled again, seeing how the brave warrior blushed like a boy.
"May I ask?" Jonahkt continued, and receiving an approving nod, he continued. "What happens next? I mean, with me. With us. Because I won't be able to forget what you gave me, even if I really wanted to, and I don't want to!"
"He likes you," Simenhotep said, and his eyes briefly flashed red. "And I like you too. So, come again."
"Just like that?" Jonahkt couldn't believe it. "And... when? How?"
"Whenever you want," shrugged the man or God. "As for how... that will be my concern. Don't worry; my prudish priests will receive the appropriate instructions. By the way, tell the high priest to come to me, let's say, when the shadows disappear."
Saimenhotep stood up, pushing away his cup, and Jonahkt understood that the audience was over. He also got up, circled the table, and felt the God's incarnation embracing him by the shoulders, escorting him to the door. As a farewell, Jonahkt received a kiss that wasn't as overwhelming as yesterday's but still very pleasant.
Exiting the God's chambers, Jonahkt realized that before him was a short corridor ending with doors leading out of the temple. The latter no longer seemed eerie and spooky – it was a large and majestic hall with a throne and statues, but it wasn't filled with a horrifying incomprehensible void. Slowly crossing it, Jonahkt somehow thought not about the God but about Simenhotep – a person who gave up everything to become the incarnation of Anubis. Perhaps, he felt very lonely here, within the walls of this temple. Maybe that's why he opened up to the medjay, realizing that he could accept this gift. Jonahkt touched his lips, still feeling the taste of the kiss, and thought that Simenhotep was incredible, and the brave medjay wanted to continue getting to know not only the God but also his earthly incarnation.
Approaching the gates, Jonahkt knocked on them, and after a moment, he heard the creaking of the opening mechanism. In the temple's antechamber, almost all the priests awaited him, and the high priest stood at the forefront.
"Good morning, gentlemen," Jonahkt said, a cheerful smile appearing on his lips as he looked at the high priest. "The God said that he will be waiting for you at noon. As for me, it's time to return to my duties." Bowing briefly, Jonahkt walked past the priests bewildered by such behavior and left the temple, feeling absolutely happy.
*Setep pai – «my chosen» in ancient Egyptian, also taken from ‘The Mummy’ - 2017 **Medjay – elite forces in ancient Egypt. ***Sa-u – a regiment in ancient Egypt, consisting of 200-250 soldiers. ****Shendyt – traditional male attire in ancient Egypt, something like a loincloth or skirt. *****Khopesh – an ancient Egyptian sword with a distinctive sickle-shaped design.
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Note
A scenario in which Genshin has this message board similar to Animal Crossing where we can type anything we want. The Creator is mute and can only offer encouragements/praises by leaving cute lil love notes to the Acolytes on this particular message board. Thus, it is considered a sacred relic and all offerings are left here. The Creator, as a player, finds these offerings as a daily treasure box with random goodies lol. Acolytes chosen as vessels on that day always look forward to the...(1)
(2) …messages, especially since the Creator has a habit of changing up team comps and mains so nobody feels left out. It deepens both the rivalry and camaraderie amongst the vessels, especially when the Creator ends up getting a new character that deviates the supposed schedule (since they have to focus leveling up and testing that particular character on the field).
A/N: Enjoy!
Word count: 2000, exactly. I know, I'm surprised too.
CW: None
Masterpost
taglist: @iyohime
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There was a welcome chill in the air as the two guards walked down the well-trodden path. A few leaves had begun to change their colors; it would not be long before the rest would follow suit. It was a quiet path, even though it was a well-known and well-traveled path. Dozens took this path out and around Inazuma City every single day, bringing their thanks, well-wishes, and gifts.
One of the guards was dealing with the last, carrying in his arms an elegantly carved cherry-wood lockbox, inlaid with amethyst and iolite. Every day, her Immortality gathered offerings, some from the noble houses, into boxes like these to be blessed by a priest and then sent down the path. It was rare for him to get a glimpse of the contents, but he’d seen them this morning. He did wonder why these things were being sent on- mushrooms, thieves’ insignias, rusted machine parts and smoldering cubes. He’d heard that yesterday’s offering had a beetle try to slip out from under the lid.
It wasn’t his job to worry about Their Light’s offerings, however. Ahead of him, the path made its final turn.
At the end of this famous path lay the humble shrine of the Creator, a pearl of Inazuma City. The nobles constantly fought against the Shogun, wishing to expand this shrine that sat so dear and close to Their heart, but time and again She rebuffed their efforts, keeping this place as such.
The low, red and white walls ringed the plot, a tall and wide gate sitting astride the few stairs up to the main area. Sitting as though built into the great sakura tree that dominated the place was the heart of the shrine- a bulletin board, crooked and cracked with age and wear but still standing, sturdy and strong. Paper grew from it, forming sheets and knots; ink occasionally seeped from the cracks, swirled around by an invisible force. Offerings were given at this shrine in the Creator’s honor, and if They were pleased, messages or orders would come loose from the board. This was the daily dealings that Inazuma and her Shogun did with their God.
Sitting all around the shrine were the gifts laid and structures built, either left by the Creator in distaste or taken in gratitude and sublimated into the great tree that dominated the shrine. Prayer slips illegible and jutting from the bark everywhere, fine jewelry being absorbed by errant branches, food being digested inside baskets woven from living roots.
The guards frowned as they approached the center of the shrine. There, like in any of the other days, sat the irregular sheet of paper the Creator had made for them that day, the one that they were tasked to retrieve for Her Eternity. But instead of a pristine paper marked with neat lines of characters, a stream of thick ink poured down its length, dripping into the pan that collected what fell from Their board. Before either of them could react, something on the board broke, sending several half-formed sheets, several malformed and knotted wads of paper, and the ruined orders tumbling down into the pan alongside a new burst of ink.
The two guards shared a glance. This had been happening with concerning frequency these days- what should have been a simple offer-and-receive turned into… this. The guard with the box went off to set the offerings down and retrieve yesterday’s container, freeing it from the day’s growth of branches while the other guard inspected the board more closely.
Advice for a marriage, encouragement to give things another try, admonishment for lying to a friend… the handwriting was all identifiable and identical, but nothing on the board looked like it was what he was supposed to look for. No official seal, no addressing of the Shogun or any of her major subordinates, nothing. It took a minute more of searching before he found something promising, folded inside of one of the sizable knots that broke earlier. Pulling the paper out and inspecting it, he realized it was what they were looking for.
Once he read it fully, he realized that it was but another harbinger of unrest.
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There was an uncomfortable chill in the air. Kamisato Ayato and Guji Yae Miko outwardly sat calmly on opposite sides of the table, but everyone else in the room shifted their gazes between the two with visible unease. Not only were these two bright minds of Inazuma frequent foes, skirmishing over any minute detail that got in between them, the world had given them something new over which to lash out at each other- as well as those unfortunate to be in the same room. In fact, two of their frequent targets were in the room at that very moment.
With visible wariness and caution, Thoma set a steaming cup of tea in front of Ayato. Ayato glanced down, delicately grabbed it, and took a sip. “Thoma.”
He flinched. “Y-Yes, Waka?”
“Do you remember my order for tea?”
“Of course I–”
“What was it?”
“Black tea with a touch of milk–”
“And?”
Thoma sighed. “Waka, we both know that there weren’t any of those tapioca beads here. It’s an odd enough good that we had difficulty procuring them for the estate, how do you think they would stock those here?”
“Then perhaps my servants should have thought ahead, hm? Quite unwise to think of a beloved of the Creator like this.”
There was an unsettling chuckle, sending a chill down the spines of most of those in the room. “My my, little Ayato,” Yae Miko smiled behind a hand fan, “perhaps one should know how that Great One expects Their chosen to behave before admonishing others.”
“Oh,” Ayato laughed back, “a thousand pardons. I was just caught off guard, being chastised about ‘proper behavior’ by someone who must have the rite of penance memorized by rote.”
“How cute. Perhaps one might need a reminder about who was elected Their chosen first.”
“Perhaps one needs a reminder of who was chosen after putting their old, disused toys away.”
There was a sudden tinge of ozone in the air. “Do you think Their Grace has abandoned Their beloved? Come now, do you really wish to test that assumption?”
Another voice joined the conversation, one that had remained calm through the developing argument. “Now now,” Shikanoin Heizou looked up from his pile of snacks, “both of you back off; no sense in wasting your breath on each other. The Truth and Light can have more than one favorite, can’t They?”
Yae spared a glare his way. “Such a thing is easy to say for a simple mind that demands all of Their attention. Do you think no one found it odd that a certain someone necessitated a new set of artifacts? I just wonder what might possess a mind like that to claim that they ‘could not resonate’ with a set of artifacts that worked exceptionally well for everyone before them. Quite curious indeed.”
“For your information–”
The grand doors at the end of the hall slid open, revealing a simply-dressed attendant. The room quickly hushed, sitting attentively to the announcements she would proclaim on Their behalf. She took a seat at the end of the table, not hiding her discomfort in being near Yae and Ayato.
She cleared her throat as she straightened out the papers in her hand. “Their grace has again accepted our offerings and has given our nation new orders for training and improvement of Their favored. Those from Inazuma include the prestanding…” she hesitated, “Shikanoin Heizou and Thoma.”
The mood in the room darkened. “…And?” Ayato asked.
Yae leaned in. “Who else?”
The attendant seemed scared of what she was about to say. “Alongside the two newcomers…”
“Newcomers.” The word slid off her tongue dripping with disgust.
“Well,” Ayato asked, “who are they?”
At that moment, the other, less impressive, set of doors slammed open. Everyone turned to look at the intruders to the reading of their Creator’s guidance. Silhouetted in the doorway was a broad, muscled wall of a person whose overcoat was flung open. Red lines traced his body ending at two crimson horns, stark against his white hair.
A great voice boomed through the room. “Guess which Oni finally had their dream about that golden comet! That’s right, Arataki ‘The One and Oni’, ‘Numero Uno’ Itto! Here to take his rightful place alongside all the other Vision holders atop Inazuma City and serve That Big One Above The Sky!”
A tired voice behind him spoke up. “Boss…”
Itto quickly pulled a person from behind him up to his side, rambling through his next sentences quickly. “–Alongside the Deputy Assistant of the Arataki Gang, Kuki Shinobu! Who had her dream of the violet comet just last night. And who would also very much like to work for Them.”
As the guards escorting the two interlopers pushed them into the room and gently guided them to their seats, the rest of the room turned their eyes to the attendant in disbelief. She struggled to meet any of their gazes, choosing instead to bury her head in the paper she held. “The two newcomers are… Arataki Itto and Kuki Shinobu.”
The reactions were… less than ideal.
Most of the people in the room were venting their frustrations at each other or at the attendant, in complete disbelief that the Guarantor of Eternity would choose, much less give an iota of attention, towards the braggart oaf of Inazuma. But two people in the crowd aimed their frustrations at a specific target.
“Curious,” Yae Miko glowered at the newest members of the team, “I thought Their Grace only bothered to call upon their servants who had more than a handful of sense in their skulls.”
“Yes,” Ayato continued. “I thought our Undying Light chose only the best and brightest, but They must certainly be taking pity on the… less-deserving.”
“Ah, you know,” Itto shrugged, “felt like a coin toss whether you get picked or not. I guess I won this time! And hey,” his tone began to sharpen, “perhaps They just wanted someone that didn’t complain about others all the time and who can actually, you know, care about other people? They’re more than just the god of being high-and-mighty.”
“Boss,” Shinobu grabbed his attention. “They’re jealous and trying to get a rise out of you. Deep Peal’s had Their hands full and the flunkies are upset that They’re not paying attention to them. Let them huff and be upset all they want, you and I are the ones getting attention.”
“Oh, I see…” He turned back to the two insufferable Vision-wielders. “So is it true? You two just have your underwear in a twist over nothing?”
“Boss!”
“My,” Yae cut in, “what an observant little weasel. I wonder which of us Electro users might actually be of use to Their Grace. A priest hundreds of years in training, or a little runaway who can’t bear to show her face and true colors.”
“Hey,” Itto stood up quickly, partially shoving the table back, “back off! You clearly don’t prove that age makes you better, you hag! Memory serves, I was the one who won our little competition while you called it quits! So clearly, the Head Honcho prefers someone with a little staying power.”
Ayato raised an eyebrow. “This coming from the Oni who was laid out for weeks? Yes, excellent display of constitution, there.”
“You too? Alright, bring it! Both of you, right now, I’ll prove I can–!”
A great, snarling peal of thunder broke through all the noise, drowning out every voice in the room, rattling the walls and windows, reverberating inside the chests of all gathered. Everyone froze, the thunder continuing to roll as the seconds dragged on. When it finally subsided, the room hung deathly silent as few seemed willing to make another sound.
The attendant cleared her throat. “…Shall we move to the next bullet on the agenda?”
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catindabag · 2 months
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Can you make oc’s based off your Au? :)
Well, sure! That’s not an issue. Besides, there’s already a lot of original characters running around and causing havoc/chaos in my crazy TBOSAS on Crack!AU.
I mean, we already have:
Peacekeeper Joe (AKA: Officer Jovilius who wants to quit his job because of the Mentors’ nonstop shenanigans)
The poor pizza delivery guy (AKA: Pizza Pertinax of the Pizza Palace)
Mad Uncle Achilles Ravinstill (He’s the youngest son of President Ravinstill who got arrested for smuggling illegal fireworks)
The “sacred” Bichon Frisé puppies (AKA: the real leaders of Panem)
Mama Monty and her deadly apple pies (She’s a real nightmare national treasure and an infamous “war hero” of Panem)
Mama Cardew (AKA: The Capitol’s scariest and deadliest entity to ever exist)
Mommy Anderson (She’s the one who blackmails people for a living)
Mommy Anderson’s underpaid camera crew (No comment)
Vice President Aurelia Ravinstill (She’s Felix Ravinstill’s mom who’s allergic to charity, poor people, and homeless Hilari)
Elmer Coin (the current Mole President of District 13)
Poor Aeneas Crane (The unfortunate older brother of Arachne Crane who sleeps in a tiny doghouse)
Little Plotinus Heavensbee (the favored and “perfect” younger brother of homeless Hilarius Heavensbee)
Creepy Mr. Heavensbee Sr. (No comment)
Freaky Mrs. Heavensbee (No comment)
Festus Creed’s mom (The current ✨Queen of Neglect✨)
Festus Creed’s dumpster (Darling Demeter the Dumpster)
Festus Creed’s freaky pet rats (Odysseus and Penelope)
Tigris Snow’s cheese fairies
Coryo Snow’s cabbage deities
Coryo Snow’s lima bean elves
Clemensia’s hamster (Hercules)
Gaius Breen’s possum (Patroclus)
Domitia’s emotional support cow (Lady Claudia)
Dean Casca Highbottom’s goldfish (Venus)
Hilarius Heavensbee’s crusty chihuahua (Caracalla)
Domitia’s father’s emotional support cow (Lord Claudius/the real Mayor of D10)
Dennis Fling’s doctor (Quack Dr. Majorian who works at the Capitol Black Market)
Great great grandfather Vipsanius Cornelius Felix Ravinstill (He’s the man who married off his 24 beautiful daughters and 16 sons to every single Capitol Noble House in order to make the ultimate/craziest/most complicated ✨Royal Family Tree✨)
Don’t worry. There will be more weird original characters popping here and there as the story continues. Lol.
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