#.•°★ || inscriptions ||

[felinexwhispers]

Hey, it's Tea. I'm demanding my weekly best boy HCs early 🔫 <3

|| Hi, Tea. I hope you enjoy your weekly sacrifice. ♥️

Characters: Orthaeus (OC)

Type: Headcanons

Warnings: None, just fluff

- Orthaeus, as big and clumsy as he is, has a certain gentleness to him when it comes to you.

- He knows he's intimidating with his large wings and dominating height, but he simply adores you too much to fathom the idea of scaring you–in fact, the idea scares him.

- He's so gentle that sometimes it tickles, and your unexpected giggles always cause him confusion, but if you're smiling he's smiling.

- He can never get enough of you. You're just too pretty, and he wishes he were better with words to express to you just how gorgeous you are, but he'll stick with kissing your fingertips for now.

- He can't help but want to hold your face in his hands, kiss the tip of your nose and whisper sweet nothings to you as you sit in his lap and read.

- There's not a day that goes by where Orthaeus doesn't tell you he loves you. Whether through words or gentle touches, there's always a reminder that he's here for you.

- He can and will (with no heed to protests) pick you up and carry you places, no matter how capable you are. He just loves holding you so much, and you're safer this way. Humor him, won't you?

- His favorite thing to call you is "Little Feather", because your short lifespan but sunny desposition reminds him of a feather in the wind. Short lived, but beautiful nonetheless.

- If he's working he might be a little distant–he can get caught up in paperwork pretty easily. Just kiss his cheek and say his name and he'll snap out of it.

[obligatory end card I have yet to set up]

[bluerthanvelvet444]

ᯓ★⋆˚🅰🅿🆁🅸🅲🅸🆃🆈⋆｡˚ ⁀➷

(Peter Maximoff x fem!reader)

tags: smut with plot and a bit of fluff in the end.

warnings: subby!Peter, restraints, handjob, fingering, riding, p in v, denied orgasm, praise, mentions of abuse, mentions of alcohol, mentions of fight, swearing.

summary: Peter gets captured by the villains. This fic takes place after x-men apocalypse and before x-men dark phoenix.

character count: 19k.

full fic under the cut ↓

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Memoir. What’s its provenance? What is it?

According to scientists, memories are “formed as a result of connections between neurons in the brain”. The poet Sylvia Plath, instead, “sardonically embraced the most horrific and vulgar fragments from the storehouse of collective memory”. The great philosopher Aristotle believed that “memory is like a writing that remains etched in wax, and whose inscriptions remain more or less durable”.

Although you continually researched and seeked in books for the perfect depiction, you weren’t able to find anything that could comply with your personal belief. You were staunch that memories are, in fact, the mirror of our being. Disgraceful memories, glorious ones…they’re both needed to construct the way we act, the way we think, and the way we are. You had always been involved in memoir personally, because of your quirk. You had the marvelous capacity of intruding into one’s memories. You couldn’t directly change or interact with them, instead, you could see, reproduce, assimilate and mimic them. Phenomenal, isn’t it? You may think it is but, your biggest gift to you was, in fact, your biggest ruin. Your life started its downgrade the exact moment you found out about it. You remembered it all.

You were standing small in front of your mother, who had either fallen asleep or passed out. The bottle of cheap tequila in her hands made both answers valid. You were just a kid but you knew it wasn’t easy. Your father had left when you were just a fetus in your mother’s womb. Since then, she had never been the same. All the bills, the rent, expenses were on her. Her job exhausted her and the little time she had left, she spent drowning her worries in alcohol. She didn’t need any more problems, so you never told her about that awkward energy growing inside of you. That particular day you felt it bigger than ever, the need to find out what it led to even stronger. So you put your tiny fingers on her temples, as the little voice in your head told you to, and you started seeing. All of your mother's life was flashing in front of your eyes quickly. You stopped at one particular memory, you inspected it. Your mother stood pregnant in front of a man that kept yelling at her. You put the pieces of the puzzles together. It was clear, and the new knowledge of the situation triggered something inside of you, inside of your power. You kept replaying and replaying the scene, tears in your eyes, as the man’s words dissolved from the memory and came directly out of your mouth. That woke your mother up, she was holding her head as the same image kept banging in her mind, and as the man’s voice spit those known words harshly from your little mouth. She yelled for you to stop, and you lowkey wish you never did. As soon as you stopped, she grabbed you and threw you inside of-what you playfully called-the dark room, your basement.

“I-I’m sorry…I can’t-you’re him…I-I see him-” Her words came out broken from her mouth, her sobs stopping her mid-sentence as she locked you inside.

That became a habit since then. You grew up in the “dark room”, hardly ever going outside if not to eat and respond to natural calls. Your main activity was watching TV and day-dreaming about the outside world. You knew it was better than what you were living, it had to be. Especially because you found out that you weren’t crazy or evil but that you simply belonged to a different species. They called them mutants.And apparently, there was a school for kids just like you, the interviews of the famous Charles Xavier were the ones you liked watching the most on TV. As the years went by, your urge to run away grew more and more, and so you did. One day in the early 70s, you grabbed all of your things and left, taking advantage of your mom’s blackout. You took different taxis and avoided the questions about your young age, and you were finally standing in front of Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters. Although, it seemed different from what you saw on TV: it looked abandoned, the plate with the name on it rusty and absentmindedly resting on the ground, and the gates closed. You tried peeking inside, before being startled by an unfamiliar voice behind you.

“Don’t waste your time. They can’t help you anymore, but we can.”

This is how you found yourself with a group of mutants who had the exact same hopes you had, before they were broken by the closure of the school. You were guided by The Captain-that is how he wanted to be called-that was trying to create a new safe place for young mutants. And his plan seemed to work, kid mutants were actually starting to come…before Xavier’s school opened again. At this point, your group desperately found itself in front of the school’s gate again. You were dismissed,though, by a blue beast mutant.

“We’re sorry, the school only accepts young kids between 5 and 17-” He told you before turning his back.

“You can try and talk to Charles though, I’m sure he will find some space for y-'' He stopped seeing you had all left.

This is why The Captain’s plan was ever created in the first place. He believed that Charles Xavier was a man only drawn by his personal needs, and that he only used the young mutants to gain popularity and be idolized by the US government.

“This is why we were rejected. Our powers aren’t conventionally pleasing. No human kid would ever desire our powers. So if he believes our gifts can’t be used for good, we won’t use them for good.” He spoke firmly to you all.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

Your flow of memories was interrupted by The Captain.

“We’ve captured one. You will watch him while we take care of the others. Do your thing on him and find out his weakness.” He spoke with a deep voice.

You nodded and began making your way downstairs before he gripped your wrist.

“Don’t disappoint me, Y/N.” You felt his piercing gaze in your eyes.

“I won’t.” You gulped and quickly left the room.

When you opened the door you scanned your surroundings. The room was all white, with petty furniture. No windows, a table, a chair, a small closet, and a bed which had a figure laying down on it. You inched closer and scanned the boy. His eyes closed, he was probably knocked out, a few bruises on his skin, his hands and legs restrained by the strong collars around them… he looked your age, his hair was silver with some goggles resting on them. He had a pleasant face to look at, if the circumstances had been different you could’ve even admitted that he was pretty attractive. He was wearing a black protective suit, probably X-men’s equipment, you guessed. The more you observed him, the more you were confused. You expected them to capture the great Mystique, the glorious Magneto…not a newbie. You sighed and started walking towards the desk, ramaging in your bag for a sleeping pill so that you could do your magic without being interrupted.

Peter slowly opened his eyes, he could feel his body sore from the previous fight. He started to panic as he didn’t recognize his surroundings. He tilted his head forwards, noticing the person standing in front of the desk.

“H-hey…! Ppsttttt…Lady! Yes! You! Lady!” You heard his desperate calls.

You walked towards him and stopped at the side of the bed.

“Hi! So there’s a bunch of bad people who captured me and probably want to beat my ass-” You stopped him mid-sentence.

“I know.” You replied with a monotone voice.

“You-you know?! Don’t tell me you’re one of ‘em- oh shit! You’re one of ‘em! C’mon you have to be kiddin’ me…you’re too pretty to be mean! Hey! C’mon help me!” He rushed, his hands and legs squirming at high speeds against the restraints. You didn’t budge at his compliment, instead, you were focused on his movements.

“A speedster, huh.” You mumbled.

“A speed…A speedster?! Babe I'm not a speedster- I’m the speedster! Quicksilver! Peter Maximoff! The one and only!” He replied cockily, almost as if he was offended by your lack of knowledge. You raised your eyebrow, clearly having no clue of who he was.

“Aah babe you’ve got to be kiddin’ me! I’m Quicksilver! The one who beated Apocalypse’s ass! I did it all myself heh- I’m basically a hero, everyone loves me. Don’t ya watch TV or what?” Even though you had no idea who this guy was and what he did to be part of the X-men, you could sense the exaggeration in his words.

“I prefer books.” You shrugged before turning your back and making your way to the desk again.

“Hey! Hey! Where ya goin’?! Are ya a mutant too? Hey, yer not gonna hurt me aren’t ya?! What’s your power? C’mon tell me…What’s your power? Whaddaya do?!”

You rolled your eyes as his continuous questions started to annoy you.

“Will you shut up and let me do what I need to do?!” You snapped while holding between your thumb and index the sleeping pill. His pupils dilated.

“Whoa-whoa…let’s chill down a bit, yea? No need to use that, babe. Ya just gotta ask and I'll do whatever you want me to do.” He said with a smirk forming on his face. You sighed.

“Close your eyes and stay still.” You began pressing your fingers against his temples.

“...Will it hurt?” He said with a nervous smile, big brown eyes looking up at you.

“It doesn’t have to.”

Just like that you were thrown into Peter’s memories. You saw his child self, his mom, his sister…his first time using his powers…Magneto…many memories about Magneto, weird. You decided to dig a little deeper. You replayed the memory where he found out that…

“Magneto is your father?!” You exclaimed, visibly surprised.

“Hehe, I guess…so that’s your power?” He said with a tiny chuckle.

You kept thinking about what you just saw. You never saw a direct contact between Peter and Magneto, so you supposed he didn’t know about his son. That could’ve easily been used against him, you had to tell The Captain. You walked towards the table and gathered your bag.

“That’s a cool power…I’ve never heard ‘bout it. Actually, I’ve never heard ‘bout ya either…do ya have a supervillain name? Why didn’t ya fight with the others?” The words fell rapidly out of his lips. You gulped.

“Just Y/N. I don’t fight with the others. My powers weren’t made for physical combat.” That’s true, they hardly ever let you come with them on missions. You were useless for superheroes as much as you were for supervillains.

“Pffffttt…that’s bullshit! Ya can do those cool things with yer mind! Ya totally have to meet Charles, he’s gott-”

“Charles? Charles’s a selfish man who puts his needs first. I don’t want anything from him.” You scoffed.

“Wha-what? Are ya out of yer mind? Have ya ever even met Charles? He’s the coolest. I was literally a loser who lived in his mom’s basement before meeting him. Always been cool though.” His words made your blood boil, hearing that he didn’t hesitate to help him but discarded you immediately. You told Peter your story, how you truly believed Charles was gonna save you but ended up breaking your inner child’s heart. Your eyes started to water as memories flooded in front of your eyes.

“Hey-I-I’m sorry that happened to ya but- hey- if I get outta here alive, I promise I will take you to the school. The professor will help ya, he always does.” You looked at him, a tiny glimmer of hope appearing in your eyes even though you knew that you couldn’t leave.

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You spent all your day talking to him. He was funny, you had to admit. The nicest company you had ever had. He told you about his family, how he joined the X-men, everything. And before you knew it, the night came.

“Oh uhm. You should get some sleep, you’re probably exhausted.” You said while getting up, ready to leave.

“Wait- uhhh…I can’t really sleep with this armor thingy on. It’s uncomfy.” He complained.

“Oh. Right, I can bring you some clothes. But I…can’t untie you. It’s the rules.” You shrugged.

“No need to. I usually sleep naked.” He winked at you.

“...” You contorted your face, not really knowing how to respond.

“HA! Gotcha. Just kidding. I sleep in my boxers.” He said with a proud grin on his lips.

“...I’ll bring you clothes.” You said before being interrupted again.

“No! Seriously, I just need to take my clothes off.”

You raised your eyebrow.

“...Not because I’m a creep. Simply because my speed speeds my body’s functions, and by speeding it highs my temperature so I get hot.” He spoke as if it was obvious.

“...Right.” You sighed and sat on the edge of the bed.

“How does this thing open?”

“W-whoa whoa…you-are you gonn- wait-” He stuttered as his cheeks slightly reddened.

“You said you wanted your clothes off, and I’m not gonna risk getting scolded by The Captain by freeing you.” You sighed. He gulped and pointed where his zipper was.

C’mon Peter…ya can do this, buddy. Ya just need to focus, yea? Don’t let a fine chick undressing ya speed yer speedy hormones, mh? Peter thought to himself. Your hands gripped the zipper and started pulling it down. Stay focused soldier. His broad chest was revealed as you slowly undressed him. You stopped at his abs to hop on the bed and take his shoes off. As you leaned to pull his boots, your arm slightly brushed his crotch. Holy fucking mother of all the fucking mutants, fuck. She barely touched ya and yer already growing hard, Peter? Must be tha speedy genes, yea, has to be. Totally not has nothing to do with ya being a virgin in your 20s. Nuh-uh. Goddamn you, Peter!

You threw his shoes on the floor, and started pulling his suit down again. You let your gaze linger as he was half-naked in front of you. He was wearing boxers with lightning bolts on them, a tiny chuckle escaped your mouth at that.

“Someone’s excited.” You said with a playful grin on your lips as you pointed at the prominent bulge in his boxers.

“Hey! Not my fault ya got all handsy- how did ya expect me to react?” He said with a tiny blush on his cheeks, he was so cute.

“...And it’s the speedster genes, by tha way. They call me Quickie for a reason.” He replied, annoyed because of how embarrassed he got.

“Do you need help?” You suggested. It may have been wrong, since you were “enemies” and you barely knew each other but…when are you gonna have another cute speedster all for you again?

“DoIneedawhat-” He blurted out, not believing what he just heard.

Your lips curled up in a smirk, and before he could process anything, your fingers grazed his crotch through his underwear.

“Oh- fuck- yea…yes-” He moaned, you giggled.

“So eager, mh?” You teased him by pulling his waistband up and then leaving it smack against his skin. He groaned and nodded, he was so worked up by nothing. You undressed him of his boxers too, his shaft springing free against his stomach, leaving him naked on the bed. His hips bucked up in search of friction. You grinned and gently took his dick in your hand, slowly pumping it.

“Aaah…f-f-yes…please…faster…” He whined.

You giggled and leaned in to kiss his lips gently, muffling his pleas. You started speeding your movements, and he deepened the kiss as his moans rolled off his tongue. As you made out, you could hear the sound of his hands desperately squirming against the restraints.

“Please…let me touch you…” He whimpered, big puppy eyes gazing up at you.

“Mh…sorry, can’t do, baby. It’s the rules.” You smirked and leaned in to peck his lips again. You stopped and sat up to pull off your shirt. He groaned at the sight. You took him in your hands again and fasted your pace even more.

“O-oh..f-fuck...gonna…gonna cum babe…c-cant hold it in…ahh..” You giggled and sped up even more, your mouth working hungrily against his, eating up his moans. He came with a loud groan, muffled by your lips. He kept whining after that.

“Pleasepleaseplease…wanna please ya too…lemme…I’m good at it- I promise…I’m basically a human vibrator-long lasting rose toy- please…” You giggled and nodded, pecking his lips. You took off your pants, before untying one of his hands. He groaned and immediately pulled you closer, his hand making its way under your panties. He suppressed a moan by biting his lip as he felt your slick with his fingers. He gently started circling your clit, and after he heard a few moans of confirmation from you, he began buzzing his fingers against it.

“Ooh…f-fuck…just like that, baby, don’t stop…” You moaned, he answered with a cute whine. He looked up at you, his middle finger gently pushing at your entrance, not fully sliding in. You nodded and bit your lip to suppress any more unholy sound coming out of you as his fingers started to fuck you slowly.

“F-fuck…” You threw your head back. He was gazing up at you with parted lips, as if he had never seen something so breathtaking. He kept picking up the pace, until you stopped his wrist and tied it up again.

“Wha-Wait-Why..? Y-you didn’t like it?” He said with his silver brows furrowed, he was lost and scared of what your answer could’ve been.

“Oh, it was fucking awesome, baby. But I wanna use something else to come, yea? Will you let me do that?” You said in a cooing voice, clearly driving his mind crazy.

“Mhm…yesplease…” He nodded, his gaze not daring to leave your body.

You undid your bra, his eyes widening, and straddled his hips. Your entrance just above his cock. He groaned at the sight, his shaft fully hardening again. You smiled and slowly sinked in, until your hips met his.

“Aaah…w-warm…so warm n’tight…mppph…” He moaned loudly.

You grinned and started slowly sliding your hips up and down repeatedly, reaching a stable pace. You moaned as you started speeding up, yet it wasn’t enough to satisfy you fully.

“Mhh…baby…mind helping me a little?” You said looking down at him.

He moaned and nodded. He started superspeeding his hips to meet yours as you bounced on his cock. The new sensation making you moan loudly.

“Ohhh! Fuck! Just like that, baby…such a good boy…” You groaned as you felt yourself closer. He let out a tiny whimper as he heard your praise and kept speeding up, his wrists and legs straining against the collars, forming tiny red lines.

“Fuckfuckfuck…can i cum? P-please-ah…?” He whined.

“Mhhh...not yet- baby…let me finish first…” You smirked.

He groaned and sped up even more, trying desperately to bring you to the edge. He hissed as he felt that knot in his stomach urging to snap. It didn’t take much for you to come undone. You cried out as you were still jumping up and down at lightning speed. As soon as he felt you clenching around him, he moaned loudly, as he was just about to cum. You quickly pulled him out of you and allowed him to spatter his fluid on your body. He panted heavily, droplets of sweat sinking from his forehead to the mattress. You waited a few moments before grabbing a towel and cleaning you both. You laid down on the bed with him, moving his head on your chest as you ran your fingers in his silver locks, whispering sweet nothings in his ear.

“You're my apricity.” You said while caressing his hair and pecking his temple. His eyes were closed, and he was clearly drifting off to sleep.

“Mh?” He mumbled, not moving one single part of his body, still restrained.

“Apricity. I read that in a book.” You chuckled.

“In simpler words?” He mumbled.

“The warmth of the sun in winter.”

“In even simpler words?” He muttered, his voice coming muffled by your chest.

“My life is the winter, you are the warmth.” You admitted. He didn't answer to that. You weren't sure if he actually understood the concept or even just your words, but one thing you were a hundred percent sure of.

He fell asleep smiling.

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taglist: @cxndiedvi0lets @angeldollw @marchsfreakshow @newwavesylviaplath @happy74827 @evpeters87

a/n: raaaahh!!! I'm honestly so proud of this, the fic came out just like i imagined. Anyways, hope you like it, love you all🤍🤍

join my taglist!!

all rights reserved.

[writers-potion]

hey, can you do a circles of hell post like the heaven one?

The Nine Circles of Hell 😈🔥

Dante Alighieri’s The Divine Comedy is divided into 3 parts: Inferno, Purgatorio and Paradiso. The Inferno presents us with the popular concept of Nine Circles of Hell.

Ante-Inferno

Think of this as the Ground Lobby for Hell.

The Gates of Hell have this inscription: "Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate" (Abadon all hope, ye who enter here)

Souls who couldn't choose between good and evil reside here, tortued and chased by hornets and snakes. (Seems like indecision is also a sin, haha)

There are angels here as well who chose to be on the side of neither good and evil, and they're also tormented.

After crossing the river on the boundary for hell with Charon, you meet the first level of hell:

First Circle: Limbo

The first circle is home to the unbaptized and virtuous pagans, who simply didn't know that Christ exist.

These souls have lived morally, but failed to accept Christiantiy as a religion

No physical torture, but waves of sadness flow through the souls, lamenting the fact that they're close to Heaven but aren't in it.

Retirement community of the afterlife: Hippocrates, Aristotle, Virgil, Homer, Horace, Ovid, Socrates, Plato, Saladin

Second Circle: Lust

The wind-buffeted second circle of Hell is the final destination of the lustful and adulterous.

Souls are blown about in a violent storm, without hope of rest. They are torn in a raging storm and thrown against rocks.

Cleopatra and Helen of Troy were among its most famous residents. Francesca da Rimini and her lover Paolo.

Third Circle: Gluttony

Those who overindulge themselves are forced to lie in vile, freezing slush, guarded by Ceberus

Unable to move, they lay on the ground forever while being hurled with sweage and dirt.

Ciacco of Florence is here.

Fourth Circle: Avarice & Prodigality

This section of Hell is reserved for the money-grubbers and overly materialistic among us. Those who hoarded money come here.

The greedy battle each other, forever rolling giant boulders on each other. When they push the heavy weights, it rolls back and the process starts all over again.

Plutus guards them.

Fifth Circle: Wrath & Sulllenness

Dante tells us that the wrathful and angry souls of this circle spend eternity waging battle with each other on the banks of River of Styx.

The sullen are forced to breath below the dark waters, chocking on the black mud derived from the world above.

Fillippo Argenti is here.

───〃★ Door to Lower Hell: gate guarded by fallen angels ★〃───

Sixth Circle: Heresy

Heretics spend eternity entombed in flaming crypts in the sixth circle. Think of a graveyard with burning tombstones.

Heresy is the sin of having beliefs opposed to the Christian belief, which can be a little vague in modern times.

Florentines Farinata degil Uberti and Cavalcante de' Cavalvanti are here.

Seventh Circle: Violence

The Seventh Circle is sub-categorized into 3 smaller rings: Oter, Middle and Inner.

The outer ring is filled with blood and fire and reserved for murderers and thugs. Centaurs guard the Outer Ring, shooting criminals with arrows.

The middle ring is where, according to Dante, suicide victims go. They’re transformed into trees and fed upon by harpies.

The inner ring, a place of burning sand, is reserved for those who are violent against God and nature (blasphemers)

Eighth Circle: Fraud

Geryon, a creature symbolizing fraud, welcomes you to the eighth circle. He has a human face, a scorpion tail and giant wings.

The eighth circle is subdivided into ten trenches, where you’ll find con artists of all sorts. These trenches are called Malebolge (Evil pockets) and each contains different types of criminals who commited fraud.

Panderes and seducers, flatterers, sorcerers, false prophets, liars, thieves, people who created false money, counterfeits, impersonators, schismatics, etc. reside here.

Ninth Circle: Treachery

The final circle is a frozen wasteland occupied by history’s greatest traitors. Betrayers of are frozen in a lake of ice, and most of Satan's body is also immersed in ice.

It is divided into 4 stages: (1) Caina - traitors to family (2) Antenora - traitors to nation or politicians (3) Ptolomaea - hosts to betray theiur guests (4) Judecca - those to betray their lords/masters.

In the very center, Satan punishes the greatest betrayers of all time: Judas Iscariot, who betrayed Christ, and Brutus and Cassius who betrayed Julius Caesar.

Satan has three mouths, each of which eats a specific person: with left and right devouring Brutus and Cassius and the centre mouth devouring Judas. 

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

[oliviaswrldd]

★彡★ 𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐃 ★彡★

shifting method

Hi guys, welcome in the next post from my series shifting methods.

This method doesn't require lot of visualization but more like using your sensation of feeling.

This method is made up by ME!

POISON METHOD:

1. Lay/Sit down in comfortable position.

optional step: take a few deep breaths and count from 1 to 10 just to prepare yourself

2. Visualize yourself being in your CR room. Don't visualize all of the room details. Just you laying/sitting on the bed/chair...

3. Now you are holding a small transparent bottle with red substance. There is a sticky note stuck to the bottle with the red inscription: shifting poison.

4. Mentally prepare yourself that this bottle you are holding will make you wake up in your dr.

5. Open bottle and drink everything what's inside.

6. Start to FEEL symptoms. Feel the energy changing, feel your surroundings changing, feel dizzy. You drank shifting poison so now wait to shift!

7. You can repeat step 6 as long as you want and you can shift awake or just fall asleep KNOWING that this magic bottle make you wake up in your dr.

-------------------------------------------------------

As you see this method isn't very hard and complicated. Of course don't discourage yourself if you won't shift after first try <33

Have a good day 🖤

[nanshe-of-nina]

Favorite History Books || Assyria: The Rise and Fall of the World’s First Empire by Eckart Frahm ★★★★☆

… This birth of Assyria in the proper sense of the term— its emergence as a land that included great cities such as Nineveh, Calah, and Arbela, and soon others much farther away— marked the beginning of a new era: the Middle Assyrian period. Now a full-fledged monarchy, Assyrians started to see their land as a peer of the most powerful states of the time, from Babylonia in the south to Egypt in the west. During the eleventh century BCE, the Assyrian kingdom experienced a new crisis, this one caused by climate change, migrations, and internal tensions. It lost most of its provinces, especially in the west. But when the dust settled, it managed to rise from the ashes faster than any of the other states in the region. A number of energetic and ruthless Assyrian rulers of the Neo-Assyrian period (ca. 934– 612 BCE) took advantage of the weakness of their political rivals, embarking on a systematic campaign of subjugation, destruction, and annexation. Their efforts, initially aimed at the reconquest of areas that had been under Assyrian rule before and then moving farther afield, were carried out with unsparing and often violent determination, cruelly epitomized in an aphoristic statement found in another of Esarhaddon’s inscriptions: “Before me, cities, behind me, ruins.” . . . During the last years of Esarhaddon’s reign, Assyria ruled over a territory that reached from northeastern Africa and the Eastern Mediterranean to Western Iran, and from Anatolia in the north to the Persian Gulf in the south. Parks with exotic plants lined Assyrian palaces, newly created universal libraries were the pride of Assyrian kings, and an ethnically diverse mix of people from dozens of foreign lands moved about the streets of Assyrian cities such as Nineveh and Calah. Yet it was not to last. Only half a century after Esarhaddon’s reign, the Assyrian state suffered a dramatic collapse, culminating in the conquest and destruction of Nineveh in 612 BCE. Assyria’s fall occurred long before some better- known empires of the ancient world were founded: the Persian Empire, established in 539 BCE by Cyrus II; Alexander the Great’s fourth-century BCE Greco-Asian Empire and its successor states; the third-century BCE empires created by the Indian ruler, Ashoka and the Chinese empero, Qin Shi Huang; and the most prominent and influential of these, the Roman Empire, whose beginnings lay in the first century BCE. The Assyrian kingdom may not have the same name recognition. But for more than one hundred years, from about 730 to 620 BCE, it had been a political body so large and so powerful that it can rightly be called the world’s first empire. And so Assyria matters. “World history” does not begin with the Greeks or the Romans— it begins with Assyria. “World religion” took off in Assyria’s imperial periphery. Assyria’s fall was the result of a first “world war.” And the bureaucracies, communication networks, and modes of domination created by the Assyrian elites more than 2,700 years ago served as blueprints for many of the political institutions of subsequent great powers, first directly and then indirectly, up until the present day. This book tells the story of the slow rise and glory days of this remarkable ancient civilization, of its dramatic fall, and its intriguing afterlife.

[chiskz]

《 STRAY KIDS <★★★★★ (5-STAR)> UNVEIL : TRACK 4 "TOPLINE (Feat. Tiger JK)" 》

♡ 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐟𝐢𝐭

♡ 𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐨 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞

chichi stands with han on the truck, taking turns rapping with him (line distribution: who dares to take it TOP CLASS)

♡ 𝐟𝐮𝐧 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐭(𝐬)

this is the first unveil video where chichi has received lines. despite this, fans are convinced that this will chichi's era, due to many hints that this album is "so chichi coded".

first STAYs talked about tigers being the theme of one of the teaser photos (the emoticon as well as the animal representing chichi is actually a tiger, her skzoo is also that animal) this has now additionally been added to the inscriptions on magazines read by members during the video. one of chichi's most recognizable nicknames - "one and only" - can be seen on them.

________________________________

♡𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @alyszaen , @smh-anon , @neohyxn , @stealanity , @alixnsuperstxr , @juliawritingblog , @rizzshimura , @qtnoaly , @elizalabs3

[yugiohcardsdaily]

Posted Cards Master List - 47.0

May 2023, 1st thru 22nd

Linear Equation Cannon

Duel Link Dragon, the Duel Dragon

Ultimaya Tzolkin

Evil★Twin Challenge

Granguignol the Dusk Dragon

Evil★Twin GG EZ

Evil★Twin Present

Evil★Twins Ki-sikil & Lil-la

Live☆Twin Channel

Live☆Twin Home

Live☆Twin Ki-sikil

Live☆Twin Lil-la

Secret Password

Lyrilusc - Recital Starling

Lyrilusc - Assembled Nightingale

Lyrilusc - Beryl Canary

Lyrilusc - Bird Call

Lyrilusc - Bird Sanctuary

Lyrilusc - Bird Strike

Lyrilusc - Celestine Wagtail

Lyrilusc - Cobalt Sparrow

Lyrilusc - Ensemblue Robin

Lyrilusc - Independent Nightingale

Lyrilusc - Phantom Feathers

Lyrilusc - Promenade Thrush

Lyrilusc - Sapphire Swallow

Lyrilusc - Turquoise Warbler

Abyss Actor - Liberty Dramatist

Abyss Actor - Super Producer

Abyss Actors' Dress Rehearsal

Abyss Script - Dramatic Story

Apophis the Swamp Deity

Arktos XII - Chronochasm Vaylantz

Basiltrice, Familiar of the Evil Eye

Beargram, Shelled Emperor of the Forest Crown

Big Welcome Labrynth

Bio-Insect Armor

Branded Befallen

Bystial Baldrake

Cassimolar

Chaos Archfiend

Chaos Beast

Chaos Mirage Dragon

Chaos Phantasm

Chaos Witch

Choju of the Trillion Hands

Circle of the Fairies

Core of Chaos

Couple of Aces

Diabolantis the Menacing Mantis

Dimensional Allotrope Varis

Dogmatika Alba Zoa

Squeaknight

Dogmatikamatrix

Dyna Mondo

Evigishki Neremanas

Evil Eyes Unleashed

Fairyant the Circular Sorcerer

Fierce Tiger Monghu

Focused Aquamirror

Galactikuriboh

Galaxy Hundred

Galaxy Photon Dragon

Galaxy Summoner

Giant Ballgame

Gigantic "Champion" Sargas

Gigantic Thundercross

Gishki Grimness

Gishki Nekromirror

Gold Pride - Captain Carrie

Gold Pride - Leon

Gold Pride - Nytro Blaster

Gold Pride - Nytro Head

Outstanding Dog Marron

Gold Pride - Star Leon

Gold Pride - Start Your Engines!

Gold Pride - The Crowd Goes Wild!

Gravekeeper's Inscription

Fusion Duplication

Green Ninja

Humongous Hive Hegemon - Zexstagger

Icejade Gymir Aegirine

Icejade Manifestation

Infinite Antlion

Intimidating Ore - Summonite

Jioh the Gravity Ninja

Kashtira Arise-Heart

Kashtira Big Bang

Kashtira Overlap

Kashtira Riseheart

Kashtiratheosis

Laevatein, Generaider Boss of Shadows

Land Flipping

Light of the Branded

Made to Order Mermaid Outfit Outfitter

Manticore of Smashing

Mental Tuner

Meteor Rush - Monochroid

Minairuka

Number C62: Neo Galaxy-Eyes Prime Photon Dragon

[burning-fcols]

✧ 「  @ʜᴇʟʟꜱ-ꜰᴠʀʏ   」   ✧  - ᴄᴏɴᴛɪɴᴜᴇᴅ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ★

「 ☆ 」 The argument starts out doing what was intended… It knocks Husk from his high-and-mighty throne, the shock sending the feline into a haphazard scramble of justification. Yelling is preferable to the dry criticism he had been spewing earlier, Angel able to accept it easier. He’s used to being screamed at. To being the object of someone else’s fury. It’s judgment that’s harder to swallow; the clear, composed tone of someone repeating what Angel already knows. But this? This is borderline amusing, watching Husk defend the sacredness of the film industry against the plague of porn.

It’s not a fight he can win… and yet Husk digs in anyway. Maybe Alastor has a point when he goes on about how much fun it can be to watch someone struggle to accomplish an impossible feat.

It isn’t until mention of a ❛ two bit whore ❜ — the others concern misconstrued as condemning —that it becomes a lot less fun. Stiffening where he stands, fur bristles as narrowed eyes meet Husk with a matched ( if misdirected ) malice. Frustrated at himself for how deeply such a common insult managed to cut and how clearly it did, clenched fists and tense shoulders don’t waver while a venomous gaze follows the feline out the door. Growling deep in the back of his throat, Angel is only able to hold himself back for a breath before he’s storming out as well. Nothing but a brash— ❝ Out fer a smoke! ❞ —leaving his lips when asked where he was going.

Pushing open the front doors with a vengeance, Angel doesn’t look at Husk despite clearly having followed him. Instead he stalks forward to stand a few feet away— close enough to be a nuisance but far enough to keep pointedly ignoring him —and pulls out a package of cigarettes from his chest fluff, along with a lighter. Rosegold and of delicate design, engraved with a pattern of hearts, the inscription ❛ Forever ❜ up the side in swirled letters. Thumb subconsciously runs across the word, feeling it before he flips it open and tries to light a cigarette. Grumbling under his breath as it takes a few attempts, the lighter fighting Angel’s sharp movements, it finally ignites.

Expression crinkled in disdain as he inhales deeply, red smokes billows from Angel’s lips with an audible sigh. Posture relaxes, disgust shed in favor of daresay gratitude flashing in Angel’s tired gaze. Relief… and the strength to turn and face Husk, irritation re-ignited as he snaps, ❝ Y'know what yer problem is? Yer sittin' up on yer fuckin' high-horse, talkin' shit 'bout ev'ryone around you— like you ain't jus' some bitta' boose-slinga' who prob'bly hasn' gotten laid in years. ❞

Resting a hand on his cocked hip, signature scarlet smoke trails in the air from his cigarette as he beholds Husk through narrowed eyes, ❝ Well, I don' give a SHIT what you or anyone in that hotel thinks. ❞ A slight slip of the tongue, Angel betraying that Husk isn't the only person he feels looked down on by. ❝ 'Cause I'm proud of what I do. An' I do it well. In fact, I'm th' fuckin' BEST in th' bus'ness. ❞ Flicking his cigarette at Husk's feet, he leans closer and snaps, ❝ An' if ya don' believe it, jus' ask ANYONE in this rancid shit-hole 'cause I guran-fuckin'-tee they've ALL gotten off thanks ta me. I've got more fans than you could eva' fuckin' DREAM of, Pussy-Cat. ❞

❝ So clearly, I'm doin' somethin' right. ❞ 「 ☆ 」

[scriptorumsanctus]

Genefather - Guy Haley

Archmagos Belisarius Cawl invites representatives from across the Imperium, hoping to secure their assistance in unlocking the secrets of the pylon network. Among the attendees, however, is an uninvited guest who may possess the only mind in the galaxy greater than that of the fabled Archmagos…

In the cataclysmic epochs of the 41st millennium, where shadows entwine the stars and the echoes of ancient heresies reverberate through the immaterium, a saga of profound arcana and forbidden knowledge unfurls its ominous scrolls.

Guy Haley, the revered scribe of the Imperium’s sagas, has chiseled yet another illustrious script, a continuum to the sacred text of "Belisarius Cawl: The Great Work". Within the encrypted vellum of "Genefather", a meeting of minds echoes through the vastness of time and space. The confluence of Belisarius Cawl and Fabius Bile.

Key figures emerge from the shadows, amongst them Qvo and Alpha Primus—vessels of lore and carriers of destinies yet unveiled. Their tales intertwine with whispers of the Inquisition and the hidden mechanisms of the Adeptus Mechanicus, laying the foundation stones for epics yet to be sung.

Within the pages of this narrative scroll, the spirits of Qvo and Alpha Primus are the most legendary. They emerge as the paragons of intrigue, heralding a theatre of formidable conflicts, and sowing the seeds of mysteries yet to bloom in the grim vastness of Cawl’s odysseys. The story also breathes with the cold winds of the Inquisition’s scrutiny, lingering ominously over the arcane machineries of the wider Mechanicus.

In the labyrinthine corridors of 40k lore, where chronicles intertwine with the threads of prophecy and retcon, a tempest brews. The aeons have shifted, the celestial tapestry realigned, placing the saga of the Imperium Nihilus a hundred years beyond the sanctified scrolls of the Sanctus Lore. In the echoes of such celestial reconfigurations, murmurs vibrate through the Empyrean, speculating the heralding of novel armaments and divine theatres of the 40k dominion.

This humble scribe downloaded this tombs content as and audioscroll, the herald John Banks invokes the spirits of the saga with a vocal alchemy that reverberates with the essence of the 40k mythos. His sonorous incantations breathe life into the chiseled inscriptions, enshrouding the listener in the sacred atmospheres of the Dark Imperium’s echoed tales.

"Genefather", thus, engraves its revered glyphs in the sanctified codices of the 41st millennium, resonating with the arcanum and the chronicles of unyielding progress shrouded in the enigmatic veils of heresy and the Omnissian mystery.

★★★★

[larisastitch]

Happy Birthday To My Wonderful Husband Cross Stitch Pattern

★ Specification of this cross stitch pattern for different types of fabric ✔ Fabric: Aida. ✔ Colors: 11. Palette: DMC. ✔ Size: 96 × 92 stitches.

★ Finished size will vary depending on the count fabric/canvas you choose. ✔ 14 count ⇒ Size: 6.86 × 6.57 inches | 17.42 × 16.69 cm ✔ 16 count ⇒ Size: 6 × 5.75 inches | 15.24 × 14.6 cm ✔ 18 count ⇒ Size: 5.33 × 5.11 inches | 13.54 × 12.98 cm

Celebrate your husband’s special day with my heartfelt “Happy Birthday To My Wonderful Husband Cross Stitch Pattern.” This delightful design is more than just a pattern; it’s a personalized expression of love and appreciation. Capture the essence of your sentiments with the central inscription “Happy Birthday To My Wonderful Husband,” surrounded by charming details that symbolize your affection. From the cake adorned with candles to the delicate trace of a kiss and two tiny hearts, every stitch tells a story of love and celebration. Simple yet adorable, this pattern allows you to create a personalized gift that will warm your husband’s heart and make his birthday truly memorable. Stitch your love into every detail and watch as this thoughtful gesture brings joy and happiness to your beloved husband on his special day.

★ Source: Happy Birthday To My Wonderful Husband Cross Stitch Pattern

[felinexwhispers]

.•°★ || MASTER POST || ★°•.

.•°★ ORTHAEUS - NEPHILIM

Tea's Monthly Sacrifice #1 - sfw headcanons

Black! Plus-sized! Reader - sfw headcanons

.•°★ ASZIEN - VAMPIRE

.•°★ MYDAIEL - ANGEL

.•°★ ZAROS - DEMON

[mjolnir-viking-jewelry]

Sleipnir ring - 99$

★Material: High Quality Solid 960 Sterling Silver★

Weight: approx. 20 g (0,7 oz)

Borgund Stave Church (Norwegian: Borgund stavkyrkje) is a former parish church of the Church of Norway in Lærdal Municipality in Vestland county, Norway.

Sleipnir, pronounced as "SLAYP-nir," holds a remarkable place in Norse mythology as the extraordinary horse of Odin, the Allfather. What set Sleipnir apart from all other horses was his extraordinary attribute of eight legs, twice the number of a typical equine. These additional limbs sprouted from his shoulders and haunches, bestowing upon him an otherworldly appearance. Regarded as the epitome of equine excellence, Sleipnir accompanied Odin on countless ventures, astounding all with his unparalleled power, awe-inspiring speed, and indomitable strength. His gallop outpaced any other horse, his kicks possessed an unprecedented force, his leaps reached unimaginable heights, and his neighs reverberated across realms. In the realm of equestrian prowess, Sleipnir had no equal. Fearless and undaunted, he effortlessly conquered any obstacle in his path, immune to the hindrances imposed by nature itself. Should the need arise, Sleipnir possessed the extraordinary ability to traverse the skies and glide through the waters, defying the limitations of mere land-dwelling creatures. Furthermore, it was said that Sleipnir possessed the capacity to carry Odin to and from the realm of the dead, aptly known as Hell. In Norse mythology, the concept of horses with eight legs served as a symbolic representation of the means by which souls traversed the nine worlds, carrying them across the vast tapestry of existence.

The significance of Sleipnir reaches far beyond his physical attributes. He embodies a profound tapestry of symbolism, encompassing notions of swiftness, potency, might, insight, eternal assurance, transcendence, and journey. Even in contemporary times, the indomitable and iconic image of Odin's eight-legged horse, Sleipnir, adorns a wide array of accessories, capturing the imagination of individuals from various walks of life. This symbol holds particular importance for athletes, wanderers traversing the earthly realms, as well as those who may have strayed from their destined path or endured the heartache of losing cherished love. A potent emblem, Sleipnir is believed to bestow power, spiritual shelter, and enlightenment upon all who seek it, offering guidance through life's myriad trials and tribulations.

Among the various depictions of Sleipnir, two prominent examples are preserved in eighth-century image stones discovered on the island of Gotland, Sweden. These stones, known as the Thjangvide stone and the Ardre VIII stone, are widely believed by scholars to represent Sleipnir. In both instances, an equestrian figure atop an eight-legged horse, often identified as Odin, takes center stage. The Thjangvide stone captivates the eye with a horizontal figure, possibly a Valkyrie, clutching a spear, while a female figure extends a goblet in greeting to the rider. Interpreted as the arrival of a valiant rider in the domain of the deceased, this scene is replete with symbolic implications. Additionally, the Eggja stone, originating from the mid-7th century, bears an inscription identifying it as Odin Haras, which translates to "god of the army" in Old Norse. Many scholars contend that this stone, too, represents a portrayal of Sleipnir, capturing the essence of Odin's mythical companion in ancient artistry.

[hcdahlem]

Le Nom sur le mur

Alors que l'on commémore les 80 ans du débarquement et des combats de la libération, Hervé Le Tellier a choisi de retracer le destin d'un résistant, choisi presque au hasard, André Chaix. L'occasion de revenir sur l'occupation, l'engagement, la résistance

En deux mots Après l’achat d’une maison en Drôme provençale, Hervé Le Tellier découvre une inscription sur le crépi: André Chaix. Intrigué, il retrouve ce même nom sur le monument aux morts du village. Il décide alors d’enquêter, puis de raconter la vie de ce résistant mort à vingt ans. Ma note ★★★ (bien aimé) Ma chronique Vie et mort d’un résistant Alors que l’on commémore les 80 ans du…

[duybrandhigh]

BULGARI BVLGARI BULGARI BVLGARI RING/RING INS INSCRIPT CÁC MẶT HÀNG 4 MÀU MÀU MÀU MÀU SẮC ĐÁNH GIÁ CAO PHỔ BIẾN PHỔ BIẾN

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[nanshe-of-nina]

Favorite History Books || The Last Plantagenet Consorts: Gender, Genre, and Historiography, 1440–1627 by Kavita Mudan Finn ★★★★☆

Most modern accounts of fifteenth-century queens focus on separating what really happened from what was fabricated— an important distinction, particularly in such a volatile time period. What has not been considered in any detail is the fabrications themselves as narratives, and as reflections, not of fifteenth-century reality, but of the questions and anxieties that haunted their writers. Well into the Jacobean period, the civil wars of the fifteenth century—known to us now as the Wars of the Roses, through William Shakespeare’s own fabricated Temple Garden scene in the first part of Henry VI —were repeatedly invoked as the dire consequences of weak monarchy. Directly linked to these invocations, I argue, is the representation of queens, who, by virtue of their proximity to the reigning monarch and larger cultural discourses trying to make sense of that role, are inextricably associated with questions of political instability.

It can be, and frequently is, written off as a commonplace that anxiety about queens exercising political power manifests itself in historical writing—a fact pinpointed decades ago by feminist critics and therefore in no further need of exploration. My interest, however, lies in the embedded literary narratives used to illustrate that anxiety—themselves culled from multiple generic frameworks including, but not limited to, romance (in the sense of the medieval roman), hagiography, and, most prominently, de casibus tragedy—and how they echo across texts, time, and even geographical boundaries. Why do certain narratives persist and others die out? How is the choice of embedded narrative an inscription of the political and cultural climate in which the writer was working? How, especially later in the sixteenth century with the growing popularity of historical drama, does the staging of queenship deconstruct those politically and culturally motivated narratives, and, by extension, ideas of historiography and sovereignty?

There has been a recent surge of critical interest in the traumatic effects of the fifteenth-century civil wars on the English cultural psyche under the Tudor monarchs and their manifestation in texts such as A Mirror for Magistrates —to say nothing of the history plays of Shakespeare, Heywood, and that most prolific of authors, Anonymous—and it is within this dialogue of literary patterning and historiographical engagement that I wish to position this study. Most recently, in his monograph on concepts of nationhood in the two editions of Holinshed’s Chronicles, Igor Djordjevic has called for “a new critical vocabulary to refer to Shakespeare’s source-narratives,” pointing out the innate instability of the fifteenth-century historical narrative that he calls “a palimpsestic form characterized by multiple revisions, corrections, and annotations.” While I cannot claim to have produced this new critical vocabulary, an exploration of the palimpsest Djordjevic describes through the lens of how each of those layered narratives deals with questions of gender and power dynamics will hopefully open up further discussion of other ways early modern writers and readers approached and produced histories.

I focus on five royal consorts from the late fifteenth century— Margaret of Anjou (1430–1482), Cecily Neville (1415–1495), Elizabeth Woodville (c. 1437–1492), Anne Neville (1456–1485), and Elizabeth of York (1466–1503)—whose personae have been repeatedly appropriated by both historical and literary writers. By charting their changing representations in the context of larger shifts in discourses of femininity and historiography from approximately 1450 to the beginning of the Jacobean period, I propose to challenge the imposition of modern models of female agency upon this body of texts, particularly in representations of queenship, by drawing attention to generic shifts and emplotted narratives. This involves interrogating the complex relationship between literature, politics, and historiography.

My analysis of Shakespeare’s first history tetralogy, as a result, interprets these four plays in light of a century and a half of literary, political, and historiographical negotiations.  Further complicating these issues is the question of the female voice: when women do display agency in these texts, it is often compromised, both in terms of generic emplotment and in terms of a more pervasive conception of womanhood that informs that emplotment. This complex relationship is highlighted in Shakespeare’s three parts of Henry VI and Richard III, all of which feature women in prominent political and rhetorical positions, but runs as an undercurrent through texts as early as the chronicles and diplomatic accounts from the mid-fifteenth century. With the advent of two queens regnant in the later sixteenth century comes a more urgent questioning of how to represent powerful women, further informed by changing historiographical trends and shifts in concepts of textual authority. The writing and rewriting of the fifteenth century led to an interrogation of historiography itself, and queens can often be found near those points of interrogation.

[folk-vision]

Old Tombstone (Denton Cenotaph)

One of Virginia’s most important works of folk art, the Denton Cenotaph was carved sometime after 1805 by Laurence Krone, the most noted of the early-19th-century Roanoke Valley German stone carvers. Krone’s only signed work, the monument was designed as a memorial to the young Robert Denton and as a register of his immediate family. It takes the form of a small coffin containing a folk image of the deceased child. Germanic folk motifs along with a lengthy inscription in Latin, German, and English decorate the surfaces. The head and upper torso were originally covered by a removable stone lid which has since disappeared. Krone, a native of central Europe, arrived in Virginia around 1800. Legend holds that the monument was an expression of Krone’s gratitude for care received from the Denton family during an illness.