#alabaster statue

[caedmonofwhitby]

The Flawford Virgin and Child, c1340-1380.

Alabaster Statue, English School

Found by workmen under the chancel floor of Flawford Church in Ruddington, Nottingham in 1779.

The statue is 2’ 8” high and there are faint traces of colour on the crown and on the border of the Virgin’s robe.

Typical of the alabaster figures made in and around Nottingham in the late 14th century, this example survived after being hidden during the Reformation

Nottingham Museums Collection

[paganfantasy]

Apollo God of Music Poetry Art Alabaster Statue

Height : 6.69" ( 17cm) Width : 1.96" ( 5cm) Depth : 2.36" (6cm) Weight: 0.44lb (200gr)

Our statues are perfect for your house or office decoration and also a perfect gift

Our Alabaster statues are made of top quality alabaster powder, molded and finished by hand.All coloured statues are hand painted.

All of our alabaster and bronze statues are made in Greece by top Greek artisans

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[sincerely-sofie]

Fun fact! In Better the Wool, the Lamb's parents don't recognize her once they're revived! This means she gets a lot of juicy gossip about their lives once she was out of the picture in absolutely insane throwaway lines.

She also has some very intense feelings about the circumstances that led to her being separated from her family.

I wonder why the Lamb was exiled as a heretic? She seems rather bitter about the matter...

[serpentface]

I’ve been on a gemology kick lately; so-if you feel up to it-I’d love to learn which precious and semiprecious stones occur in Imperial Wardin, and which species are considered the most valuable. Are any stones associated with specific faces of God, or otherwise carry spiritual or superstitious connotations?

Just in general, the traditional medicine practice here ascribes a spiritual Essence to each type of matter (minerals, metals, plants, different types of water, different body parts from different animals, etc) which plays into how it can or cannot be used for healing. So most commonly occurring stones are going to have Some associations Somewhere, but for a lot of them it's just going to be like 'worn around the hips in a sachet it will reduce stomach aches' or etc.

Here's a few of the big ones I've had at least partly established though (some of these are metals but bear with me)

Meteroric iron can be found in fairly large quantities here (due to the ancient impact that left the Sons Of Creation crater lake) and is considered to be the physical remnants of God's blood shed in the act of creation. This is THE holiest naturally occurring material, as it is the only substance that is regarded as being a discrete part of God's original, LIVING body (the whole World is Its dead body) and the blood is the carrier of living spirit, one of two types of soul in each body. Meteor iron is essentially God's soul in physical form.

This substance has the most severe doctrinal restrictions surrounding its use. Actual modification of meteoric iron and use of objects made from it (knives scepters etc) is considered reserved to priests and royalty, and violations can be punished very severely (though in practice this is very, very difficult to enforce outside of thefts of known meteoric iron objects, as they aren't visually distinct from other iron objects). Touching this iron is strictly forbidden for any person considered to be ritually unclean (whether as a temporary or permanent state).

Its most ubiquitous use is in the form of sacrificial blades, which are only considered legitimate when made of this substance. It's also used to make cult icons. The temple at the Sons of Creation (which is a general pilgrimage destination and the site of the annual dry season human sacrifice) holds a fairly large meteoric iron sculpture of God in Its primordial form. This cult object is venerated year round, and carried out of the temple during the offering to 'receive' the sacrifice (which signifies the completion of the annual cyclings of God's living spirit). This icon is wholly forbidden to touch for everyone but the human sacrifice themself, who lays their hands on its forehead while their throat is cut.

As a physical relic of God's original body, it's not considered uniquely related to any of the Faces but in practice is associated with Mitlamache (itself partly associated with blood and sacrifice). Galenii have their ears pierced and stretched and wear bands of meteor iron as a marker of service, and the great temple to Mitlamache in Ephennos has a large, unmodified chunk of meteor iron as a cult object that is permitted to be touched by worshippers.

---

Lapis lazuli is one of the other discrete remnants of God's physical body (in this case one of three horns) though it lacks the nigh-untouchable Holy status due to being a post-death relic.

It's called 'blue moonstone' and believed to be pieces of the 'blue moon' (which isn't like, really blue, but has a slight bluish tinge). There is no Bad Place afterlife in this religion (the bad afterlife is being stuck as an earthbound ghost), but the proper afterlife is divided into three lunar lands, with the most honored dead going to those of this blue moon. This stone has particular associations with concepts of honor, piety, and physical/spiritual purity.

Deep blue colors tend to be associated with wealth and royalty, and lapis has taken on this association as well. The double-viper scepter carried by the Usoma has lapis lazuli insets for eyes and scales, and the post-cremation skulls of royalty are given a lapis crown before interment. In conjunction, lapis has gained more recent associations with the face Kusomache as the protector of royalty, and it's utilized as offerings in rites intended to bless them.

It's also among the most valued stones in general for its beauty, used in jewelry, pigments, sculpture, and very expensive blue eyeliner.

Moonstone and selenite are associated with the other two moons (the largest in the sky and the smallest respectively) and are the other two stones considered to be discrete bodily relics of God (from its other two sets of horns).

All three of these 'moonstones' are involved in funerary rites. The dead may have one of these stones placed in their hands before cremation. Dogs killed at funerals to serve as guides are encouraged to sniff these stones before their death, in order to have the scent of the lunar lands and better lead the deceased. Neither aspect is considered a hard Requirement to get the dead safely onwards, but its an additional level of failsafe.

All three are considered sacred to the Face Kusomache (rather than the more obvious lunar Mitlamache) due to their heavy association with death and the afterlife. Moonstone and selenite in particular are likened to the light from the moons and stars, and transparent selenite is used by astrologers as a lens, under the belief that it exposes subtle nuances in the light and movement of heavenly bodies. Folk belief holds that you can see ghosts by looking through selenite.

All three have some restrictions surrounding their use, but not nearly as severe as those of meteor iron. Anyone can use, wear, and modify these stones, but touching them in a ritually impure state is taboo. Some folk beliefs hold that a woman who touches any moonstone while menstruating will be cursed with barrenness, miscarriages, or death.

---

Opal is heavily associated with rainbows (and rain by extension), and is considered sacred to the Face Anaemache. It is appreciated for its beauty and ascribed as having positive medicinal qualities for female fertility when worn. Broad folk belief holds that opal forms where a rainbow touches the ground, or that its a solidified drop of rain that has fallen through a rainbow.

Some South Wardi folk practices retain older Wardinae beliefs in the sky-serpent deity that physically brings the rains (often conceptualizing it as a lesser spirit that serves the Face Anaemache) and consider opals to be pieces of its shed scales. These sects share a nearly identical practice with the Cholemdinae people in using opals to both summon and repel the sky serpent as needed. A serpent effigy stitched from cloth with an opal sewn into the head can be used as the focal point for these rites. The serpent can be summoned by singing a coullagri (summoning prayer) to the effigy as it's carried into the village or crops, and providing the effigy offerings of food and drink to welcome it. In years of damaging and excessive rain, the sky-serpent is driven off with a decisively more high-energy rite where the effigy bearer runs around with the cloth serpent while others chase it, chide it for its laziness (just sitting in one place instead of bringing the rains everywhere like God intended), yell at it, whack it with flyswatters, etc, until it is carried out of the village.

---

Rubies have are considered sacred stones to the face Inyamache and have strong associations with the sun, male vitality, and bravery.

They're ascribed positive medicinal qualities for male fertility and health when worn. Folk belief holds that a man clasping a ruby in one hand during sex will guarantee any resulting offspring to be male, though sources disagree on Which hand this is exactly.

Rubies have some involvement in warrior culture. Ruby-adorned khattanocuy (the khaitsmane tassels ornaments you see on the front of some characters' belts) are awarded for displays of valor, and most ceremonial weapons are decorated with ruby insets.

The (wholly mythological) spear of the culture-hero Erub is said to have had a head made entirely of ruby. It's described in texts as being given to him by (the old solar deity reinterpreted as) Inyamache, so sharp and strong that it could fly clean through a khait's body, and to 'drink the blood of its victims' (which may have been meant literally). It's widely believed that this was a real artifact, was stolen by Burri soldiers during the first period of occupation, and is now hidden somewhere in the flooded ruins of Old Bur.

Rubies aren't very well distinguished from the similar looking spinel and garnet, and the three together are usually referred to under the same name.

---

Silver is regarded for its beauty and thought to have purifying/protective medicinal and apotropaic qualities. It is thought to assist in expelling disease-causing dagi spirits from the body, and is both worn and ingested as a medical treatment. High quality protective phallus/skimmer woman amulets tend to be made from silver to add Extra Protection, and drinking/eating from silver dishware is thought to help eliminate poisons.

Some folk traditions consider touching silver to be a replacement for water ablutions, though this is doctrinally condemned.

---

Pearl is very similar to silver, highly regarded for its beauty, believed to have purifying and protective qualities, and sometimes being ingested medicinally. Most non-blue pelatoche eye amulets are made of pearl (or mother of pearl in some cases). It is considered sacred to the face Pelennaumache and is a key offering to this deity-aspect.

A very widespread folk belief holds that drinking while holding a pearl under the tongue prevents intoxication. This is hard to confirm or deny, as people drinking heavily with a pearl under the tongue have a tendency of accidentally swallowing said pearl in the process

---

[froggyfriendsworld]

Torso of Venus (1st-2nd century CE) Egypt

[maryasmorevna]

people being surprised that the acolyte was cancelled and the sw dudebros won... i'm sorry, i really am, but what else did you expect? disney will always cater to this part of the audience. i'm not saying this because i feel superior or whatever, on the contrary, it's because i've been there too. i mean, remember what kelly marie tran went through after tlj was released, and how it resembles the treatment of the acolyte poc actors (especially, from what i've heard and quite unsurprisingly, of amanda stenberg)? it's nothing new. imo there has been a horrific regressive movement these last few years - conservatives, antiwokecels, straight up racists etc. have become even louder, more aggressive, and their numbers have increased. what once felt ''reasonably'' progressive would become, were it released today, the object of an unholy amount of unfounded criticism, with dudebros whinging like little babies because a person of color/queer/a woman dares to get an important role in a beloved franchise or *gasp* even get cast as a protagonist, which is dumbfounding to them because wow, you mean women and minorities actually exist and their stories are important too??? *surprisedpikachu.jpg* like guys, mulan was out in 1998. if disney had the audacity of making such a classic in this day and age, hordes of manbabies would cry about ~the evil feminazis~ and their nasty ~gender propaganda (whatever that means), and also ~communism!!!! because the movie is about a chinese woman. i'm sure mulan (as the hunchback of notre dame, to make another example, that with all its flaws as an adaptation is still explicitly against racism, specifically towards the always demonized romani people) had this kind of criticism back then too, but it was almost 25 years ago. the world should have and is changed since then, but in some ways we're going backwards. my theory is that since women and minorities actually got some rights and representation during the last couple of decades (and oh boy, was it a harsh battle to even get that) these people feel somehow threatened. they're not ~inherently superior or at the top of the game anymore, or at least many people realized they shouldn't be. and they're afraid, and as such they need to cast themselves as the victims. but other, way more clever people than me have divulged into the causes and spread of fascism and right-wing ideologies, so. i'll leave it at that

[gravehags]

half altar space/half perfume and ring counter looking tight

[saladscream]

Merlin’s throat is distracting.

Arthur is not sure when that came to be. The realisation crept up on him stealthily, until one day he became aware that he’d been staring at the pale column of his manservant’s neck for close to a full minute.

His only excuse for the disconcerting fascination is that… It’s a nice column. Smooth. Solid. A grain of skin as fine as alabaster. It is rather shocking that a commoner should parade around with such a flawless bodily feature, but by now Arthur is resigned to Merlin eluding the rules of propriety and class conventions. By all rights, Merlin should have a peasant’s neck – sinewy, weathered, pimpled, with creases of age-old encrusted filth. Not a Roman statue’s milky throat and perfect collarbones.

Because, yes, Merlin’s collarbones are works of bloody art too. And for everyone’s peace of mind, Arthur would rather not dwell on said offending clavicles, for gazing too long at them makes his tongue long for truly disturbing acts.

So Merlin’s throat is without blemish and Arthur believes the damn neckerchief is responsible for this hideous state of affairs. It wraps around Merlin’s neck like a loving, clingy embrace and protects it from the elements as much as from covetous looks. Arthur doubts the scrap of material is a vanity on Merlin’s part. He reckons that it rather serves a grimly mundane purpose, such as always having a convenient rag on hand to mop up spills or garrot a bleeding limb. But the fact remains that it acts as a virtuous shield against the less-than-virtuous designs of the beholder.

Arthur doesn’t know whether he loves or loathes the infuriatingly familiar piece of fabric. He sometimes wonders if Merlin is aware that his neckerchiefs were all cut from a couple of Arthur’s old cloaks.

Today, some spiteful deity somewhere must be upset with Arthur because the neckerchief is not there to serve its chaste and merciful function, leaving Merlin’s throat indecently exposed. And to make matters worse, there’s a small streak of soot or charcoal down the side of Merlin’s usually immaculate neck. The little black smudge is neat and innocent in its own way, but it stares Arthur boldly in the face – enticing him, daring him.

It would be so easy for Arthur to take it upon himself to lick his thumb and make the impertinent little mark go away. But that way lies madness. And indignity. And too much explaining. So Arthur closes his hand over his thumb and waits for the urge to pass.

Of course, it doesn't.

The wicked smudge is playing coy but challenges him nonetheless.

In desperation, Arthur catches Merlin’s gaze and nods at him, doing some elaborate finger wiggling to indicate on his own neck where the offending smudge stands, hoping the prat will get his meaning.

Of course, he doesn’t.

Instead, the ever-helpful Merlin comes to inspect Arthur’s neck, leaning closely into his space, squinting and mumbling an asinine ‘I can’t see anything’.

And that, gentle reader, is exactly why they say the road to hell is paved with good intentions. Arthur is now forced into sinful proximity with not only with the elegant throat and the lick-worthy collarbones, but also a remarkable shock of dark hair.

A Merlin-scented shock of dark hair.

@miyriu @neptunesyellowsands

1 - Merlin's eyes

2 - Merlin's lips

3 - Merlin's hands

4 - Merlin's throat

5 - Merlin's hair

6 - Merlin's ears

7 - Merlin's legs

8 - Merlin's forearms

9 - Merlin's chest

[theancientwayoflife]

~ Statue of the intendant Ebih-Il.

Place of discovery: Mari temple of Ishtar courtyard 20

Date: 2500-2340 B.C.

Period: Archaic dynasty IIIB

Medium: Alabaster, shell, lapis lazuli, bitumen

▪︎ Inscription/Dedication (in Akkadian): "Statue of Ebih-Il, the Steward, to Ishtar he dedicated it".

[10yrratiolover]

this is purely self indulgent

Something about Ratio using art as a means of venting his emotions or frustrations. Sculpting his own likeness only to destroy the statue before the clay can set, taking out his self hatred on this replication of him. Finding perhaps a tiny bit of solace in the way his fist aches and his knuckles bruise after punching his imperfect, stone replica and watching its head fall from its body. Puncturing a hole through his canvas before he can even finish what he was painting because the way his hand shakes while moving the brush is just agitating enough to be what sets him off.

Emotions are messy and illogical, they don't follow one linear like most things, which is what makes them so profound. Just like art. It's never unlike artists to lash out at their mediums for not ending up perfectly.

He takes immense care of his artworks, as seen with him polishing his alabaster head, yet who's to say there's not dozens of broken statues to accompany his broken self image?

[peggyao3]

Preyd

PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x f!reader (reads like an ambiguous OC)

SUMMARY: Feyd calls his pet to his chambers for a monthly feast.

WORD COUNT: 2,259

TAGS: 18+, smut, graphic depiction of violence, she/her reader, AFAB reader, dubious consent, ambiguous relationship status, oral (f receiving), period oral ❗, period sex, blood play, knife “play”, blood kink, BITING, pain kink, vaginal sex, violence, sadomasochism, attempted murder, aftercare-ish (love that tag right after attempted murder)

Reposted from my Ao3 💕| Masterlist

Divider by @saradika-graphics

Cool air streams into Feyd’s chamber when the door opens at his command. The servants who bring the struggling woman don't need to knock. The increasing volume of her irate pleading out on the hallway has been caressing his ears for the past minute. He regards it as foreplay.

The woman's toes scrape over the stone tiles as she is delivered to him like a meal, but without a platter because a good meal is best devoured on the floor, with dirty teeth and fingers.

She is shoved into the room by rough hands which hastily retreat, bending and bowing to the Na-Baron who sits with his hands on his knees, a black smile already forming on his alabaster skull.

She stands on shaky legs, clutching the robes that still cloak her frame. Warm wetness already runs down her inner thigh. Red, not black.

“You left me waiting.”

“I can't exactly control when I start,” she snaps. The irate edge to her tone doesn't fool him. “My Lord,” she adds in a much more timid voice, head lowered so the hood of her cloak hides her trembling lips.

“I expected you two days ago.”

“Tssk. Forgive me.” Feyd's head tilts to the side and he stands up, striding over to the cloaked woman.

“You know I could keep you in a prison cell instead?” The calm control of his voice is a farce. In truth he is quaking with excitement, yearning to get under her skin.

“Yes, my Lord.”

“So, be a little more grateful.”

The Harkonnen heir's hand shoots forward and grasps her chin. He yanks her head up. The ferocious tug makes her hood fall off, revealing a head full of hair and glossy eyes that never stopped smoldering with a sliver of reckless defiance. 

Feyd squeezes her chin, squishing delicate flesh against easy to break bones. His fingers leave bruises as he slides his black tongue over her mouth, along the side of her nose, into the apple of her eye until she winces and forces the black appendage out by shutting her lids. His tongue wriggles through her lashes instead, wetting them with saliva that clings to the fine hair like inky tears.

Ruthlessly, he shoves her backwards with a force that could snap a neck. She stumbles and falls, landing hard on the bed. Feyd-Rautha leaps after her like she's a felled enemy in the ring and he is one stab away from victory. Strong hands half push up her robes, their warmth a stark contrast to their snow white hue, devoid of color like they are devoid or mercy.

She tries to push at his chest to hoist him off, but he catches her foot and bites her toe until she lets out a shrill scream. The robes fall over her bent thighs and pool around her hips. She is bare underneath, except for the blood that glistens on her center.

Inky eyes light up with nauseating joy as he admires the crimson landscape between her thighs. His outlandish pet is so colorful and full of life… Pale hands wrap around her thighs to part them. Her muscles flex, as if she could ever stop him from taking what he wants.

“Let me eat. I've been starving.”

“You are sickening.”

Feyd-Rautha's mouth descends between the woman's forcefully spread thighs and his tongue hotly slips through her folds, parting them effectively to get to the source of her heady lifeblood. She shivers, spine arching despite the revulsion she feels for him. Her fingers dig into the sheets - white, to mark the occasion. They will be stained red all over by the time her period is over.

Stubbornly, she stares at the ceiling, though in the long run her gaze can’t resist the twitching silhouette of pale, lithe muscles that shape Feyd’s shoulders and back. He produces sounds like a sloppy eater, like a panting beast whose teeth are tearing through a carcass, except that her flesh is lively and, unlike the carcass, highly receptive to both pleasure and pain.

She knows this is only the beginning. The easy part. When Feyd’s dark eyes lift to monitor her expression, she knows what he is about to do, yet he catches her by surprise. His teeth close around her clit and nip, forcing a squeak out of her mouth and a hand to shoot down and push against his skull.

Feyd feels virtually invigorated and laps at the swollen bud like a salivating dog until her body spasms and her nails dig into his scalp. Each clench of her walls offers him more sanguine fluid to drink.

His tongue returns to her slit while he stares at her disheveled face, eyes like black, bottomless pits, insatiable. She knows nothing she can give will ever be enough.

One might think a wet tongue on a bleeding center would make the area in question cleaner, but Feyd somehow makes a mess like a child with no table manners, smearing blood over her thighs and venus mound. It is almost like slaughtering his outlandish pet, but without the commitment. It makes his cock hard.

-

The treatment continues until the sheets are drenched in sweat and blood, until the woman’s thighs quake violently in the na-Baron’s wicked hold. She feels lightheaded and every touch to her overstimulated center burns almost like a whiplash. 

Feyd however is far from being done. He relishes how her flesh feels now that it’s hot and swollen and covered in bite marks all around her cunt. He is unable to tell if the blood that spills comes from her center or the searing wounds he’s caused with his voracious teeth.

Nails dig into his skull, leaving marks that bleed. A thin rivulet of black runs down his brow bone and seamlessly disappears in the corner of his eye. He only grins, bites harder where many old scars already adorn her flesh. His cock strains against the fabric of his trousers and his pelvis grinds against the mattress, dry-humping it, spurred by the taste of blood like a beast by the scent of pheromones. 

“Stop!” She pleads. “You greedy monster, stop stop stop!” But he doesn't listen.

He pretends not to see the way her hand slips into the pocket of her robe, producing a blade of shiny silver that finds a new home in Feyd-Rautha’s neck. Sweet pain radiates through his flesh and a moan comes out of his blood-smeared mouth.

His pet snarls and strains, fighting against the hand around her wrist that had stopped the lethal attack at the last second. The knife’s tip trembles in the na-Baron’s throat but then her fingers go slack, acknowledging defeat. Feyd takes hold of the blade and gingerly pulls it free, exhaling a soft moan.

Fascinated, he regards the black blood that decorates the tip of the blade. Rapt as he is, he has finally stopped assaulting her center with his greedy mouth. He is almost proud of her for the attempt, even if it was a pitiful one. His neck throbs where the blade had kissed his jugular.

“I didn’t mean to, I swear!” The pitiful would-be assassin hiccups, tears slipping down her temples. She clutches her robes to her heaving chest as if that could protect her fragile life.

“I should split your tongue.” Feyd-Rautha rises to his knees between her parted legs. Blood and slick have left a sanguine pattern on his face. Pensively, he twists the blade in the air so it catches the light. “Or maybe you should split mine? So I can make twice the mess of your cunt.”

“You are insane.”

“You brought the tool.” He laughs and offers the blade to her mouth. Panicky, she shakes her head, twisting it away and into the sheets with squinted eyes. “I want you to lick it. Taste my blood, pet.”

She refuses until he nudges the tip between her lips, drawing a droplet of blood. Quickly, she surrenders, opening her mouth like he wants though her brows remain pinched with fear. Feyd languidly slides the flat side of the blade over her pink tongue, sullying it with black.

“Swallow. And tell me how it tastes.”

She swallows, cringes and hesitates. “P-Potent, my Lord.”

Feyd-Rautha laughs and his free hand drops to his pelvis, unfastening the black fabric that has kept his manhood covered. Panic rises to her eyes, bigger panic than when she had feared she might die by his knife.

“Wait, n-no!”  He has never done this to her before.

“You’ve impressed me.”

The fabric is pushed down to his mid thighs. She has always feared his length and girth would be daunting, but the sight before her is as monstrous as the monster he is in flesh and in spirit. He lowers himself, hand wrapped around his shaft to nudge the thick head to her swollen entrance.

She raises her feet and plants them against his abdomen, pressing against adamantine flesh with all her strength but she doesn’t stand a chance. Feyd watches all hope go out in her eyes as her feet slip to the side and her knees fall against her cloaked chest.

A cage of white, wiry flesh leans over her. She smells her own heady blood on his face and cringes. It almost distracts her from the velvety flesh that presses against her cunt, still sopping wet with her own slick and blood and the na-Baron’s black saliva.

He breaches her, stretching her obscenely as inch after inch carves into her cunt. Black teeth are parted for a near-maniac grin as his virile length is massaged by snug, bloody walls.

She winces, shifting her hips to accommodate to the intrusion. It actually hurts less because he hasn’t marked her from the inside yet, so she is almost grateful for it. This way the sore marks on her inner thighs can rest.

Feyd shoves the final half of his cock inside with the force of a gut punch, knocking the air out her lungs with a pathetic yelp. He rolls his hips, grinning, getting comfortable inside her body. After only a few moments, he is comfortable enough and slams his pelvis down, grinding into her with short, hard thrusts that batter her cervix. Blood squelches wetly with every move.

She pushes at his chest but avoids his face, knowing her fingers would only end up between his teeth, bitten and bruised. A ferocious slam of Feyd’s hips makes her howl like a wolf. Reflexively, her hands shoot up to his pale throat, squashing his Adam’s apple under her palms. One fingernail digs into the wound on the side. A strangulated moan escapes the man’s throat, hips stuttering, lids fluttering.

The hand that isn’t busy supporting his weight offers the knife to her. “A second chance,” he rasps, eyes alight with madness. A thread of black drool dribbles off his lower lip and lands on her chin.

Shuddering, she accepts the offered weapon, holding it with a weak grip. Her worn-out body struggles to muster the strength, but she brings her arms around Feyd’s back, a wicked embrace. Aimlessly, the tip of the blade scrapes over his muscles as she tries to find two ribs between which to slot it.

“Higher. Or you’ll never hit the heart.”

“Why don’t you kill yourself then, if you’re so keen on it!” Furiously, she lashes out, but the blade only slips off a rib, leaving only a shallow cut on wiry flesh. Still, it stings beautifully and a small groan escapes him.

“A third chance, because I’m so generous.”

“Now you’re j-just being greedy.” She grits her teeth, tears wobbling on her waterline. His cock makes her sore from the inside and his hip bones dig into the marks on her inner thighs.

“I’m not greedy. I get everything I want. Again!”

A merciless thrust makes her cry out and it’s not very hard to lift the blade again and slam it down. This time, it finds its target, slipping beautifully between two ribs. The Harkonnen-heir roars out, black spittle spraying over her face as his features scrunch up and his hips slam down and stutter, nearly knocking her unconscious with his force.

Her hand weakly slips off the blade handle. She already knows she has missed any vital organs, or he would have stopped her.

His seed paints her cervix and even as his length begins to soften, it still feels like too much.

She doesn’t cum around his cock, but that’s alright. After half a dozen on his tongue, her body has nothing left to give except weak tremors and tears of relief when he finally pulls out. Black seed oozes out of her, mixing with red. She buries her face in her hands and rolls on her side, curling up. Fatigue makes her dizzy. The servants are going to have to carry her back to her chambers, she fears. Her shaky legs are incapacitated.

The wet sound of the knife being slipped out of his flesh nearly makes her retch, but even for that her body is too weak.

In awe, Feyd swipes black blood off the blade. The bed dips when he sits next to his astonishing pet. A throaty hum is all it takes to convince her to crawl into his lap, still curled up and shivering. He brings his bloodied fingers to her face, stroking it softly as she presses against his body for warmth.

“Thank you, my Lord,” she mumbles, on the brink of passing out. “Next time I’ll kill you better.”

A/N: If you had fun reading this, consider leaving a comment! ❤️ It would make me very happy!

[egypt-museum]

Statue of Petamenhotep

Late 25th or Early 26th Dynasty. Calcite (Egyptian alabaster). From Karnak. Now in the Egyptian Museum, Cairo. JE 36578 Photo: Sandro Vannini

[fel-09]

General Acacius x Isekai! Reader x emperor Geta

Words 1.8k

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3,Part 4

Version on Wattpad

Get into the movie?What a joke Part 5

After receiving the letter, you had to prepare urgently: buy new clothes, jewelry, arrange documents and assemble servants. Everyone was in a hurry, trying to do everything as quickly as possible and not embarrass themselves in front of the emperors, as it happened before. But to be honest, you were indifferent to all this. What difference does it make if you lose your job or not? You will still live in prosperity until (hopefully) you return to your time.

However, you gradually realized that losing job at the royal court was the height of humiliation. It's worse than divorce for a woman. Such a loss would have marked you as a "worthless Roman." In secular circles, not only the origin was appreciated, but also the position held. High status and good relationships provided protection from accusations. To dare to question you would be to defy the Emperor himself, and that would be a punishment. That's why most people preferred to keep quiet, even if you made mistakes.

Your position was protected on both sides. Your father, Flavius Cornelian, was a respected man who defended Rome. His power and money allowed him to protect your honor. The emperors' protection was also universal. Despite their personal animosity, you were still accepted out of respect for your father.

But it was a fragile defense. If one barrier collapsed, the others would collapse after it. Without the imperial support, people would have quickly untied their hands. The opinion of others and your father's reputation could only save you temporarily. In the eyes of society, you would become a stain that cannot be ignored.

Flavnia had calculated everything well. She was an intelligent woman, and it was not for nothing that the best teachers taught her from an early age. Her world, built cunningly and prudently, was held together by thin threads. If they are not reinforced, everything will collapse sooner or later. That's why you had to go, even if you didn't want to at all.

The immediate plan of action included several points:

1. Don't get married.

2. Save your job.

3. Sever ties with those who overshadow the status.

4. Stop any corrupt activity.

5. Stay away from the emperors (whenever possible).

The hardest part was getting rid of unnecessary connections. Of course, you could have asked your father for help... but the idea immediately seemed idiotic. It would be much better to collect evidence against these people, frame them, and then say, "I was only pretending to be corrupt in order to expose the real ones." Although this plan seemed too simple, it clearly had pitfalls.

"If I try to expose them, rumors are inevitable," you muttered to yourself, sitting at the dressing table.

Your reflection in the mirror was like someone else's. Golden curls fell to her shoulders, sparkling as if they had been woven by the gods. Her pale skin resembled snow-white alabaster, polished to a high gloss. Eyes as deep as a pool, as if someone were being dragged into the abyss and would not let go, captivating eternity. You were beautiful-too beautiful to be ignored. The slight carelessness in your gaze, as if you were about to sink into a sweet dream, made you look like a character from ancient myths

(I drew this with particular difficulty)

You sighed. No, it's not your face. It was never yours. You didn't want to get used to it. After all, sooner or later you will come back. Isn't that right?..

Flavnia's mother died in childbirth, and for her father, Cornelian, she became the most important person in her life. He pampered her, as if trying to numb his own pain. But something went wrong. Flavia's upbringing had unexpected results: at some point, she became cold and distant. These memories came back to you in fragments, like paintings through a fog.

There was a feeling that sixteen-year-old Flavnia harbored a burning hatred for everything that moved. Her only consolation was the flowers her mother had planted in the garden. It seems that this is why she became friends with the gardener... "That's why he wasn't surprised by my kindness," you thought, picking up a hair clip. After carefully securing it, you took another look in the mirror.

Flavnia's life turned out to be difficult, as well as her attempts to understand this world. She tried, but every time she faced a harsh reality. Memories of the past appeared more and more often, but they were still too blurry to put together a complete picture.

You turned around when the door creaked and Cornelian entered the room. A faint smile lit up his face.

"I don't want to let you go there,- he said, coming closer. His hands rested on your shoulders, stroked the top of your head, the gesture was simple but full of warmth. "But since you want to go back to work so badly, I won't try to persuade you." A job is a job.

"Everything will be fine, I'll try not to get into trouble anymore, Father," you replied with a slight smile, looking at him. Cornelian reminded you , your father from a previous life, who died of old age. He had lived a long, full life, but thinking about him still made you sad.

-No, I know you're not looking for trouble. They're the ones who find you... Anyway, I know who's behind it. If you want, I'll..." he began, but you held up your hand, stopping him in mid-sentence.

"Even if you get rid of this man, the rumors won't go away," you interrupted with a sigh. - It's too late to bring him to justice. We need to act differently, find those who are behind it.

Cornelian listened attentively to you, but his eyes remained worried. You took a lock of hair, gently twirled it around your finger and smiled. A name popped up in your memory.

- Marcia... - you said it barely audibly, but your father understood everything.

The emperor's third concubine, Marcia, was quite an influential woman. There was always a rivalry between her and Flavnia. Both are from noble families, both are well educated. But their paths diverged: one decided to become a queen, the other - to serve the empire. Marcia has always wanted to get rid of Plautia, because some senators wanted you to be empress.

Cornelian frowned, but then he smiled.

- Your ideas have always been much more practical than mine. I'm used to acting fast and tough, but you're right. Be careful, daughter," he said, adjusting the scarlet cape on your shoulders.

You watched him walk out of the room, leaving you alone. The last time you looked in the mirror, you were convinced that everything was perfect. Your sly smile touched your lips.

"Well, it's time to declare yourself to the empire," you whispered, ready for a new challenge.

---

The carriage moved cautiously along the Roman roads. My back ached from sitting for a long time, but I had no choice: ancient Rome was not generous with comfort. When the traffic stopped, you counted to ten to catch your breath and collect your thoughts.

The servants of the Imperial Palace were waiting for you outside the carriage. They respectfully bowed their heads, opened the door and gave you their hand. You got off the carriage, ignored their politeness, and took the first step. Your movements were fast, and your cloak was fluttering in the wind.

Passing by the tall columns, you felt a strange feeling - a mixture of deja vu and anxiety. It was all familiar to your memory, but it seemed alien.

When you entered the palace, you stopped at the doors, which the guards opened in front of you. Your posture, the confidence in your gait, the cold look in your eyes-all this screamed about your inaccessibility.

- Mrs. Flavnia Plautia has arrived at the post! One of the guards announced.

Silence reigned in the meeting room.

Two emperors, Geta and Caracalla, sat on the throne. One of them, the eldest, crossed his legs while the woman whispered something in his ear. Geta did not move an eyebrow, only coldly watching what was happening.

The youngest, Caracalla, was playing with a monkey with curiosity. He didn't seem interested in your presence at all.

You glanced at them briefly, just nodding your head slightly in greeting.

"I was already elated at the thought that your absence would save me from unnecessary worries," Geta began with a sneer. His voice echoed off the marble walls. - But, alas, I still see you here.

You met his gaze without flinching.

"No matter how sad my presence makes you, I'm afraid you'll have to get used to it. Fate decreed otherwise," you replied calmly, maintaining confidence in your voice.

Some of the courtiers flinched at your words, not expecting such an audacious response.

-Alas, I lack the pleasure of showing my distress as clearly as you do," the emperor retorted, his fingers gripping the armrest of the throne.

You noticed his reaction, but your smile remained unchanged.

The silence in the hall seemed to be becoming unbearable. The stares of the courtiers burned through you like scorched coals. Geta continued to watch in silence, his gaze heavy, almost tired, but there was tension under that mask. He stood up slowly, tugging at the dark fabric of his cape, and took a few steps forward.

"Flavnia," he said at last, with the care with which a man touches a long-forgotten wound. - Your appearance here raises only one question for me. Why did you come back?

His words were cold, but there was no open threat in them. Rather, it resembled the conversation of a man who is trying to figure out what kind of power is in front of him.

"I think it's obvious, Your Majesty," you replied, lifting your chin slightly. "My duty is to serve Rome. And that's why I came back.

Geta narrowed his eyes, his face remained unreadable. Several courtiers exchanged glances, and one of them quietly whispered something to his neighbor.

-Service," he repeated slowly, as if trying the word out. And yet... What are you willing to give for this service? Or maybe you've come just to remind us of your importance again?

Those words almost sounded like an accusation, but you didn't flinch.

"Rome deserves more than empty words, Your Majesty. I'm here to prove it with my deeds, not with conversations.

You saw his eyebrow twitch slightly, but otherwise he remained motionless. His answering gaze was cold, as if his mind was probing every letter in your words, looking for a weak spot.

_________

There may be mistakes in the text, because my English is not perfect, some places were not edited by me, because all this time I was studying at the university

[vampiriiiia]

Waiting. Seething. Blooming

(Ch.2)

Summary: An orphaned bastard of House Tyrell is welcomed in Kings Landing as Princess Healanas lady in waiting. In her attempts to navigate the ways of court and gain the favour of powerful men she manages to involve herself with the web of the royal family’s affairs.

word count: 3.8k

Since the day where you shared with the princess your knowledge of flowers,

and in extension, insects and such, your walks in the garden became a daily occurrence. Everyday, a bit before midday, and during the evenings as well, you and Princess Helaena would stroll around the gardens, deep in conversation. On some days, such as this, hers and Prince Aegon’s children, Prince Jaegerys and sweet Princess Jaehera would come with you. On such evenings, you sit in a marble bench that was adorned with ivys.

In front of you lied a moss covered path, amidst the enchanting whispers of the Keeps garden, where the gnarled limbs of towering oaks twist and turn like vigilant sentinels. This path, gently beckons you towards the heart of the grove. Here, in this secluded haven, stands a statue carved in alabaster. For a moment, it seemed to glow with a light all its own. The statue is poised gracefully upon a pedestal entwined with ivy. Surrounding this spectral guardian are blooms of purple and pink hydrangeas, their petals nodding in the breeze like petals like the paintings for a book your mother had showed you, a time long ago. Shadows of children dance under the enchanting boughs, where light seldom intrudes, adding to the mystique of this sanctuary. It is a place where the divide between past and present blurs, and where the whispers of history seem louder than the songs of birds around you and your unusually quiet company.

You carefully watched the children for a while, before turning your attention to the Princess, who despite her earlier excitement to visit the gardens, now stood silent and stoic, like the elegant statue in front of you, examining a dark creature perched upon her hand. Its eight legs, sharp and angled like blades, moved with a dreadful grace. Its body, a shadowy armour of intricate patterns. It’s eyes almost looked a bit sinister as they seemed to pierce through the very essence of your facade, as though the spider itself held dominion over fear and shadows. You had no problem with insects and such, even holding some of them when the Princesses hands had been too full, but you dreaded spiders. You dreaded them more than anything. As you watched her handle the creature with grace, a sense of numbing terror spread across your chest, and despite being seated, you felt your legs crumble also. It wasn’t the spiders appearance that frightened you per se, more the fact that they could be anywhere, and you wouldn’t know. They seemed to know every whisper that had been whispered in the Keep, maybe even the realm, maybe even Highgarden. Most likely Highgarden. They knew too many things, they could weave the most appropriate net for you, trapping you for as long as they pleased, and you wouldn't even see it. Thankfully, your size did not allow that but unfortunately, you were not as big as you’d like, for you were far smaller than the nets life sized spiders created.

Eventually you turned your attention back to the children running around each other, seemingly playing a game of tag. You sat there, quietly with the Princess for a while, till a sudden appearance had the both of you jolting.

Queen Alicent Hightower has always been a politely imposing figure. She had lengthy copper curls and big brown eyes that seemed to be aware of your every move. She had been wearing an emerald green dress, perched with the symbol of the seven on her waist, creating a belt like necklace around her lower waist. Other than the softness of the fabric with a few golden details, she had been dressed simply for the day, as the Princess had told you, no court meeting for the day was to be held. She inspected you closely, carefully, the way you sat and how straight your back was, where you put your hands, and when she was seemingly satisfied, she turned her attention to her daughter. Her eyes softened as she said “ Helaena, would you happen to know where your grandsire would be?” “No mother, I do not. (Y/N) and I have been here for some time, he has not appeared around these parts of the garden”. The Princess had gained a habit of referring to you by your first name as of late, she never corrected herself, but you never took the liberty of using her first name as well.

The Queen looked perplexed at that, “He had told me he’d be with you today.” “Well, he is not”. She sighted, letting out a long batted breath, obviously not very pleased with the outcome of her search. She seemed to be searching for him quite often these days, surely the castle couldn’t be so big. Besides, Lord Otto Hightower was of old age, he couldn’t be running around the castle, avoiding his daughter of all people. That thought seemed amusing, but it was certainly untrue, since most days Queen Alicent was the one doing the running. She rigidly sat down, in the middle of you and Helaena on the bench, “I suppose I’ll wait here then. Your grandsire is most likely to appear at these parts of the garden”. That was not true, this wing of the garden has always been quiet, so quiet you could hear the rose petals flowing under the evening breeze. You highly doubted the Hand had been one for romantic adventures through quiet parts of the castle such as this.

Queen Alicents presence stiffened the atmosphere. While before her arrival there was a silent air of understanding surrounding you and Princess Helaena, now it was filled with awkward small conversation about court matters such as the starvation of smallfolk in the southern part of Kings Landing. That was the one thing that stuck to you the most “And what is the next move to solve that matter? Have you reached a conclusion yet?” you surprised yourself by speaking but the Queen’s response is what truly caught you off guard “It’s truly unfortunate but we have not yet began to attend to that matter, in the city of Braavos, the Iron Bank, not half a year ago had lended a large amount of money to the throne to built that large well down in Rivers Row and unfortunately it has not been finished and they’re demanding that number of money back” did a well really take so much money to be built? why couldn’t they use the saving of the throne itself? “We of course will tend as soon as we can to the starving smallfolk but there’s other matters to be tended to first. You see Lady Flower, the throne is always busy and filled with responsibilities” the Queen added hastily, sensing your scepticism about her response, diverting the conversation to other matters the throne had to quickly attend to. You tried your best to keep your back straight, never slouching and your hands never leaving your lap.

——

“They want to make my brother king” the Princess abruptly broke the silence after arriving to her chambers. The uncomfortable conversation with Queen Alicent had thankfully ended as it began to darken outside. Now at the comfort of her quarters, soundly rocking Jaeherys crib while you did the same for Jaehera, her commnet caught you by suprise. “Why would you think that Helaena?” you knew exactly why. Since the moment you arrived in the castle you quickly understood what opinions Queen Alicents side of the family held for Princess Rhaenyra. Prince Aegon made jokes about the legitimacy of her sons, The hand liked to act like she did not exist but was in fact a distant family member at best, and not the actual heir to the throne. Princess Helaena never spoke of her, but also never participated in debates about her with the rest of her family. You were not sure if the latter one was a direct request from the Queen. You only heard Prince Aemond speak of her once, and the causality which he spoke so hatefully about her had you momentarily freeze in your place.

On the other hand, you heard Queen Alicent speak so often about her step-daughter that you were not sure if it sounded more like envy or like something else. Or both.

Queen Alicent spoke of Rhaenyra in public with a veneer of civility and disdain. She would often criticize the Princesses rebellions and lack of propriety. The Queen made a show of disapproving of her behaviour, playing up the role of a concerned stepmother trying to rein in a wayward daughter.

"She is willful and defiant," Alicent would say, her voice laced with irritation. "Ignoring her duties and causing trouble at every turn. It’s a shame, really. She could be so much more if she would just learn to act like a proper princess." the Queen would continue in a frenzy. It took you by suprise how often you’d catch her in such position, speaking in such way, to Ser Criston Cole, of all people. Although, he never once opened his mouth to agree or disagree with her, displaying a serious and nonchalant stance to what the Queen was saying. It was a smart move on his part, but at the same time it made it look like it happened more often than not.

Queen Alicent reminded you of how you spoke of the gods when you were younger, innocent and more hopeful. When your mother was still alive, albeit sick, and you still belivied. You’d speak in an irritated manner about them, when despite your prayers, they didn’t bend to your will. You’d never stop believing and praying though, always secretly hoping that they’d see your devotion and finally grand you one wish. In your case, you asked for your mothers health. You did not know, not truly, what Queen Alicent wanted from Princess Rhaenyra. You weren’t sure if she quite knew herself.

Your inner turmoil was put at pause when Princess Jaehera whined a little, then went back to her sleep. You looked at the Princess, who had now placed her son in his crib, rocking him gently, with a faraway look in her lavender blue eyes. Princess Helena’s wasn’t much older than you, yet she had her twins at the same age you lost your mother. You knew that at that age, you weren’t mentally or physically prepared to host another person inside you, much less twins. The Princess helped feed them, bath them, made sure they went to their high Valyrian lessons, rocked them to sleep every night and was always with them, day and night, overlooking their other activities with your help. But as you watched her tend to them, you weren’t really sure if she quite realised they were hers. You once heard some maids comment about the Princesses standoffishness, which increased after she got married to her brother and had children.

You reached the conclusion that despite those day dreams always being a part of the Princess, their increase is both a form of escapism. Deep down, she knew that the children were hers. But the weight of motherhood, its duties, it must be very overwhelming. In her mind, they were not her children, they were her siblings. It must be more comfortable pretending she was their older sister, which wasn’t a stretch considering how young the queen was when she had Prince Aegon. Retreating into her mind was easier than truly grasping the fact that she birthed those children when she was one herself.

The Princess didn’t reply to your question, she tucked her son in, as you did for her daughter, and asked for your help with undoing her hair and gown. When she got in her night wear, you started unbraiding her hair. “Has Prince Aegon yet to return?” you asked “As usual he has not. I don't except him to. He himself must prefer where his currently sleeping, or rather who” you learned quickly enough that the Princess preferred much more as well that he did not return to their shared chambers. Her relationship with her brother, despite being married and having twins, never really changed, no romantic love blossomed between them as it had for their great-grandsire and his sister wife, the good Queen Alyssane.

——

Sleep for once had come easy last night, which was unusual. You quickly dressed yourself in a light blue dress with puffy sleeves and fixed your hair accordingly. You walked to the sept, not too fast and not too slow, as you smiled carefully and politely greeted other members of court. The sept was cold, filled with the chilly air of the morning, but the candles as you lit them quickly warmed you up. One for your mother, your father, your grandparents. You sat on your knees and silently moved your lips as you recited the correct prayers. You felt a heavy presence move next to you and start praying as well. You did not feel particularly happy about that, knowing you couldn’t sit in the sept as long as you usually do with another observing you. You prayed for a few more minutes, then started to recite all the other prayers you knew, eager to wait out the presences departure. It did not come, you felt the person move and stand up, giving you a brief moment of hope, till you realised they weren’t leaving, seemingly waiting for you to finish. You finished your last known prayer and blowed out the candles you previously lit, carefully standing up and dusting off nonexistent filth. You turned around to be met face to face with Prince Aemond. It was for the best really, you reasoned, Prince Aemond was unmarried still, you could attempt to secure a match for yourself with a second son, bastard or not, you were still the oldest and one of the only surviving members of House Tyrell. Although, Prince Aemond never wanted you to forget your illegitimacy, “Lady Flower” he started, always putting an emphasis on your last name. “I was beginning to wonder you were avoiding me with how much you were praying” he continued. He was easily dislikable. You smiled politely “Of course not, my Prince, House Tyrell sadly has lots of deceased members” a half truth. The l Prince examined you with his icy gaze, it was clear he did not like you at all, nor made an attempt to hide his disdain for bastards, even if their standing was in Highgarden, the same House his mothers family had sworn to.

“I have a personal request for you” he spoke after a beat of silence.

You held your breath, hoping it was something that was easily completed and would not question your honour, more than it already was since your birth. “Ser Criston, my mothers and your Queens, royal guard has been sent for business on my grandfathers command down in Kings Landing, the western part. I was ought to come with him but my duties do not allow me time to do so. I was hoping you’d be of help.” “But the Princess—” “The Princess has already been informed that you have matters to attend to for today. You post will be filled with some other lady.” He has already planned this out. His words gave you little room to think of anything else. “Of course my Prince” he did not smile or thank you, just started to walk. You took that as your cue to follow him.

After a few, albeit long and nerve filled minutes, you found yourself in the company of Ser Criston and Prince Aemond. Ser Criston was not wearing his usual armour, but instead he wore a dark grey cloak and a hat to match it, trying to cover his appearance. He handed you a dark blue and dusty cloak and despite your initial disgust, you wore it with not one complain and put on the attached hood. They spoke quietly amongst themselves, then looked back at you, then back at each other. You smiled politely, but not for two long, so they wouldn’t deem you as stupid. You were pretty sure the Prince would think so anyway, despite your best efforts.

After a few minutes of exchanging quiet conversation and a few hissed whispers at each other, Ser Criston started to walk outside, nodding for you to follow him. Prince Aemond send you a warning glance before you left. You quickly followed Ser Criston outside, it had been your first time outside the walls of the castle, so you didn’t know how dangerous it could be. But it must have been dangerous enough, for he still kept his sword on him, gripping it as you walked side by side. After a while, you found the courage to ask “Is there a specific reason why I was asked to join you today?” Ser Criston replied without looking at you, with a stern expression staring ahead “You will see for yourself soon enough.” It was unfair to drag you out of your daily responsibilities and to not even inform you why, withholding information from the quest they sent you to, you thought in bitter annoyance.

“Whatever you see today, I do not want you to inform the Queen.”

What. “What?”

“I have been given stern instructions not to inform her by the Hand himself. You will follow them as well. Is that understood?”

You spoke after a moment, unable to move from your suprise at his words “….Yes.”

You walked in silence for some time, passing men, women and children alike most of them skinny, thin, bony actually. So thin you could reach and touch them and you’d feel their bones more than their skin. They looked as if the only thing separating their bones from the outside world was a thin dirty sheet, that hugged their body tightly. A few were laying on the cold dirt ground, most likely dead, judging by the smell. You hoped you’d leave that smell in the past. The stench of death hung heavy in the air. Rotting flesh mingled with the acrid smoke of burning bodies, creating a nauseating odor that clawed at the senses. The sickly sweet smell of decay was like a miasma, shrouding everything in a pall of despair. The back gate of the castle had been at the southeast part of the city, which meant you were seeing first hand the consequences of starvation. There were so many dead bodies, rotting unattended to, that the risk of a disease breaking out pretty soon seemed the only logical outcome. They weren’t burning fast enough, there were more dead laying on the ground than healthy men that were able to stand on their feet to continue this task.

Some were cussing King Viserys, who having been so many years bedridden had cast his curse on the city, to have everyone slowly die like he was. Others cussed Princess Rhaenyra for leaving and not taking the throne to protect the realm. Others cussed Queen Alicent and her court of men, who chose to cut the food supply from Highgarden for whatever reason. To you horror, as you walked to the western part of the city, you realised the wave of starvation had affected not only the south, but the east and a part of the west as well. You speculated the north was also highly affected too. As you thought some more, you finally began to l piece a few things together. The amount of money the Iron Bank lended to the throne had not been just for that damn well, as you were pretty sure the court wouldn’t sacrifice the entire population of Kings Landing just for that. Who would pay taxes in that case? You also knew that the castle had more than enough money to never need a loan from the Iron Bank, but they didn’t want to use the money from there for whatever they were truly using the loan for. If they used the thrones savings for anything, they always had to keep it in account and they didn’t want any physical evidence. The well was being used as a means to launder off money in a way. Your father had explained you long ago what that meant. You didn't want to think of him now.

Instead, you wondered if the Queen actually knew. You weren’t sure if she knew truly what the loan was used for, or the true state Kings Landing was in, judging at least from the instructions Ser Criston was given from the Hand. Oh. The Hand. You should’ve realised so sooner. It seems the Queen was kept in the dark for some time regarding matters such as this. As the Queen you weren’t sure how much she knew and how much she chose to believe certain things were true. How she believed her fathers word on a scale. It must be a combination of trust and of wanting her consciousness at peace. What you knew became your responsibility as well, after all. You couldn’t judge the Hand for doing so, after all the reason you were here was because you acted in a similar manner towards your younger brother. Although you’d never put at risk so many innocent people to keep a lie believable. You liked to think a certain amount of the self-sacrifice they taught ladies like you was still left, or at least some morality.

You looked at Ser Criston, his eyes betrayed no disgust, sadness or anger at the image in front of him. His brows were slightly forrowed but that could be from the smell. Out of all the people in court, except a few middle born ladies, you shared the most similarities with Ser Criston. You both came from low-born mothers after all and knew the struggles that came with. He seemed to forget his roots, though. You walked and walked till you stopped in front of a whore house, deep in the centre of Kings Landing, far away from sickness, pain and grief, here the people still danced and drank despite it only being mid-day. Ser Criston turned to you “I’ll need to you to go inside, and fetch Prince Aegon in the calmest manner you can master. Don’t attract much attention. Quickly.” Before you could answer, Ser Criston knocked on the door and a woman in frizzy blonde curls and pink underwear opened the door and looked at both of you expectingly. She seemed annoyed you noted. Ser Criston looked at you, motioning for you to speak.

“We have direct orders from the castle to bring Prince Aegon back. There are urgent matters he needs to attend to.” You looked at yo it partner for a moment, wanting to see if your words were up to his expectations. He nodded at you silently and you looked back at the woman you with a grunt showed you the way inside. Ser Criston stayed outside and the door close with a loud thud. You were glad for once that the cloak that had been given to you had a hood and that the whore house had colourful curtains covering the windows.

[serpentface]

GUARDIAN LIONS

An Odomache guardian lion cult statue (alabaster with gold plating and inlaid pearl and lapis lazuli), of the curved-reposed maned lioness variant.

Guardian lions are a Wardi architectural/artistic motif that confers protective benefits to the buildings or utilitarian objects on which they are placed. The practice of artworks depicting lions as place-guardians long predates the Faith of the Seven Faced God, and has been translated into contemporary practice as aspects of the Face Odomache.

This Face has core functions as a representation of sovereignty and military might, but additionally is interpreted as both a protective patriarch and nurturing mother to Its people. Lions represent this function well, as a powerful and venerated animal capable of both tremendous ferocity and gentleness (these functions combined in their renowned fierce protection of their own cubs).

Guardian lions come in three distinct sex variants, which impart different meanings.

Male guardian lions most typically are used to represent the Patriarch Odomache, the Face as a divine father that watches over the collective household of Its people. This iconography is most common in architectural guardian lions placed upon homes, as a representative of the father's intended function as the protector and arbiter of his family. They effectively 'guard' the culturally important private familial sphere, with their presence being a reminder to potential trespassers (literal and figurative) that retribution will be severe.

Maneless guardian lionesses are used to represent Odomache as a protector of pregnant women and children, in a form that suggests both an underlying ferocity and a feminine ideal of gentle nurturing. These are less common than the other variants, and mostly appear on smaller art and ritual objects used in conjunction with pregnancy and childrearing. Their most prominent core use is being a standard decoration on the carved ox horns used by midwives to bear oil (anointed upon mothers and newborns) and to pass over women in labor for spiritual protection. They're also common as small art objects or toys for babies and young children.

Maned guardian lionesses express a totality of these functions. Core depictions of the Face Odomache usually use a maned lioness, with the androgyny unifying Its functions as the Patriarch and the nurturing mother into a protective guardian mother to the collective people. These depictions have ubiquitous uses (the only context you Rarely see them in are as household guardians), and are the typical variant seen in important public spaces, and standard as cult statues to Odomache.

The guardian lion is a very old motif with regional variants, and comes in a variety of stylistic forms. There is very little standardization to the style (with some standardized elements only just beginning to develop in cult objects in recent history). However, there are very well-established conventions for the lion's posture that often distinguishes these guardian figures from non-functional, generic lion art, and imply more specified meanings.

STANDARD POSTURES:

Nursing lioness:

Glazed pottery nursing lioness. This is a decorative art object with guardian functions, likely to be placed near a child's bed.

The lion is at rest, belly turned out to the side to expose teats (occasionally accompanied by suckling cubs). Some unique variants are partially anthropomorphized, placing humanoid breasts in the chest area (rather than the more typical anatomically accurate teats). The posture is relaxed but alert, and will be positioned so that the face looks upon the point of approach. This pose is almost exclusively used for guardian lions as protectors for children, displaying a fierce animal mother figure in an entirely gentle, nurturing form.

Reposed:

Unpainted stone statue of a reposed male lion.

The lion is at rest. There is little active threat in its pose, instead invoking a relaxed, self-assured guardian. This motif appears often in non location-specific decoration or general public spaces.

Curved reposed:

Sketch of the curved-reposed alabaster maned lioness as seen from above, as it would appear in a temple shrine. A bowl is placed for libations, a tray for small offerings of flowers and grain.

The lion is at rest, with its front positioned to confront the viewer while the length of its body is simultaneously visible. It is a relaxed pose in a resting position, but the body's contortion makes it more confrontational towards onlookers, suggesting that a cautious and humble approach is necessary. This is most common in cult statues (where offerings will be placed along the length of its body).

Seated:

Seated Loberan house statue guardian, painted stone.

The lion is seated on its haunches, suggesting watchful alertness and an implied threat, but that the animal is secure in its strength and at rest. This type is the most common as an architectural feature for homes, representing patriarchal guardianship of the family and the domestic sphere within. This pose is almost always male, with very occasional maned lioness variants.

Standing/Striding:

Painted marble statue showing a standing/striding maned lioness. The statue is three dimensional with its sides carved in high relief; the pose will appear to be static when viewed from the front, and is mid-stride from the sides. The tail between the legs is unusual for a guardian lion motif and its placement is entirely due to the physical restrictions of this statue's form.

The lion is standing at attention or depicted mid-stride (often both simultaneously), suggesting readiness to strike. This confers a sense active protection and intimidation, and most often appears flanking the entrance in high status public spaces like temples and palaces. As a person approaches a standing+striding variant, they are greeted with a static front staring them down, and the lion appears to walk as they pass, suggesting they have entered an important space being guarded with high alertness- they can feel safe under its active protection (or know that it can and will (figuratively) come after them if they are a trespasser).

Conquering:

An oil lamp depicting a conquering maned lioness. The trampled figure's nudity in this context codifies him as a 'barbarian', while the artificially lengthened skull and long beard distinctly identifies him as a Finn king. This is a piece in the ancient artistic tradition known as 'seething and coping'.

The guardian lion stands over and/or actively tramples a prone form, usually human. It shows the conclusion of the guardian lion's function- the defeat and subduing of a threatening enemy. This enemy figure will often be expressed as a generic 'barbarian' (usually coded via nudity) or representing a specific population by depicting recognizable (real or imagined) practices of dress and adornment. Animals sometimes appear as 'enemies' instead, which can vary depending on the purpose- a dog (generally disliked animal) casts the enemy figure as pathetic and easily destroyed, a king hyena or crocodile (respected/feared large predators) casts the enemy as powerful but overcome by greater might.

This motif most often occurs in art used in state/military contexts (where it quite literally shows an embodiment of the state trampling a foreign enemy to death), but is used in everyday objects as well. The 'enemy' figure (whether a human caricature or an animal) can represent any number of threats perceived by an everyday person - bad luck, curses, a hated neighbor, thieves, livestock predators - and conveys a guardian spirit overcoming these threats.

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Excavations at Queen Hatshepsut's Temple Reveal Elaborate Burials, Decorated Blocks and Ancient Tools

A number of new discoveries have been made near the mortuary temple of Queen Hatshepsut in Egypt.

Archaeologists working in Luxor, Egypt, recently made several discoveries in the area around Deir al-Bahari (also spelled Deir el-Bahari and Dayr al-Baḥrī), the famous mortuary temple built by Hatshepsut, a woman who ruled Egypt as a pharaoh.

The team found the temple's "foundation deposit" — objects that the ancient builders buried when they began construction of the temple. The artifacts found include an adze, a tool used to cut and shape wood; a wooden hammer; two chisels; a wooden cast model for making mud bricks; and two stones that contain Hatshepsut's cartouches, ovals with hieroglyphs that can represent a ruler's name, Zahi Hawass, a former head of Egypt's Ministry of Antiquities who is leading the excavation team.

The mortuary temple was known as Djeser Djeseru in ancient times, and the adze, hammer, cast model and one of the chisels have inscriptions saying "the good god Neb Maat Re, in the temple Djeser Djeseru, beloved by Amun," Hawass said. Amun was the chief god of Thebes, which is now Luxor. The words "Neb Maat Re" refer to the name and some of the titles of the sun god Re (also known as Ra).

The team also uncovered 1,500 colorful stone blocks that were part of Hatshepsut's valley temple, which was located near her mortuary temple. The valley temple would have been decorated with a variety of scenes, some of which can still be seen on the blocks.

Hatshepsut was a female pharaoh who reigned from about 1473 to 1458 B.C, during the 18th dynasty. She was the stepmother of Thutmose III, who at times served as co-ruler and succeeded her after her death. Hawass said the team found evidence that Thutmose III restored Hatshepsut's mortuary temple sometime after her death. After the death of Hatshepsut, some of her statues and inscriptions across Egypt were destroyed but, in this case, Thutmose III sought to restore her temple.

Other finds in Luxor

The excavation team made a number of other finds in Luxor, including a cemetery dating to the 17th dynasty (circa 1635 to 1550 B.C.), when parts of Egypt were controlled by a foreign people called the Hyksos. Within the cemetery, the team found coffins holding the remains of ancient Egyptians. While excavating the cemetery, the team also found the remains of bows and arrowheads — weapons that would have been used to fight the Hyksos, Hawass wrote in a statement on Facebook. It's possible that some of the cemetery guards took part in the fight against the Hyksos.

The team also found the tomb of Djehuty Mes, who was an overseer of the palace of Queen Tetisheri. There is some debate about which pharaoh she was married to, but Queen Tetisheri lived during the 17th dynasty and possibly into the early 18th dynasty. Inside the tomb, archaeologists discovered a limestone offering table, a limestone funerary stela (commemorative stone slab), and a cosmetics vessel made of alabaster and faience (glazed ceramic), Hawass said.

Aidan Dodson, an honorary professor of Egyptology at the University of Bristol in the U.K. who was not involved in the excavation, said, "For me, the most important is the discovery of the blocks from the valley temple of Hatshepsut." While "her main temple has been extensively excavated and studied since the mid-19th century," Dodson said, "the valley temple was only briefly examined by Howard Carter some 120 years ago."

Analysis of the team's discoveries is ongoing.

By Owen Jarus.