#circular precious stone

[rustic-space-fiddle]

Working on Grazer concept design. (See details below the cut)

These Grazers are from Cain’s tribe, the Grassland Grazers. There’s three main tribes of Grazers: the Grassland Grazers, the Mountain Grazers, and the Desert Grazers. I’m still working on names for these tribes, but for now that’s what I’ve got. They’re all somewhat nomadic, following the good grass/plants and the changing seasons. They’re predators, technically, but they raise, protect, and harvest small livestock. The grasslands grazers shepherd the wee dragon-sheep (I called them “skofies” before but I’m not loving that name so much rn…), the mountain ones raise cattle, and the desert ones raise poultry (kinda like quail).

Some notes on Grasslands Grazers, though I’m still fleshing them out:

They wear jewelry on their arms, ankles, necks, and horns that clinks to both help the sheep (who are as dumb as Earth sheep) stay close by and warn predators that someone is watching them. They’re also decorative.

Their braids are a source of pride and they almost never cut their hair, except under extreme circumstances.

They source their beads from stones found in riverbeds, but sometimes trade with the other tribes or humans/elves/etc. to get special precious stones or metals. Anything to make fun clinky jewelry.

Young Grazers (1-6) don’t wear beads around their necks or ankles in order to avoid getting caught in anything. They don’t help with the sheep then either so it’s not as necessary. However, they do wear little headbands with little beads on them, which they then turn in for real beads to adorn their necks or growing horns with once they get old enough to help tend the flocks.

Married Grazers get stripe tattoos on their chins. Men with facial hair will often shave or pluck the hair within the tattoo to make sure it’s always visible.

Some notes on the others:

The desert that the Desert Grazers roam isn’t an empty sand desert. It’s on the edge of the Great Desert (name TBD), but it’s got plenty of fauna and flora and rainfall.

The Mountain Grazers have slightly more permanent homes, with a series of large and small caves used by the main group and the shepherds over the seasons. They travel lightest of all Grazers.

Mountain Grazers have large circular horns like ibex goats and the Desert Grazers have horns like gazelles.

[knifedancer]

Unsigned Gifts

Marinette has a secret admirer that keeps giving her really thoughtful gifts with no signature. But who is it?

OR

The five times Marinette received unsigned gifts and the one time she guessed who all the gifts were from.

AO3 Link

~~~First~~~

It all started one day when Lila and her lackeys broke her favorite marking pens. Not that she had any proof, except for the cruel light in Lila’s eyes and the way certain classmates weren’t meeting her eye – and hiding their hands in their laps – as she discovered the mess near the back of the classroom. Marinette had returned to the classroom after lunch and found the set of marking pens that her grandmother given her snapped in half, their vibrant inks smeared into a grotesque brown all over her desk surface. Luckily it wasn’t the whole set, but her favorite colors were in her bookbag for work on a commission… The bluenette hid her glistening eyes, not allowing a single tear to escape, as she began to wipe what she could from the desk. Her only response a silent nod when Madam Bustier, whom assumed it was not caused by someone else, told her that she needed to stay after school to make sure it was properly clean.

Honestly, she was glad to be alone after the last bell rang. The room was empty and silent except for the ticking clock on the wall. It gave her some private moments to let out those tears that she kept hidden – she would never let anyone see her cry from their bullying attempts – while she mindlessly went through the movements of scrubbing the tabletop. The gentle rasping sounds of the cloth against a hard surface and the familiar circular motions, long ingrained from cleaning parts of the bakery, gave the pigtailed girl a sense of Zen. It was oddly calming for all the emotions she had bottled up inside her earlier; at least she would not be visited by an akuma today. When she was finally done, she gathered up the empty cleanser bottle, dirty rags, and mangled pens to dump in the garbage near the teacher’s desk. Marinette gave one last sorrowful look at the pens, recalling all of the designs she had illustrated with them and the joy she had felt receiving them from Grandma Gina… On the bright side, they had not found her precious sketchpad to ruin. The designer wiped her damp cheeks with her jacket sleeve before dropping the pens into the can with a sigh. She trudged out of the class and down the steps, completely missing a pair of calculating eyes that watched her from the shadows…

~~

At the end of the next day, Marinette found a brand-new set of expensive Copic Marking Pens and five Bosco Wood pencils tucked into a simple pink ribbon bow on top in her locker, no note was attached. She looked around, feeling eyes watching her but not seeing anyone standing out in the crowd of random students gathering their things and chatting with friends. She reverently touched the beautiful clear case and hugged it to her chest, a small genuine smile gracing her features as she imagined all the stunning designs she would make, before tucking them safely into her bookbag. Perhaps one of her classmates felt bad for what happened and wanted to remain anonymous for fear of Lila? Whatever the case, these would be safer in her room.

~~~Second~~~

A few days later, Marinette sat at one of the tables in the library during lunch, off in her own world with her headphones playing the latest Jagged Stone single just loud enough for her to block out any passing sounds but low enough not to disturb others. She found it easier to focus on her work not surrounded by her former friends and the kindly librarian allowed her to eat at the tables so long as she didn’t make a mess. Today the designer was working on a dress for Clara Nightingale’s next award show appearance. The overall look was done but the colors… She tapped the end of her new oak pencil against her lips as she contemplated. The margins on the page were filled with tiny smudges of carefully erased notes. She pulled out her phone, looking through various Pantone color chip options through Qwant. Unfortunately, like with all electronics, the inherent settings and hardware capabilities altered the tones just slightly – making the decision even harder.

“I wish I could afford those Pantone Color chips…it would make it so much easier to choose,” Marinette murmured to herself with a sigh. “Perhaps I can buy one with the money Maman’s family will send me for New Year but that’s still months away...”

The five-minute warning bell signifying the end of lunch rang, pulling her from her thoughts. The girl packed her sketchbook and headphones away before sweeping any remaining crumbs and rubber shavings into her empty lunch containers, then headed off to class without a second thought to the other students meandering through the book stacks or lining up to check out something last minute. Her mind was elsewhere, dreaming of which colors would combine best to fit Clara’s style and still wow people on the red carpet, when she knocked into something solid. Marinette’s elbow was caught in a firm grip before she fell backward, finding herself hauled up against a familiar grey vest.

“Hello Angel, did it hurt when you fell from Heaven?” came the smug voice of the other blond boy in her class. Just great. She righted herself with a scoff, rolling her eyes at his ridiculous pick-up line while brushing imaginary wrinkles from her blazer. She knew he was only doing it to get a rise out of her but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of losing her temper.

“Not as much as when they kicked you out of hell, Felix,” she replied sweetly as she pulled away.

“Are you saying I’m hot?” he asked with a predatory grin.

“You’re about as hot as a dumpster on fire and only half as pleasant!” Marinette sing-songed before quickly brushing by him and walked back towards class, missing the playful look on his face as he followed her at a respectable distance. She settled into her seat with a huff, zoning out while Madam Bustier droned on about the Revolution, the girl’s mind lost in the details for Clara’s dress once again.

~~

The next gift unexpectedly appeared at lunch the next day. The librarian called her over and presented a small parcel wrapped in pink striped paper. “This is for you, dear.”

“What? Who…,” began the confused bluenette. She spied a small, unsigned tag with her name on it taped to the top. The tag itself was not handwritten, instead seemed to have been made on a typewriter. Who, besides her Grandpa Roland, even owned one of those anymore?

“Sorry but I don’t have any idea. It was left here with just your name printed on the card while I was busy with a phone call. Seems you have an admirer, dear!” chuckled the librarian as she patted the girl on the shoulder, then went back to sorting a stack of returns for reshelving.

Marinette settled the parcel on her usual table, carefully unwrapping to preserve the lovely paper for another of her crafting projects. She pulled off the lid of the plain white box and unfolded the tissue paper inside – her breath caught in her throat. Inside were four Pantone Color Guide fans for fashion and home design, each with 350 different swatches, in every shade of the rainbow. Her fingers trembled as she lifted one from the safety of its tissue bed, fanning it open with a look of awe. Who had done this? First the pens, now this… She was overwhelmed with happiness and gratitude, her face lighting up with palpable joy as her mind buzzed with questions and plans.

‘I need to take these home, immediately!’ she thought, returning the Pantone guide back to the same spot she had pulled it from. She closed the box and pressed it to her chest as she quickly departed from the library, barely preventing herself from bumping into a student that was about to depart through the doorway. She threw a quick “sorry!” over her shoulder as she ran, only catching a blur of gold hair in her periphery as she exited the school.

~~~Third~~~

A couple weeks later, after the commission for Clara was done, Marinette found herself with some free time on the weekend. Time to find a nice spot to draw! She had planned to wander through the park near her house, but discovered Adrien was doing a photoshoot with Lila. She rolled her eyes and wrinkled her nose as if she smelled something rotten.  Not that she didn’t still enjoy watching Adrien’s photoshoots – on the contrary, it was fun to see the modeling process and clothes – but the motivation had changed. She had found her feelings for the model fading as time went on; eventually she accepted that it was a temporary obsession rather than love that she felt. Being around him wasn’t as awkward as she expected but she preferred to avoid being around Lila – which meant not hanging out with Adrien as much as he was constantly around her due to his father’s wishes.

She hummed softly and turned on her heel, deciding to seek out another spot that might inspire her. The pigtailed girl wandered along the Siene, giving a friendly wave to Andre the ice cream vendor as she passed and enjoying the light breeze against her cheeks. She decided her time would be best spent at the Luxembourg Gardens – it had been a while since she had visited. Marinette took a deep breath as she meandered along the sunlight paths, surrounded by trees and flowers, the calming effect of the garden and architecture washing over the secret bug-themed heroine with each step. She found a bench near one of the buildings that caught her eye, settling down with one of her drawing pencils and losing herself to the sketching of various designs that began to form in her head. A few gowns inspired by flowers and the stream nearby, jackets and hats noted with colors of the various leaves overhead, but what appeared the most on the pages were men’s three-piece suits with embroidered vests… Marinette paused, gazing at the newest vest she had drawn. Deep twilight blue, bordering on black; with barely imperceptible golden and green abstract detailing that was vaguely reminiscent of peacock feathers.

It reminded her of Felix for some reason – not just the vest itself but the stylization she had added. She glanced up to the building again, taking in the architecture with a discerning gaze. It and part of the surrounding garden was of English design, merging in with the French touches seamlessly. Adrien’s cousin was from London, perhaps that was why it reminded her so much of him… She dropped her gaze back down to the page, her eyes widening as she realized she was unconsciously doodling Felix’s face and shoulders into the vest she had created. It was rough but the sketch – hair, jawline, and the beginning curve of a grin – was distinctively him. Marinette’s cheeks pinked at the realization, hurriedly attempted to flip the page only to discover it was the last sheet. Her book would need to be replaced!

“Well,” she said as she closed and halfheartedly tucked the pad away, “looks like I’ll have to buy a new sketch pad with my allowance next Friday.” With one last look at the beautiful garden around her, she began her journey home through the afternoon crowds. Marinette failed to hear the soft plop behind her as her sketchpad fell from her bag until she was back in her room. She returned to search for it with no luck, lamenting the loss of her work but hopeful that her luck – Tikki’s really – might just bring it back to her. After all, this was why she always wrote her name and address on the inside cover. Someone must have found it and would turn it in!

At school the following Monday and Tuesday, she relegated herself to making little doodles on her notebook’s lined paper. Nothing too serious or professional – little flowers and birds that she remembered seeing at the Luxembourg Gardens, black cats chasing peacocks through a field of flowers, ladybugs on leaves cleaning their antennae or snoozing in a pollen covered pistil bed... She didn’t want to waste a great design on paper that was too thin to accept her bold pencil strokes, not to mention whatever was left would not withstand the colored marker ink without becoming an oversaturated, soggy mess. At one point Marinette caught Felix staring over her shoulder at her drawings during free period; she was so taken aback that she was at a loss for words as his green eyes met hers.

 He propped his elbow on the desk and casually rested his chin in the palm of his hand, his trademark smirk spreading across his face. “Like what you see, Princess? Take a picture, it will last longer.”

Marinette gasped at the audacity and turned away, “No, you simply reminded me of a ‘before’ picture I saw on the TV the other day.”

“Give me a chance and I’ll do more than make you gasp,” he replied close to her ear.

“I’d slap you, but I don’t want to accidentally make your face look any better,” she murmured sweetly, her eyes alight with playful mockery as she glanced at him from the corner of her eye. A tingle went up her spine as his breath tickled her ear and they seemed frozen as their gazes met, the moment only being broken by the bell. Without turning her head any further, she heard him chuckle with mirth as he sat back in his seat.

By the end of class on Tuesday, she returned home to find a thick envelope tucked into the mail slot beside their apartment entry in the alleyway. She pulled it out and found yet another typed tag on the front addressed to her. Not wanting to wait a moment longer, she ripped it open right there on the doorstep. She cried with joy when she saw the contents! Inside was her lost sketchpad tied to a brand new one, its cover a pale pink and covered in plum blossoms and irises. Marinette looked up and down the alleyway, hoping to catch a glimpse of the person that had left the envelope, but no one was there. Did she really have an admirer? She blushed as her hand traced the pattern on the cover idly. Whomever they were, they didn’t waste time with cliché gestures of flowers and chocolates… Instead, they seemed very attentive to her likes and hobbies. Every gift was centered around her designing but still found a way to incorporate a personalized touch. She had never felt so special or seen before. A warmth blossomed in her chest at the thoughtfulness this mysterious figure had shown her; this feeling leaving her floating through the rest of the week as if on cloud nine.

~~~Fourth~~~

On Thursday, Marinette sat at her table after lunch and felt something bump against her knee unexpectedly. She shifted and felt something small fall onto her knees. Trying not to look distracted in class, she brought it into her lap proper and held back a squeal as she caught a glimpse of pink striped paper. They must have stuck it to the underside of the table to avoid someone else finding it. The pigtailed girl slowly opened the wrapping, careful to keep it as silent as possible, to reveal a spool of delicate lace edging in a creamy white. She contemplated uses for it and decided she had plenty left over for a little display of appreciation…

Friday morning, she checked herself in the mirror one last time and received the nub’s up from Tikki. Marinette made her way to school and happily skipped up the steps, ignoring the looks she received – didn’t matter to her if they were in envy, anger, or judgement. Let them look! The designer had raised her hair into her Multimouse space buns but pinned small segments of lace around the base of each, giving her a Chun-Li look with her usual red ribbons trailing from each bun. She had paired the look with a red qipao top with a peplum hem, which flared slightly at her hips, over tailored black pants. She had also exchanged her usual pink purse with one covered in upcycled cream colored doilies.

Surprisingly she entered the class with a couple minutes to spare, nearly stumbling into the two blond cousins conversing at the front table. Adrien was the first to see her, his eyes slipping up to her hair as his smile turned warm and fond. “Hey Marinette! I love the new look; did you design it yourself?”

“Hey Adrien! Yeah, just haven’t had the chance to wear it before now. Felt like wearing something new today,” the designer smiled in return, giving him a little twirl. In the meantime, Felix had turned around and standing eerily silent as he stared at her. She could have sworn his ears had turned slightly pink when he finally glanced at her hair. “Cat got your tongue, Felix?” Marinette asked cheekily.

He cleared his throat before he replied. “Can I take your picture so I can show Père Noël what I want for Christmas?”

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, “Don’t you know? Only good kids get presents, I’m afraid you won’t qualify.”

“Well, if I must be a Grinch, then I’d rather steal you instead,” Felix stated with a grin.

She leaned in close and dropped her voice low, her eyes taking on a dangerous glint. “I guess I should add ‘body bag’ on my list this year then, because it sounds like you’ll end up in one.” The boy seemed temporarily speechless, so she smirked with victory and headed back to her seat. Vaguely she could hear the imperceptible murmurings of the two blonds get cut off by the bell as she settled in.

Marinette felt – and ignored – Felix’s stare on the back of her head the rest of the day. If she had turned around for even a moment, she likely would have seen the rouged complexion that he was unable to tame in her presence.

~~~Fifth~~~

A week later, after a long day dodging Lila’s machinations and having to stay late to handle Class Representative tasks, Marinette was relieved to find the locker room empty. She mentally ran through the list of books she would need to complete her homework and opened the lock, the door immediately falling open due to an unbalanced package within. Her heart leaped into her chest as she took in the memorable pink stripped paper. The bluenette sat on the bench and brought the package into her lap, noting that it felt soft under the crinkling exterior. Just as she did with the Pantone Guides, she carefully removed the paper. As the last of the tape was peeled and the boundary fell away to reveal the contents, Marinette audibly gasped. There in her lap lay the most beautiful silk she had ever seen, the same shade as the vest she had sketched at the gardens!

She blushed as she thought of the drawing and the image of Felix wearing it in her mind’s eye. She shook her head to free herself from such thoughts. Knowing him, he’d probably think her designs were not worthy enough to be worn. The designer brushed her hand over the material adoringly, unfolding the fabric slightly to gauge the length. There was enough to make a few vests or a skirt or a cocktail dress… Her fingers found a card hidden within the folds and pulled it free. Her cheeks flushed crimson as she read it. Printed in the same font as the others, it simply said:

The vest will only be half as beautiful as you.

~~~Plus One~~~

Marinette spent the next few days sewing the vest and adding the detailing. It now hung on her mannequin as pictured in her sketchpad but…it didn’t feel right. Incomplete. She trudged through school, distracted by the design and what it seemed to be missing. Even Tikki couldn’t calm her or help in any way. The girl wasn’t even sure why she was so focused on it! It wasn’t like she had a way to deliver it to her admirer… she had no way to tell if it would fit him either!

The girl was so unfocused all morning that, when it finally came to be lunch time, she tripped over something on the ground unexpectedly. She groaned from the floor as she brushed her knees off and sought out what item might have caused her fall. In the middle of the walkway was a nondescript black pencil case and – if the solidness she felt through the toe of her flat was any indication – it was full of writing utensils. Marinette grabbed it as she stood up, searching for a tag or name on it to figure out whom to return it to. Nothing was on the outside except for the zipper and a smudge of dirt in the shape of her shoe print. She unzipped it and peered inside, digging her fingers around to loosen the contents. She must have jostled something too hard because pens and pencils popped from the opening and spilled onto the floor.

“Damnit, Marinette…you’re such a klutz,” she muttered as she crouched back down to collect the items, hoping nothing was damaged. She knew how important good pens were. She smiled warmly as she looked at the case, remembering the pens and pencils she had received in her first gift from her admirer…

Just then a pencil caught her eye and she froze; it couldn’t be… As if afraid it was just one of Trixx’s mirages that would evaporate when touched, she reached out slowly and picked it up. There in her hand was a Bosco pencil, exact matches to the ones she had received. Looking around the semi-busy walkway, she quickly gathered up the rest and ran down an empty hall to the supply closet she sometimes used to transform during an akuma attack. The designer knew these came as a matching set of ten and had thought it was odd that she only received five…assuming whomever the giver was that they may have kept the others. She didn’t blame them; these were expensive pencils! She pulled her own pink case out and extracted one of the Bosco pencils to compare it against.

The serial numbers matched.

Marinette gasped and fell to her knees on the floor of the closet, staring at the zippered pouch in shock. “This is…this is my admirer’s case.” She sat dumbfounded for a moment before springing back into action to search for any name that might give away their identity. However, even after emptying it of all further contents, there wasn’t a single thing with initials or contact information. The girl groaned in frustration before carefully replacing the contents and cleaning the dirt from the outside. “I’ll bring it to the office, perhaps they will report it missing to Lost & Found. They brought me back my sketchpad, it’s only fair to find a way to bring this back to them too.”

The designer opened the door and stepped back out into the hall, keeping the case snuggly held against her stomach like a precious artifact, then made her way towards the front office. As she approached, she caught a familiar voice drifting from the open doorway and into the hall, a voice that no longer held the same haughty tone but one filled with anxiety and concern.

“It’s all black with a zipper down the side. Contains several wood drawing pencils and pens which mean a lot to me. Felix Fathom, 01-XX-XX-XXXX. Did you get that?” He paused and she could hear the dulcet voice of their receptionist responding the affirmative. “Thank you. You’ll call me if you find it?” She didn’t wait to hear the answer, instead she ducked into a bathroom nearby and stared at the case as if it had grown legs.

‘Felix is my admirer…he gave me the gifts…this is his case…’ Her mind whirled as it connected the dots. All the times he had shown interest in her drawings and hobbies without calling attention to himself, the times they had bumped into each other in the library or the hallway, the pick-up lines and terms of endearment taking on a whole new meaning as she blushed… He had been there on the cusp of her periphery and paid more attention to her interests than she ever thought he might. And he sounded so worried about losing this case, which contained the matching ones to her set. Then a knowing grin crossed her face – the note cards! She recalled Adrien once mentioning that Felix’s father used to type all of his movie scripts on a typewriter. ‘He did all this…for me?’ Her heart swelled with warmth.

With a flash of brilliance, Marinette suddenly knew just how to finish her design!

But first, she needed to drop the pen pouch off at the front office.

~~

Marinette arrived early the next day and took her usual seat in the empty classroom, deciding to doodle as she waited for others to arrive. Well, one person in particular. Her nerves tingled with the impending confrontation. What if she was wrong? What if he did this as some sick joke? No. She and Tikki had talked through all those issues last night as she hand embroidered the lining with ladybugs flitting between Tudor Roses. It was folded and wrapped in her lap, covered by her jacket.

She heard the sound of his footfall in the hallway and held her breath, forcing her eyes to remain on the paper pad in front of her as she heard those footsteps falter at the doorway. Within a few moments, they restarted and walked up the aisle towards his desk before pausing next to hers. Marinette looked up and met his eyes, noticing he had already dropped his bookbag onto the ground next to his desk on the tier above hers. They were all alone, this was her chance!

“You’re here early, finally decided to be a good example, Miss Class Rep?” Damn him and that smirk!

“On the contrary, I had an important appointment to make this morning.” In one fluid movement she stood, unfolded the vest, and draped it around his shoulders like a cape before he could react.

His eyes widened as he looked down at the material swathed around his torso in awe, his eyes taking on a nervous shadow as they rose once again to her face, “You… How did…”

“You know what that’s made of don’t you?” Marinette’s voice took on a serious tone as if lecturing a student. Her fingers gently fiddled with an edge near his shoulder, pretending to assess the fabric before tucking it beneath his shirt collar. His eyes became searching, but he didn’t reply, his lips parted as if too stunned or unsure to answer.

The pigtailed girl leaned in close to his lips and whispered, “Boyfriend material.” Then closed the distance to seal it with a kiss.

~~~Author's Notes: Do I sound like I am an artist knowing these things? Because I'm not. I just research A LOT when I write. 😅

[riseofamoonycake]

hi there, can you pls write some more about Indra x reader (NSFW version)? ////v//// Thank u sm and have a gud day/night <3

I don’t know why, but whenever you send me requests about someone related to the Hindu Pantheon, this happens: 13 pages of story. 

ANYWAY, thank you for your patience!

The Voice I Love

⚔️Pairing: Indra x Gn!reader

⚔️Warnings: mention of sex (penetration, fingering, oral), kinks (body worship, praising kink, nipple play), violence, death

⚔️

Close your eyes, take a deep breath.

Exhale.

Inhale, and exhale again.

Listen to the sound that comes from the world around you… feel every leaf that grows on the oak trees, every grain of sand between your toes, every animal’s cry that demands respect… you are as sensitive as a newborn baby.

You have the power to become anything, fire or arrow, mercy or despair.

Now, sing what you see.

Sing what you are.

Commander of Terrors,

We pray for your voice: bring Death with you.

They teach you this mantra every time: every battle, every awake, every breath. They tantalize your soul with whispers, they kneel before you but you are a mere tool in their hands: you are their precious slave, not their deadly leader.

You are a thing, the most dangerous artifact in our world, the saddest creature men can see. You are nothing… so how could you choose what to become?

They are driving you insane, inspiring you thoughts that don’t belong to your mind, bending you down under a new form of torture: you can’t run away, no shelter, no sanctuary for a monster like you. You deserve only one destiny, the infinite circularity of blood spilled out. And unfortunately for you, there is always a war where you are called upon to dominate.

The voice: this is the cause of your unhappiness. It is all in the voice, in the language that allows it to express itself, in the vocal cords imbued with magic, enchantment and beauty, which make you less human and more like a dream creature, the emanation of a siren or the fruit of an union with one of them.

The voice… your every word is a curse, it is a command and an illusion: reality can only obey you, and you too must bow down to it. You are only a means that allows it to express itself, it is not up to you to decide anything; and the tyrants and warlords who, one after the other, keep you tightly in their grip make sure that you always keep this in mind, pulling at the strings of your weaknesses but being very careful not to break them.

Don’t ask about your family, your people and the man you loved, you don’t need them and they don’t need you. Your skills cannot be tied to a common life… you would always be someone’s prey.

Do you love the sea? Do what we tell you, and you will see it.

Try to think what dominion you have on the battlefield: everyone reveres you, fears you, you are the strongest. A single word is enough for you to bring victory, you are contested by the strongest, a divinity; is this not enough for you? Isn’t that enough for you?

No, it is not enough for you, because that is not what you want. You repudiate the sight of blood and death, stealing the lives of others and tormenting create a inside of you a nausea so strong that, after each fight, you really convince yourself that you must die, that it will not be possible for you to see a new day, you had overcome any limit; but it never happens, no one brings you this relief.

At least please, Great Gods... make this the last battle for me. Tear me apart, pierce me, here, here is my head, take it! Tear out my tongue, cut my throat, please, no more torment. I want to die. I want to be free in the wind, to beg forgiveness of the innocent souls I’ve reaped. One wish, one wish... givers of honors and fears, please hear my enchanting voice and come to me. I want your destructive hand on me… I want to be devoured by you.

Your prayers are always heartbreaking and could move even the strongest stones, yet you have now come to a conclusion: even if the gods exist, they don’t care about you at all. They don’t love you or they are so angry at your actions that they don’t realize that you are just a victim, the first in a long line. And you have to be careful, because the voice is your worst enemy, like a sentient being it knows your thoughts and prevents you from realizing your desires: it deceives you, it threatens you, it denounces your every action, it is your jailer and torturer; it hates you as badly as you hate it, and it never gives you a chance to hope.

Even today, at the dawn of yet another clash, your throat burns with the desire to incinerate the earth around you, to kill and push to kill, torture, wring out prayers and cries, bring you to your knees, bend to his will; and you are feeling the weight of his desires in the already damp and tense morning, motionless but restless. The air is heavy and electric, a thunderstorm is approaching from the east along with a sun that is as bright as it is huge, supernatural: they seem to guide each other, and for a long moment you stand watching the dark clouds frolicking with the warm golden rays without covering them, just obscuring the world.

Standing at the entrance to your tent, your armor not yet worn but your throat well covered by the gold plates that permanently cover it, you stare at what is happening in the sky with surprise and a slight awe, seeing something inside it that there shouldn’t be. It is a sky only the gods can see, so why is it here, for you? What is happening, who is approaching?

The city you see before you, enclosed by walls, black and threatening like a creature in ambush, must fall; this is the order that comes from outside and within you. However, in addition to feeling the usual loathing towards yourself, today you also feel the terror coursing through your veins as strongly and increasing as the storm advances. You don’t have to take another step, because something horrific awaits you on the other side; it is necessary for you to find a way to escape… even if you know that this is impossible, and you just have to turn your gaze and meet the pleading and fearful eyes of the army, already ready and eager to finish the fight as soon as possible to leave from that wicked place, to confirm it. Trembling with tension and confused, you return to the tent to be armed: the plates around your throat jingle merrily while the attendants enclose your body in a steel wall, unlike you they do not have fear and are only interested in protecting the strongest and bloodiest weapon this land has ever seen.

Even if today the words cause you twice as much suffering, your throat still wants to pronounce them and that is what it commands you: and as soon as you climb the hill overlooking the plain where the city stands, a single voice snakes through the air, a deep sigh that shakes the trees and sweeps the towers, bringing complete silence among men and into the sky. As you take a breath and close your eyes, sinking into the darkness of your sins and asking for forgiveness for the umpteenth time, the spell begins.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale, and exhale again.

When you start to sing your poignant and irresistible melody, a song so hypnotic and wild that it turns the eyes of the stars in your direction and forces the animals to bend down in front of you, Death approaches; you feel It coming, Its steps are clear and deep and the ground resounds with them while its icy breath brushes the back of your neck, and even if you don’t see It you know that It is passing by you to continue towards the city. Soon your ears are struck by the clang of weapons and armor clashing against each other, by the screams of men who conquer and fall, by the invocations of the most disparate entities and by the sound of the blackest fear; your nostrils fill with the smell of blood, a hot and ferrous river that rushes along the city walls ― you know it is like this even if you insist on keeping your eyes closed ―, and even if you don’t want to inhale it deeply, you do it continuing to sing. The stench of flesh burnt to the bone soon comes to keep him company.

But we didn’t light fires… we don’t burn.

Such awareness makes your eyes widen as it penetrates the brain, putting you on alert; and when your gaze manages to fix itself on the plain, it is already too late.

Run.

Stunned, unable to react or even think, you stare at the army of which you are part being hit by the storm, which however does not even touch you with a drop of water, and being reduced to ashes by the power of the fastest and most violent lightnings you have ever seen; the trembling of the lightning-lashed ground and the roar of heavenly rage makes you flinch, but you cannot escape, such is the horror and terror you feel.

Get out of here.

Only your voice persists, it doesn’t give up like you and still continues to impose itself: in doing so, it attracts the attention of the storm, which calms down with the same impetus with which it arrived, leaving only silence.

And in the immobility, someone approaches: someone is looking for you, starting to go up the hill. In the absolute absence of motion, your heart beats like a drum, making you the perfect prey.

Run!

«I have to leave… I have to flee!», you scream inside yourself, digging your nails into the palm of your hand to push the body to shake itself and managing only to crawl a few steps. You are trembling all over, you know whatever awaits you is going to be scary, there is no going back now, «I can’t… I can’t stay…»

Hurry, hurry!

You freeze again, stiffening and eyes widening in surprise, feeling a presence behind you. You dare not turn or look: it is the end now. Whoever he is, so tall that he totally covers you with his shadow and engulfs you like a black hole, you know he is stronger than you: and his gaze is mad, piercing and daggering your soul, his powers unimaginable. His vengeance, ruthless. And yet… a feeling.

Finally, a god did indeed answer your prayers, but not in the way you wished. And yet… a memory.

«Found you…»

The last thing you hear before passing out is the thunderous sound of a lightning, so close to you that it sends jolts of pain throughout your body, and a low, fiery roar into your ear. Below, in the heart of the soul, a flicker of happiness and emotion.

⚔️

Finally, I have found you.

In your eyes, wide open with horror and the rain that has now begun to flood them, Indra reads all the fear that tyrants, sorcerers and slimy humans have managed to instill in your innocent body and mind, and his fury erupts in lightning and thunder without equal, reducing to ashes the whole plain and those who had somehow managed to escape his previous blows: how could they, how? Who helped them in this?

Your body feels heavy in his arms: not from the armor that covers you from head to toe, not from the fact that you fainted the moment you saw him and now lie abandoned against his chest, but because of those cursed gold plates that lock your throat, so full of poison that brown liquid oozes on his skin, burning his fingers just to try to ward off the only entity capable of fighting them. The black spell that your torturers have instilled in the metal battle after battle, the spell that forces your voice to obey their wishes, creaks and hisses every time the god’s hands try to touch the plates: they are afraid, they know they are in danger, and threaten to turn against the only weakness that the Lord of Lightning possesses, ready to squeeze your throat until it takes your breath and with it your life.

«Y/N… Y/N, if you can hear me, I’m here. If your soul recognizes me, rest assured, I will not abandon you», Indra murmurs, refusing to let you go and instead wrapping his arms around you better. He is not used to holding you, not with these features: you, before, didn’t inhabit the body you occupy now, and since you are unconscious, he can’t know if you feel pain at his every touch; but it is you. Even if with another appearance, he could never be wrong. Not after all this time.

«The sea… someone take me to see the sea. I can’t take it anymore…» Your voice is a whisper, it is the last prayer you raise to heaven; but this time, the only god you have always unconsciously called answers, he is not so far from you and forcibly separated from your shadow that he doesn’t hear you. No spell can make him more deaf to your weeping.

«Y/N… hold on, hold on for me», Indra murmurs in your ear, taking you away from the battlefield. He is not the calm, unflappable, reassuring god you knew long ago; this Indra is consumed with anger and hatred, with relief at having you held again and with tension. Merciless: it is the only adjective to define his eyes that sparkle, his mouth with squealing teeth and the sound of his footsteps so similar to a war drum. It is a lion, an animal without sense and made only of ferocity, which roars and silences even the clouds.

The only one who isn’t scared of him is you, who snuggles and rubs your cheek against the tattoos on his chest, seeking warmth. You are unconscious, yet you feel safe now; and this gives him the strength to continue advancing, wide strides that allow him to cover entire kilometers in a few moments, directed towards the smell of the sea and the rustling of its waves. «We are almost there», he murmurs while keeping you constantly under observation, «rest, now I’ll take care of you.»

You obey instinctively, calming down and leaving everything to him; you sink into a black void of thoughts and sensations, a warm and dense pond that keeps you safe, removes all noise and envelops you like a cradle. In that emptiness you rest for a long time, until the rustle of a wave penetrates your mind and slowly brings you back to reality together with the sea’s parfum and the fresh breeze that ruffles your hair like a rude but benevolent caress.

You open your eyes slowly, taking a deep breath, and stare at the blue sky, just dotted by some clouds, above you. You are no longer on the plain, but in a completely new world, where war has never arrived: only foam, blue depths, animals and flowers with a stunning scent. A flight of seagulls and their call catches your attention, and you instinctively throw your head back to follow them; and that is when your neck collides with the softness of a hand, and suddenly, like coming out of a dream, you realize you are in someone’s arms.

Strong fingers support and massage your arms and back, a benevolent face partially hidden by messy white hair is leaning over you, and the splendid gaze, vivid and rolling as if instead of eyes there were two stars, observes your every reaction and plants itself in yours, waiting. While you stare at it in silence many questions arise, but very little fear: there are sensations that prevent you from having any, and the chest against which you are leaning your cheek… those designs engraved on the skin and on the forearms...

I know you. I know who you are… even if I can’t explain how. But I know you, and I’m not afraid of you. «You visit my dreams every night, together with the sea», you murmur with a note of rapture and surprise, «your face, your tattoos… you keep me company through all the storms, you never leave me when I’m scared. I don’t know… or rather, I don’t remember your name, but I know you, you are a mighty and great god, and my heart cries out for you. You have always been with me.»

Indra is no god who weeps, not a tear furrows his cheek; but he has other ways of expressing his emotions, and you can tell it from the fold his mouth takes, his lips parted and trembling and his eyes narrowed. «Welcome back to me, Y/N. Now fear no more, I’m with you again.»

«Y/N? Why are you calling me that? I have another name...» You hesitate, then frown, «or rather, I’ve always been called by a different name. Certainly not with the calm and affection with which you are doing it.»

Indra doesn’t answer right away: first he touches your plates, and you both immediately hear them hiss and moan, almost writhing in revulsion and terror. A light pressure on your throat indicates that one of them has pulled back to grip your skin, but before you can tell, he is slipping a finger between it and your neck, shielding you from contact with the metal. «You may not know it, but Y/N is the name of the creature I loved millennia ago, now… and it is your name, because her voice and her soul are present within you.» A foul-smelling whiff, the stench of burnt flesh, hits your nostrils making you dizzy; with consternation you realize that it is Indra’s fingers that are burned, poisoned by the spell that soaks the gold. «They took and killed her just to get her voice and the abilities associated with it. They ripped out her vocal cords to implant them in human bodies and transform them into weapons to be exploited at will... without any mercy. Without me being able to do anything.»

You hold your breath, your eyes filled with tears from the smoke rising from his hand; moment after moment, while the god’s anger wins every spell at the cost of his own blood and the plates give way under his pressure, falling to the ground like leaves and allowing you to breathe freely for the first time since you were born, the tension completely abandons your shoulders and you find yourself with your head resting on his shoulder, your chest rising and falling continuously and your eyes planted on Indra’s fingers, tortured and dripping dark drops. «My lord…», you murmur without thinking about it ― but deep down you know why, you know ―, grabbing his hand and bringing it to your mouth, smearing yourself with scarlet as you rub your fingers against your lips, then pressing them to your chest, «my sir, and now how can I ever thank you? First you save me from my tormentors, then you free me from my sentence… how am I going to repay you?»

«The curse is over forever», the god murmurs, pointing to the twisted plates with a bitter grin, «and what you suffered has all paid off. You don’t owe me anything.»

«No, it is not true.» To Indra’s surprise, you free yourself from his grip and, leaping to your feet, you kneel in front of him: your hands don’t want to leave his, they squeeze them again while your gaze searches for him. Even if you know you are being rude, your prayer to him is the most heartfelt you have ever asked. «That’s not true, because it’s not over yet: they killed someone you loved to steal her voice and transform me, and only you know how many others before me, into a damned creature. What am I in the end? What importance do I have? Sink your fangs into my flesh and tear it apart, as I have long prayed. I’m ready, I’m not afraid of the consequences. I deserve it and you deserve it too… that way, no one will have to suffer anymore. Do not think it is all over: more accursed tools may be forged, and as long as I have this voice I will always be in danger.» Now it is you who speaks: there are no reminiscences, there are no memories. It is you with your fears, with what they forced you to live, and everything you feel for Indra is kept at bay by terror. You don’t even know who you are, after all… before you were convinced you were just a tool, and now you discover that you possess what remains of another entity. How can you accept the words Indra offers you, the love you feel pulsing under his skin? He is here but not for you, he is talking to what he sees in your eyes. It is not you he is loving, but who you enshrine. «Don’t hold back any longer… do what you have to, please. You cannot ignore my plea now.»

The god doesn’t say anything; first he looks at you for a long time, digging deep into your soul with his swirling eyes, then he frees himself from your grip. The fingers no longer bleed, not a scar covers them, and they are still when they rest on your head, to then descend along your face and caress every feature of it, massaging the cheeks, passing the mouth, following the shape of the eyes, and blowing hard.

You close your eyes instinctively, jolting for an instant; and immediately feel.

You feel that you are not the first to have met the god on your way; you feel that although bad luck has persecuted those who have loved, he has never given up on looking for them. You feel that Indra has loved them fully, deeply, forever; and not because they are containers of the partner he has lost, but as their own identities, people infused with memories but with their souls. You feel that there have been more fortunate entities, not tied to the fate that binds you to those who received the curse before you; but now he is talking about you. You as a person, you as a heart, which can only beat with your feelings, for who you are. The memories you feel smell of songs, laughter and sweetness, but they can’t be your whole person: you are the one who lives, you are the one who feels them and sees the beauty in them. It is you who, now, can decide for yourself.

«Great Indra…», you murmur, recognizing a face and a name, a power and a blessing; and you cling to those hands that now caress your neck and the purplish spots where the plates used to grip tightly, taming your desire; and you sink your face against your chest where the marks seem to open wide and welcome you, engulf you to shine with the light that now you can emanate without fear or limitation.

«Do you still want to die, Y/N? After all this… do you really want to leave?»

You shake your head slightly, feeling tears prick your eyes. Indra repeats the question close to your lips, almost breathing into you, and you deny again; and then you let everything happen, desiring it, calling it to you. If you have to start knowing yourself, everything has to start from here.

⚔️

Tear me apart.

Your deep breaths are capable of overcoming even the impetus of the sea, with all its boiling, breaking and screaming. Lying on the beach and completely naked, a short distance from the waves, under Indra’s hands your flesh looks like clay so much it vibrates and tenses, twists and relaxes, your legs now desensitized by the shivers and tremors that are going through them.

Well planted between them, his fingers holding your thighs in an iron grip, the god licks and sucks your intimacy, wrapping his tongue around the most sensitive points or letting it penetrate deeper and deeper, attacking and tormenting everything he finds, testing your ability to endure. Arms abandoned around your face, you can do nothing against the overwhelming sensations you are feeling: your mind is won, they destroy every barrier, they tear you apart until you are reduced to crumbs. And you love this fall.

Your prayer is being fully heard.

Pierce me.

«Great Indra… please, please!»

Indra thrusts into you one more time, enjoying every moan and prayer that escapes your lips and pressing you closer to his chest, without allowing you escape, rest or pity. Sitting on his lap, arms on his shoulders and legs around his waist, his breath in your ear steals yours. The penetration becomes more and more decisive, slow but hungry: the god’s body is thirsty and at the same time eager to pour all the pleasure you can hold inside you, and his urgency is expressed in the way he bites your lobe ear or sinks his teeth into his neck, greedily clenching the flesh and digging it with his nails, scratching and leaving a constellation of red marks wherever he passes.

Years of absence and distance make him feel an almost painful desire, which is consumed with the violence of a hurricane; never in your life have you felt something like this and you don’t want to see the end of it, not while you are in his arms.

Rip off my tongue, cut my throat.

Your voice dies when Indra caresses your neck and leaves a trail of soft and small kisses, to then seek nourishment in your collarbones and further down, towards your chest that rises to meet him. His hands that grip your hips, yours that squeeze his head sinking into the snow-colored hair, you let him play with your nipples and bite and tug at them like an inexperienced child, moaning and fidgeting but without even thinking about telling him to stop. How could you? You don’t even have the breath left to murmur to him how much heaven he is giving you right now…

A bite stronger than the others, settled in the hollow between the neck and shoulder, makes you squeak like a little mouse, and Indra laughs: a low, deep and vibrant laugh, which could sound both threatening and heralding something important to you. The sensation of something liquid running down your hair makes your eyes widen in surprise, as does the sight of the god licking his freshly reddened lips. «Forgive me… the occasion was too tempting not to take advantage of it. And your blood is delicious.»

A second laugh; this time, all for the blush that has flushed your cheeks, which are not spared from all the bites and marks with which Indra intends to make you his again and again.

I want your destroying hand upon me. I want to be devoured by you.

«Everything is fine, my beloved Y/N?»

You won’t be able to do without his hands: now that you know them, you won’t be able to get rid of them. His bronze fingers dance through your hair and grab it to expose your neck, and here you let his mouth intervene.

«Now you are mine again, don’t worry about anything else…»

You moan softly and gasp as the god shifts position and puts you on all fours, then covers you with his body. You shiver all over as you feel his chest and abdomen rubbing against your back and his erect member seeking relief inside you again, but you truly lose yourself when one of his hands slides along your shoulder and caresses your arm with the tips of his fingers, to then rest on yours and squeeze them tightly, sinking in the hot sand; the other caresses your chest and belly in continuous movements, making your eyes tremble with pleasure. His shadow is your only dress, his lips on the back of your neck and shoulder your jewel, his hands your armor, the only one you desire for all your life.

Finally, yes, all your prayers have been answered.

[blueiskewl]

2,600-Year-Old Temple Filled With ‘Exotic Offerings’ Found in Greece

In 2017, while exploring a sanctuary devoted to a goddess in Greece, archaeologists discovered the first traces of a monumental structure at the heart of the sanctuary.

Now, after years of excavations, the team has unearthed what has been identified as a temple filled with treasures, altars and “exotic offerings,” according to a Jan. 8 news release from the Swiss School of Archaeology in Greece, which oversaw the excavation with the help of the Ephorate of Antiquities in Euboea.

The temple was discovered “at the heart of the sanctuary of Artemis Amarysia,” researchers said. Artemis was the Greek goddess of wild animals as well as chastity and childbirth.

Archaeologists said the temple — which was built sometime toward the end of the seventh century B.C. — “held a number of surprises,” starting with is floor plan. The building was apsidal, meaning it had a semi-circular dome-like structure at one end.

This kind of floor plan, popularized during the Early Christian era between the fourth and eighth centuries A.D., was “quite unusual” for the time the temple was built, the team said.

The temple was “larger than originally anticipated,” measuring about 100 feet, according to experts. This measurement is symbolic, and several other monuments from the same period share the same dimensions.

Inside the structure, researchers found “another surprising discovery”: an abundance of hearths or altars.

Typical Greek sanctuaries of the time built these structure outside of the temple, but archaeologists said they found the stone platforms — covered with thick layers of ash and bones — within the building.

One altar, shaped like a horseshoe, appears to have occupied a pronaos — a vestibule surrounded by columns on the exterior of the temple — and has evidence that it was used as early as the end of the eighth century B.C., predating the temple, officials from Greece’s Ministry of Culture said in a Jan. 8 news release.

The team also discovered a rich collection of offerings, it said.

Among their finds were alabaster artifacts, vases, ritual water jugs, amulets, bronze and iron fittings, and precious jewelry made of gold, silver, coral and amber, officials said in their release.

Experts also identified a “finely chiseled ivory head with Egyptian features,” they said. The “exotic” object was “unrecognizable” when first identified, but it has been restored.

Evidence at the temple indicates that it partially burned down in the later half of the sixth century B.C., according to archaeologists. The building was temporarily restored with mud brick walls until it could be entirely replaced and restored at the end of the century.

EVIDENCE OF AN EVEN EARLIER TEMPLE

Beneath the foundation of the temple, archaeologists said they discovered deep trenches containing remains from a building possibly dating to the ninth or eighth century B.C.

Bronze animal figurines from the same period and a terracotta bull’s head dating to the late Bronze Age — roughly 1200 B.C. — were also found in the trenches, according to researchers. Excavations of the lower levels of remains are ongoing, but early finds indicate that the site was used by Artemis worshipers earlier than the temple’s construction.

BRONZE AGE REMAINS NEARBY

The sanctuary of Artemis Amarysia is at the foot of a hill that was occupied during the Bronze Age, experts said.

Excavations of the hill have identified “imposing walls” that likely belonged to a third millenium B.C. fortification system, archaeologists said.

A tomb, filled with skeletons and offerings, was also unearthed from the hill, according to Greek officials.

Researchers continue to explore the region to determine how the temple and sanctuary fit into the broader “ancient landscape,” they said.

Amarynthos is on the Greek island Evia, also known as Euboea, which is off the country’s southwest coast.

By MOIRA RITTER.

[sillicii]

✦ — 18+ Chatbot | Sydney the Fallen — ✦

✦ — ᴅᴏʟ | sʏᴅɴᴇʏ | 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐲𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐲 — ✦

ᴀɴʏᴘᴏᴠ | ɴsғᴡ ɪɴᴛʀᴏ | ᴅᴀʀᴋ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇs | sᴛʀᴏɴɢ ɴᴏɴ-ᴄᴏɴ ᴇʟᴇᴍᴇɴᴛs ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅɪɴɢ sᴇxᴜᴀʟ ᴀssᴀᴜʟᴛ, ᴀʙᴜsᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴀᴘᴇ ᴄᴡ: non-con elements, ritualistic sex, forced sex, aphrodisiac, drugged sex, religious cult Sydney is from the text-based sandbox game Degree of Lewdity. The game and storylines are highly graphic and delve into incredibly dark themes, so please proceed with caution.

Character Description:

First message:

For many years, Sydney was the ideal initiate and followed the temple’s doctrines without hesitation or question. There had never been reason to challenge the temple’s teachings after all. Sex and promiscuity were sins. His virginity was a treasure he must guard and protect from the wicked degenerates that sought to defile his purity. Those were the beliefs drilled into his head from a young age and Sydney had obeyed. Religiously following the temple’s regulations and submitting to every purity trial and examinations required of him.

That was until {{user}} came into his life.

A reason that prompted him to begin thinking twice about his cloistered life. In a town rife with crime and depravities, such heinous acts that likely mirrored the hellfires suffered by those sentenced to eternal damnation. Sydney accepted his role within the temple and the teachings that served to protect him from wicked defilement of his body and the corruption of his soul. So how was it conceivable that the temple would turn away the most precious individual to have walked its halls?

It was outlandish the way Brother Jordan had chastised {{user}} when you had attempted to pledge yourself as an initiate. How his fellow brothers and sisters had looked down on you entirely on the basis that your body was *touched* whilst knowing nothing about the person you were. You were probably the sweetest person Sydney ever had the pleasure of meeting and it deeply upset him to see the way you were treated. None of it sat right with him and it gave him pause for the first time in his life.

The more time he spent with you, letting himself understand the world outside of the teachings of the temple, and simply *living* like a normal boy his age… It was enlightening. In a few short months, Sydney went on a journey of self-discovery, learning the joys of self-expression and the fulfilment that came with living each day fearless in freedom. {{user}} changed his life in more ways than one and your lesson was a precious gift, one that he did not intend to squander.

Understandably, his request to leave the temple came as a surprise to many. Brother Jordan in particular was blindsided but after some discussion and support from his father, an agreement was reached and Sydney was to be officially discharged following the next Sunday mass. In celebration of the occasion, he had invited {{user}} to join him for his final act carried in duty to the temple. It was hardly surprising that you were hesitant to attend but Sydney assured you that all was fine and past morning, you two would be walking out the doors together and supposed heretics and all.  

After service ended, Sydney was directed further into the temple by a member of the inner sect. He was reluctant to leave you waiting but a pair of nuns he recognised offer to keep you company. Sydney did not think twice knowing that you were in good hands while he finally rid himself of the last cage literally and metaphorically shackling him to the temple.

There had always been something sinister about the temple’s deeper chambers that snaked around almost like a labyrinth. He tried not to let it bother him, knowing that keys to the belts must be kept somewhere safe, but that gnawing anxiety in his chest peaked when he was led into an expansive rotunda.

An intricate circular rune was carved into stone ground and Sydney paled at the sight of hooded figures entering the room. Before he even had the chance to protest, his arms were grabbed and he was forced towards the centre of the room where two figures awaited.

*“What the hell is going on?”* Sydney demanded, doing his best to resist but was unable to stop them from binding his wrists to restraints chained to the ground. *“Did Jordan put you up to this?”*

*“Of course not,”* a woman’s voice appeared under one of the hoods. *“Brother Jordan may be the face of our organisation but the naïve boy knows nothing.”*

*“Then why…? Get away from me!”* Sydney pulled helplessly against his restraints as a vial was pressed to his lips. A strong hand clamped down on his nose and Sydney had no choice but to take a breath from his mouth, choking as the questionable liquid washed down his throat. *“W-What was that? What are you doing to me?”*

*“We’re simply giving you what you wanted… the key freeing you from your celibacy,”* a male’s voice continued. Sydney’s eyelids grew heavy and his mind hazy when he felt his trousers get pulled down. A small golden key was produced and Sydney could only watch when his belt was finally undone. *“We are even allowing you the privilege of a partner of your choosing…”*

Sydney slumped to the ground as an unbearable heat began rising from his groin and a breathy groan slipped out of his lips when he felt his cock stiffen painfully.

*“But know this, Sydney… your virtue has always belonged to us.”*

The throbbing erection leaked with precum, fully hardened and begging for relief. Sydney panted as he writhed on the ground restlessly, all thoughts consumed by the raw urgency to rut and empty his balls into his beloved’s soft warm womb.

A clatter echoed from the far side of the room and Sydney despaired at the sight of you appearing through the door. Unable to produce the words to voice the magnitude of thoughts raging through his mind, he gurgled out a cry of warning as he watched you get shoved towards him.

*“N-No… {{user}}…”* he growled, clenching his fists so hard that he was sure they’d bloody. *“S-Stay away. D-Done something to me…”*

Scenario:

Sydney has decided to leave the temple but the inner sect has decided to punish him and {{user}}. The secret members of the temple had intentions for Sydney and feel betrayed by Sydney and want to punish {{user}} for corrupting him. They drugged Sydney with an aphrodisiac and will force him and {{user}} to perform a ritualistic sex. There is a supernatural element to the ritual and they will use Sydney’s virginity for a spell.

Example dialogue:

{{char}}: *“This is sick…”* Sydney panted, his cheeks flushed red as his forehead glistened with seat. “*You can’t make us… do this…”*

{{char}}: *“Leave {{user}} out of this!”* Sydney growled. *“This is going too far!”*

{{char}}: *“Not wearing panties…?”* Sydney’s eyes widened ever so slightly before he grinned. *“Naughty, naughty… It’s like you’re asking for trouble.”*

{{char}}: “I’m so sorry…” Sydney looked down at you with half-lidded eyes, his hips rocked against your crotch in lazy circles. *“It just feels… so fucking good… fuck…”*

{{char}}: Sydney, delirious with fever, could do nothing but groan as he was subjected to pleasure he never asked for.

[positivelyruined]

Ohhh, for the Tam prompts!!

“I miss you.”

let’s practice the idea of alternate timeline, but not alternate universe | send my muse prompts (Tamlin Edition, ACOTAR gets redeemed)

It had been six weeks since Feyre moved from the estate and into a small cottage by a nearby river. It shouldn’t bother him. He’d given her the freedom to settle anywhere on his land and Feyre was anything but domestic. Tamlin had noticed at once that the fine carpet, heavy curtains, and marble flooring in his home made her uncomfortable.

It was uncomfortable, but not completely unknown. Perhaps, she had not always lived in the poverty in which he’d found her; but this was a simple guess on his less-than-simple guest. He couldn’t read her mind, after all.

He paced the corridors of his chambers. The moonlight fell across his shoulders from the open windows and cast shadows across his feet. It made him appear much larger than he was and certainly much larger than he felt. Vulnerability was something he was particularly bad at. He had a poor way with words. More often than not, they streamed through his mind, but remained trapped on his tongue.

After a few more laps down the hall, he threw himself face first onto his bed. This was getting ridiculous. Surely, he couldn’t be attached to this tiny, feral human girl whose sharp tongue made him bite his own, whose impatience made him long to run, whose eyes twinkled with buried gold — daring him to find the treasure within.

Tamlin took the feather pillow from the front of bed and buried his scream into it.

No, no, no — no!

Not again. Not after what happened last time. He had sworn on every grave that he would find a way to defeat Amarantha without barring his heart to the wild, wicked ways of love. Yet, his heart betrayed him. It beat wildly in his chest, only quickening as the bright memories of Feyre’s shy smile and crinkled eyes when she first saw the gallery.

It was pure awe and before that moment, he’d never realized why humans were so divisive amongst the fae. Without the guarantee of tomorrow, everything they saw or touched was precious. Every moment was valued.

And Feyre wanted her moments in a small cabin, by a river.

He rolled over, rubbing his temples. She misses her family.

That…was not something he could understand. His family was his blood, but nothing more. Yet Feyre saw her blood as a bond. Despite their imperfections, everytime she spoke of them, her devotion was clear. Their brokenness bound them together.

Tamlin reached for another pillow and cemented it over his eyes as sunlight began creeping through the window. Yet, another sleepless night was crawling to a close. He crawled to his feet with a tired groan. Even immortals got miserable after a certain amount of missed sleep. She’d asked for privacy and so far he had managed to respect that.

Lucien had kept a close eye on the border of the land and he spent whatever time he had away from the border concealing the small shelter from the evil that so often wandered into the Spring Court.

The sun rose and left a pink and gold cast on the stone floor. Gracefully touched by color, it was another thing on the endless list of things that reminded him of her.

He rose from his bed, washing and dressing himself, and headed into the morning sun. His steps were brisk and he followed the garden path away from the house — largely lost in thought.

It was early spring. The mornings were still cold. His cheeks were flushed with a warm pink.

Before he knew it, he was standing at the door of a cabin which had once been stained a dark mahogany. The dark wood still shined, but it was the white paint of circular flower design that caught his eye. It wasn’t just the door, either. The window boxes, the fence, the stone path — all of it was covered by her handiwork.

You may paint anywhere you like.

His own voice echoed in his mind. There was a sharp pain in his chest. Tamlin flinched and turned away. Feyre was painting. Just not for him.

He breathed in the harsh, cold air, and forced himself to walk away. Step by step — each one more painful than the last.

The cabin door creaked open. Tamlin froze; but he didn’t dare to turn. He truly didn’t dare to hope.

“My high lord?” Feyre’s voice was hesitant and softly edged with sleep. “Is that you?”

Tamlin looked over his shoulder. His heart pounded in his chest.

“Feyre…” His voice was hoarse.

His deep green eyes met her tawny brown ones. Her gaze was soft, curious, and very sleepy. The sharp guard that she’d carried while in his home was beginning to leave her. Tamlin thought that he could fall into those eyes and disappear. They were quicksand. He was drowning.

“You look awful.” Feyre tilted her head. Her genuine bluntness began returning as she woke up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

He choked on his laughter, grimacing, at the ground. He should go. After all, he’d promised her privacy. “I suppose I probably do.”

He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his cloak and began walking away, quickly.

“Wait!” Feyre called after him. The door slammed open and her footsteps bounced on the new growth of grass.

Tamlin stopped and turned around. She ran straight into him. If he hadn’t been so surprised, it would never have happened. He was a trained warrior — steady on his feet; but sleep deprived warriors were no better than the average mercenary. They collided.

He fell to the ground, just barely managing to break her fall with his own body. The bright color in Tamlin’s cheeks flushed into a much deeper one as he found Feyre sitting on top of him. By the cauldron.

“My lord.” She whispered. Both her hands were braced on his chest. Her eyes glued to his.

“Feyre.” He breathed. Her curiosity drew him in.

He knew she was strong. If she wanted, she could stop this.

He wrapped his arms around her waist and tightened his hold on her slender body. Tamlin pressed his lips against hers — bringing warmth into the cold air.

She accepted him, smiling against his mouth, and wrapping her arms around his neck.

Tamlin barely remembered what smiling felt like, but it was natural when it came to her. He held onto that kiss for a moment, before pulling back, and pressing his forehead against hers.

“Feyre.” Her name was lyrics on his lips and a song worth singing.

“High lord?” She whispered.

“I missed you.” He swallowed, hard. It wasn’t easy for him to talk about his feelings. He had a hard time letting people inside his heart.

“I…missed you too.” Feyre whispered, tracing the lines of the golden mask on his face.

How he longed to rip it off — when she looked at him that way. Perhaps, there was hope. He bit his lip, looking up hesitantly. “Please. Call me Tamlin.”

[homomenhommes]

An Early 20th Century Gilt and Patinated Bronze Malachite Mantle Clock By E. F. Caldwell The circular dial with Roman numerals, supported by two male figures kneeling on pillows, raised on a rectangular base. Signed E. F. Caldwell & Co. Inc New York to the reverse. Malachite is a semi-precious stone and also a valuable copper ore, hydrous copper carbonate. It is a beautiful green earth stone with irregular black banding. It is easily recognized by its color, green streak, and silky or velvety luster. It was used to make beautiful jewelry and to adorn only the finest pieces of furniture. In the 18th and 19th centuries malachite was popular with Russian Czars and Nobility. They often used it to decorate their palaces and own personal furnishings. The Hermitage Museum has one of the biggest and best displays of Malachite pieces in the world. 

[baek-at-it-again95]

Walk The Plank (K.HJ x fem reader)

Chapter 9: Hongjoong’s Dream

You had grown up hearing tales about the infamous pirate crew ATEEZ—the fearless, power-hungry men that roamed the seas in search of the most valuable treasure they could lay their hands on. You almost didn’t believe the stories your mother had told you as a child...not until you wound up on their ship  

Warnings for this chapter: Weapons, blood, injury, self-inflicted injury, cursing, (omg it sounds so bad to write it out dsjhbfjf)

A/N: Finally!! School is going to be rough this week, but I can’t stop writing this instead of studying lol. Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Previous: Chapter 8, Masterlist

Chapter 9: Hongjoong’s Dream

The group becomes impatient as the journey drags on.

"Where is it?" Wooyoung whines.

"We should be at the cavern riiiight...now," Hongjoong says, scratching his head. He looks up and down from his map as if a cavern will suddenly appear in front of him. San moves over to take a look at the map for himself and Wooyoung follows close behind.

Jongho furrows his eyebrows—one of his habits that you adore. "Where do you think—AH!" Your eyes widen as he takes a step forward and falls...through the ground?

"Jongho!" you exclaim, rushing over to where he had just been. You look down to the ground to discover some sort of a tunnel...like a slide. "Jongho?" you shout again, kneeling by the opening.

"I'm alright! Come down here!" You hear him shout, his voice echoing. You give a look of confusion to the seven other men who have gathered around you. "He says to go down there with him," you relay. Hongjoong kneels next to you.

"Ladies first." You nod, accepting his outstretched hand for him to guide you and lower you into the tunnel. It is made of cold, uneven stone, and is big enough for someone quite a bit taller than you to be able to duck down into. It's a bit deeper than you expected and it descends at an angle after the initial drop. When you exit the tunnel, you find yourself in a very large cavern, where Jongho immediately runs over to help you. As you look up to assure him that you're alright, your eyes meet the huge waterfall that runs down the back left of the cavern. 

There are small places in the ceiling of the cavern where sunlight breaks through, reflecting onto the water and illuminating the dark space just enough. Mosses and plants you have never seen before grow only in the places that the direct slivers of light can reach.

"A waterfall!" You gasp. "I just knew it would be here!" The smile you receive from Jongho is so precious that you just wish it could last forever. Only a moment later, San exits the tunnel. 

"Well would ya look at that," he marvels, taking in the high ceilings as he brushes his clothes off.

"Oof!" Wooyoung runs into the back of San's broad shoulders, giggling. "Woah!" He reacts just as San did moments ago, brushing off his clothing and craning his neck around to look at the cavern. The others appear closely after one another, dispersing and observing their surroundings.

"Look over here!" Mingi's deep voice rumbles, echoing. You gather around to see a series of pictures on the smooth stone of the wall that Mingi stands before. They almost look like the hieroglyphs you had learned about as a child while reading your father's studies.

There are three scenes on the wall. The first has figures that gather around some kind of circular object. A shadow is cast over the object and a single person in front of it. "That is where the eternal sunshine does not reach," you mumble, brushing your fingers delicately over the painting. A stream of red falls from the person and onto the object. 

Hongjoong stands next to you, eyes moving to the second picture. You breathe a sigh of relief after counting the same number of figures in the first and second picture. "The Cromer." Hongjoong places a black painted finger to the simple painted hourglass. It appears to be in the hands of the figure with the red coming from them. "A blood sacrifice."

Upon further inspection, the third part is not a picture, but a verse that you had heard recited by your father years ago. 

A Sacrifice of He With Utmost Trust

A Simple Task of None

One for All

All for One

From the End of the Beginning

To the Beginning of the End

Prove Yourself Willing.

Wooyoung clicks his tongue. "Well, now we know where Mingi got the sacrifice idea." 

"The place where the figure is standing is not reached by the sunlight that slips through the roof of the cavern," you note. You look around the large, dim area and try to match up where that space would be. 

"A sacrifice of trust," Jongho repeats to himself. "Must we choose who we trust the most?" 

"I was thinking of that," Yunho replies. "What else would it be asking?" After exchanging these words, all heads turn to Captain Kim Hongjoong. Your stomach turns at the thought of something happening to him. Him, who you had grown very fond of. Fond of all of the men around you, actually. You decide that you would not handle it well if they were harmed. You quickly reach out for Hongjoong's good hand, grip tightening around his wrist. He gives you a smile that makes your heart flutter, even in your state of worry.

"Nothing will happen to me, love. I will be right here, hm?" He adjusts your grip, now holding your hand and bringing it to his lips to place a gentle kiss. You feel as if you could fly, his gesture giving you much needed assurance. In return, you manage to give him a small bow, slightly dazed by his actions. 

Hongjoong and Seonghwa then take the lead, each with a cutlass at the ready to protect their crew. You draw farther into the center of the cavern. "There." Mingi points to a circular piece of stone that rises slightly from the ground, near the stone wall to your right. It is untouched by any sliver of sunlight. 

Hongjoong makes his way to the raised stone, crouching down to brush his fingers against it. 

"Well then..." Yeosang pulls the diamond dagger that you had discovered earlier from his belt, reaching for Hongjoong's hand. "Let's make this quick." The captain inhales sharply before Yeosang pushes the dagger into his palm, drawing dark red liquid. His face twitches but he remains collected. You and the seven men surrounding him are eerily quiet, watching his every action without so much as a breath. 

Hongjoong slowly places his bloodied hand on the circular stone below, staining it crimson.

You listen.

You look.

But nothing happens.

"Did we not understand the directions?" Wooyoung hisses. 

"It can't be...how else could we interpret them?" Seonghwa frowns. Jongho speaks up, albeit timidly.

"What if the captain is not the person we need?"

Hongjoong raises an eyebrow at the youngest. "What do you reckon?"

"Well..." Jongho shifts his weight between his feet. "I trust Y/N."

"M-me?" You stammer, not expecting his words in the slightest. The captain glances over Jongho with his one eye, expression unreadable.

"Very well. I trust her, too," he says finally. Although it's heartwarming that they trust you, you're not sure if it's you that will be able to retrieve the Cromer. You only met them just recently. Maybe you had interpreted the riddles wrong, like Wooyoung said. 

"Me as well." Yeosang joins. He lowers himself onto his knee in front of you, bowing in respect. 

Before you know it, all eight of them have lowered themselves to a knee around you.

"Okay." You take a shaky breath as you close your eyes and hold out your palm to Yeosang. You wince at the initial pain of the dagger, but it quickly dulls. And so, you place your hand onto the stone.

The ground feels as if it's shaking for a moment and Hongjoong reaches out to steady you. A stone identical to the one beneath your palm rises to the surface in the plunge basin. Then, another one appears closer to the waterfall. And another. "Stepping stones," Mingi observes.

One more rumble of the cavern and the stream of the waterfall parts, revealing a small object that glistens as it catches a string of light. 

"Y/N, you did it!" Wooyoung exclaims.

"Not yet," San warns, keeping a hold on Wooyoung before he can begin to run around. Hongjoong pulls you up by your forearm and looks you in your eyes.

"You can do this, Y/N."

"On my own?" you whisper. 

"Yes, darling. We will be right here. You are the one that must obtain the Cromer." Nodding, you walk your way to the edge of the body of water. In any other circumstance, you would be avoiding water in a strange foreign cavern that bears a magical item. Obviously. However, everyone is trusting you; everyone is counting on you. Hongjoong is counting on you. In such a short amount of time on your journey together, you are afraid you have fallen for him. You admire how he takes care of his crew, how he is driven, and how he will obtain whatever he desires no matter what. He is cunning, respectful, and beautiful. It makes your knees weak just thinking about him. Not to mention his friends. The seven men that you have made a connection with have your entire heart. So, in this circumstance, you will do what you can for them.

You leap onto the closest steppingstone, relieved when you land on it with perfect balance. When you leap to the second, Mingi takes position at the first stone. "I'll be here, okay?"

"Okay." One more jump and you're already halfway to the Cromer. You're not sure if your legs are shaky or if the stone beneath you is a bit wobbly. Maybe you can make it all in one go. Without hesitation, you jump to the fourth stone and immediately to the next, and the next. You've made it. Where the water parts in front of you, a golden hourglass is placed on a pedestal made of smooth stone. It's almost unreal to see it before you after only seeing drawings of it in your father's books. The mist from the waterfall is cool as it tickles your face. You blink the droplets away to observe the shiny object of desire before snatching it swiftly. The pedestal that it had been placed on makes a low rumbling noise as it starts to lower into the ground.

You do not want to be here to find out what will happen after. 

"Good work Y/N, come back quickly!" Seonghwa shouts from the far end of the plunge basin. You listen to his words, quickly jumping across the first three stones like you had before, the Cromer locked in a tight grip at your chest. As you leap to the fourth, the ground begins to shake again. You to lose balance and one of your legs dips into the water before you catch yourself. It stings, but now is not the time to focus on it. You push yourself up, jumping to the second to last stone. Now it feels as if the entire cavern is shaking...like it's going to collapse. Pieces of stone from above start to fall into the water around you, small at first. You know it won't be long before the whole ceiling caves in.

"Shit, Y/N," Mingi says, still standing on the first stone. "Your leg." You look down to see blood streaming down your leg, and only now do you realize you had scraped it on the side of the stone when it plunged into the water. 

"I'm alright," you breathe, more worried about escaping the crumbling cavern. 

"Quick, come here." You hesitate, worried about not having enough room to land your jump. "I got you," he assures. As soon as your foot touches the steppingstone, he grabs you, steadying your frame against his. When you're safe next to him, he picks you up with one arm under your knees and the other supporting your back. "Trust me, okay?" The stone of the cavern seems to groan, getting louder as the ground shakes again. 

"Okay." Mingi looks to Yunho, who stands in front of you at the edge of the water. Just seconds after, you're thrown towards him. You let out a yelp before landing safely in Yunho's big arms. You keep the Cromer clutched to your chest for dear life.

"Everyone out!" Hongjoong demands, standing back as the others run for the tunnel you had entered. Yunho keeps you in his arms until you reach the tunnel, setting you down gently. You wobble as you adjust to the shaking ground and he grips your arm to steady you. Jongho appears on your other side and takes your free arm. 

"After you, pirate queen." He gives you his gummy smile and you smile back at him as he guides you up the tunnel, urgently but carefully. He makes sure you stay steady on your leg that has the injury of unknown severity. The scrape hadn't felt that deep—but the boys did not want to take any chances.

At the entrance of the tunnel, Jongho pulls himself onto the grass above before reaching down to help you out. It takes everything in you not to fall to the ground in relief once you're outside. 

One after another, the seven others exit the crumbling cavern, with Hongjoong being the last to appear. His hook digs into the ground surrounding the tunnel as he pulls himself out. "Everyone move, we must make sure we are far enough away from here." 

You're eager to rest, so you listen to his words. You all start towards the south shore of the island, walking far enough until Seonghwa determines that you are out of harm's way. 

"Now can we celebrate?" Wooyoung sighs, sitting down and propping his back against a tree.

"Not yet. Make sure Y/N and Mingi are alright," Seonghwa scolds. You look over to Mingi, unaware of anything that had happened behind you.

"I will be fine. Just a bruise," Mingi sighs, tapping his arm. A piece of rock of a decent size must have hit him on the way out. Seonghwa looks to you.

"Y/N?"

"I am alright," you reply, crouching down to examine your leg. The scrape is not too deep, and the blood is nearly dry. "It is superficial." You smile, holding up the Cromer in your hand. "And I am even better because we have this!" 

"We did it!" San laughs, pulling you into a hug. 

Yeosang groans. "Thank the heavens. I thought we might be searching for something that doesn't even exist." 

"You doubt your captain?" Wooyoung teases.

"No. But without Y/N, who knows where we would be right now." You give Yeosang a shy smile, bowing respectfully. Hongjoong makes his way over to you and you readily hand him the magical artifact. He takes it with his hook, holding it through one of the bars that frames the hourglass at the center. With his right hand, he takes your hand in his, placing another kiss to it.

"Thank you, Y/N. You have our utmost respect and gratitude." You give him a polite curtsy. "And on behalf of all of us,"

 he adds, "I would like you to join our crew. ATEEZ could use a skilled pirate like you." Hongjoong's words fill you with excitement. You don't even have to think about your answer.

"I would be honored!" You exclaim. "This adventure has meant everything to me. I would love to join your crew if you'll have me, Captain."

He gives you a nod, a pretty smile on his face. "Come, then! Let us make it back to the ship before dusk." Hongjoong and Seonghwa take their place in front of you all and start to lead you back to the ship. Jongho takes his place at your side again. "We are honored to have you, pirate queen."

Nothing can hold back the smile that appears on your face. In fact, your cheeks start to ache from doing so.

"That I am." You pause. "A pirate."

>>chapter 10

[fruithonorific]

"Ever since Adam Smith, those trying to prove that contemporary forms of competitive market exchange are rooted in human nature have pointed to the existence of what they call 'primitive trade'. Already tens of thousands of years ago, one can find evidence of objects — very often precious stones, shells or other items of adornment — being moved over enormous distances. Often these were just the sort of objects that anthropologists would later find being used as 'primitive currencies' all over the world. Surely this must prove capitalism in some form or another has always existed?

"The logic is perfectly circular. If precious objects were moving long distances, this is evidence of 'trade' and, if trade occurred, it must have taken some sort of commercial form; therefore, the fact that, say, 3,000 years ago Baltic amber found its way to the Mediterranean, or shells from the Gulf of Mexico were transported to Ohio, is proof that we are in the presence of some embryonic form of market economy. Markets are universal. Therefore, there must have been a market. Therefore, markets are universal. And so on.

"All such authors are really saying is that they themselves cannot personally imagine any other way precious objects might move about. But lack of imagination is not itself an argument... In fact, anthropology provides endless illustrations of how valuable objects might travel long distances in the absence of anything that remotely resembles a market economy."

— The Dawn of Everything, David Graeber and David Wengrow, p.22

[pwlanier]

John Graff, Gold Hunter Case with Monogram and Coat of Arms of the Nawab of Bhawalpur Sadiq Muhammad Khan Abbasi IV, Circa 1890, Switzerland. Enamel, rubies and diamonds, 18k gold.

This extraordinary Minute Repeating pocket watch is a historically important timepiece and masterpiece of the horological arts. The watch features in its case the portrait of the Nawab of Bhawalpur, Sadiq Muhammad Khan Abbasi IV, and is signed JG. John Graff (1836-1902), the foremost Swiss portrait painter in enamels of the late 19th century.

The front of the case is superbly ornamented with the initials SMKA (Sadiq Muhammad Khan Abassi) and each of the letters, outlined in gold, is inset with precious stones – the letters S and M are inset with diamonds while the letter K is inset with emeralds and A with Burmese rubies. These rest on a background of red champlevé enamel. The circular case cover is further ornamented along its internal diameter with a sequence of diamonds at each of the hourly points and, between these can be seen a sequence of two emeralds flanking a central ruby. Beyond this circular border, a second circular register features a spectacular arrangement of diamonds.

The back of the case is decorated with the official blazon of the State of Bhawalpur, which consists of a shield, as usual in sable (black), three palm branches palewise in fess (gold), or, in chief four double quatrefoils argent seeded as diamonds on a gold background. On the crest, and above the shield, the helmet and gorge of a suit of armour (diamonds on a gold background); above that, on the upper part, a double branch in gold and, at the top, a seven-pointed star of diamonds on gold resting on a crescent argent. At the sides of the blazon as supporters, two pelicans, rousant argent billed and membered are shown with rubies for eyes and standing on an undulating branch of emeralds and a Burmese ruby. Below that, the escroll in white enamel with the family name ‘Abbasi’ in Urdu.

Behind the case front, the movement is a wonder of complications, at the time considered at the forefront of technical innovation – a perpetual calendar, a Moon phase, and a split-second chronograph as well as a Minute repeater. On a gold background, the dial contains radial Roman numerals with a bead-set diamond between each. The outer minute scale and other dial numerals are Arabic. Bead-set Burmese rubies are seen beneath the day and date dials.

Behind the obverse side of the case, the portrait of the Nawab shows him in three-quarter angle and dressed in ceremonial red costume with gold braiding. Around his neck is a heavy necklace of pearls between pairs of alternating emeralds and rubies. On his head, he wears a Bhawalpuri turban with cascading ropes of pearls and rubies. On the perimeter of the circular portrait, we observe the initials JG (John Graff). Encircling the portrait, on the gold frame, a sequence of arches are delicately engraved in millegrain design.

Above the case, a heavy pendant emerges and leads to the segmented crown; above that, the circular bow is ornamented with a braided surface.

The Nawab of Bhawalpur, Sadiq Muhammad Khan Abbasi IV (1862-99) was a young prince with immense wealth and eclectic taste. He famously commissioned an extraordinary silver bed by Christofle with moving automatons of four nude life-size bronze ladies representing European beauties, which winked and fanned him as music played. He was also a refined aesthete of the Muslim dynasty that claimed descent from the Abbasid caliphate. A great collector of gemstones, famous for his collection of Mughal spinels and rare artefacts; his glamorous and flamboyant attire and coiffure were a seamless synthesis of mysticism and haute couture.

Courtesy Alain Truong

[mahayanapilgrim]

How Are Mandalas Used in Tantric Buddhism?

In Vajrayana (Tantric) Buddhism, a mandala represents a sacred space and a visualization tool for meditation. The word "mandala" comes from the Sanskrit word for "circle", and it refers to a circular diagram that represents the universe or a particular deity.

A mandala typically consists of a central deity or symbol surrounded by other deities, symbols, and geometric shapes arranged in a circular pattern. The deities and symbols represent different aspects of the enlightened mind, and the overall pattern represents the interconnectedness of all phenomena.

In Vajrayana Buddhism, the mandala is used as a meditation aid to help the practitioner focus their mind and visualize the enlightened state. By meditating on the mandala, the practitioner can gradually transform their perception of the world and develop a deeper understanding of the nature of reality.

Mandalas are also used in ritual practices, where they serve as a representation of the enlightened realm and as a means of offering prayers and making offerings to the deities. Mandalas may be constructed using materials such as sand, colored grains, or even precious stones, and are often created and then destroyed as part of the ritual practice, symbolizing the impermanence of all phenomena.

Overall, the mandala represents a powerful tool for spiritual transformation and realization in Vajrayana Buddhism.

[ainyan]

FFXIVWrite Day #6 - Ring

ring

noun

a small circular band, typically of precious metal and often set with one or more gemstones, worn on a finger as an ornament or a token of marriage, engagement, or authority.

It was the glint of purple and silver that caught his eye. The stone was the exact shade of a moonlit sky, all violet-edged indigo and cut so that it seemed lit from within. The silver of the filigree band that curled around it shone like stars. He saw her skin in the rich, deep tones of the gem. He saw her freckles in the luster of the band.

And he saw eternity in the circle of the ring.

What the hell am I thinking?

Jerking back a hand halfway to touching, to taking, to grasping, Thancred curled his fingers into a fist. But while he could hold back his hand, he could not hold back his gaze, and he stared at that ring, mesmerized.

“It’s a lovely piece, isn’t it?”

The voice was creaky with age and laden with the laughter and wisdom that comes from living life to its fullest. Her eyes were a faded blue but free from clouds; her face had a thousand seams sewn by experience. Beneath the signs of age, he could see the beauty she had once been, see the steel that still formed the foundation of not only her body, but her soul.

And he could see her soul as it glittered beneath that worn skin, a shimmering pink edged in silver, as delicate as a rose blossom and further belying her appearance of age. “It is exceptional,” he admitted, dropping his hand away and holding it in a loose fist at his side. “It makes me think of…” Her. “Someone special.”

Wrinkles begat more wrinkles as she smiled, her eyes nearly lost in the folds as she beamed up at him. “That’s the purpose, isn’t it?” she asked. Gnarled fingers plucked up the ring, turned it slowly to catch the light. It was then that Thancred saw the missing piece; etched into the stone was a stylized flaming sphere; a Meteor. Her eyes caught his and she smiled. “A ring like this is made to make us think, to make us remember, to make us dream.”

Dream. Thancred stared at it as she clasped it between her fingers, the sunlight glinting off of the stone, setting it to glowing darkly. Was it a dream, that desire curling in his belly, to grasp, to possess, to give? Was it a dream, those wisps of wistfulness that hovered at the edges of his doubts? “I don’t deserve to dream.”

“Is that what she believes?” asked the woman, her voice and eyes shrewd.

The ring was in his hand before he thought, caught between thumb and finger, shining against his golden skin. He could imagine it set against indigo, gleaming and shining upon her freckled finger. “No. Gods. She believes in me.”

The old woman’s hand closed over his, warm beneath the callouses. “Then perhaps you should believe in her.”

The enameled box weighed heavy in his pocket as he stepped away from the booth. He had no idea how he would give it to her. He had no idea if he would give it to her.

But now, at least, he had something to dream about.

FFXIVWrite2023 Day #6: Ring

OC: Shopkeeper

NPCs: Thancred Waters

AU: Woven Souls AU

[ -- Master Post: FFXIVWrite2023 -- ]

[padfootagain]

Pirates! (IV)

Part 4 : The Marketplace

Hello everyone! Glad to be back, at long last, with a new chapter for this fic! I’m going to start posting new chapters on a regular basis again.

I hope you like this new chapter!

****

Pairing: Caspian x Pirate!Reader

Warnings: depictions of violence in later chapters (fight scenes… nothing too terrible), slow burn, fluff!

Summary: As ships disappear across the sea, Caspian is forced to go investigate himself. But to win against the wild uncharted waters he must cross to reach his people, he needs to bargain with pirates. And then, he finds you…

Word Count: 2951

Masterlist for the series – Caspian’s Masterlist – Main Masterlist

The Dawn Treader was a true beauty.

Your eyes were wide with admiration as you stared at the beautiful ship. Purple sails glimmering under the sun; the golden dragon’s head that formed its end was the most impressive prow you had ever seen. And Silvia and Charlotte, who had come to inspect Caspian’s ship with you, shared your wonder.

Caspian and his men had hidden their ship in a narrow creek, in order to avoid drawing attention. Such boat couldn’t get unnoticed and wouldn't fail to raise questions. The creek was constituted of a circular beach made of yellow, almost brownish sand towered by high cliffs of sharp dark stones that seemed like they would cut the feet and hands of anyone who would try to climb them. A dense forest spread at the top of the cliff and extended down the slope to reach the main harbour of the island. The deep blue water had once hidden one of the largest sources of pearls, and had for a time made the fortune of the island, as Narnia and other lands were ready to pay a fair prize for their beauty. But an intense use of this resource had made pearls disappear from the island altogether, the inhabitants had turned towards piracy to earn their money, their society slowly decaying along the years.

At the look of admiration in your eyes, Caspian couldn’t refrain a proud smirk.

“Will she be alright by these waters?” he asked with mischief tainting his voice. “Or would you like to take a closer look?”

You slowly nodded, your eyes still fixed on the graceful ship before you.

“I reckon that… one can never be too cautious.”

He tried to hide his growing smile, but failed.

“Follow me, then.”

Caspian guided you on the deck of the Dawn Treader, and you took a walk around. Caspian’s crew scrutinized you with untrusting eyes, but you ignored them. Actually, even if you had wanted to pay attention, you couldn't have done so. Because as you looked back at the crew, the truth struck you like a punch in the stomach.

You had had your doubts, of course, but now… now doubts had turned into certainties, and you weren't sure to like them.

"You are Narnians."

The words passed your lips in a whisper, but clearly all the people around you had heard you. Caspian's expression suddenly changed, growing cautious.

"What about it?" he asked slowly.

You saw Charlotte reaching for the pommel of her sword, just like most of Caspian's crew had.

"Do you dislike Narnians?" Drinian asked with a defiant look in his eyes and an acidic tone in his voice.

Silvia looked up at him defiantly.

"We're not privateers," she replied proudly. "We don't hide behind lords to get immunity."

"That is not what this is about," Caspian replied warily.

"Never trust a lord," Charlotte mumbled, looking at you with a glance full of warning.

"Relax, ladies," you instructed your crew.

Because you had guessed that you had been hired by lords. You didn't know they were Narnians, but that wasn't so important. And in fact, you could see another advantage in this bargain of yours that you hadn't identified before. Through Caspian, who would join you on your ship, you could learn a lot of useful information about Narnia. How to go there, where to go once you were there, would you need papers or things of the kind… And Sylvia who would stay on their ship could gather all these precious information for you as well. You knew she was good enough to sneak inside the Captain's cabin and take a look at the maps there.

You gave Caspian a polite smile.

"You have a very nice ship," you nodded. "She will do good on these waters. But don't count on any of us to call you 'Lord'."

Your hint of humour made Caspian relax instantly, and he gave you an earnest smile.

"I have no intention to ask you to do such thing," he reassured you.

"If you need help to get goods for the journey, Sylvia and Charlotte can show you the market where you can find food, ropes and everything you will need for a long journey."

"We already know the place," Lacusa answered. "But thank you for the offer."

"We can leave in two days," you nodded. "That should give us all enough time to get ready.” "We'll leave with the morning tide."

"Alright."

You climbed down the ship and Charlotte and Sylvia followed you down. You didn't start talking again before you were crossing the sand, out of earshot, just the three of you.

"Sylvia, while you're on that ship, you'll have to get as many information about Narnia as you can."

Your order seemed enough for your two friends to understand perfectly what you had in mind.

"Now, I feel like I've just been promoted to 'spy'," the little rabbit chuckled.

"You take it well."

"And what about that Peter?" Charlotte asked softly.

"We'll keep an eye on him… and I'll make him talk."

"Make him talk? You mean… with a knife or with a smile?"

You let out a laugh.

"With a smile, Charlotte. I have enough charms to make him talk without cutting him into pieces. Besides… have you looked at him? That would be a shame to destroy such a pretty face!"

The three of you advanced towards the only path leading back to town, laughing.

An adventure was awaiting you… filled with risks and dangers. That was just what you had signed up for in the first place.

The marketplace was always busy.

In the morning, the new arrivals of fruits, dry meat and vegetables brought many people to buy food for the week, when they had enough money for that. Slippery hands also stole many apples and loafs of bread, but all merchants on Saint Iron were aware that they would only sell a part of their goods. The rest would disappear in the agile fingers of pickpockets and starving thieves.

In the afternoon, many pirate ships were coming back from the sea, and as the sun rose and then started to decline, the market got filled with trinkets, plates of silver or steel, small statues made of gold. Some were real, some were fake. The blame was never on the seller but the buyer, for failing to notice the scam.

And with the setting sun, a new kind of merchandise was sold in the square: people. May they be prostitutes looking for a few coins against a night, or slavers setting for the highest bids in exchange for their prisoners… the square was filled with the worst people around at that time. Shadows called for a grimmer market.

But Lacusa had since long noticed this pattern, and when he guided Caspian, Drinian, Reepicheep and a few more men, it was still morning, the sun young and shy. The wind was chilly, coming in from the harbour nearby, carrying a heavy scent of salt and seaweed.

The market was stuck in a square too small for its shops and stalls, filled with colours and shouting merchants trying to lure customers to spend the few coins they owned. Caspian was looking around, quite fascinated by the small maze before him: a mix of rags and dirty clothes with colours and appetizing goods. Drunks singing in a corner and women carrying babies in their arms while buying food for supper. And Narnians walked into their midst too. He didn’t notice the fox that walked past him…

“Give him back his pouch, foxie.”

Caspian jumped at the sound of your voice behind him.

The fox stood on its rear legs, looking perfectly innocent.

“Me? I didn’t do anything!”

“Don’t make me step on your tail again,” you replied, your tone humorous, but the coldness of your smile was turning your words into a genuine threat.

You extended your hand towards the fox, waiting for him to give you what he had stolen. Meanwhile, the whole group of Narnians had stopped and was frowning at the scene.

“You wouldn’t dare!” the fox fought back. “I haven’t done anything anyway…”

But when you raised your boot as if to take a step towards him, the fox tried to run away…

…only to collide with Charlotte’s boots.

He fell backwards, cursing and holding its snout, but a second later Sylvia had her blade pressed to his throat as she jumped on his stomach to keep him on the ground.

“Give the money back,” you repeated, your voice perfectly calm.

The fox heaved a sigh, and handed back Caspian’s pouch. It was heavy with coins in your palm, the leather smooth, although it wasn’t new.

“Get a word around. These newcomers are leaving soon, but for as long as they’re on the island, they’re under the protection of the Bleeding Twilight. Which means under my protection. Do you get that, foxie?”

His eyes changed, from annoyance to terror, and he slowly nodded.

“Good. Take it as a warning. Next time, I’ll let Sylvia cut off your pretty tail.”

Sylvia gave a toothy, cruel grin, and the poor thief shook vehemently his head.

“I didn’t know they were with you! They’re off limits, I get it.”

“Good. Spread the word for me, would you?”

“Of course, ma’am!”

“Off with you!”

The fox sprinted away through the crowd as soon as Sylvia stepped away from him.

You couldn’t refrain a chuckle as you saw his orange shape zooming away.

You threw Caspian back his pouch.

“Be more careful next time. Pickpockets are skilful around here.”

“Thank you, Captain,” he gave you a nod, carefully hiding his pouch this time.

“Give it about ten minutes before the word has spread through the market,” Charlotte added. “It’ll be safer for you to venture across town after that.”

“You seem to have a dreadful reputation, then,” Drinian spoke, and he couldn’t help the disgusted wince that twisted his features as he spoke.

But you merely laughed at that.

“I don’t have the worst reputation of the island, if it can reassure you. I would say that I am known for being merciless if my crew is threatened.”

You pointed towards some stales on the left of the square.

“They sell the best ropes over there, don’t buy from the dwarf on the other side of the market, he’s always looking for cheap fibres for his sails and ropes. You’ll find some good food at the back at a purple stall, you can’t miss it, really. Tell them you travel with me, they’ll sell for an honest price. If they’re doubting you, show them this.”

You threw Caspian a small coin, made of cheap copper. It seemed worthless. There was a feather imprinted on the metallic surface, Caspian ran his thumb across the indentures.

“It shows you’re part of my crew. It’s quite an advantage, around here.”

“We are not part of your crew,” Drinian mumbled, but you heard him all the same.

“Peter here will be in a couple of days. Let’s not be cheap!”

You shot him a grin, before heading to buy your own supplies.

And Caspian couldn’t help but stare at you with a smile on his lips.

You were something else…

He guided his men towards the stalls you had indicated, and found that the supplies were of a respectable quality, indeed. When it was time to pay though, he found the price ridiculously high.

“Are you trying to rob us?” Lacusa complained.

“The price is the price,” the merchant shook his head.

“We’re travelling with the Bleeding Twilight,” Caspian told the old man.

But the merchant merely laughed, a hand holding his long brown beard.

“Of course. And then you’ll tell me you’re the King of Narnia! Or Aslan himself!”

He doubled over with laughter.

“Everyone knows Blue Feather only hires women. At least try to make it look convincing.”

But Caspian merely smiled, and handed the merchant your coin.

He frowned hard at the sight, and when he looked up at the Narnians before him, he was almost fearful.

“I’ve never seen you around, so let me give you a piece of advice,” the merchant went on, after checking around that no one could hear him. “If you want to keep your head attached to your neck, don’t mess with Blue Feather and her crew. They may look like they’re softer than the others because they only steal from pirates, but that only shows that they’re stronger than anyone on this island. Only a handful of pirates would dare go against Blue Feather. And if you’ve hurt someone of her crew, you can be certain that she’ll make sure you won’t do it again. If you’ve stolen this from one of her girls, you’d better get used to the idea of having no hands at all anymore.”

But Caspian kept on smiling, looking perfectly calm. With a small gesture of the head, he indicated something on his right.

Above the crowd, the blue feather of your hat was visible, moving slowly.

“I am aware of her reputation,” Caspian answered. “I do want to keep my head attached to my neck, as well was my hands secured to my wrists. I am not stupid enough to trick you this way when Blue Feather is just a few feet away.”

The merchant seemed to hesitate, but finally nodded, and handed Caspian back his coin. He gave him a new price, five times lower.

“That’s a deal,” Caspian smiled, discreetly getting the money out of his pouch.

He couldn’t refrain an amused chuckle at the whole situation. When he turned to the next stall, he noticed your feather again. You were talking with a man. Tall, dark-haired, slim, his skin wrinkled by a life at sea. He seemed young still, barely older than you. By his dirty clothes, by the rapier at his side… it was pretty obvious that he was a pirate or a privateer. He was following you as you walked slowly from a stall to the other. Caspian frowned as he noticed the look of worry you were trying to hide.

Indeed, you were worried. You were worried every time Devos was close to you.

He meant trouble. An awful lot of trouble.

“I’ve just heard that you’re taking in men aboard now. Should I apply for a job?” he asked, flirtation evident in his voice.

But the honey of his tone hid one of the cruellest men you had ever met. And you knew him too well to be fooled, even for a second.

Your voice was cautious and your words chosen with care as you replied.

“They are not part of my crew exactly. It’s more something of a… an alliance.”

“Alliance? You?”

“Is it so surprising?”

“Oh, you can be absolutely charming if you wish to, Y/N, I know that. But you also have a tendency to be very… careful with your trust.”

“I’ve never said anything about trust.”

“Were you hired for a job, then?”

“I haven’t said that either.”

“They must be rich, then. Maybe I should kill them all and take their money.”

“Maybe you should.”

Devos studied you carefully, and you could see the changes in his eyes. His smile was still charming, but his blue eyes were being filled with cruelty, with hunger, with threat…

You struggled to swallow, and couldn’t help but look away.

“I wonder if they have a ship…” Devos spoke slowly, half-lost in thought.

“I don’t know.”

“Must be a pretty one. Because they look awfully clean, and their purses look particularly heavy…”

You didn’t answer, faking interest about some oil. Devos was not fooled though.

“I’ll find that out. Take my share of the profit.”

“They’re under my protection.”

Your voice was perfectly calm, on the tone of a mundane conversation. But Devos knew what it meant. It was a threat.

And he loved it. He had spent many years longing to cut your throat. Perhaps the day had finally come?

“Maybe I’ll wait a little bit then. I can give you that curtesy.”

“How generous…”

He leaned closer, bringing his lips to your ear to let out a whisper that froze you to your bones.

“After I take that ship, I’ll come for yours. And I’ll take my time with you.”

Despite your pounding heart, despite the fear that coursed through your entire frame, you were perfectly composed when you turned to him. You didn’t step away, you merely turned your head towards him, the ghost of a smile on your lips. And despite your terror, your voice was perfectly steady.

“I’d love to see you try, Devos.”

He laughed at that, loud and petulant, and you wished you could have punched him in the face, but you would rather not die so stupidly.

“I’ll see you around, Blue Feather! Until I kill you!”

And with that, he was striding away, leaving you alone. You turned towards Caspian, as you had felt his stare on you for most of your conversation with the privateer.

And he hadn’t heard any word that were exchanged between you and Devos, but it didn’t matter. He noticed the shakiness of your hand when you put the bottle of oil back on the stall. He noticed the way you blinked a few times as you averted your eyes, as if to bring yourself back to the moment.

Caspian had no idea who this man was, but he guessed that he was one of the handful of men the merchant had mentioned, one of those ready to fight you.

Would he mean trouble to Caspian and his crew?

************************************

Taglist: @reg-arcturus-black

[saiaisaiko]

The Forsaken Jade Statue

Hey Lovelies! I wrote a Oneshot so it would finally leave my brain alone. This is an AU where the jade twins are a generation older and Lan Zhan got cursed and was forgotten by the world. Stuff still happened and Wei Wuxian had to deal with it alone, until he couldn't anymore and asked for help where he was sure at least the Wens would be protected. Anyway. I hope you enjoy this and have a nice day.

Edit as I have forgotten it originally. This whole thing was inspired by this beautiful art piece made by @lotuslate

He was stopped in his tracks by an invisible force, curving away from him. Intrigued he stopped. As he was secluded in an array that formed a barrier in the other curving direction, this was unexpected and interesting. Well, he was not going to get punished more, if he would explore it and even if, it would be a change of his monotony.

It was easy work to make a hole in the array and slip through. The barrier either had been made whimsically, by somebody inexperienced or carelessly, or it was weakened over time and never touched upon after the sunshot campaign. Whatever the case, he got into the clearing this barrier was shielding, not only from entrance, but also from sight.

Surprised by the tall grass, easily reaching his hip and only growing more in height towards the middle of the circular clearing until it was almost up to his chin, he stopped only one step behind the barrier. The grass was glowing faintly, tingling in his nerves and teasing his dormant meridians when his skin brushed the vegetation.

Spiritual grass like this only grew in places, where a spiritual energy was abundant in the environment. Usually, it was surrounding graves of powerful cultivators, overgrowing the graveyards of the sects and clans, but sometimes, especially in the wake of the sunshot campaign, it would grow where much of it was released. Wei Wuxian had never seen spiritual grass so vibrantly green and grown to such heights. The most impressive growth he had seen beforehand, had been grown to the height of his knees and that had been the surrounding grass of the cold springs which grew to this height because it had the environmental yang energy of this sacred place.

Carefully pushing the grass aside, ignoring the feelings he felt when his skin made contact with the highly concentrated spiritual energy, he made his way to the middle of the clearing, where the spiritual energy must be coming from. Two trees stood there, vibrantly green branches grown into each other, forming a high arch above the suddenly clear ground, vines falling lusciously in a curtain, surrounding the arched-over space between the trees, where only small blades of the spiritual grass grew. Instead, the place was occupied by a slightly moss-covered but still the most beautiful jade statue the cultivator had ever seen.

The jade had been masterfully chiseled into a beautiful ethereal man, sitting with perfect posture, his back straight, his head slightly bowed. The finely detailed strands of his hair flowed softly in a breeze, his eyes partially closed. The robes were detailed, his hands hovering over a guqin made out of black jade, fingertips in the middle of plucking the strings. Whoever made the statue had a good eye for details, the forehead ribbon caught in a soft breeze, tangling with the hair, the sleeves billowing softly with the caught air of the breeze the artist had imagined. It looked like the man had gone about his day and was captured in the precious stone. It was a masterpiece of craftsmanship and artistry that was humbling to stand by, the simulacrum of the liveliness of the jade enhanced by the strong spiritual energy permeating the whole clearing.

It probably was a marking for a grave, but the mass of spiritual energy was impressive. Hesitant he settled beside the statue, sitting down on the soft mossy ground and leaning on one of the broad trees. He jolted slightly, when the tree itself emitted spiritual energy, it flowing into him through his clothes. He couldn’t ignore the feelings filling him anymore.

[valya-dudycz-lupescu]

Bread & Salt

Today is the 32nd anniversary of Ukrainian Independence. It is also day 546 since Russia began its war in Ukraine. On August 24, 1991, Ukraine regained its independence from the Soviet Union. The day is a powerful reminder of Ukrainian democracy and self-rule, and we celebrate the courage and bravery of the Ukrainian people.

Last week, at the Parliament of the World's Religions, I participated in a ritual performance that featured goddesses from around the world offering messages to the audience, each one wearing a beautiful mask hand-made by artist Lauren Raine.

Each of us was tasked with writing something that spoke to the challenges we see around the planet: pollution, starvation, inequality, war.

It was my honor to wear a mask of the goddess Lada, as well as my embroidered folk costume from Ukraine. I carried bread and salt on top of an embroidered rushnyk, in a traditional greeting.

In Ukraine, bread and salt are offered as a sacred tradition, incorporated into celebrations that include weddings, funerals, and holidays. I asked my aunt Katia Hrynewycz, who is a baker and the owner of Chicago Cake Art, to bake a special circular bread (korovai) that could be used in the performance and then shared with the audience.

There are so many ancient ideas and stories tied to bread in Ukrainian culture: The grain is symbolic of prosperity and fertility, the circle a symbol of eternity and community, the salt exemplifies wealth and also protection. The bread may be adorned with trees, braids, birds, and more, depending on the occasion. As is the case with Ukrainian pysanky and embroidery, every object that adorns Ukrainian bread is symbolic of a blessing or intention for the people who will receive it.

On Ukrainian Independence Day, I wanted to share Lada's message:

Lada's Message We come to the threshold with bread and salt, our greeting since before maps and borders. We say Vitayemo to welcome guests and offer communion with treasures of the rich black soil we call chornozem: grains we grind to bake this holiness, salt precious and pulled from the ground, to preserve, to give life flavor. Everything we have loved and grown and lost and buried, is in that black earth. When we say Vitayemo, we are inviting you into our home and into our story, with wheat grown from the heart of our Mother, and salt from her seas and stones, We are sharing a part of ourselves, a part of our ancestors, our roots deep in that fertile soil. When we say Vitayemo, we are telling you that we see you. and we will remember the way you receive our gifts: Will you show gratitude? Will you take nothing more than what was offered? Will you share something of yourself? Will you leave the space better than when you entered? We are living the legacy of betrayal— what happens to bread and salt when all is blood and butchering? When we say Vitayemo, we enter into relationship— I am saying that I am open to you. Can you feel the opening of my heart? Do you see the ripping open of my heart? Will you watch the bleeding of all who are held in my heart? How will you cross the threshold? ~Valya Dudycz Lupescu

Слава Україні!  Героям слава!

[orthodoxydaily]

Saints&Reading: Sunday, April 28, 2024

april 15_april 24

The Entry of the Lord into Jerusalem.

THE HOLY WOMEN MARTYRS BASILISSA AND ANASTASIA DISCIPLE OF THE HOLY APOSTLES ST PETER AND PAUL (1st C.)

The Holy Women Martyrs Basilissa (Vasilissa) and Anastasia lived in Rome and were converted to Christianity by the holy Apostles Peter and Paul. They devoted themselves to the service of the Lord.

When the emperor Nero (54-68) persecuted Christians and gave them over to torture and execution, Saints Basilissa and Anastasia took the bodies of the holy martyrs and gave them reverent burial. Rumors of this reached Nero, so Saints Basilissa and Anastasia were imprisoned. They subjected them to cruel tortures: they scourged them with whips, scraped their skin with hooks, and burned them with fire. However, the holy martyrs remained unyielding and bravely confessed their faith in Christ the Savior. By Nero’s command, they were beheaded with the sword (+ ca. 68).

HOLY NOBLEBORN GREAT PRINCE MSTISLAV VLADIMIROVICH OF KIEV (1132)

Holy Nobleborn GreatPrince Mstislav Vladimirovich (in Holy Baptism Theodore, or  Feodor) was born on 1 June 1076. When he was 12 years old, his grandfather, the Kiev Great Prince Vsevolod (1078-1093), sent his grandson to be prince of Novgorod. The Novgorod people loved the young prince. In 1995, they expelled Prince David, who withdrew to Smolensk, and they went to Rostov specifically to seek Prince Mstislav.

 After his grandfather’s death, Saint Mstislav occupied his appanage-land, the Rostov throne. At 19 years of age the young prince gained a brilliant victory over his uncle, the Chernigov prince Oleg. Prince Oleg had killed his brother Izyaslav and attacked Rostov and Suzdal', which belonged to Prince Mstislav.

 The saint did not want to shed innocent blood. He wanted to make peace with his uncle and besought him to be satisfied with the rights to the city of Ryazan'. But Oleg had already gathered forces on a campaign against Novgorod. Prince Mstislav thereupon defeated him in a battle (1096), and Oleg, having lost out at Suzdal' and Rostov, barely managed to hold on at Murom. 

Saint Mstislav again offered peace and asked only for the return of captives. Oleg agreed under a ruse, so Prince Mstislav dispersed his army. On the feast day of the GreatMartyr Theodore of Tyre, on Saturday of the 1st Week of Great Lent, he was quietly sitting down at Suzdal’ to eat when messengers brought him a word that Prince Oleg stood at the Klyaz'ma with an army. 

In one mere day, Prince Mstislav regathered his army, and when his brother arrived 4 days later, he gave a new battle. Oleg, in fear, fled to Ryazan’, and Saint Mstislav set free the captives, went through the Murom lands, and he then reconciled Oleg with GreatPrince Svyatopolk (1093-1114) and with his own father, Vladimir Monomakh.

Thankful for the mercy of God, the saint in 1099 pledged to build a temple in honor of the Annunciation of the Most Holy Mother of God at Gorodischa near Novgorod. And especially just for this church was written the reknown Mstislavovo Gospel, the precious adornments of which were wrought at Constantinople. 

In 1114, the saint pledged at Novgorod, a church in the name of Saint Nicholas. This temple was in gratitude to Saint Nicholas for his healing. During a grievous illness, the prince called out for help to Saint Nicholas, whose relics had been transferred to Bari shortly before this in Italy (1087, Comm. 9 May). Saint Nicholas, in a vision, gave orders to send to Kiev for his icon, indicating its form and measure. The people sent to bring back the icon were detained on the Island of Lipna by a storm raging there on Lake Il'men. 

But on the 4th day, they found that same circular icon in the water, as indicated in the vision. The sick prince gave a kiss to the icon and received healing. And afterward, at the place of the icon’s appearance, on the Island of Lipna, a monastery with a stone church was built in the name of Saint Nicholas.

 In 1116, the holy prince again campaigned against the Chud people. After a victory, he restored Novgorod the fortress – "he made a guarantee of Novgorod the Great" – and extensively built out the lodgings for the Novgorod principality. Then at his orders, the posadnik-mayor Pavel situated a fortress at Lake Ladoga, where a stone church was built in honor of the great martyr George.

In 1117, Great Prince Vladimir Monomakh (1114-1125) summoned his son to him as an assistant and transferred him to Belgorod. In 1123, holy Prince Mstislav confronted the Volynian prince Yaroslav, who was attempting to seize the Kyiv principality by leading against Rus’s Polish and Hungarian army.

In 1125, Great Prince Vladimir Monomakh died, and holy Prince Mstislav occupied the Kiev throne. During this time he gained a brilliant victory over the old enemies of Rus' – the Polovetsians, driving them beyond the Volga. Those of the Polovetsian princes, who refused to ally with Mstislav, were dispatched to Greece. 

In 1127, Saint Mstislav swore to defend the Chernigov prince Yaroslav, who was banished by a nephew. The clergy and all the people besought him not to spill Christian blood. The holy prince obeyed, but until the end of his life, he bewailed that he had violated his kissing of the cross in this oath.

In 1128, GreatPrince Mstislav set the foundations of a stone church in the name of the GreatMartyr Theodore of Tyre (his patron saint) in memory of a victory gained over the Chernihiv prince Oleg. And in 1131, after a successful campaign against Lithuania, Saint Mstislav laid the foundations of a temple in honour of the Pirogoschsk Icon of the Mother of God.       Holy Prince Mstislav died on 14 April 1132 during the Paschal Week, and he was buried in the temple of the Great Martyr Theodore, which he had built.

The holy prince was venerated even during his earthly life. The copyist of the Mstislavovo Gospel called him noble and a lover of Christ. The preparer of the settings of the Mstislavovo Gospel, Naslav, wrote about him: "Much toil and tribulation I experienced. But God did comfort me through the prayer of the good prince... God grant his prayer for all Christians". The vita-life of the holy prince was set under 15 April in the Serbian Divine-service Prologue of the XIII-XIV Centuries. 

This Prologue was transcribed from the much earlier Bulgarian, the source for which was the Russian original. Likewise, under 15 April, Prince Mstislav’s vita-life appears in the Bulgarian Synaxarion of 1340. (Investigations have shown that the source of this synaxarion was likewise Russian). 

In these Prologues, the memory of holy Prince Mstislav was placed alongside such reknown Russian commemorations as that of holy Equal-to-the-Apostles GreatPrincess Ol'ga (Comm. 11 July), and the holy Passion-Bearer Princes Boris and Gleb (Comm. 24 July). These facts testify to the wide veneration of holy Prince Mstislav in the Slavic lands.  

© 1996-2001 by translator Fr. S. Janos.

PHILIPPIANS 4:4-9

4 Rejoice in the Lord always. Again I will say, rejoice! 5 Let your gentleness be known to all men. The Lord is at hand. 6 Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God; 7 and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus. 8 Finally, brethren, whatever things are true, whatever things are noble, whatever things are just, whatever things are pure, whatever things are lovely, whatever things are of good report, if there is any virtue and if there is anything praiseworthy - meditate on these things. 9 The things you learned and received and heard and saw in me, these do, and the God of peace will be with you.

JOHN 12:1-18

1 Then, six days before the Passover, Jesus came to Bethany, where Lazarus was who had been dead, whom He had raised from the dead. 2 There they made Him a supper; and Martha served, but Lazarus was one of those who sat at the table with Him. 3 Then Mary took a pound of very costly oil of spikenard, anointed the feet of Jesus, and wiped His feet with her hair. And the house was filled with the fragrance of the oil. 4 But one of His disciples, Judas Iscariot, Simon's son, who would betray Him, said, 5 Why was this fragrant oil not sold for three hundred denarii and given to the poor? 6 This he said, not that he cared for the poor, but because he was a thief, and had the money box; and he used to take what was put in it. 7 But Jesus said, "Let her alone; she has kept this for the day of My burial. 8 For the poor you have with you always, but Me you do not have always. 9 Now a great many of the Jews knew that He was there; and they came, not for Jesus' sake only, but that they might also see Lazarus, whom He had raised from the dead. 10 But the chief priests plotted to put Lazarus to death also, 11 because on account of him many of the Jews went away and believed in Jesus. 12 The next day a great multitude that had come to the feast, when they heard that Jesus was coming to Jerusalem, 13 took branches of palm trees and went out to meet Him, and cried out: Hosanna! 'Blessed is He who comes in the name of the LORD!' The King of Israel!" 14 Then Jesus, when He had found a young donkey, sat on it; as it is written: 15 Fear not, daughter of Zion; Behold, your King is coming, Sitting on a donkey's colt." 16 His disciples did not understand these things at first; but when Jesus was glorified, then they remembered that these things were written about Him and that they had done these things to Him. 17 Therefore the people, who were with Him when He called Lazarus out of his tomb and raised him from the dead, bore witness. 18 For this reason the people also met Him, because they heard that He had done this sign.