#neith; interactions.

[forgaeven1]

her head remains bowed.

if her brother had witnessed this, he would have shook himself with fury; he would have demanded, quite justly, of respect to be shown with which house martell deserves  — they are the folks who do not bend, after all. they are the unbowed, the unbroken. but he is not here. he has not been with her since neith had been sent to king's landing; the last memory neith had had of qoren martell was his fierce brown eyes, breaking apart as he holds her for the last time. he had spoken in their mixed language of rhoynar and common tongue, telling her to be careful. to call for him, for anything she may need.

she has, and yet dorne remains stubborn from siding with any faction as the rest of the seven kingdoms break, and burn, under targaryen's hefty thumbs. neith likes to believe she does not resent them, that she is not capable of unreasonable resentment, the sort she had seen her ancestors passed from one generation to the next. when she had arrived in king's landing, bright-eyed and young, years ago, she had naively thought that their houses could be joined; these children of the dragons and her, a daughter of the sand, could be friends. it would have been the beginning of a new teaching, of a new age.

the slaughter of prince jaehaerys changed that.

she does not resent. she does not want to, but neith's eyes remain on the floor. her voice is mechanical, cold. she used to dance through these halls once; her queen helaena, then princess, had clapped along, joyous, despite the foreign beat and rhythm neith had represented. they were girls together, however briefly. those are gone now, as well, with her queen on spikes. ❛ — your side have won. will you spare the princess jaehaera ? ❜

@lcerys — starter call

[cinnbar-bun]

first off— I LOVE UR WORK!! i think i just went thru and read everything you have for one piece LOL. second!!! i saw hc / drabble request open !! i have a silly idea that i feel like you can make come into reality.

recently i’ve been watching isekai’s so…imagine. reader getting isekai-d into the one piece world!!! (more specifically, interactions with the cross guild!!!)

A/n: Thank you very much nonnie!! I really appreciate you taking the time to read my stuff. Please enjoy this <3

Getting Isekai'd Into Cross Guild!

Rating: SFW

Relationship: Cross Guild x Reader

Notes: GN!Reader, a bit crack, short and sweet. No relationship is defined so you can assume it to be platonic or romantic <3.

The wonderful Truck-kun granted your wish of getting isekai’d by sending you straight to the One Piece world! How wonderful! 

Except, you quite literally fell on top of Buggy just as he was trying to argue his case to Crocodile and Mihawk. 

Now, they have no clue what the hell just happened but Mihawk already agrees with whatever that just was. 

Buggy is about to scream over the fact you just fell on top of him and Crocodile is wondering how you managed to get here. 

Crocodile assumes a Devil Fruit, Mihawk assumes you snuck in, and Buggy assumes you’re the devil. 

It takes a moment for things to settle down as they demand you tell them what you’re doing here. You explain that well… uh… you’re not really from here. 

Crocodile almost plans to kill you right away because he doesn’t have time for stupidity like that, but you show whatever you have on hand to prove otherwise. 

They’re all immediately entranced by your phone, but they have something they’re also interested in too. 

Crocodile: Your credit cards and money. When you explain how a credit/debit card functions he’s amazed. Tempted to start a bank and overhaul the current financial system. Also loves the excel spreadsheets. The fact this “machine” will calculate all of this for you and put it in a neat list… well… mark him down as interested. 

Buggy: The shiny games on your phone that are colorful and fun. The fact he can “Google” anything and look up new material. 

Mihawk: EReaders and, this will sound hilarious, but text messaging. He doesn’t care to talk, but he thinks that sending texts would be so much more effective and efficient than having to haul himself around the sea or, god forbid, answer a phone call. 

Okay so you did manage to prove you’re not from this world (or that perhaps you were an alien freak but that’s okay) and Crocodile and Mihawk are pretty much entertained. That’s it. You can go. Bother someone else. 

Buggy however, holds you close and pouts. “Can we keep them? Can we keep them pleeeeeeeease???” He begs as if you’re a little puppy. 

Crocodile is against this but Mihawk shrugs and agrees. Whatever. This could be interesting. 

Buggy still doesn’t understand you’re not some circus animal and rambles about what he should have you wear and perform for his show while Crocodile cuts him off. 

Frankly, if you’re telling the truth and have nowhere else to go, you gotta earn your keep. Crocodile just makes a new position for you that shouldn’t be too hard after you said you have 0 combat skills or training. 

You’re basically just their assistant and do menial work that no one else really wants to do. For now at least. 

Buggy is actually… kinda happy you’re so nice to him? He’s used to either worship from his crewmates or abuse from Mihawk and Crocodile, so you quickly become his new favorite person. He’s pretty shocked you’re as nice as you are considering how crappy this situation is, but he’s grateful. Softens up to you right away and loves having your attention. 

Buggy likes to do silly tricks to make you laugh whenever he can, mostly as a way to be the “flashiest” guy in your eyes. He really doesn’t like when others try to take you or away or interrupt his time with you, since he’s a brat and finds you entertaining. 

Crocodile and Mihawk are tougher nuts to crack. Neither of them trust people, but they find you interesting, even though you are incredibly weak compared to others. 

Crocodile always tries to see what you may/may not know about him since you made a few offhand comments that were a bit too… knowledgeable… so he often tries to get you to slip up more or confess to something. He hopes to see if you know something useful that can be used (but also deep down is afraid you know too much). 

Mihawk on the other hand finds you amusing. Plenty of things are similar to your world, but it’s quite clear you’re not used to many aspects of this one. He forms a habit of just watching you or actively messing with you to see your reaction. It’s a bit funny to him, admittedly. 

Of the two, Mihawk is the first to somewhat let his guard down and be a bit protective of you. He figures even if you were hypothetically “dangerous”, he could easily kill you so what does he care? You do your job, you’re entertaining, and you don’t give him a headache. 

Crocodile only lets up when you “prove” time and time again that you are reliable and not trying to go after them or sabotage them. He does think it’s a bit weird you’re eager to help them, considering what they do and what you know, but hey, who is he to complain? 

To sum it up: Crocodile cares the most about you being isekai’d, Buggy cares the least (except when it comes to his perception. He wonders if he’s also got a following there).

Buggy likes showing off his new tricks or discussing silly hypotheticals with you. 

Crocodile likes when your eyes grow wide whenever he drops an expensive item on your desk as a token of his appreciation to you. 

Mihawk likes when you talk him to normally and share deep discussions with him. 

It is a bit strange that there’s some “normal” person with these three villains, but you’ve become important to them. You’re unique and special, practically one of a kind in this zany world. They show their feelings towards you in different ways, but the way they’ve grown attached to you and try to protect you show that you’re valued in their life.

[lot-of-nothing]

Entwined (Ch. 4)

Melissa Schemmenti x Reader

Reconciliation and growth? Melissa realizes she still has a lot she needs to work through.

Warnings: Sexual themes and internalized homophobia

Author's Note: A little worldbuilding around R's relationship with Melissa. Thank you soooo much to @alexusonfire for betaing this <3

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3

The bartender placed a drink on the bar before you, earning them a furrowed brow and questioning glance. They gave a toothy grin in response and pointed down the bar to your left, “It's from the redhead.”

Your stomach sank at the prospect, and the bartender noticed how your features drooped. With a sympathetic glance, they let you be with your thoughts. 

Melissa. It had to be her. 

You stared down at the wood grain of the bar, debating if you even wanted to open the wounds that were barely healed as it was. Even a glance felt like too much for you now. You weren’t ready for this after everything ended so terribly. But it didn’t seem like Melissa was giving you much of a choice as her plump hand crept from your shoulder blade to your shoulder, “Long time no see.”

You knew her voice well, so when her tone lacked her typical confidence, your eyes flicked up to her face with concern. Her flaming hair was tucked behind her right ear and she was gazing at you softly as her thumb began rubbing soft circles against your clothed shoulder. “Can I sit?”

Your eyes scanned her body as you considered her question, noting the casual outfit of jeans, a pink long sleeve shirt, and her usual jumble of necklaces. Any emotions that her presence stirred in you were pushed down with your apathetic tone and shrug as you swivel your head to face forward once more, “I don’t own the place. Sit where you want.”

Melissa took a nervous seat next to you. She wasn’t about to back down just because you seemed angry with her. She had thought long and hard about everything that had happened between you and was ready to reconcile. Mel chewed at the inside of her lip as she let some time pass between the two of you. Her eyes were watching you intently in the mirror hung behind the shelves of liquor across the bar, and her nails nervously tapped on her glass of brown liquor as she thought about what she should say. 

The redhead coughed and then turned her head slightly towards you as she spoke, “Ahem, how’s Ms. Sunshine?”

“We broke up.” Your response was automatic, and while you tried to sound just as cold as you did when you let her sit, you couldn’t hide your disappointment when you were reminded of that night once more. 

“How’s-” Melissa started, but you cut her off.

“We don’t have to do small talk.”

Mel allowed silence to fall between you both again. From the corner of your eye, you watched her fidget with her phone as she pretended to be comfortable with the silence between you both. You knew she was searching for a different topic of conversation to you talking - the effort being a refreshing change to your interactions in the past.

Another few minutes passed before her voice rang out again - twinged with hope that reminiscing could get you to talk to her, “Remember senior prom? When Frankie Amici ditched me for Kristin Marie?”

At first you considered only nodding, but then you caught a glimpse of Melissa’s half smile in the mirror as she stared into her lap and thought about that night. You decided to play along, but you refused to smile or offer any indication you enjoyed the conversation, “We sat out on Reading Railroad Bridge with a pack of menthols from your uncle.”

“A train came and we had to jump into the river.” Mel’s nose scrunched up at the thought of being in the Schuylkill River. She remembered scrubbing her skin raw afterwards to get the remnants of the polluted river off of her. 

The memory of you both jumping off that bridge, hand-in-hand and screaming as you plummeted into the freezing water, brought a smile to your face. You made so many bad decisions together in your teens that it was surprising neither of you ever hurt yourselves. You glanced at Melissa, smirking a bit as you reminded her of the aftermath, “We warmed up in my car.”

Melissa straddled you in the passenger seat of the Pontiac Oldsmobile you borrowed from your cousin. You slowly unzipped her baby pink prom dress while she kissed your neck. She was grinning when she pulled away and peeled the dress from her body - Mel always loved the way your eyes lit up when she revealed herself to you. Her hand caught you by the back of the neck and guided you to her breasts, “Why don’t you help me warm up?”

With your hands pressing into her back, you dove towards her breasts - rolling her nipples between your teeth and leaving darkened marks across her chest. Your hands sunk under the soaked fabric of her dress, revealing more of Melissa’s chilled skin to you. She pulled away again, leaning back against the dashboard to watch you with her intense green eyes. You wished you could say you met her gaze but you were too busy staring at her torso. 

Melissa’s mouth went dry at how you eyed her. In your reminiscing, you had begun watching the redhead just as you did that night - hungry eyes flicking between her cleavage and her lips. She hummed in agreement as her heart skipped a beat, “Mhmm..”

 Finally you stopped ogling her and met her gaze, “You looked so pretty in that pink dress.”

And with that statement, you made Melissa Schemmenti blush. The heat on her cheeks only grew as you propped your head in your hand and stared intently at her, raising your brows as you waited expectantly for her to carry on the conversation. While she had broken you down a bit into being willing to speak to her, it was up to Mel to carry the brunt of your discussion, and carry it she did. 

You went back and forth for half an hour, sharing silly memories from your time spent together. The conversation took a change in tone when Melissa stared at her hands and asked, “You remember when Nona died? The night after?”

“That night you came over at 2am. I let you in and you crawled into my bed.” You knew how painful it was for her to bring it up - it always had been since she passed. With a tentative pace, you reached out and covered her hand with your own, giving her a light squeeze before lifting your hand to her face to tuck her red locks behind her ear. Your gentle actions caused her gaze to lift to your face.

Melissa’s eyes watered, but the tears were swiftly blinked away with a huff before she spoke, “I remember your hand on my face. Even while you slept, you seemed to know when I was cryin’ ‘cause your thumb would rub my cheek.”

After Melissa had crawled into your bed, you followed suit, drawing her to your chest. She rested her forehead against your sternum and she was using your bicep as a pillow. You could feel her tears falling from her cheek onto your skin which made tears threaten to fall from your own eyes. 

“She loved you so much, pretty girl...” You whisper, drawing your hand to her cheek and rubbing soft circles into her cheekbone. She didn’t even protest as you pressed your lips against the top of her head. While sleep would overtake Mel and you periodically, you would always rouse with the feeling of tears against your skin. When you woke, you would gently rub her cheek until she would settle back down and fall asleep. 

You offered a soft smile, “You were over a lot that week before the funeral... stress cooking. I don’t think my fridge has ever been that full since.”

The redhead let out a puff of air instead of a laugh, “Yeah…”

—

An hour later you had moved from the bar into a small booth where Melissa was pressed into your side. Mel’s behavior was a bit different than what you had come to know - it made you wonder what had changed within the past few months. You knew Mel wasn’t a regular of this bar so she might have been feeling comfortable in the anonymity and inebriation. 

You lean in close, grinning wide when Melissa didn’t move away which only left a few centimeters between you both. You teased her quietly, reaching an unseen hand out to rest on her back, “Aren’t you nervous people might think you are flirting with me?”

“Who said I was flirtin’?” She lifted her nose into the air and smirked while her foot stroked your calf under the table. This was the flirtatious attitude you loved from Melissa. 

“Maybe it’s how your shirt keeps getting pulled lower… Or maybe it’s how you keep getting closer... and closer.” Your finger teased at the edge of her now exposed bra and your lips lingered closer to hers with every word. In all of your years of knowing Melissa, you had never experienced a situation where it felt like you were on a date with her. Your chemistry was undeniable and you wondered if she felt it too. 

“Maybe this is just how I talk to people.” Her lips brushed against yours before you were the one to pull away. 

You leaned back in your seat, staring at her with a cocked head. While it was challenging to do so, you had to remind yourself that you couldn’t make this so easy for her. “Oh, yeah?” 

She hummed, eying you as if she could eat you alive, “Mhmm.”

“Melissa?” A voice rang out from behind Mel causing you to sit a bit higher in order to see where the source of disturbance to your flirtation. 

The redhead’s head whipped around as she obviously recognized who had interrupted.  Tragically, she shifted away from you entirely to look at the young man face to face. Her cheeks were aflame as a scowl formed on her lips, “Jacob?”

Jacob lit up at the sight of Melissa’s face and from your outside perspective, he seemed to be well intentioned, yet potentially exasperating. He began speaking at a mile a minute, gesturing with his hands and occasionally peering around Mel to smile at you, “I didn't know you came to Good Dog! I thought you said you wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this?”

“Well I- What are you doing here? You had a date.” Melissa was obviously flustered and you only made matters worse as you leaned forward unsuspectingly and placed a hidden hand on the small of her back, lifting her shirt slightly to rub her bare skin. Your act made her sit up a bit straighter which made you grin. 

“They said donating to NPR was the equivalent of funding the Trump campaign. I knew it wouldn’t work out from there.” Jacob waved off his own failed date and leaned against the table with his eyes focused on you. He had a bragidose air about himself as he explained his own relationship with Melissa - a relationship that obviously brought him a great deal of pride. “Who is this? I’m Jacob Hill. I work with Melissa at Abbott, and we are roommates.”

“Roommates? Incredible.” You respond, eyes wide with a faux excitement that was more meant to tease Melissa as you had no clue she was living with someone. 

“Jacob. This is Y/N. We went to high school together.” Melissa introduced you and shifted back in her seat a couple inches to hide your hand on her from the young man. In the past, your relationship with Melissa was hyper-private so you found this experience entertaining. It felt sadistic that you were incredibly satisfied with watching Mel squirm in her seat with discomfort, but felt like a form of payback for years of her keeping you a secret. 

Jacob didn’t seem to notice Melissa’s odd behavior and leaned over the table with a more hushed tone. His eyes were bright and enthusiastic as he questioned you, “Did Melissa ever do embarrassing things in school? She refuses to tell me anything that might lead me to know her age.”

You leaned in close to Jacob, whispering loud enough for Melissa to hear, “Voluminous hair. Bigger and higher than you can dream of. Lots of hairspray.”

Jacob was grinning wildly when Mel took him by the arm and guided him away from your little booth. It made you grin wickedly when you saw her having to readjust her shirt. 

With a bit of increased proximity from Melissa, you were finally allowed a bit of clarity. You couldn’t believe what you were doing. Four months ago you had told her to leave, anticipating you would never have to see or speak to her again, and now you were wrapped around her finger once more. You needed to set boundaries for yourself and Melissa so as to not get your hopes up - after all, maybe a more structured ‘friends with benefits’ could work... right?

Melissa spoke quietly enough to keep you from hearing her scolding tone. All the while, Jacob hardly seemed fazed by how she growled when speaking to him, “Jacob, you never answered my question. What are ya’ doin’ here?” 

Jacob fished his phone from his pocket and swiped it open to show her the app he used to figure out where she was. The redhead’s anger slowly simmered as she realized he was more well intentioned than her initial thoughts, “I saw your location was here on Find My iPhone. I was coming from up the street and just wanted to check in. Am I… interrupting something?”

“No! No. No. No.” Mel was defensive, folding her arms over her chest and glancing back at you with furrowed brows, “We are just catching up.”

“Okay.” His tone made it seem as though he didn’t quite believe the redhead, and to make matters worse for himself, he was smirking a little bit while he glanced back and forth between Mel and you. 

Melissa’s tone alone was the equivalent to her baseball bat (Edith Houghton) in hand, “What’s with the little smirk?”

“Nothing.” Jacob’s coyness had Melissa ready to tear him in two, “What did you say your relationship was again?”

“What relationship? We are… friends. Just friends. From high school.” Melissa poked a finger in Jacob’s chest, snarling to get her point across - a fruitless pursuit. 

“I remember when I caught up with this one friend from high school. We ended up messing around in his car afterwards.” Jacob’s newfound friendship with Melissa had him feeling much braver than he was a year ago. He teased the redhead with a wide grin and then waved to you before he made his exit. “It was nice meeting you! See you at home, roomie.”

—

After exiting the bar, you had found yourselves in the backseat of your car for a quick makeout session. On the way out of the front doors, Melissa had pulled you into the darkness of the nearby alley, pushed you against the wall, and kissed any remaining thoughts from your head. The only thought you were able to form after she took your hand and tugged you back towards your car was: God, I missed her. 

You knew you should have made things harder for her. You shouldn’t have been able to be won back by a couple rounds of drinks and exchanging memories, but there was always something about this woman that felt so much like home that you couldn’t stay away. By the time she opened the door to the backseat and told you to get comfortable, you told yourself there would be other times to resolve the lingering issues between Mel and you.

 “I think he knows.” Mel leaned back in your lap, resting her back against the driver's seat. She was breathing heavily from the nonstop kissing and most of her lipstick was now smeared across your mouth. 

You knew she was panicked about her interaction with Jacob back at the bar, but your mind was a little preoccupied with the sight of Melissa’s bare chest. “Knows what?”

You leaned forward and attached your mouth to Melissa’s neck while your hands began working to unbutton her jeans. The redhead wove a hand into your hair to keep you against her as she continued her stressing, “He knows about us.”

“Who?” It wasn’t intentional, but you were entirely absentminded as your hands drifted back up and were now filled by Mel’s breasts. 

Melissa huffed at your inability to follow her train of thought, “Jacob!”

“Mel…” You whined, pouting against her neck. After all of these months lamenting over your relationship while simultaneously yearning for Melissa, all you wanted after hours of emotional bonding was to act on the lust you had for her. 

The redhead began rocking against your lap with her arms wound around your neck to continue her venting, “Gays have that, you know? Gay-dar or whatever.”

You couldn’t help but smile at Melissa’s phrasing as you dragged your tongue up her neck. She tasted citrusy yet floral from her orange blossom perfume, “Mhmm…”

“What if… God… What if he knows?”

“Knows what, Mel?” You finally pulled back, lifting Melissa’s chin to bring her gaze up so she was looking at you. Even with your efforts, she still averted her gaze. 

“Knows I’m… I’m...” Melissa danced around the words, entirely overwhelmed with the prospect of admitting something she wasn’t quite ready to.�� 

“Oh, pretty girl…” Your hands took the redhead’s face and held it close while you kissed her forehead and tucked her hair behind her ears. Mel was still pouting a little when you ducked your head down to catch her dejected gaze, “Why don’t you go home and talk to him?”

She whined and pouted with a pseudo-glare as her own way of arguing with you, “But we were-”

“Mel. I think we both know this will happen again sometime soon.” You pressed another kiss to her forehead and wrangled her into a hug. She struggled against your arms for a moment before relaxing into the embrace, allowing you to hold her for a few seconds. 

When you pulled away, you began collecting her articles of clothing - presenting her with her bra and shirt for her to redress. Your adoring gaze and gentility made the redhead blush as this type of attention wasn’t exactly like anything she had experienced before with her boyfriends and husband, but it was a common feeling for her when you were together. 

Not only did you open the door and help her out of the car (all while sitting down), you offered to walk her to her car. She couldn’t believe how she didn’t quite notice your adoration before. You had always tried your best to take care of the fiercely independent woman, but perhaps your gender had always made your care nonthreatening when compared to care from men. 

She bumped her shoulder into you as you strolled down the darkened sidewalk towards her car. Her words were genuine albeit pained, “I’m really sorry… about always doin’ this to ya’.”

You could hardly believe you were receiving an apology from the redhead, so you couldn’t help but tease her in response - bumping her shoulder with your own, “Are you really?”

Melissa stopped in her tracks, staring up at you with an intensity you were not prepared for, “I am. You have always been good to me… I’m just- I’m figuring things out. You never deserved any of this.”

“Mel, it’s okay.” You felt discomfort in the vulnerability with Mel. All you had ever wanted was an apology and now that you had it, you didn’t know what to do with it. 

She answered plainly as she continued walking to her car, “It’s not.”

You trailed after her towards her car, somewhat reeling as you thought about her apology. What did she mean when she said she was figuring things out? Did you have a chance with her? Maybe this is the result of you putting your foot down with her. Maybe she realized what was on the line and her desire for you outweighs whatever fear she has of being gay. 

Your swirling thoughts bring forth a surge of confidence in you as you stand outside Melissa’s driver side door. Leaning your forearms on the open window of Mel’s car, you lean inside a bit - entirely unable to hide your giddy grin, “Can I kiss you goodbye?”

Melissa floundered for a moment. A goodbye kiss felt so much like a relationship, and after she had broken up with Gary, she told herself she wasn’t interested in anything like yet. But then again after everything happened between you, she didn’t want to hurt you by placing you back into the not-so-friend-zone once more. Finally, she nodded silently, leaning forward timidly in search of your lips. 

As your lips made contact, you stretched out a hand to grasp her face. She hummed at the intensity of the kiss as she never expected it when you exuded this quiet dominance. You held her in place and licked at her bottom lip. You deepened the kiss and then pulled away slowly, leaving her stuck in place for a moment - completely dumbfounded. It was all so much at once and she was hardly expecting it. 

“See ya’ around, Schemmenti.”

Just like that Melissa was back in your life, and this time you were filled with a bit of hope for your relationship. You didn’t want to put too much stock in it, but something felt a little different this time. 

--

Jacob perched himself on the couch in the living room, staring intently at the front door as he waited for Melissa. The second she walked in the front door, he leaned back in his chair (just as he had practiced in his head) and flourishing his hands as he spoke, “Caught. Red. Handed.”

Mel dropped her bag by the front door as she locked it, rolling her eyes at Jacob’s dramatism, “What are you talkin’ about, kid?”

“You and a certain ‘friend’ sharing a little kiss in the parking lot.” He leaned forward in his seat, absolutely exhilarated with witnessing Melissa act so queerly. “Well, it was maybe more than a little.”

Jacob’s support was ignored as Mel saw a more glaring issue - he had been following her. Often she would scold Jacob, but now she was yelling, causing the young teacher to cower where he sat, “YOU WERE HANGIN’ AROUND WATCHIN’ ME?!”

While his tone was meek, he tried to maintain his positive attitude, “I had a feeling. I knew it! You’re bisexual!”

“No. I am not gay. I like men and that’s it!” Melissa shouted, waiting to finish tearing Jacob a new one before she would storm up the stairs and ignore the world for the rest of the evening. He attempted to interject, but she shut it down immediately and gestured fiercely with her hands to really get her point across, “Shut it. I don’t want to hear another goddamn word about this, and don’t you dare think about telling anyone at school about this!”

Link to Chapter 5

Taglist: @esposadejoyhuerta, @unicorniusfallapatorius, @sapphicxrat, @earpivore

[bolszaja-miedwedica]

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-Pahiri (a white dragon spirit)

-Nkfofa (the mermaid spirit guide)

-a fae

-Fienon (a rusałka)

-Mo Xasii (familiar nr 1)

-Hilkog (spirit guide)

-Kalina (a harpy)

-Zanota (a mermaid spirit guide nr 2)

-Gawoż (hydra, familiar nr 2)

- Kiityk (upiór spirit guide)

-Xyo (a red fire dragon)

-Bemamo (a dragon shark)

devoting to:

-King Hades

-Bastet

-Aphrodite

I'm not really a hellenic polytheist, nor a kemetic one, not really a slavic one as well although i am hyperfixated on slavic paganism, yes, and i do wanna work with more slavic deities in the future but I don't label myself as anything I'm just a witch and a pagan i celebrate the slavic holidays and my deities holidays because they're the closest to me. if i were to label myself i would use "rodzimowierca"? but I'm just a witch, and well apparently a medium now too so 😀 fun uhh

i do free readings too! 5 a day to not burn out so quick but i wanna get more skilled since divination is my favourite skill to get one just dm me tp ask if im open!

I'm planning to master:

-cartomancy

-herbology

-moon magic

-blood magic

-protection

-palmistry

-reading more books...

-my fuckin research motivation...

i can do:

-tarot

-clairvoyance

-clairaudience

-spells and shit

-rituals

-sigils

-tea blends i guess

-motanki

-scrying

-oracle

-runes (both nordic and witch's runes)

-smoke reading

-crystal ball

-curses

sława! :]

[avocado-writing]

Hi! I love your Good Omens fics<33 *sends you little cut out paper hearts*

May I request an Aziraphale and nonbinary reader? where Azi fell in love with them and always becomes a cute, blushed babbling mass around them?

(I just want fluff after that season ending:’) )

notes: thank you for the love & the paper hearts *hangs them on my wall* I paired you up together hope that’s ok !

words: 1.4k

pairing: aziraphale x reader

rating: T

tags: mild claustrophobia; mutual pining

Aziraphale is in love, and Crowley is annoyed.

Not that he’s annoyed about the love, per se, they’re immortal beings after all - occasionally they end up developing feelings for humans. It’s not unheard of. Aziraphale has had his share of infatuations, but the problem is he very rarely acts on them. Just makes puppy eyes at someone for fifty years, and then they die.

So when Crowley sees how Aziraphale is around you, he knows the angel is going through the same steps again.

There you are, every week, doing your delivery. Looking “rather smart” in your postie’s uniform, as Aziraphale once remarked. Arms full of parcels and a smile plastered on your face. You clearly like him back, it’s obvious, but neither of you will bloody talk to each other about it.

Aziraphale becomes a bit pathetic around you. Crowley would tease him for it, if he didn’t know he was already agonising over every interaction after you’ve gone anyway.

“Good morning, Mr Fell!”

You call out as you gently nudge the door open with your boot. You’re holding a stack of parcels using your chin as a wedge to keep them in place, lest the pile topple over and litter the shop floor. Aziraphale gets out of his chair - where he’s been sitting for the past hour, waiting to hear the sound of your engine like a child might wait for the trill of an ice cream van - and skitters over to help.

“My dear, let me help you with those–”

“Oh, it’s alright! I’ve got strong arms. Just show me where you’d like it.” You pause, then quickly correct: “Them! I mean, like them.”

From the corner of the room, behind his gossip magazine, Crowley rolls his eyes.

“Just in the stockroom here, thank you.”

“Gosh, you are ordering a lot of books lately, Mr Fell.”

Crowley bites back the urge to comment that he’s doing it in order to see you. One week you were off sick and a different postie covered your route, and Aziraphale was miserable about it for days.

“Well, I am a bookseller!” - lies - “And please, my dear, I’ve asked you to call me Aziraphale.”

“Alright,” you say, shyly, but you never do.

The angel’s cheeks go a rosy colour as he signs for his packages, and Crowley can tell he’s desperately trying to think of a way to get you to stay for a bit longer. His normally erudite friend is reduced to blabbering awkwardness around you.

“Actually I was just boiling the kettle, would you like some?”

A beat, then Aziraphale looks mortified.

“Tea! Would you like some tea?”

“What is this, a bloody Carry On film?” Crowley mutters under his breath. You don’t seem to hear him, and if Aziraphale does he pointedly ignores the comment.

“Oh,” you say, looking perhaps a little disappointed at the correction, but recovering quickly, “I can probably spare ten minutes before I need to get going. I’d love a cup, please.”

Crowley watches the two of you engage in idle, unimportant chatter, and the way you stare at the other when you think they aren’t looking, the brush of fingers as mugs are passed, the affectionate smiles. It’s maudlin. It’s saccharine. 

Aziraphale manages to stumble his way through ten minutes of conversation with you despite his nervousness, and it makes Crowley nauseous. When you finally have to say goodbye the angel looks like a kicked puppy, and he follows you to the bloody door to see you off, and then starts making a list of what else he can order to make sure you’re back next week.

It’s been this way for months, this repeated pattern of dancing around each other. And it’s getting dull. 

Crowley snaps his magazine shut. If neither of you will make the first move, he will.

📕

“Where would you like them today, Mr Fell?”

“Same as always, my dear. Stockroom!” 

He holds the door open for you and you haul the ridiculous pile in with surprising strength. Crowley waits until you’re both fully inside, Aziraphale showing you where the delivery needs to go, and quite suddenly a gust of wind slams the door shut behind you both (and somehow manages to lock it).

You yelp, dropping the parcels all over the floor.

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry Mr Fell, let me–”

“Don’t worry, don’t worry, it made me jump too! Here, I’ll help…”

The two of you get to your knees, gathering up parcels and stacking them neatly on one of the tables. The room is not large, a couple of metres left in space maybe, every other inch being taken up by books; so when you both stand up you’re rather close.

Aziraphale looks into your eyes. Your heart skips a beat. You want to say something, anything, but instead you chicken out and reach for the door handle.

It’s stuck.

“Oh, erm,” you say, rattling it harder. Aziraphale frowns.

“Let me have a go, hang on.”

But the outcome is the same. The door is locked. Aziraphale knows it didn’t lock on its own, but he can’t really miracle it open while you’re right there. Instead he knocks hard on the door.

“Erm, Crowley, are you out there?”

“Oh dear, Aziraphale, is something the matter?” comes the reply from the bookshop.

“Yes,” the angel answers through gritted teeth, “by some terrible luck the door has gotten stuck. Can you be a dear and find the key for me? Should be in the desk drawer.”

“Alright, I’m having a look for it now,” says Crowley, as he walks over the road to go and get a coffee.

Aziraphale turns back to you, ready to assure you that you’ll be freed soon, only to find you looking very peculiar.

“My dear, are you quite alright?”

“Ah, sorry. I’m, erm, not great when I’m trapped in small spaces,” you tell him, eyes darting wildly, looking for a way out and coming up empty.

Aziraphale swallows. You do look quite worried. Crowley had better be quick. (Crowley is currently ordering a large americano and taking a seat in the corner of the coffee shop).

“Can I help?”

“Can I–” you wince a little, “gosh, this is so unprofessional, can I please ask you to hold me? Having someone rub my back calms me down. You don’t have to, of course, just–”

You don’t need to ask twice. Aziraphale steps forward and takes you into his arms. You fit perfectly, and feel just like he always imagined you would: soft but sturdy, the most wonderful shape against him. His hand is unsure at first, running up and down your back lightly, but when he feels you relax into him he renews the gesture with gusto.

“Thank you. Sorry, I feel very silly.”

“You have nothing to apologise for. I’m sure Crowley will get us out of here lickety-split.”

“Mr Fell?”

“Aziraphale, please.”

“Aziraphale…” it’s the first time you’ve actually used his name, and he’s pleased as punch to hear it fall from your lips, “may I ask you a question?”

“Anything.”

“Do you actually sell the books you buy, or just order them to see me?”

There’s a beat, and Aziraphale freezes.

“It's just because whenever I drop off new packages I always notice you never unpack the old ones, so I thought…”

“Erm.”

“It’s alright if you do. To tell you a secret, I always rush my route so that I can spare the time to have a cup of tea with you. It’s my favourite part of the week.”

“Oh. It’s mine too.”

And suddenly he’s not comforting you, he’s embracing you, and you’re returning the gesture. You readjust your position so you can look up into his face, and he finds you have the softest eyes.

“I don’t suppose you’d like to go out for dinner?”

You light up.

“I’d love that. Are you free tonight?”

“Call it seven?”

“Sounds… perfect.”

When you reach to kiss him, he finds your lips are soft too. So he kisses you again. And again.

📕

Crowley comes back forty minutes later with a little pastry in a bag for Aziraphale, to say sorry for locking him in. A wave of his hand at the door means he doesn’t even need to bother with finding the key, and he throws it open, hoping to find you finally properly talking.

Well, turns out your mouths are a bit busy for that.

Snogging. Snogging is what’s happening. Your hand is buried in Aziraphale’s curls, tongue firmly pressing against his. Aziraphale has a hand full of your arsecheek and has lifted you a bit so that you can wrap your leg around his calf, letting you caress him a bit with your foot. His waistcoat is undone, your shirt is untucked from your shorts. Both of you are a bit of a mess.

Crowley opens his mouth to speak, can’t find the heart to interrupt, and gently closes the door again.

-

Taglist: @angiestopit@dazed-soul @@foolishprincipalitee@smile-eywa@staygoldsquatchling02@underratedboogeyman@cool-ontherun-world@emilynissangtr@cool-iguana@this--is--music @ilyatan

[iamnmbr3]

Not sure if you’ve answered this before, but if one of Voldemort’s Horcruxes successfully and fully came back, what exactly do you think would’ve happened and what it [the fully formed Horcrux] would’ve done? Would there just be two [or more] Voldemort’s walking around? Do you think any of his horcruxes coming to life was/is a major flaw in his plan—that he only wanted his soul(s) to be safe in the objects he placed them in, not actually come out and walk around freely? 

This is a really fascinating question. It certainly seems that he didn't have any plans for his Horcruxes to be allowed to roam around freely given that he was about 55 when he lost his powers the first time and doesn't seem to have released any of his Horcruxes into the world. Given that they are supposed to be his super secret links to immortality that makes sense. Best to keep them hidden and safe and out of the way.

It's not clear how the Horcruxes feel about this - or if they feel anything about it at all. Are they aware inside their vessels 'I Have No Mouth And I Must Scream' style (sure hope not!) or are they in a sort of stasis unless a potential possession victim picks them up? Obviously if they're awake and aware the whole time they definitely want OUT since I can't imagine any version of Tom being happy to be kept in a cage (not that anyone would like being trapped in that situation).

Also, are they all as sentient as the diary? I've always headcanoned that you have to sacrifice a part of yourself to create a Horcrux and that's why Tom's appearance changes a bit over the years (though I think he didn't get all snake faced till after his Nagini-assisted resurrection) and furthermore that he used a bit of his memories to create the diary.

This could mean that the diary has more of a sense of self than the other Horcruxes. However, Dumbledore certainly seems to think that the degree of awareness and independence that Diary!Tom exhibited was a key indicator that he was a Horcrux. Which suggests that Horcruxes in general are like that. That's also the more interesting reading imho.

I do wish we got to see more interactiveness from the other Horcruxes in book 7. I guess JK Rowling thought a Locket!Tom that was highly interactive and posed a genuine threat and also maybe created a moral quandary because killing him would feel more like killing a real person would detract from the endless camping scenes and low-stakes circular drama by making things too exciting and interesting.

There's also the question of whether diary!Tom could actually have come all the way out of the diary and had a fully corporeal form where he could walk around and use magic and do stuff or if he would've been still bound to the diary in some way. But that's an aside.

As to what they would do. Well, in book 2 diary!Tom doesn't seem that interested in going to the aid of his other self. He knows that he successfully made at least 1 Horcrux and thus isn't actually dead. And he may well know there are more out there too since he planned on it and since his other self may well have written in the diary at some point. And yet he's more interested in escaping the diary and learning about how Harry survived and then trying to finish the job of killing him himself. Rescuing his other self doesn't seem to be high on his list of priorities. He might get around to it eventually, perhaps figuring it would be the pragmatic thing to do. Especially since Dumbledore would definitely recognize him and figure out what he must be, so he can't just blend in as Tom Riddle indefinitely. Then again. Maybe he tries to strike out on his own.

The other Horcruxes might be similar in that regard - with their own agendas first and foremost but still also interested in the wellbeing and goals of their other self/selves. Depending on the exact context and circumstances I feel like Tom would either not get along with himself at all (but also be forced to a sort of uncomfortable stalemate because obviously neither Tom wants to actually destroy the other) or else get along way too well. I think both dynamics are very fun and interesting to explore in fic.

[sehetep-shenwer]

A/p/o/p/h/i/s and why we don't fucking worship or sympathize with him

Em hotep, the following is from a Kemetic discord server I'm in:

"Theres always going to be a million and one creation myths so here we go.

Re created Apophis from his umbilical cord. He had cut it from himself when he emerged from the primordial waters of Nu. He threat his umbilical cord into the waters and from there came Apophis. Another version is that Neith threw the umbilical cord of her son into the waters, which created Apophis. Apophis doesnt have a form we can understand. Some call him a snake, others call him a dragon. He can have tight coils, or with it loosened. He can be seen with twelve human heads in the Tomb of Ramesses VI, or he can be seen in the form of a crocodile. I’m missing a bunch here. His descriptions matter so we can spot him. He wasn’t attested in Predynastic periods, instead he came around in Middle Kingdom. From there, he was greatly feared and not worshipped. He was never worshipped throughout Egypt. My assumption is that he came around during a great time of turmoil.

Apophis is not a god. Apophis is a manifestation of isfet. Some say he’s a demon, and I think the Christian view and connotation of what a ‘demon’ is, is fitting here. He wants to bring everything back to it’s original state. He’s Re’s moral enemy, threatening to swallow the sun each night and kill every god on his barque. Seasons would no longer turn, day and night would no longer flip. There would be no peace, no harmony. Everything good and orderly will be swallowed whole. This doesn’t just include interactions, but science, medicine, art, music, hope. When the sun cannot lighten our days, crops can not survive, people would wither and perish due to famine, if the cold didn’t get them first. There would be no heat, no life at all that could survive in the artic temperatures. People want to sympathize with Apophis, but do they not understand that there will be nothing if he conquers Re? He is reformed every. single. night. He cannot be killed. When he is slain, he spends the day hiding and retreating only to heal and be reformed so he can try to kill the sun again and take away all life."

Tl;dr fuck apoop and if you worship him, block me please.

[gabessquishytum]

I was struck by an idea for an au. So this would be similar to thw warprize!Hob au's, but a little different.

So Dream is a prince in some kingdom and he's recently came of age (I'm going with old laws and going to say 21 here) and because he's come of age, he's allowed a concubine of his choosing. Dream being Dream, he's very picky.

But one day a bunch of revolutionaries are brought in and tried in front of the entire royal family for treason after an assassination attempt on the king, queen, and crown prince (Destiny) while they were on a trip of some sort.

Hob is looked to as one of the leaders of this revolution, with him being very action oriented, practical, and friendly. But because he's one of the leaders, he's one of the first to be tried. And the moment Dream lays eyes on him, he knows he must have Hob.

It takes a bit of convincing (and Dream owes Death a favor for her part in convincing their parents) but Dream manages to get the king and queen to spare Hob's life in order to have him serve Dream.

Hob is very confused by all this, but as the rest of him companions were sentenced to death, he's not exactly complaining too much. As much as he'd love to die for his cause, he firmly believes that living for it is a lot more productive way to go about things. And he's not entirely opposed either, of course it might not be an ideal situation but he's not opposed to being Dream's concubine. He finds Dream very attractive and he might be a little more into the fact that he's going to spend the forseeable future being dommed by a man about 10 years younger than him than he's ready to admit.

When Dream first interacts with Hob, Hob is surprised to find that his first concern is that Hob is okay with this arrangement (which Hob answers with a shrug "beats the hell outa rotting to maggots in the ground"). For all Dream appears to be no better than his parents (and some of his siblings), he's very gentle with Hob and is always making sure that Hob is getting something out of their arrangement (lets switch up a common trope in this fandom and let Hob be a bit of a pillow princess here)

As time goes on, Dream and Hob become closer and more like friends than master and servant. For some angst, maybe there could be a whole scene where Hob is like, "I think I know why you spared my life, it's not cause you wanted a concubine. You were looking for companionship. I think you're lonely" and of course Dream blows up and runs off but then comes back quite soon because Hob isn't wrong and doing anything to prove that Hob's wrong would basically sentence him to death and Dream really doesn't want that, so he comes back and admits that yeah, they're friends now, but that they can't go telling people that.

Anyway, but cause they're friends, Dream spends quite a lot of time around Hob and Hob tells him about their attempted revolution and why they did it and all that and eventually gets Dream over to his side. It really wasn't that hard because Dream knows that his parents are pieces of shit. As Hob and Dream spend more time around each other, they fall in love but have to try to keep it a secret as best as possible (not from Death though, she supports them) and they also have to deal with all sorts of things like people saying that Hob is manipulating Dream and all that. Maybe those rumors also make Hob really upset and so Dream has to reassure him that he won't let anyone take Hob away from him because Hob was "manipulating" Dream. Excellent opportunity for a very possessive Dream to remind Hob just who he belongs to.

At some point Dream (and so Hob as well) is given leave by his parents to go live somewhere else and while he's there, he and Hob may or may not start raising a revolution of their own, this time because it's backed by a prince and his own small army, it gets a lot more support from people who are tired of the tyrants in charge. They end up overthrowing Dream's parents and both Destiny and Death agree to step down (neither wanted the throne anyway). Then together, Dream and Hob establish a government that's a lot more democratic and fair (I'd go into details, but I'm tired and thinking up a whole ass plan for a government takes more energy than I have right now) and they also make it so that they can legally get married and then there's a wedding and they live happily ever after

I love this idea for an intriguing, slowburn fic!! They're fucking the whole time, as they slowly become allies and then friends and finally admit that they're in love... as if it wasn't obvious by the way they hold hands as Dream gives Hob the most amazing series of orgasms he's ever had in his life. Hob loves being dommed by his Prince and Dream loves having that element of control, because the rest of his life is so carefully orchestrated by his family or advisers.

Hob honestly saves Dream, and although he thought the revolution was a bust and has completely failed, the ideals that he and his fellow plotters had espoused are actually coming true? Both for Dream (free of his parents control, able to live as he pleases) and for the rest of the country. Hob really can't believe that he's actually managed to have an impact on the fate of the country and make a difference! That was all he ever wanted!

The best part is that they can be properly public about their love for each other, and Hob can still get to be a lil pillow princess! Dream is his husband now and they probably both deserve a nice long honeymoon tbh!

[simply02artists]

Cup of tea under the sun: part 1/?

Writer’s note: that is not my au, it’s @sweetpeaches666 ‘s au called shapeshifter Ben. Check out her blog about her au.

Her character that belong to her, mentioned here: hedeter, taweret, Amun, her version of the mummy, sed. The five jackles, sed’s pets.

Nane, Amira, married sed au belong to me.

Original character of Ben 10: the mummy, zs’skyer, kuphulu belong to man of action.

on the warm scorching planet of Anur Khufos, In the grand palace of the royals on the planet, in a chamber room, full of beautiful delightful painting and beautiful accessories of colorful and beautiful crafts of vase on the tables. tall and slender Thep Khufan woman named Nedjima stood in her chamber, engrossed in her painting. With each brushstroke, she filled the canvas with a vibrant yellow hue, her movements graceful and purposeful.

"Satisfactory," she murmured to herself, admiring her work. However, upon closer inspection, her discerning purple eyes detected imperfections. "Not quite finished yet," she concluded, a hint of determination in her voice.

Before she could resume her artistic endeavor, a gentle nudge interrupted her concentration. It was Neith, one of her husband's loyal jackals, seeking attention. Neith, the leader of her siblings. She exuded a mix of aggressiveness and loyalty, traits that endeared her to Nedjima.

Smiling warmly, Nedjima welcomed Neith's presence, caressing her furry companion affectionately. "Seeking affection, are we?" she teased, her gaze soft as Neith wagged her tail contentedly.

As Nedjima indulged Neith, she felt a playful tug on her veil. Turning her attention, she spotted Ptah, a male jackal, vying for her affection. With a gentle smile, she welcomed his companionship, acknowledging the bond they shared.

When she looked around the room, she only couldn’t find seshat, anu, and khepri. But she assumes they are in the garden where they are playing around. So she went back to give these two affection they want from her.

while rubbing the the back of the jackel, she suddenly hear a knock on the large door of her room from outside.

The jackles’s ears perked up, they looked at the door, while ptah was relaxed, but neith was on guard, but a gentle tube of nedjima’s hand on her back made her calm down.

“Who is it?” she asks, curiosity in her tone.

“my lady nedjima.” a female servant said, “may I come in?” she clearly waits for her mistress’s permission.

nedjima was surprised, she wonders why her servant is here. “come in” she said, allowing her in.

the door to her chamber creaked open, and the servant entered with a respectful bow. Nedjima, her meek demeanor masking a keen intelligence, looked up with a curious glint in her eyes. "My lady Nedjima, the Pharaoh requests your presence in the garden for a conversation," the servant announced, her polite tone reflecting Nedjima's own sense of courtesy.

Nedjima's heart fluttered with anxiety at the unexpected summons, her introverted nature wary of the impending social interaction. "Thank you for relaying the message. I will make my way to the garden shortly," she replied, her voice soft and polite, tinged with a hint of worry that gnawed at her patience.

With a deep breath to steady her nerves, Nedjima rose from her seat, her cautious gaze flickering towards Neith and Ptah, who watched her with quiet understanding. "It seems duty calls, my loyal friends. I must face the Pharaoh," she murmured to them, her shy smile betraying a flicker of trepidation.

As Nedjima retreated to her room, the servant followed her behind to help her change. The two beloved jackles followed closely behind, a silent presence offering assistance and support. The servant, a young woman with a gentle demeanor, laid out a selection of dresses for Nedjima to choose from, each one more exquisite than the last. Nedjima's eyes lingered on a beautiful long dress, adorned with intricate embroidery and a flowing cloak that added a touch of elegance to her appearance.

With the servant's help, Nedjima donned the dress, her slender frame enveloped in its luxurious fabric. She took care to ensure that her bandaged hair was styled to perfection, her meticulous attention to detail reflecting her desire to present herself in the best possible light for the impending meeting with the Pharaoh.

As she fixed her long hair, a sense of nervousness crept over her, fluttering in her chest like a trapped bird. Her gaze drifted to a golden necklace that lay on the vanity, a gift from the Pharaoh himself. The significance of the necklace, and the attention it symbolized, weighed heavily on her mind as she debated whether to adorn herself with it.

Since her marriage to Sed, Nedjima had found herself in the unexpected position of being the Pharaoh's favored daughter-in-law. His gestures of kindness and generosity, such as the gift of the necklace, both touched and bewildered her. She was unaccustomed to being at the center of attention, and the thought of standing in the Pharaoh's spotlight filled her with a mix of gratitude and unease.

Reflecting on her past apprehensions and the evolution of her relationship with the Pharaoh, Nedjima's heart fluttered with uncertainty. The memory of his embrace from years ago, a gesture that had once unsettled her, now lingered in her mind as a testament to the complexities of their dynamic.

After a moment of contemplation, Nedjima made a decision. With a steady hand, she fastened the golden necklace around her neck, the delicate chain glinting in the soft light of the chamber. Seeking reassurance, she turned to her servant, who met her gaze with a supportive expression. "I think it's a good idea to wear it, my lady. Perhaps it will convey your appreciation for the Pharaoh's kindness," the servant offered, her words a gentle reminder of the delicate dance of diplomacy and gratitude that Nedjima navigated with cautious grace.

As Nedjima expressed her gratitude to the servant for her feedback, she prepared to leave the room, only to be startled by a hiss emanating from the bed. Her cat, Amira, a sleek and elegant feline with piercing purple eyes, arched her back and hissed at the two jackals, Neith and Ptah, who growled in response. The tension between Amira and the jackals was a familiar sight, their strained relationship evident in their interactions.

Sighing softly, Nedjima approached Luna, her graceful movements a contrast to the discord between the animals. With gentle hands, she stroked Luna's back, soothing her agitated pet.

As Nedjima gently calmed Amira down, her voice soft yet firm, she addressed the tense situation between her cat and the two jackals, Neith and Ptah. "Amira, Neith, Ptah, enough of this discord," she admonished, her tone carrying a hint of authority. Luna gazed up at her with wide eyes, a flicker of defiance in her gaze, while Neith and Ptah lowered their heads, acknowledging their owner's reprimand.

"You know better than to cause trouble in my chamber," Nedjima continued, her words directed at all three animals. "We must learn to coexist peacefully, for we are all companions under this roof." She said gently yet firmly.

Amira meowed softly in response, her innocent gaze meeting Nedjima's with a hint of mischief. Nedjima's voice, soft yet firm, reprimanded Amira and the jackals, reminding them of the need for harmony and peace within the chamber.

After imparting her gentle scolding, Nedjima gracefully exited the room, her steps barely echoing in the corridor as she made her way to the garden where the Pharaoh awaited her presence. The weight of anxiety and worry settled in her chest like a heavy stone, a myriad of questions swirling in her mind. Was her husband, Sed, in trouble? Had she unwittingly become embroiled in a situation that threatened her peace of mind?

As she walked, the garden's serene beauty offering a brief respite from her inner turmoil, Nedjima's thoughts raced with apprehension. The uncertainty of the situation gnawed at her, beneath her composed exterior, a sense of vulnerability and fear lingered, a stark contrast to the polite facade she presented to the world.

Arriving at the garden, Nedjima's steps faltered for a moment as she caught sight of the Pharaoh's waiting figure. With a deep breath to steady her nerves, as she approached Pharaoh Amun in the tranquil garden, she bowed respectfully, a gesture of reverence and deference to the ruler. Amun, a man of complexities and contradictions, observed her with a mixture of authority and concern in his eyes.

"Nedjima, rise," he spoke, his voice carrying a weight of both command and compassion. "Thank you for joining me today. I trust you are well?" His words were polite, a formal acknowledgment of her presence, yet beneath the surface, a genuine care for her well-being shone through.

Nedjima straightened, her eyes meeting the Pharaoh's with a mixture of respect and unease. The dynamic between her husband, Sed, and the Pharaoh was a source of discomfort for her, the tension palpable in the air whenever the topic arose. She braced herself for the possibility of inevitable conversation that would touch upon Sed's rebellious nature and the Pharaoh's expectations of him.

As they settled at a small table adorned with delicate tea cups and a pot of fragrant tea, a servant stood by attentively, ready to refill their cups as needed. The serene setting of the garden provided a backdrop for their conversation, the soft rustle of leaves and the gentle fragrance of blossoms filling the air.

The Pharaoh's gaze softened as he turned his attention to nedjima. "How have you been faring, my dear?" he inquired, his tone gentle yet inquisitive. "I know Sed's absence can weigh heavily on you. Do you find yourself feeling lonely in his absence?" His words were laced with genuine concern, a rare glimpse of vulnerability in the powerful ruler.

Nedjima’s heart fluttered at the Pharaoh's unexpected display of empathy. She hesitated for a moment, her thoughts swirling with a mix of gratitude and apprehension. "I... I have been managing, Your Majesty," she began, her voice soft yet steady. "The solitude can be challenging at times, but I find solace in my pursuits and the company of loyal companions."

Her words carried a subtle hint of loneliness masked by a veil of composure, a reflection of the inner turmoil she grappled with Sed's absence. As the conversation unfolded, nedjima found herself navigating the delicate balance between duty, loyalty, and her own sense of self in the presence of the enigmatic Pharaoh, a man whose kindness and expectations loomed large in her world.

As the delicate clinking of tea cups filled the air, a soothing backdrop to the intimate conversation unfolding between nedjima and Pharaoh Amun. Amun's keen eyes caught sight of the necklace adorning nedjima’s neck, a piece he had gifted her on a special occasion. Though she rarely wore it, the shimmering jewelry held a significance that was not lost on the observant ruler.

After a moment of quiet contemplation, Amun set down his tea cup and remarked, "Ah, I see you are wearing the necklace, my dear." His gaze shifted from the necklace to nedjima, a subtle warmth in his eyes that hinted at a deeper understanding of the unspoken emotions that lingered between them.

If Thep Khufans possessed human flesh, nedjima’s cheeks would have flushed with a telltale blush. She averted her gaze slightly, the cup clasped against her chest in a gesture of self-consciousness, processing the Pharaoh's words with a mix of embarrassment and gratitude.

Stammering slightly, a nervous habit that surfaced in moments of vulnerability, nedjima managed to reply, "Y-yes, I like it a lot. It's honestly beautiful..." Her voice was soft, tinged with a touch of shyness that revealed a deeper layer of her personality beneath the composed exterior she often presented to the world.

Nedjima’s discomfort with prolonged eye contact was a subtle trait that revealed her inner struggles with social interactions. She valued her privacy and found solace in the familiarity of her own thoughts, a trait that set her apart in the bustling world of the royal life. The longing for her old friends, the sense of isolation that came with her new status as a member of the Pharaoh's family, lingered beneath the surface of her composed facade.

Gathering her composure, nedjima met Amun's gaze once more, a hint of trepidation giving way to a genuine smile. "I do really appreciate the gifts you get me, but, b-but sometimes I feel like it's too much," she confessed, her words a mix of gratitude and uncertainty. Despite her occasional missteps in social settings, Amun's understanding gaze offered a sense of reassurance, a silent acknowledgment of her unique perspective on the world around her.

As they continued their conversation, the warmth of the sun enveloped them, casting a golden hue over the garden as the servant quietly refilled their tea cups. Amun, burdened by the weight of his responsibilities and the vastness of his family, found solace in these rare moments of connection with Nane.

He marveled at how she seemed to adapt effortlessly to her new life, despite Sed's frequent absences. Nane's ability to entertain herself and find contentment in solitude impressed him, a testament to her inner strength and resilience in the face of uncertainty.

In the four years since her marriage to Sed, nedjima had confided in Amun about her strained relationship with her own family. She spoke of missing her little sister and a beloved cousin, yet acknowledged the risks involved in reconnecting with them due to the constraints of royal protocol. Despite her longing for familial ties, nedjima had never sought trouble or allowed herself to be drawn into it, a testament to her steadfast nature and unwavering commitment to uphold her principles.

It was not nedjima who courted trouble, but rather those around her who sought to exploit her innocence and unfamiliarity with palace politics. Sed's protective stance towards his wife, stepping in to defend her against intrusions from his own family members, underscored the depth of their bond and his unwavering loyalty to her. This dynamic had created a distance between nedjima and her in-laws, with only a select few, like Tawret, Hedeter, and some of Sed's older brothers, forging a genuine connection with her based on mutual respect and understanding.

As the conversation unfolded, Amun's curiosity piqued as he brought up a topic that had been circulating among the palace staff. "One of the servants mentioned that you've been working on a new project, a gift for my son Sed," he mentioned, a warm happy expression playing on his face as he observed Nane's reaction, eager to learn more about her endeavor.

Nedjima, catching on to the direction of their discussion, inquired, "The one I've been keeping under wraps...?" seeking confirmation before delving further.

"Yes, that one," Amun affirmed, taking a sip of his tea.

With a hint of reluctance, nedjima hesitated before responding, "Well, not to be rude, but I'm afraid I can't divulge the details to you." She averted her gaze slightly, a subtle movement betraying her unease.

Amun's surprise was evident as he probed further, "Is it really that crucial to keep it a surprise for my son?" his curiosity getting the better of him, prompting him to seek clarification.

"Yes, it is," nedjima affirmed, her fingers fidgeting with the tea cup, the bandage on her back wrapped around the chair's leg as a coping mechanism to quell her rising anxiety. She explained softly, "It's a special painting for Sed..." Her voice softened, and Amun couldn't help but notice how her demeanor shifted whenever she spoke of Sed.

A sense of pride and affection seeped into her words, a testament to the bond that had blossomed between them over time. Initially marked by the awkwardness of an arranged marriage, Nane and Sed had gradually grown closer, a transformation that had not gone unnoticed by those around them.

Amun, observing nedjima’s demeanor and the depth of her sentiment towards Sed, felt a twinge of satisfaction at witnessing the genuine connection that had blossomed between his son and his daughter-in-law. The subtle shift in their relationship, from initial hesitance to a newfound closeness, spoke volumes about the strength of their bond and the genuine care they held for each other.

As their conversation continued to flow, Amun's next question loomed on the horizon—a question that nedjima knew would irk Sed if he were present. With a happy expression adorning his face, Amun turned to Nane and inquired, "So, my dear, you and my son have been married for 4 years now. Have you two considered having children yet?"

Anticipating the question, nedjima met Amun's gaze with a blank expression. She and Sed had deliberately chosen to postpone starting a family, mutually agreeing to take their time due to personal reasons. Nedjima had no desire to pressure her husband into parenthood, understanding the complexities that lay beneath their decision.

Although nedjima remained composed, knowing Sed's disdain towards the question about their plans for children, their relatives' persistent questioning had often dampened their spirits. Sed's non-friendly reactions to such a question, coupled with his interactions with their younger relatives, had at times left nedjima puzzled and slightly exasperated.

Despite acknowledging that some of their younger relatives hadn't been particularly friendly towards her, nedjima couldn't help but find Sed's reactions excessive. Some of the children had shown a fondness for her, hedetar even remarking on the differing attitudes of the children towards Sed and nedjima.

With a sense of resignation born from years of enduring similar inquiries, nedjima delicately held her tea cup, now refilled by the servant, before responding to Amun's question. "Well, I did discuss it with Sed some months ago before he embarked on his trip with his boss. He expressed uncertainty about his readiness to be a father. While I cherish the idea of starting a family, we both feel the need to be emotionally and mentally prepared for such a significant responsibility," she explained, her gaze shifting between Amun and her tea cup.

As Nane spoke, Amun listened intently, though a hint of dissatisfaction lingered in his expression at the familiar response. By his expression she can tell he is disappointed, and abit of frustration. because to him, sed should give up his criminal life and try settle down and have a family with nedjima….but he then said “he doesn’t force you to wait, does he?” He asked.

These words had struck a nerve within Nane, testing her patience despite her best efforts to remain composed. She took a moment to gather herself, mindful of her respect for Amun as the Pharaoh and the weight of tradition that shaped his expectations. While acknowledging Amun's flaws as a husband, father, and grandfather, she understood the importance he placed on upholding traditions, even those she found challenging to accept.

Then she finally managed to say the word….

“No, he does not.”

….

….

After few minutes of uncomfortable silence, he sighs as he decided to change the subject. they sipped their tea in the serene garden, Pharaoh Amun's gaze lingered on Nane, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern. "Has Sed responded to any of your letters? Or, does his servant, Kuphulu. have any news about him?" He asked as he puts the cup down, his expression calm as he waited for her to answer him.

Nane's delicate hands paused mid-air, her fingers still clutching the warm tea cup. She felt a pang of unease at the mention of Sed and the lack of communication from him. Thoughts swirled in her mind as she processed the Pharaoh's questions, her gaze momentarily fixed on the swirling patterns in her tea cup.

Kuphulu, a Thep Khufan servant who had become became a servant for Sed, due to his connection working for zs’skyer, the high ecto lord. He had been a source of intrigue and mystery to Nane. She recalled their first interactions, noting the nervousness that seemed to envelop him in her presence. His uncertain demeanor around royalty hinted at a past fraught with complexities and uncertainties, a fact that added another layer of intrigue to Sed's association with him.

As Nane mulled over the Pharaoh's questions, a wave of concern washed over her. The memory of Sed's reassuring letters, promising his return and safety, now felt distant and unreliable. The past month had been marked by a troubling silence, a void in communication that left her heart heavy with worry.

Sed's mention of a mission to the planet Earth, under the orders of the Ectonurte lord, lingered in her mind like a shadow. The unknown dangers and uncertainties of such a mission weighed on her, fueling her apprehension and fear for her husband's well-being.

She took a deep breath, her voice steady yet tinged with a hint of anxiety. "Your Majesty, Sed has not responded to my letters in weeks... I have not heard from him at all," she admitted, her words carrying a weight of concern. "He mentioned a mission to Earth, but the silence since then has left me... unsettled. I fear something may have happened to him." Her voice trailed off, a sense of helplessness creeping into her expression as she grappled with the uncertainty of Sed's fate…..

To be continue…..

[sandandlightning]

My Personal Pantheon

I have found demonolatry spaces very encouraging of practitioners creating their own pseudo pantheons comprised of the entities they feel closest to and how they interact with them. I happily took this permission to do something I hadn't realized I had so deeply craved for so long.

For the quarter calls:

North | Earth- Belial

West | Water- Leviathan

South | Fire- Ashtaroth (Ishtar)

East | Wind- Lucifer

The other major divinities I work with are:

Sitri (Set)

Ipos (Anpu)

Bune (Neith, in my experience)

Ciam (from biblical Cain)

Baphomet is who I use to represent All rather than the traditional Satan. This is due to my personal long standing preference for the Binsfeld Seven Sins hierarchy that relegates Satan to Lord of Wrath, not anything against him personally, just used to viewing him in this role and am more connected through this aspect.

In Connoly’s ‘The Complete Book of Demonolatry’ this practice is encouraged as well. It outlines a popularized pantheon from the Dukante hierarchy and focuses heavily on it, but also shows many others. I explained in another post how the Dukante hierarchy uses a demon called Feloreus for the fire/south, and that I felt really weird working with a new entity when there were so many others I was at least passingly familiar with, if not moreso. I had done a great bit of academic study more in the vein of demonology since I was quite young simply out of a desire to understand different theologies even if I didn't begin actually working with any infernal aspects until more recently.

In the end, after researching more on Ashtaroth and understanding her origin as Ishtar and how… I'm not sure how to explain other than ‘more recognizable’ her name is, she felt like a good fit. I'm very happy with my quarter call rulers! I particularly wanted to share them because I couldn't help but think others might have had the same feeling I did with Feloreus being the odd one out.

Dukante uses an ennead- set of nine- entities. I've explained swapping Satan for Baphomet (or Baphomet as a specific aspect of the version of Satan they intend, really) the other four were also new names I had never heard. My Kemetic roots made me understandably eager to stick to the familiar feeling of an ennead. So I sort of filled out the list more based on my closeness to the entities than necessarily fitting the remaining four roles.

Said roles are ‘positive energy, negative energy, life, and death’ I tentatively ask Sitri, Caim, Ipos, and Bune respectively to represent these roles at least honorarily when it seems appropriate, though some fit much better than others (Bune is spot on for Death. Caim is more in a ‘i mean I can be extra bitter if u want sure but that's not my main thing’ place >>) it's a bit of a work in progress, but I hope sharing that work in progress will help normalize not having everything perfect all the time for other pagans starting out.

I have also worked a bit with Belphegor and Beelzebub. The latter specifically because of my beekeeping haha, and the former reached out to me specifically to hammer home a ‘work harder not smarter’ lesson while I was fretting about not being able to do physical labor on some bad health days. I do not work as closely or often as with the others, nor do either of them necessarily seem to better ‘fit’ any of the remaining categories, so I have not placed them in my personal ennead. But my experiences with both have been quite positive and I consider them a part of my expanded practice and pantheon ^^

[forgaeven1]

❛ ... my queen, ❜ neith speaks.

obedient, silent neith; who would stand hours outside of the queen's chambers if only there would be a chance to coax her out. the only reason neith would find herself tracking back anywhere else would simply be because she intends to make sure that no harm have come to the rest of the young children. in that, she trusts the governess and increased rounds of knights assigned to them. still, the air of the red keep did not return to how it used to. what once was a bustling place, now it is as though every steps are constantly overshadowed with tension. and hers—

with qoren martell refusing to aid into any sides of the dance, neith is left alone. she had chosen to be left here really, regardless of the many messengers, both known and unknown to the crown, who had demanded her return. still, it did not change many of the courts' opinion on her. either she was the traitorous dornish princess, or she was the abandoned sandskin. whatever they decided, she is most likely an enemy, simply by the inaction of one sibling. what a curse their house words have become: unbowed, unbent, unbroken. she knows intimately that her brother would not change his mind  — and neither would she.

❛ today prince maelor spoke his first word in full high valyrian. would you not like to see him ? ❜

@wcrriorhearts ♡

[chanterhailwand]

BEES IN MAGICK

The symbol of a bee can seal a spell with sweetness for allies and those who appreciate goodwill and a sting for thieves and cheaters.

If you wish to use the body of a bee in your magic spell, seek them out in the autumn as the weather cools as many bees meet their natural end during this time. You will find them on the ground near their hives and favorite foraging spots but take care.

Some bees may appear to be dead because the temperature is too cold for them to move but will come to life as soon as it warms up. Bees resting on plants and flowers are probably just sleeping, while bees on the ground are more likely dead.

According to some modern word-of-mouth: bees are closely associated with the fae and their presence in your garden indicates the blessings of the fae. Encouraging bees, by putting up bee houses, hives, planting bee-friendly plants and waterers and not using pesticides, encourages the blessings of the fae, while harming bees can incur their wrath.

Honey is used often in magick to sweeten a situation. The Honey Jar spell is an example. Anointing your lips with honey will make your words sound sweeter.

BEE OMENS Sighting a single bee is lucky. A swarm foretells bereavement. (If you are a beekeeper who happens to have an empty hive, it foretells free honey.) If a honeybee lands on you, it’s a good thing. On your hand, you’ve got money coming in, On your head, success. Bees buzzing around a child’s head foretells a happy, successful life. If it lands on the child’s mouth or face, he will be a great poet. A bee flying into your house is lucky, as long as you let it fly out under its own power. Alternatively, it means a guest is coming. If you kill it, the guest will bring you dire news.

DREAMING OF BEES If you are dreaming of bees, you may be receiving a good omen as detailed above. Bee dreams are almost always about relationships and interactions with other people.

Or the bees in your dreams may be telling you to take a look at your social networks. They may be pointing toward a desire for more harmonious and functional relationships or celebrating the ones you have. (Only you can know this for sure, take a look at your life.)

A visit from a bee in a dream may also be putting you on noticed that some beloved friend or family member is in need of communication from you. You will know as this person will also pop into your mind somehow. This dream indicates that you should call them or perhaps, that you will hear from them soon.

Dreaming of a beehive usually relates to the home and family or your business and coworkers. A happy, buzzing hive means a happy, buzzing home. It may foretell incoming abundance and fruitful times ahead. If the bees are swarming around the hive, rather than working in it, proceed with caution. There is a lack of harmony that is interfering with productivity.

A swarm of bees may indicate that you feel that a group of people upon whose cooperation you rely (family, coworkers, coven) is becoming chaotic and out of control, or perhaps your need to balance your own interaction with your different business and social groups for your own sanity.

GODS ASSOCIATED WITH BEES Aphrodite Cybele Freya Odin Pan Ra Thor Vishnu Neith Amun Min Potnia Artemis Demeter Kamadeva Aristaeus

[onewomancitadel]

I know maybe this might come off the wrong way. But in the age of reboot 495049 and indistinguishable slop streaming on four different syndicates and sexual objectification masquerading as high art and soulless derivative shit with a coat of shiny pseudo-feminism paint and many such other commercial- and brand-driven art sins, there really is a part of me that's like, holding onto R/WBY for dear life. I get it, their track record isn't perfect either, really what I'm talking about here is the artistic endproduct. As attached as I am to a particular endgame, that particular endgame is really attached to the identity of what makes R/WBY, R/WBY.

I think that's what makes the show more (generally) unique than it might otherwise be, which is no insult to the show, and certainly, we're in the time of so many more things being produced than they ever were historically (just the gross artistic/cultural product is so high), but quantity - and impetus for that quantity - isn't, of course, necessarily quality. That a production like R/WBY is and was possible on the scale it has been made is something that's a product of the technology and resources we've got at hand (and the art of animation is only a little over a hundred years old, and one of the most labourious; relative to the rest of history, this is very new).

Maybe that's part of why I am so particularly attached to it because I find that personally very valuable, in much the same way I am adamant about using Tumblr, even if in Tumblr's case it can just vanish overnight because of something completely out of my hands. I guess the same is true of R/WBY, to be fair, be it corporate-driven or artistically-driven and all the stuff I think is there, isn't really. Then I just wonder where I'm going to end up. There are a lot of books on the backlog, and it's not like everything is artistically defunct, but when most of the major media driving pop culture - that I want to be a part of! That's the whole point! - and culture in general actively resists the things I think are interesting and prioritises profit margin over everything else, my prospects are somewhat depressing. It's easy to say carve your own path, but we are social creatures, and I do actually care about the history of ideas and the way ideas interact with each other. Art and media in general is not really meant to be isolated that way.

It's easy to become cynical and just say well why bother? And I think those are the reasons worth bothering. If it's meant to be a communicative and conversational experience, that's why it's so natural to bemoan what commercial art is becoming. We want to be seen and interact; that's normal. When profit represents this visibility, that's when it starts to fracture.

I get that there are R/WBY detractors who would vehemently disagree with me but of course I don't fundamentally agree with their approach, and a lot of detractions of R/WBY are grounded in commercial, schlocky, senseless and trope-laden and self-inserting narratively cynical 'criticism' I find hard to take seriously, if not view as part of the problem I am describing here. As I have said before, when I see people who want R/WBY to become more commercial or more laden with personal fantasy bullshit or filled with clichéd and illogical storybeats, it is anathema to me on many levels I have outlined here. By no means do I think it's fucking Dostoyevsky: but I would say that it is competent and fun and and sincere and has its own identity. The fundamentals can be really hard to get. When the average television show or book I pick up struggles with fundamentals that means there's a problem. I'm not necessarily pointing the finger at individual writers - there is clearly a labour issue in most industries and socially and commercially a devaluing of the art of writing, and when it comes to publishing itself, publishing is self-selecting for what meets the bottom line, and the book industry is scrambling to make profits (but that's neither here nor there) - but I am pointing out the symptom of an issue.

It's not like I am necessarily in want of finding things to read and watch. There's a wealth of literature and media out there. But a lot of us have a desire to be a part of the evolving conversation and it's hard not to reflect on it without a sense of melancholy. If this sounds alarmist, I am speaking extremely broadly and general. There are independent artists and media everywhere - that is literally the point I'm making with R/WBY and is why I hope they can continue to preserve that in the capacity they have so far (I am aware their parent company's parent company's parent company's is Warner Bros., so like, these things are inevitable and why I ruminate, and arguably to some degree they're not at all as independent as they previously were) - but, if the language of visibility is expressed through who gets what stream and what airtime and what advertising and what role in the cultural conversation is a consequence of that, it makes you think. I don't think the market deciding is a pure market which in any way has the capacity to put a dollar value on cultural importance, and that's the problem. It's just ever-increasing profits and narrower and narrower artistic margins.

I don't mean to lament. It's the way of things. Equally I'd not want to be defeatist about it, though. What are the things I value? What are the things I can do to continue prioritising those? Am I just thinking about it too deeply? Hm, well, I think that's the point of art and media, lol.

[archival-arrival]

pronouns anon again, there are some sets of pronouns like zie/hir/hirs or ne/nei/neith that are specific to intersex people, due to either being created for us or being used to oppress us in the past /info

some people like to claim perisex people can use those sets anyway since "you can't gatekeep pronouns" or smth

ah i see okay thank you /g

we arent intersex and dont really regularly interact with anyone who is so we werent at all aware of this, we appreciate people helping explain this to us /g

[jcmarchi]

Why Were There So Many Throwback RPGs and Remakes In 2023?

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/why-were-there-so-many-throwback-rpgs-and-remakes-in-2023/

Why Were There So Many Throwback RPGs and Remakes In 2023?

The quality of video game releases in 2023 has been discussed in detail by many, and it will absolutely go down as one of the best years the medium has experienced, strictly in terms of the excellent games that were released. The larger industry and its members will always look back on 2023 with justified frustration.

Patterns in any year are always a given. Trends inspire entire genres to be prevalent, and we also have events like 2009, where there were two high-profile open-world games about super-powered humans: Infamous and Prototype. This year will certainly be remembered for games like The Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom and Baldur’s Gate 3, among others, but I can’t help but notice that RPGs citing a specific era of the genre were also, inexplicably, hugely popular.

Earlier this year, we featured Sea of Stars on the cover of Game Informer magazine. Talking to the team at Sabotage about its inspirations, it specifically cited the classic Super Nintendo game, Super Mario RPG. And when I played Sea of Stars a few months later, I could clearly see how the developer pulled from that game. One of the reasons Sea of Stars exists is because games like it are rare today, which makes it all the more surprising that Nintendo would announce a full remake of the game shortly after. What are the odds?

And then, within weeks, Square Enix saw it fit to announce and release an excellent remake of the beloved 1998 Star Ocean sequel, Second Story. That game fits right alongside Sea of Stars and Super Mario RPG as an RPG of a specific era – one interested in telling a linear story without overcomplicating its primary mechanics.

Before all of these games, however, we had Octopath Traveler II, a well-liked sequel to a game that may have served as a strong indicator to people and publishers with money that, “Hey – we miss these kinds of games. We want our characters and environments to look like a bundle of squares while going on an adventure. In fact, maybe it is the game to point to that started this whole thing.

It was admittedly less successful than the others mentioned here, but even WrestleQuest from earlier this year was another game playing in the throwback RPG medium. Late 2022 also saw the release of Chained Echoes. We also have the Dragon Quest III HD-2D remake coming at some point in the future.

So why is all this happening now? Why has this sub-genre of RPGs – inspired by the 16 and early 32-bit – become so popular all of a sudden? Or was it always there, and I just wasn’t paying attention?

I have a few ideas to put forward with little basis in scientific research. Video games, even compared to other entertainment mediums, are much more focused on nostalgia. Reliving the TV shows and movies you watched or books you read as a child simply isn’t as strong as the emotions related to existing within an interactive world. I didn’t just passively play Super Mario RPG when I was young – I lived in its universe. And RPGs are particularly good at that. They encourage players to exist within them and take them at a slower pace. The age we are now (i.e. old) has now placed us in a position where the experiences we are looking to remember are less the action-packed platformer challenges of our youth and more the relaxed vacations. We’re too old for the exciting amusement park of memory. Those rides make me nauseated at this age. But the old beach house where I just hung around and swam when the mood hit me? That sounds great. I want to play that video game, and apparently, it’s an old RPG where reaction time isn’t as important as making sure you have the right sword equipped.

It’s either that, or they are just selling really well, and people are buying them. I accept either explanation, both, or neither. Whatever gets me an HD-2D remake of Chrono Trigger the fastest.

[fat-ugly-bus-driver]

NEITHE R TDO I .

your interactions with a certain crackwhore suggest otherwise

O H SEHS NOT 90 . HOW DA RE Y OU. SHE I S 40 ..or a bt younge r.