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greatstormcat · 4 months

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Into the Fire

TF141 x f!reader

Part 4

Series Masterlist

TW: MDNI 18+, enemies to lovers, p in v, hint of threat, plot

It doesn’t take long for Laswell to get you situated in the previous healer’s workspace, a series of rooms with a view down into the courtyard of the keep. From the large window you have a clear view of the main doors to the keep and the enormous gate and portcullis. The main room is spacious and given over to a collection of shelves and cabinets containing ingredients for tonics and cures, salves and tinctures, and more books on medicine than you ever thought existed. A large table in the middle of the room holds a mind boggling area of vessels, bowls and utensils for brewing, distilling and mixing. The middle of which is dominated by an ornate iron brazier to heat the mixtures.

It’s clear that the previous healer knew his craft well, and the written notes he left behind him is an entire library in itself that you look forward to devouring. Once you begin delving through the manuscripts, reading his crabbed handwritten notes, you lose track of time and spend hours sat beside the fireplace.

Eventually your neck and shoulders begin to ache, forcing you to sit up and you see the sun has long set, shadows filling the corners of the room and twisting as the flames from the fireplace move. No lamps or candles are lit, feeding the darkness. Something cold creeps down your spine as you watch the shadows, feeling as though they are reaching out towards you, your heart racing.

The door slams open and you scream, dropping the book to the floor, and Kyle storms in, his face dark as thunder. He still wearing his knee length riding boots over his breeches, his shirt crumpled from being under his gambeson from training with the other knights. You'd snuck out of your chambers when he'd left the castle that morning, and planned to return before he found out you'd gone. So much for that now.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you, Laswell finally gave in and told me this is where you’ve been hiding,” he scolds you and grabs your arm roughly, dragging you from the chair and out the door.

“Let go of me!” you yell, pulling against his hold, but you’d do better pulling at the stones of the castle itself, his grip is solid.

“No, you’re coming back to your room. Now,” he snaps. He drags you, kicking and protesting back to your chambers, pushing you roughly inside before following you in and slamming the door. “You don’t just disappear without telling me where you’re going, understand?”

Fury rages inside you at his attitude, and something snaps.

“Fuck you,” you snarl, stepping behind the table in the middle of your room. A heavy earthenware bowl of shining, red apples sits neatly on top. You grab an apple from the bowl and hurl it at Kyle’s head, narrowly missing him as he ducks and turns to see the fruit smash against the wall behind him with the force used. He snaps his head back to you, eyes narrowed and jaw clenched.

“Don’t,” he growls, raising a single finger to you. You reach down and grab another apple, preparing to throw, ignoring him completely. “Don’t, or you’ll regret it,” he warns, finger raised still.

“Like I regret you pulling me from the fire?” you hiss and launch the second apple. He dodges it again and it thwacks against the door with a wet sound.

“Fucking wench! Stop it!” Kyle shouts, teeth bared in anger.

“No! I’m done taking orders from you!” you cry, hating the brittle edge in your voice. You scoop up the remaining few apples in your arm and launch them one after one at him, and he dodges all but the last one which thumps into his shoulder, making him curse. Out of ammunition you turn on the spot and look for something else to throw, chest heaving as you fight for breath. You settle on picking up the earthenware bowl.

“Now hang on a moment!” he snaps, a genuine hint of concern creeping into his voice now as you heft the bowl over your head with both hands.

“No! No I won’t!” You yell at him, and he holds out one hand as if to calm a spooked horse, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips at the absurd sight before him. How dare he find this funny? You want to smash the bowl over his head even more now and heft it in your grip as it slips.

“Okay, okay… so you wanna play rough?” He edges around the table and you can’t help but circle the other way, trying to keep the solid wood between you. “I can play rough too.” His grin returns along with a fire in his eyes, and with a burst of speed he tackles you low around your waist, sending you sprawling on the sheepskin on the floor beside the bed. He cups the back of your head, preventing you from hurting yourself, but his full weight crushes you for a moment as you both land. The bowl bounces against the curling fleece with a dull thud, and cracks in two.

“Get off!” you try to yell, but it comes out as a wheeze without enough air behind it until he rolls onto his back, pulling you on top of him. “Let go!” you demand and try to pull free of his grasp, kicking at the ground and pushing your palms against his chest. His hold is like being wrapped by iron bars, your struggles tiring you out slowly, but the grin on his face fuels your anger. Without warning his palm grasps the back of your neck once again and he pulls you to his mouth, kissing you. You freeze.

“Huh, not so fiery now?” he smirks.

Your mouth crashes against his, taking him by surprise this time but he recovers almost instantly. The moment he returns the kiss, everything inside you unravels, your fear, uncertainty and anger pour into something new and intense that you’ve never felt before. Your insides burn with need, blood roaring through your veins as you tug and pull at Kyle’s shirt, he assists you by ripping the fabric and letting it fall open either side of him. Your hands roam across his hard chest, grasping and exploring his hard planes feverishly.

Your clothes fare better, his frantic hands pull at your bodice, lifting it over your head so you can open the front of your smock. Kyle forces his rough, calloused hands inside the material and pulls it down your shoulders to expose your breasts before palming them both, squeezing and kneading the soft swells.

Desperation consumes you, the feel of his calloused hands groping the delicate skin of your tits drives your need, so when you feel hardening, engorged length pressed against your groin you grind against it.

“Oh, fuck,” he sighs against your lips, and you do it again, relishing the tiny moans he makes.

“Kyle,” you whisper, pressing your forehead against his, “please, I…. I need you.”

He kisses you again, then nods, his eyes dark and filled with a need of his own. If you looked too long into his eyes you’d be lost, consumed by him entirely. With a sense of loss you lift your hips from his and he quickly unfastens his belt and pushes down his breeches, just far enough to let his cock spring free before shoving your skirt up hastily, pulling your clothed cunt down against his length by gripping your thighs. Both of you groan as you automatically grind yourself against him, underclothes soaking up your arousal and his precum. Your clit nudges against the head of his cock, each movement sending a jolt through your muscles, drawing needy little gasps from your throat.

It’s not enough though, not enough by far, your bottom lip throbbing as you feel his teeth bite into it. You’re the one that reaches beneath you and pulls the thin material of your under garment aside, letting your flushed skin touch his. The groan that erupts from his chests when your folds slide against him while you grind your hips is sinful.

It’s hard to keep moving at a steady pace, your hips stuttering as the pleasure swirls and mounts. You pull your hips forward sharply and the swollen head of his cock catches at your weeping entrance, and you let it rest there, gently rocking your hips and letting it notch against you.

“What are you doing you little minx?” he grits out when you stall, feeling your body threatening to take him in but not going any further.

“I’m thinking…” you muse breathlessly, and this time it is you who grins.

“Seriously? You’d tease me with this? Right now?” he snaps, an edge of desperation to his voice.

“Are you going to stop being a dick to me?” you ask archly, seeing an opportunity before you.

“You wicked…” he begins to say and you lift your hips a tiny amount, he grips you in a panic. “Yes, okay,” he chuckles, and a smile crosses his face that makes your walls clench around the emptiness within you. Slowly you lean forward, kissing him deeply, and he lifts his length up letting you push back against it.

You cry out weakly as you press down onto him, feeling the stretching of your heated flesh around him, little jerks of his hips showing his desperation to feel you engulf him entirely. He swallows your cries, his kisses feverish and hungry as you split open around his cock until your hips meet. Sweat sparkles in tiny droplets on his brow when you pull back slightly to look down at him.

“You okay?” he rasps, voice hoarse and tight, the deepness emphasized by his passion. You nod once, and you feel his length twitch inside you, the feel of your heart beating echoed where you’re joined. Placing your palms on his chest you shift your hips, feeling the hardness of him inside your softness, making you soft breathe heavily.

You ride him, your skirts bunched around your waist and his hands kneading your hips and thighs, gripping tightly as though fearful you’ll disappear. The sensation of him moving and sliding within you has your body drooling down his length, his clothes surely drenched.

“That’s perfect, oh gods…” he groans, and lifts himself up to rest on one elbow so he can take one of your nipples into his mouth. As he sucks the bud between his lips your walls clench around him, making your hips jerk and a soft cry fall from your lips.

“Kyle,” you gasp, the edges of your orgasm constricting within you, tightening and amplifying every spark of your nerves.

“That’s it,” he pants, lying back down against the sheepskin, thrusting his hips upwards and filling you with every inch of him. “That’s it, let me feel it,” he mutters, softly chanting your name like a prayer as your muscles seem to solidify, robbing you of air as your spine arches sharply.

With a sharp wail your orgasm rushes through you, burning hot through your veins and for a moment your vision and hear abandon you leaving you only with the awareness of your body and Kyle’s. A few more sharp thrusts has him spilling himself into you, hot, thick ropes filling you up and mixing with your own juices.

Slowly your breathing returns to normal, eyes still closed and you feel yourself draped over his chest, his heart pounding just as hard as yours as your cheek rests on his shoulder. With great care he slips his hands around your back, spreading his fingers wide to cover as much skin as possible and holds you against him, his slowly softening cock still lodging inside you. Neither of you speak or move, relishing the blissful moment.

“Hey,” he says softly, “look at me, please?” The politeness of the request has you looking at him with a grin, and he chuckles at your expression.

“I guess I owe you an apology,” he concedes.

“You guess?”

“Don’t push your luck,” he shakes his head but his expression is still soft. “But yes, I am sorry, there’s just something about you that turns everything I know on its head.” His hands gently run up and down your spine, over your soft skin.

“I can’t stop thinking about you, not since I pulled you from the fire,” he admits. “It's intense, like nothing I’ve ever felt before and my chest hurts when I don’t know where you are. It started before I even knew you existed.”

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“We weren’t meant to be anywhere near your village, but whatever way we turned something blocked the path and kept steering us. We all felt it, something forcing us down that road,” he says softly, his fingers carding slowly through your hair, prickling your scalp. “I don’t even know how I came to find you, all I know is the second that I saw you there, getting you out was as important to me as breathing. More important even. Every night since then, I keep feeling… my dreams are…” he shakes his head, a frown creasing his brow as he fights to find the right words. “Whatever brought me to you is trying to tell me to protect you, keep you safe by any means necessary.”

“You need to trust me though,” you tell him. “I’m all for being wary of what fate hands you, but I’m just a normal person.” You run your hand slowly down his cheek, feeling the slight bite of stubble on his cheek and jaw, before he turns his face and kisses your palm.

“I just feel like if I’m not watching you every second something is going to happen,” he admits, his eyes looking into yours deeply, telling you how serious he feels.

“Whatever it is, let’s find out what’s going on together,” you declare gently, leaning down and kissing him again. After a while he finally slips out of you, and once cleaned up and dressed the two of you head to the main hall. Now when you walk, he rests his arm around your shoulder tenderly.

“Commander, would you tell me more about what you said the other night?” you ask her, and she gestures for you to sit in the chair beside her. Alex looks between the two of you before Kyle nods to him to leave the pair of you be.

“About the phoenix?” Farah says, her dark eyes boring into you intensely. “Of course, what did you want to know?”

Your pause for a moment, twisting the fabric of your skirt between your fingers as you try to formulate your question.

“Since the fire I’ve felt like there’s something… following me,” you admit quietly. “Like there’s something in the shadows, its never been there before.”

Farah’s eyes narrow as she listens to you, her head tilted slightly.

“Is this just in your dreams, or when you are awake as well?” she asks.

“Both,” you shrug, and you look over at Kyle. He is standing with Simon, Alex and MacTavish listening to something Price is telling them out of your earshot. “He feels it too. I wondered if you knew anything about this.”

Farah leans forward, her dark, almond eyes intense.

“You were saved by the gods, but at a cost. What that will be is up to them, but it sounds as if they have already chosen,” she says quietly, her voice filled with concern. "A phoenix dies in the flames, and something else rises from the ashes. The question is what has risen with you?"

You go to ask her more but a commotion erupts at the other end of the hall as Laswell enters at speed. She heads towards Price but stops at the head of the huge table. She looks tired, deep shadows under her eyes as she leans onto her hands on the edge of the table to catch her breath. A silence settles over the room as her break in composure catches everyone’s attention.

“Kate?” Price asks, stepping away from the others. “What is it?”

She lets a heavy breath go, stealing herself, the silence around the room makes it clearly audible.

“I just received a dispatch from one of my field agents, Baron Shepherd is coming.” A muttering of consternation and anger fills the room. “I’m sorry John, he’ll be here with his army in a few days,” Laswell says, her voice cracking. “He means to invade.”

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foolishlovers · 3 days

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hi <3 soooo I was wondering if you have fic recs with historical setting? Like in canon through the ages or human historical fics?

yes of course 💜 here are some i enjoyed:

A half-penny will do by penny_archer (G, 2k) It’s Christmas in Victorian England and Crowley is trying not-very-hard to hide the fact that he’s been giving pickpocketing lessons to the disenfranchised youth of London. Oh, and he has a cute gift for Aziraphale that’s totally not a big deal.

Fighting Dirty by curtaincall (M, 9k) Aziraphale knows exactly what’s happening: Hell has sent up a devilishly attractive demon to tempt him into sinning against God. So he’ll act like he’s falling for it, pretend he doesn’t know just what Crowley’s doing. And he certainly won’t give in. Crowley knows exactly what’s happening: Heaven has sent down a divinely beautiful angel to dazzle him into revealing Hell’s plans. So he’ll act like he’s falling for it, pretend he doesn’t know just what Aziraphale’s doing. And he certainly won’t give in. (Or: an angel and a demon spend 6000 years each convinced the other one is a honey trap)

from autumn blooms spring summer fruit by blackeyedblonde (E, 9k) In the potter’s shed, Crowley picked up a trowel and threatened a yearling lemon tree still residing within its earthenware pot before he would allow himself to sit at the gardening table and pull the folded newspaper Aziraphale had given him from his smock. Enclosed on the inside were two gifts. One was the small velvet pouch that contained a pair of golden earrings strung with twin baroque pearls that did not squeak when he curiously rubbed one against his canine tooth. The other was the familiar sight of neat copperplate writing at the bottom of page seven of the paper, done in lead pencil so the words could be more easily smudged out with a bit of rubber. A gift, Lord Fell had written. I will come find you an hour after the molting brown bird has gone to bed.

An Arrangement of Convenience by Blue_Sparkle (E, 13k) Aziraphale works to purchase a bookshop space, but currently being a woman-shaped creature has its drawbacks when faced with rude property owners. The most obvious solution is to get Crowley to act as his husband and deal with all that nonsense, of course.

The road to rapture has a lot of pit stops by emmagrant01 (E, 17k) Five times they kissed over four thousand years, and one time they actually meant it.

Time Flies (When You're Having Fun) by Mussimm (E, 23k) Versailles, 1769 - Aziraphale has a blessing to perform at a masquerade ball and it's important that he gets this one right. So important, in fact, that he can't seem to leave until he does. But with a fancy dress, an attentive demon and an endless supply of champagne, it's a little challenging to stay on mission.

An Ineffable Midsummer Night's Dream by Sabotaged_Words (T, 25k) London, 1605. Aziraphale urgently needs Crowley's help. The premiere of William Shakespeare's latest work is in danger! The only way to save the play is for Crowley to take on the role of Puck - and that will take a lot of convincing. Come explore some more of Azriaphale's and Crowley's life in the Elisabethean era, where the ineffable idiots are little theatre nerds, have to deal with unwanted advances, and suddenly face the question if they, in fact, could be even friends?

Flowers From The Grave Of Our Friendship by WaitingToBeBroken (E, 50k) Crowley is very good at temptation, not so good with what comes afterwards. Aziraphale knows demons don't love so he is happy to take anything Crowley would give him. Both of them are too blind to realize the thing they want is right in front of them.

More Than by NaroMoreau (E, 55k) Crowley would like to spend another year without marrying, especially when thrust-forced to pick a husband. She refuses to cave in on a matter of principles. She refuses to cave in specifically on a matter of not wanting to be married to Lucien Morningstar. But she might need a hand to break free from such a burden. And who knows? She might even find something else along the way.

Against Expectations by Blue_Sparkle, summerofspock (E, 69k) After being pressured by their families into a marriage neither of them want, Aziraphale and Crowley resign themselves to an unfulfilling life together. For Aziraphale that means trying to be the dutiful wife she was always taught to be and for Crowley it means hiding an important part of who he is.

On Espionage and Prophecy (or How to Accidentally, but Wholly, Fall in Love With a Soho Bookseller) by RockSaltAndRoll (E, 133k) 1941 is the London Blitz and the year that MI5 really comes into its own with the now infamous ‘double cross’ system. The service keep tabs on suspects, root out enemy agents and try to turn them into doubles. Anthony J Crowley is fucking great at this job. He can be sneaky, underhanded and damn ruthless but also charming and kind. It’s what makes him good at turning. Aziraphale is just a regular Soho bookseller who loves his shop and books and good food and wine when he’s approached by a woman claiming to be MI5, wanting to recruit him for espionage. The poor man is too trusting and gets the shock of his life when he’s approached by a charming but dangerous-looking man also claiming to be MI5. Crowley recruits Aziraphale to double cross a double crosser and Aziraphale takes to espionage like a duck to water. Danger, hijinks, and sex ensue.

#hope this helps 💜#good omens #good omens fic rec #good omens fanfiction #good omens through the ages #good omens human au #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #foolish recs #go fic masterpost

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sofasoap · 1 year

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Comfort - Extra

Extra scene for my fic , Comfort ( read it first to understand the context of this drabble ) Pairing : Din Djarin x F!reader. Mature theme.

Imagine Din going to the market when you were in the shower cleaning yourself up. For you @groguspicklejar masterlist for other stories in the heartbreak Universe

Din stands in front of the stall, dumbfounded. There are so many… products, he is at a loss. People walking past him, staring and whispering. Must be wondering what a Mandalorian is doing staring at all the feminine products. Old lady comes up to him, enquiring with a quivering voice what he needs. “I…. I need.. Some… products.” Was all he could squeeze out. “ For your wife?” “... She’s not my wife.” “ Your girlfriend?” “ She’s not my girlfriend.” “ Sure. that’s what they all say.” Din Sighed. “ Look.. my companion, she.. She is in a bit of pain. Um. I ,I don’t know what I am supposed to do. Or get for her.” he admitted. Old lady smiled and nodded. “ Well… You will need these first of all.” choosing a few of the sanitary items, she put it into the bag. “ How much would you need?”

“ We travel around quite a bit so… um. Give me a few months' supply please.” “ If she is in pain she will definitely need some pain relief. And oh,” Taking out a few herbal smelling sachets from the earthenware containers on the side tables, “ You can make hot tea out of these for her. Remember to brew it for about five minutes before drinking.” “ If she is cramping, this will help her too.” She took out a square pouch. “ It’s a heat pack, it will relieve the discomfort of cramping. You press this button here, and it will start to heat up. If you have a cooler, you can put it in there, and use it as an ice pack too.” Din ended up with a whole satchel full of product. Should last you for the next few months until we stop at the next port. He flashes back to the moment he arrived back at Razor Crest. His heart dropped and panic set in when he saw you facing down, a bit of blood pooling beside you. Din shook his head. Trying to push away that feeling. Two of you only travelled together for a few months, but you have proved yourself to be a great companion. Keeping the ship in tip top shape, diagnosing and fixing the problem before it blows up, welcomes him home when he comes back from a bounty hunt.

Home.

That is a word he hasn’t used for a long time.

Finish making his round in the market, getting other essentials and food supply while he is at it as well, he hurried back to the ship.

He can’t keep you waiting.

His home. His heart.

Oops nearly forgot tag list.

@frogtits1 @memester-png

@jake-g-lockley

@novaethecosplayer

@foxgirl95

@gloryekaterina

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@flowersgirl02

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x you #din djarin x f!reader #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you

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blueiskewl · 2 years

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Ancient Gold Coin Hoard Found Under Kitchen Floorboards in Britain

A house refurbishment in northern England has uncovered a trove of gold coins, which could be worth up to £250,000 ($290,000) at auction next month.

The discovery is one of the biggest hoards of 18th century English gold coins ever uncovered in Britain, according to auction house Spink & Son in a press release.

While renovating their kitchen in July 2019, residents unearthed a salt-glazed earthenware cup burrowed underneath the concrete and floorboards of their home in Ellerby, North Yorkshire.

The cup, described as being no larger than a soft-drink can, contained more than 260 gold coins dating from 1610 to 1727. The stash of coins has an estimated value of £100,000 ($116,00) in today's spending power, auctioneers said.

Gregory Edmund, an auctioneer with Spink & Son, said the remarkable trove is unlike any find in British archaeology or like any coin auction in living memory.

"It is a wonderful and truly unexpected discovery from so unassuming a find location," Edmund said in the press release.

"This find of over 260 coins is also one of the largest on archaeological record from Britain, and certainly for the 18th century period," he added.

"The coins almost certainly belonged to the Fernley-Maisters, Joseph and Sarah who married in 1694," reads the press release.

According to Spink & Son, the Maisters were an influential mercantile family from the 16th century to the 18th century. They traded iron ore, timber and coal from the Baltic states and several generations took up posts as lawmakers in the early 1700s.

Their family line dwindled soon after the couple died, which is presumably why the coins were never retrieved, the auction house added.

Meanwhile, Edmund said the findings reflect the £50 and £100 coins that were used at the time.

"Joseph and Sarah clearly distrusted the newly-formed Bank of England, the 'banknote' and even the gold coinage of their day because they (chose) to hold onto so many coins dating to the English Civil War and beforehand," he added.

"Why they never recovered the coins when they were really easy to find just beneath original 18th century floorboards is an even bigger mystery, but it is one hell of a piggy bank."

By Sana Noor Haq.

#Ancient Gold Coin Hoard Found Under Kitchen Floorboards in Britain #Ellerby hoard #archeology #archeolgst #gold #gold coins #collectable coins #ancient artifacts #history #history news #ancient history #treasure #treasure load

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ashintheairlikesnow · 8 months

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as diwali starts to roll back around again i can’t help but think about eli. i know there was a reference in one of his fics to holi (when i tell you i SCREAMED) and it made me so happy (I SCREAMED)

anyway. would it be possible to receive a little snippet about eli’s feelings this time of year? no pressure ofc i’ve just got the brainrot

(It's true! Eli was born and spent his early childhood in India, before his parents moved to the United States when he was twelve years old. His earliest memories take place in northern India - his family is from Uttar Pradesh)

When he turns all the lights out, the lamps flicker and dance with a warm yellow and orange, placed on small tables on either side of his bedroom door. The rest of the room is lit with candles only, but at the doorway - the boundary between his own space and the space that others inhabit every day - he has placed the diyas. He has more in the window, just two small ones, but still.

Diyas - the small earthenware lamps he has lit using cloth wicks soaked in oil, bought from a store where a woman had greeted him with grandmotherly familiarity and a lyrical voice that had nearly split his head in two with a powerful memory.

Eli had stared at her while she gave him cheerful advice on which brand was best on something - he doesn't even remember what any longer, although it must be one of the things he bought, because he didn't argue with her.

But it wasn't her he was listening to. It wasn't the flat florescent light of the store he saw.

He heard his mother's voice, saw her lighting the lamps, her hand on his head as he pressed against her leg, holding tight to the sheer fabric dotted with gold threads in tiny circles she wore over her loose skirt. He remembers it being blue, and that single detail hurts in a way he can barely breathe past.

She had dressed to go visiting through the neighborhood, where everyone else also had lamps and there was laughter and singing everywhere he looked, and the house smelled like sugar and spices from what she had been cooking to take and share, but they hadn't yet left.

Nazadeek se dekhen, Jairaj, had come the memory of her voice. Eli had frozen in the aisle, staring at the woman, her lips moving but his mind was years ago and thousands of miles away. Bhay par aasha. Andhakaar par prakaash. Kya aap dekhate hain?

He had bought the lamps in a rush - a half-dozen of them, without question. Then he'd ended up leaving with another two hundred dollars' worth of anything that made his head hurt worse, anything familiar. He felt like he must look completely insane to those who watched him, squinting against a migraine and sweeping what felt like entire shelves into his rickety basket, and yet he couldn't stop himself.

Somehow he wound up with eight separate chutneys, an armful of spices in what he thought must be the exact jars and brands hiding underneath his thoughts, waiting to break free. Coriander, cumin, cardamom, mustard seeds, fenugreek, fennel seeds, tamarind, ajwain, asafoetida, chiles, fresh curry leaves even. He couldn't stop. He found bread, not just naan but paratha, ready-to-eat, in a refrigerator towards the back, and shoved it into his basket as well.

Paneer, he remembered paneer, cheese so fresh it squeaked sometimes between your teeth. His mother would fry it until it was brown and he would come home from school sometimes to a snack of chili cashews and spiced paneer, along with her smile and her voice calling, Jairaj!

The whole damn store smelled like something he had once known as well as his own hands, and now was strange to him and he chased the memories, even as his head hurt worse and worse.

Next to the cash register, there were little plastic containers with familiar round balls of dough inside, soaking in syrup. Eli's voice had caught in his throat, and he had wordlessly shoved one of the containers at the cashier, who had given him a slightly puzzled smile and wished him a good day.

Sitting here in the doorway, enjoying the lamplight coming from the diyas, he pops open the plastic container, inhales the strong scent of sugar and rose, with a hint of pistachio.

He is absolutely going to pass out from the pain in his head, but not before this.

Not before this.

He reaches inside, picks up one of the gulab jamun, and bites into it. Tears sting as he chews and run hot down his cheeks. Behind him, thousands of miles east, thousands west, a lifetime away no matter how you measured it, there were people laughing just outside the window as his mother offered to let him have just one taste before they took the rest for sharing, in a neighborhood lit with a thousand lights in every window, at every doorway, declaring that darkness did not win, that evil could not vanquish good, that hope remained even after despair.

Maybe his mother is still sitting, somewhere, with her own diyas lit and maybe even with the rangoli in its geometrics and curves laid out in fine colored sand seeming to dance in the light. Maybe his mother still cooks to share with a neighborhood full of lights.

Maybe she thinks of him, out there, wherever she is. Maybe she remembers a boy named Jairaj, when the remnants of that boy no longer can.

Eli weeps. He cries while he eats every single perfect chewy sweet ball in the container, and for the first time he can remember... Eli prays.

He can't remember the right words.

But he hopes that the memory that he did know, once upon a time, is enough.

#eli: the other half #yes he does call eli after this #for the record #whump oc #memory loss #original character #original fiction #bbu #box boy universe

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windvexer · 2 years

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spirit houses: a container spell for your spirit vessel needs

In honor of realizing how much easier spirit boxes have made my life, here's a full moon post about spirit boxes 101.

A spirit box (maybe it has a bunch of other names; I don't know of any others) is a box which functions as both a house and a vessel for a spirit.

Spirit houses in and of themselves have historical precedence.

Trial records contain references to demon familiars living in glass or leather bottles; crystals; baskets; boxes; earthenware pots lined with wool kept under the stairs or by the hearth; under borders of 'green herbs' in the garden and under the roots or in the hollows of trees. Wilby, Emma. Cunning Folk and Familiar Spirits (2005), 77

In the text above, many containers and locations are referenced. For simplicity's sake, I'm going to talk about boxes in this post. In this post, spirit box and spirit house are synonymous.

Why use a container-based spirit house?

I use 'em because I ran out of altar space. It's not even like my "inner keep" is chock full of spirits. It's just that sometimes, spirits don't like to have room mates and keeping everyone happy can require a lot of space.

For me, I have a lot of objects dedicated to my spirits. Using a non-container vessel (such as a quartz crystal) doesn't solve my space needs, because then I'd have a bunch of devoted objects and a vessel crystal to deal with.

It helps because the spaces devoted to each spirit are clearly delineated. This makes some stuff like psychic communication less confusing (more on this later).

I have a belief that spirits can literally enjoy objects placed within their home. Filling a spirit box with comfortable, lovely things actually allows the spirit to enter this space and enjoy their gifts.

Giving offerings and other interactions are simplified. No spoons for an offering ritual? Leave a gift on or in the container and it belongs to the spirit now (not in if the object will rot and need to be disposed of!!! we all know we'll forget about it). Did the spirit really piss you off? Put a black cloth (or t-shirt) over the container and move it to the back of your closet. No ritual or spell required.

(Also, re-arranging and moving them around is a heck of a lot easier than open altar spaces)

They also function as spirit vessels, btw

You want to meditate, commune, work with, or give instructions to the spirit? Easy peasy - the spirit house functions as a spirit vessel. Touch it or interact with it to also interact with the spirit.

Make them by 1) finding a container and 2) giving it to the spirit

Cleanse it if you want. Definitely try to make sure it's clean. Some beliefs might dictate that air gaps are required for the spirit to move in and out of the vessel (so, no sealed jars).

Then, give it to the spirit. A ritual or spell is fine if you want to do one. Otherwise, get into the zone where you feel close to the spirit (as close as reasonably possible in the moment; no need to feel like you're having a numinous experience just to get the job done).

When you're in you're zone (or like, just sitting in your room calling to the spirit a few times), announce (internally or externally) that you're giving the container to the spirit.

And yeah, how about that! That's all it takes.

Maybe frontload the process with a few gifts, though

An empty, plain balsa wood box isn't too impressive. I mean, an opportunity to imprint on a physical vessel and come ever-closer to our physical world is a gift in and of itself. But it's still an empty container.

Try popping some gifts in that bad boy at the same time as you dedicate it to the spirit.

Ideas for initial gifts:

Something soft and comfy for the spirit to sleep on (soft fabric pad will do; good chance to put your crochet skills to use!)

Something interesting or valuable (coins, miniature figurines, neat beads, etc)

An energy offering (candles; incense; food or beverages; your own energy; most disposable offerings should be left on or near the vessel, not inside of it)

Stuff they'd personally like

Things that are sentimental to you, which you gift to the spirit as a form of your personal reverence towards them

In the future, you can add and remove gifts. I'd definitely double-check with the spirit before removing anything at all, but you can.

You can also do magic with it

Ask the spirit to charge and enchant an object, and place the object in the spirit house for a full moon cycle (or longer, or less; the spirit should be able to tell you).

Include spirit petitions asking them to do tasks, or house rules to follow, etc.

The spirit houses make an ideal way to commune with spirits, especially as opposed to shared altar spaces.

You can literally pick up and move a spirit box into the area where you're doing divination. Or, touch it and use a pendulum or practice psychism (or hold it while you're meditating).

I personally just find this convenient.

Consider being open to developing them over time

You don't need to wait to devote a spirit box to a spirit until it's fully decorated, you have tons of objects to fill it up, etc.

The spirit box can grow and change to reflect your relationship with that spirit.

Spirits can and will ask for things, ask for the container to be modified in some way, and so on. Watching the collection of devotional items grow is a beautiful thing.

After all, it's not like spirits will like everything you want to give them. It might be a waste of time to agonize over collecting offerings before you've even gotten feedback on the initial spirit house itself!

Do your best to be open to input from the spirit about what kind of home it wants and what kind of things it wants.

A few more witchy notes:

If the spirit box is for a familiar, strive to include a portion of the physical species of the familiar (acorns for an Oak familiar; bobcat skull for a Bobcat familiar, etc).

Soil can make a very suitable "bed" for chthonic, dead, and certain earthen spirits - ask them about it, but it's definitely an option.

If your spirit has no original body on earth (e.g. it is a grandmother dollie and isn't associated with any living spirit), make a body for it (like, make a poppet) and keep the body in the house.

The spirit box, in and of itself, gives the spirit a greater foothold in this world. So don't take this step if you're not ready for it.

Feed your spirits often with earthly substances to give them power in this world

When you and the spirit have a falling out

If the relationship is done, try to act with honor if possible. Announce (as ritualistically as possible, is my recommendation) that the spirit is no longer welcome to use this container as a home, and that you will strike any spirit from using it.

Take the things out. Really wouldn't recommend taking back gifts, so only give gifts that you're happy with never having back. But dispose of them properly. E.g. if you've given a lot of coins as offerings, bury them so the spirit can still have them.

Nuke the container's energies, Announce that your permission for the container to be used as a Vessel are Revoked, and get rid of the container.

Yeah, it's UPG, but this is also my post, so -- cleansing and re-using some objects is fine for some magic. "This is a physical object that I gave to a spirit so it can have a foot-hold in this world and affect my physical reality, but now we're not friends any more and I want to use the jar for my prosperity spell" is not a great situation.

Strive to only use containers and gifts for spirits that you are willing to never, ever reclaim.

(Big asterisk on this for practitioners worth their salt; but for beginners, I don't recommend risking it)

(the "container spell" in the title is a bit tongue-in-cheek but I thought it was funny so I'm keeping it; I guess this all counts as a spell, sort of, so it's probably fine)

#spirits #spirit houses #spirit boxes

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thebrickinbrick · 2 months

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History of the Corinthe from its Foundations, Part 2

A room on the ground-floor, where the bar was situated, one on the first floor containing a billiard-table, a wooden spiral staircase piercing the ceiling, wine on the tables, smoke on the walls, candles in broad daylight, this was the style of this cabaret. A staircase with a trap-door in the lower room led to the cellar. On the second floor were the lodgings of the Hucheloup family. They were reached by a staircase which was a ladder rather than a staircase, and had for their entrance only a private door in the large room on the first floor.

Under the roof, in two mansard attics, were the nests for the servants. The kitchen shared the ground-floor with the tap-room.

Father Hucheloup had, possibly, been born a chemist, but the fact is that he was a cook; people did not confine themselves to drinking alone in his wine-shop, they also ate there. Hucheloup had invented a capital thing which could be eaten nowhere but in his house, stuffed carps, which he called carpes au gras.

These were eaten by the light of a tallow candle or of a lamp of the time of Louis XVI., on tables to which were nailed waxed cloths in lieu of table-cloths. People came thither from a distance.

Hucheloup, one fine morning, had seen fit to notify passers-by of this "specialty"; he had dipped a brush in a pot of black paint, and as he was an orthographer on his own account, as well as a cook after his own fashion, he had improvised on his wall this remarkable inscription:

CARPES HO GRAS.

One winter, the rain-storms and the showers had taken a fancy to obliterate the S which terminated the first words, and the G which began the third; this is what remained:

CARPE HO RAS. Time and rain assisting, a humble gastronomical announcement had become a profound piece of advice.

[...] Corinthe was the meeting-place, if not the rallying-point, of Courfeyrac and his friends. It was Grantaire who had discovered Corinthe. He had entered it on account of the Carpe horas, and had returned thither on account of the Carpes au gras.

There they drank, there they ate, there they shouted; they did not pay much, they paid badly, they did not pay at all, but they were always welcome.

[...] About 1830, Father Hucheloup died. With him disappeared the secret of stuffed carps. His inconsolable widow continued to keep the wine-shop. But the cooking deteriorated, and became execrable; the wine, which had always been bad, became tearfully bad. Nevertheless, Courfeyrac and his friends con tinued to go to Corinthe--out of pity, as Bossuet said.

[...] The hall on the first floor, where "the restaurant" was situated, was a large and long apartment encumbered with stools, chairs, benches, and tables, and with a crippled, lame, old billiard-table. It was reached by a spiral staircase which terminated in the corner of the room at a square hole like the hatchway of a ship. This room, lighted by a single narrow window, and by a lamp that was always burning, had the air of a garret. All the four-footed furniture comported itself as though it had but three legs.

Two serving-maids, named Matelote and Gibelotte, and who had never been known by any other names, helped Mame Hucheloup to set on the tables the jugs of poor wine, and the various broths which were served to the hungry patrons in earthenware bowls. Matelote, large, plump, red-haired, and noisy, the favorite ex-sultana of the defunct Hucheloup, was homelier than any mythological monster, be it what it may; still, as it becomes the servant to always keep in the rear of the mistress, she was less homely than Mame Hucheloup. Gibelotte, tall, delicate, white with a lymphatic pallor, with circles round her eyes, and drooping lids, always languid and weary, afflicted with what may be called chronic lassitude, the first up in the house and the last in bed, waited on every one, even the other maid, silently and gently, smiling through her fatigue with a vague and sleepy smile.

Before entering the restaurant room, the visitor read on the door the following line written there in chalk by Courfeyrac: "Régale si tu peux et mange si tu l'oses.”

#lm 4.12.1 #history of corinthe from its foundations #the brick in brick

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wordsinhaled · 9 months

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☔

☔ Is there a fic concept you have that you’d like to just explain and share because you’re not sure you’ll ever write it? If so, what is it?

Ah, yes!!! And I'll tag @sb-essebi here since you also asked this question!

I'll talk about the always angels AU! (Who wants to help me find a better name for it? lmao, but that's what I'm calling it in my head.) I don't know if I'll ever actually write it properly because it feels very Involved and my vision for it would involve it being a bit of an epic length, meanwhile I've never written a thing past like 2k words? But I do really love the idea of it.

So this is an AU where Crowley never fell: he's still an angel in Heaven. Of course, he still asks questions, but maybe he’s at a power level at which his interference can be deniable, or brushed under the rug if needed. Or, if he is higher up, he's considered to be a bit of an odd duck, too enthusiastic, too absorbed in his work, such that his capacity for influence isn't really taken seriously. Besides, he’s so genuine and well-meaning about things that he naturally gets underestimated a lot, which is how he has avoided getting cast out this whole time.

So he’s basically just prancing about being cheerful in Heaven’s offices in the outfit we saw him wear in the show, in all his tan tracksuited, gold nail polished peppiness. (Yes, I love that outfit; no, I will not take arguments. Heaven infiltrator!Crowley is a fashion icon <3) And also, of course, in lovely long flowing robes sometimes because why not, it's Heaven!

He gets to keep up his stars as his main role, and it’s been his favorite thing to do since always, which he tells to anyone in earshot. He’s forever asking if the other angels want to go on little field trips with him to see different star systems or nebulas whenever they need a tuneup, and the other angels are all, “Oh, you know, Crowley and his stars,” like his personal interest in them is weird, or quaint. They humored him at first, and have long since stopped going with him, and the ones of his own rank gossip about how odd it is, a bit, well. Crowley's enthusiasm is undimmed.

Maybe in this AU, Aziraphale has become an archangel by regular promotion - by toeing the line, mostly, but he harbors, secretly (very secretly) his own ideas about how the Supreme Archangel is running things, how Heaven could be made better. A large part of him still believes in the system, though. He figures, if he follows all the norms, goes through the proper channels he’ll make a true change one day. Especially in his new position, which he treats with great sanctity.

But he does have his foibles.

He's been to earth for several stints, and during those stints, however brief each one, he discovered things he likes. His Heavenly office is not blank and white and bare like the others; it has actual—gasp!—material objects in it that he's brought back from his travels on Earth. A plush Persian rug. A heavy oaken desk, complete with Tiffany reading lamp and writing inks and pens. An overstuffed armchair with a cream tartan blanket draped across the back (Heaven does get quite cold, after all). A dancing lady orchid in a hand-turned, hand-painted ceramic planter. A little rack of select Earth wines and aperitifs. An earthenware bowl of fruit. And... books. Books he tries to but occasionally fails to keep contained to one corner, and often rotates out for new ones, and categorically refuses to give up.

(The other archangels try not to go in there much. It gives them the creeps.)

Anyway, long story short, this archangel Aziraphale is... well, Aziraphale, more or less the one we know and love, but maybe with more of a ramrod-straight back, if you will. (And maybe some facial hair. He can have a beard for a bit, maybe, as a treat. But I'm still not sure on that bit.)

The other thing about the archangel Aziraphale is he actually talks to the other angels who are of lower rank than he is. He doesn't treat them the way the rest of the archangels do, at a remove. He wants to know about their goings-on, because he was one of them, once, and he remembers what it was like, and looks on them with a great deal of empathy.

So naturally this puts him into contact with Crowley! Who has absolutely no compunction about inviting Aziraphale (his superior! Crowley, you daredevil!) on a jaunt to visit another little corner of the stars that needs maintenance.

"Oh! A... field trip, you say? To the... the Cosmic Cliffs, you called them? Well! That does sound exciting! I don't suppose I've ever considered it."

"You don't want to," says Crowley, visibly deflating.

"No, no, no! That's not it at all! They sound positively lovely, I'm sure. It's only that I have ever so much work, you see, and so little time in which to do it all."

"The Carina Nebula's worth taking a break for," Crowley says, a little bit of pride edging into his voice. He puts on his best encouraging grin. "C'monnn, Archangel. No one has to know. I certainly won't tell anyone you skived off a day's work to see some stars - oh, they all laugh at me as it is. It'll be our little secret." (If an angel had spoken to, say, Gabriel this way - with such a level of presumption, such a level of intimacy! - they would have been demoted instantly.)

Instead, Aziraphale agrees.

"I say," he breathes, hovering side by side with Crowley and looking at the glittering, twinkling splendor of blue-gold-amber scattered across the vastness of space before them. "I say, this is really quite something you've got here. You've outdone yourself with this one, I imagine."

"Oh, thank you," Crowley says, positively beaming, feathers all aflutter, brown eyes bright with feeling.

"It's beautiful," Aziraphale says.

"It is, isn't it," Crowley agrees. But here's an important little detail: he's not looking at his own creation as he speaks. He's watching Aziraphale watch the stars. It's totally untoward. Totally not befitting their difference in status, or their relative lack of acquaintance. And he totally doesn't care. "Gorgeous," Crowley adds. It just slips out, almost an afterthought, almost under his breath.

And Aziraphale turns to him then, and catches him staring openly.

And there's the start of that.

Also would feature in this AU:

Archangel Aziraphale is the one to introduce Crowley to Earthly things! I think that is so, so fun, and I want to see angel Crowley discover his first bite of dark chocolate truffles or his first sip of Turkish coffee or his first time feeling silk, for example, yes

Enough tension to cut with a knife, we love to see it

Open-secret rendezvous in various corners of space to talk about philosophy!

Crowley dedicating specific stars to Aziraphale (Alpha Centauri!)

The other angels looking on in tacit disapproval but not quite being able to do much about it (...yet)

Archangel Aziraphale and angel Crowley take a vacation business trip to Earth! Includes Aziraphale showing Crowley some of his favorite places; them figuring out what sort of clothes they want to wear on Earth (and pining after each other in them, obviously); Crowley's first time riding in a car and subsequently falling in love with high-speed driving; charming B&Bs with only one bed (!); romantic stargazing from Earth; entirely too much faffing about and not enough Heavenly work getting done at all whatsoever because they're too busy realizing they're in love

A faction of angels try to depose Aziraphale because they think he's gone soft (and, well, he has... soft for a certain starmaking angel) and Aziraphale has to go on the lam on Earth to save himself. Cue romantic scene in which he asks Crowley to come with him and of course Crowley agrees

They go to Earth together and perform a combined miracle to hide themselves from Heaven. Maybe Aziraphale still operates his bookshop, but angel Crowley acquires a plant shop and works part time at a planetarium!

I could go on but this has gotten pretty long!

Thanks for letting me ramble about this AU which I love so much <333

#long post #good omens #good omens 2 #sort of #ineffable husbands

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honourablejester · 4 months

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Homebrew Magic Items (5e): Grave Knight’s Regalia

Despite the lofty titling, the ‘regalia’ of a grave knight is usually quite far from fine. Formed during and in the aftermath of the great necromantic plagues, the grave knights were something between a mendicant chivalrous order, a collective of mercenaries, and a series of local militias, all trained and more importantly equipped with the sole aim of laying or destroying unquiet dead. While many localised knights were simply local villagers or watchmen trained and outfitted for the purpose, for almost four centuries a core mendicant order of true knights have also existed, and it is this core of knights who train others and maintain the knowledge and manufacture of the ‘knightly regalia’, or the standard equipment of a grave knight.

(Or, have a set of gothic inspired magic items for equipping graveyard knights. Not necessarily paladins, just any poor sod who wound up having to deal with undead a lot, and asked the help of the local travelling knightly order to tool up for the task. Brought to you by my sister pointing out that a lot of the more elaborate wrought iron railing toppers you see in graveyards would make boss gothic weaponry).

GRAVE IRONS

Weapon (Mace), Rare

The signature weapon of the grave knights, grave irons were maces made from grave iron, the wrought iron surrounds of sanctified or hallowed graves. Typically the mace heads were formed either by wrapping bands of reshaped grave iron around a wooden or iron ball, or, more ornately, by strengthening the elaborate wrought iron railing tops to withstand impacts. The heads were then affixed to sturdy wooden or metal hafts for use.

The wielder of a grave iron gains a +1 bonus to attack and damage rolls with this magic weapon. Additionally, on a successful hit against an undead creature with a grave iron, the creature takes an additional 2d6 bludgeoning damage, and its movement speed is halved until the end of the wielder’s next turn, as the iron attempts to bind the undead creature back into its earthly grave.

GAUNTLETS OF GENTLING

Wonderous Item, Rare

These worn steel gauntlets also bear a thin band of grave iron at the wrist, and grant a +1 bonus to AC while worn. The gauntlets have six charges, and regain all spent charges every day at dawn. While wearing the gauntlets, the wearer can use an action to expend a charge and cast the Gentle Repose spell, without the need for material components.

EERIE OINTMENT

Potion, Rare

Grave knights carried small, sturdy earthenware jars containing a silvery ointment. A knight could use an action to smear the ointment beneath their eyes, granting them the ability to see 60ft into the ethereal plane while on the material plane, and vice versa, for 1 hour after application. The jars typically held enough ointment for 10 applications, after which a new batch of ointment would need to be made or purchased.

KNIGHT’S ASPERGILLUM

Wonderous Item, Rare

One of the finest tools in the grave knights’ armoury, the knight’s aspergillum is a small, hollow, perforated metal ball on a wooden handle. The ball contains an internal silvered reservoir which can be filled with water. Any water which is kept in the aspergillum for 24 hours becomes holy water. A knight can use a bonus action to flick holy water from the aspergillum towards a fiendish or undead creature within 10ft, making a ranged attack roll against that creature, which deals 2d6 radiant damage on a hit. The aspergillum’s reservoir holds enough water to make three such attacks before it must be refilled.

#d&d #d&d 5e #homebrew #magic items #gothic #graveyard knights

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autumncrowcus · 6 months

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To understand why, among the iconic representations of Athene, the warrior-type predominates, we must recognize how her martial aspect relates to her civilizing function. It derives from her original commitment to the royal citadel and then to the polis and, consequently, to their defense. Athene Promachus is a protectress, the helper in battle, the instructor in the art of war, not a battle-lusty aggressor. A beautiful relief of her leaning on her spear, her head drooping, pervaded with sorrow, introduces us to a very different Athene: the warrior goddess herself touched by defeat and loss. Farnell believes she is mourning some terrible national disaster and the deaths of all those who were killed.

When focusing on Athene's pathology we may see her as too much the defender, too well defended, but her transmutation of Ares' unrestrained aggressiveness into disciplined assertiveness is an important component of the process by which one brings creative insight to artistic expression. Virginia Woolf expresses her experience of the violence inherent in creation thus:

Sometimes I am out of touch; but go on; then again I feel that I have at last, by violent measures—like breaking through gorse—set my hands on something central. [quoting Virginia Woolf cited in Olson, Silences; emphasis Downing’s]

Athene's patronage of the arts also derives from her original character as goddess of the household and thus of household crafts. Although the source of Athene's name remains a mystery, it may well derive from words connected to pottery; in any case, she is reputed to have made the first earthenware pot. She is also, in both senses, a "spinster" goddess, closely associated with the feminine arts of spinning and weaving. Homer refers to “the elaborate dress which she herself had wrought with her hands’ patience." She invented the trumpet and the flute (though, because blowing it made her ugly, she quickly tossed it aside in disgust). According to Graves, she also invented the plough, the rake, the ox-yoke, the horse bridle, the chariot, and the ship.

Her role as goddess of art and artisan naturally brings her into association with the master artisan among the gods, Hephaistos. Her cult seems to have existed at Athens before his, yet Athens was his only major cult site; probably he was important there because, as Athene was more and more seen as the great city goddess, he seemed more directly available than she to the local craftsmen. The ritual connections between them are so extensive that Cook concludes that Athene and Hephaistos were originally the local Rhea and Kronos. Athene's relation to Hephaistos antedates hers to Zeus. One myth has it that Hera conceived Hephaistos parthenogenetically in revenge against Zeus's parthenogenetic creation of Athene; another, that Hephaistos served as midwife at Athene's birth. It is he who releases Athene from the head of Zeus, from being contained by the masculine.

As Athene's relation to war differs from that of Ares, so her relation to artistic creativity differs from that of Hephaistos. That Athene and Hephaistos work together seems a more essential aspect of her creativity than of his. He generally does his work in private and then brings the finished marvels into the world of others. She is more extroverted, more able to combine creativity and human involvement. Athene's art is the art made within and for the human community; in her realm the distinction between the fine and practical arts fades away. It is art that issues from work, from discipline and training rather than from untutored, unfettered inspiration. She "finds place and gives image to the driving necessities"; she offers the Erinyes a cave where they may reside and be honored. Hephaistos is only artist, whereas Athene is warrior as well. He is a crippled artist, and so represents the creativity that issues from woundedness. Proudly striding Athene is not crippled, unless that is her crippledness.

From the perspective of the underworld, the ever-conquering Athene may seem fatally flawed. But this image of Athene as invulnerable is radically inadequate. To know Athene deeply is to see beyond the Athene that Rose describes as “one about whom few if any unworthy tales are told.” Remembering her treatment of Arachne should liberate us from accepting the image of her as cold and passionless, always reasonable and fair. She strikes Tiresias blind. Cecrops's daughters go mad and kill themselves after they disobey her command not to peek into the infant Erichthonios’s basket. She hounded the “lesser” Ajax to his death after he raped Cassandra at her shrine and gave Medusa her hideous petrifying face because she had yielded to Poseidon in a sanctuary dedicated to Athene. Athene is after all sister to Dionysos, Zeus's other parthenogenetic child, the god of madness and ecstasy, the male divinity most closely associated with the underworld. (One story has it that it was she who interrupted the Titans' banquet when they were feasting on Dionysos' dismembered body and rescued the heart and brought it back to Zeus.) Athene's bond to other divinities associated with the underworld is also closer than we usually recognize. The many ancient vases and coins representing a helmeted Athene holding a pomegranate suggest a connection to Persephone. A sculpture representing Demeter and Persephone greeted by Athene refers to that part of the Eleusinian ritual in which the priestess of Athene at the Acropolis is informed that the sacred objects have safely arrived at Eleusis. Whereas Hera represents an antagonism to Demeter and her daughter, Athene represents an intimate complementarity. Persephone is involved with the soul's initiation into the underworld, Athene with its emergence into the human world.

There are other signs of Athene's connection to the realm of Soul. As a Mycenean household goddess she seems to have been close cousin to the Minoan snake goddess. (This connection may explain why, to facilitate Achene's birth, Hephaistos is represented as cleaving Zeus’s head with a double-edged axe, a fool peculiar to Minoan culture.) Even in the time of Herodotus, Athene was closely identified with the guardian snake believed to lie in the Acropolis. Just before Salamis the shake deserted the sanctuary; the Athenians felt the goddess had abandoned it, too. A vase painting representing the judgment of Paris shows an indignant Athene accompanied by a snake equal to the goddess in height and majesty. "The artist seems dimly conscious that the snake is somehow the double of Athene.” The child Erichthonios is guarded by a pair of snakes in the closed basket in which he is kept during infancy. Even in Pheidias's superb statue sculpted in the age of Pericles she is represented with a snake at her side, a scaly aegis on her breast, and snakes around her waist. Cook connects these snakes to Athene's role as rock mother. Their salient characteristic in respect to this goddess is their emerging from the rocky surface of the Acropolis and then again disappearing. He speaks explicitly of these snakes as representing soul emerging from the underworld.

Martin Heidegger helps us relate this theme of emergence from the rock to the particular understanding of the nature of the work of art represented by Athene. Heidegger speaks of the Greek temple rising from the rock (as the Parthenon rises from the Acropolis) as representing the "erection of a world" which occurs simultaneously with a "bringing forward of the earth" in which earth "becomes apparent as: undisclosable.” Heidegger's earth and world parallel what I have been calling soul and its outward expression in artistic realization. Under the aegis of Athene, art expresses its emergence from soul, from earth, and its dependence on its source.

-From The Goddess: Mythological Images of the Feminine by Jungian analyst Christine Downing

#athena #christine downing #jungian analysis #quotes #books #greek myth

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rogerriddle · 3 months

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Albert Racinet's "Polychrome Ornament," 1869 PLATE VI. GREEK AND GRECO-ROMAN ANTIQUITIES: SPECIMENS OF POLYCHROMATIC DECORATION.

THE accompanying plate contains numerous specimens of polychromatic decoration, taken from various periods of Greek Art, commencing from the date of the monuments in AEgina, or the Parthenon, down to that which may be called the Greco-Roman period. The colours are copied from sketches by the most competent artists. The following is a list of the subjects in the plate, Virith references to the authorities from which they are selected :-

Nos. 1, 2, 3.-Frieze and corona ornaments, from the restoration of the Parthenon, by M. Paccard. (Ecole des Beaux-Arts ; Roman section.) No. 4.-Ornaments from the frieze of the Temple of tho Wingless Victory at Athens. (Lebas, Voyage archeologie en Grece et en Asie Mineure, I., pl. 8, No. 1.) No, 5.-Ancient fragment from a panel of a corona. (Lebas, id., II., pl. 6, No. 1.) No. G.-Antefixae from the Temple of the Wingless Victory. (Lebas, id,, I., pl. G.) Nos. 7, 8, 9.-Ancient fragments from different monuments at Athens. (Lebas, id., I., pl. 8, No. 4 ; II., pl. 5, Nos. 1 and 11.) No. 10.-Decorations over the entrance to the Temple of :Minerva Polias at Athens, from the restoration of that monument by M. Tetas. (Ecole des Beaux-Arts: Roman section.) No.11.-Frieze ornament on the Temple at Paestum, from the restoration by M. Thomas. (Ecole des Beaux-Arts: Roman section.) Nos. 12, 13.-Ornament on the Temple of Jupiter Panhellenius, at AEgina, from the restoration by M. Garnier. Exterior (12); interior (13). (Ecole des Beaux-Arts: Roman section.) No. 14,-Star from the Propylaea. (Lebas, Hittorff, etc.) No. 15.-Cymatium, forming a gutter, found among the ruins of a temple at Metapontum. (Metaponte, par M, le due de Luynes et F. S. Debacq, pl. 7.) No. 16. -Face and soffit of an ornament in earthenware, serving as a covering for a beam, found at Metapontum. (Id., pl. 8.) No. 17 . -Painted mouldings. (Hittorff, Architechire polychrome chez les Grecs, pl. 9, fig. 10, p. 767 .) Nos. 18, 19.-Vitruvian scrolls. Nos. 20, 21. -Meanders. No. 22. -Painted ornaments on a sarcophagus found at Girgenti. (Hittorff, Architechire polycrome, pl. 9, p. 767.) No. 23. -Coping of wall, and ceiling in the Temple of Nemesis at Rhamnus, (Hittorff, icl., pl. 10, fig. 9, p. 768.) No. 24.-Fragment of mosaic-work found in Sicily. (Hittorff, id., pl. 5, fig. 5, p. 761.) Nos. 25, 26, 27, 29.-Interlaced ornaments. (Greco-Roman style.) No. 28.-Meanders. (Greco-Roman style.) Nos. 30, 31, 32, 33.-Ornaments in terra-cotta found at Pallazolle (Hittor:ff, pl. 7, fig. 1, 2, 3, p. 764), with the colouring given by the same author in his restoration of the Temple of Empedocles (pl. 2.) No. 34.-Ornaments. (The same restoration, pl. 3.) No. 35.-Palm leaves.

#art #1800s #1800s art #ancient history #Albert Racinet #antiquity #aesthetic #greek aesthetic #greek art #greek #ancient greek art #ancient greece #19th century #illustration #design #cultural art

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eternal-echoes · 9 months

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“Moreover, the confessio peccati, to use an expression of Saint Augustine, must always be accompanied by the confessio laudis – the confession of praise. As we ask pardon for the wrong that was done in the past, we must also remember the good accomplished with the help of divine grace which, even if contained in earthenware vessels, has borne fruit that is often excellent.”

- Pope Benedict XVI, MEETING WITH THE CLERGY, 25 May 2006

#Catholic #Christianity #quotes #Pope Benedict

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foolishlovers · 3 months

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Ummmm….

Any trans!Crowley smut you’re particularly fond of?

Asking for a friend

here are some i've read 💜

from autumn blooms spring summer fruit by blackeyedblonde (9k) In the potter’s shed, Crowley picked up a trowel and threatened a yearling lemon tree still residing within its earthenware pot before he would allow himself to sit at the gardening table and pull the folded newspaper Aziraphale had given him from his smock. Enclosed on the inside were two gifts. One was the small velvet pouch that contained a pair of golden earrings strung with twin baroque pearls that did not squeak when he curiously rubbed one against his canine tooth. The other was the familiar sight of neat copperplate writing at the bottom of page seven of the paper, done in lead pencil so the words could be more easily smudged out with a bit of rubber. A gift, Lord Fell had written. I will come find you an hour after the molting brown bird has gone to bed.

Ever-Fixed by HKBlack (19k) Aziraphale Fell had a plan. Go to school, get his degree, and start his life with his beloved at his side as man and wife. Until one day Crowley disappears. Decades later he meets a man, and finds the love of his life again. Anthony J. Crowley, suave, cool, masculine, in control, unflappable, has spent decades building himself up. He refuses to let his confident facade disappear for Aziraphale, who once almost tumbled down the stairs to certain death because his nose was stuck in a book. It’s just sex, and they’ve been dating for months, this time around. There’s no need to get his knickers in a knot. But the past isn’t easy to let go of, even if you’re both avoiding it. A story about love, intimacy, and finding each other again. (Alternatively: Tender smut, but then I wrote love story flashbacks, and now it's just emotional and there's plot in my pornography)

that's what happens when you sign on the line by Sway (22k) "There we are," Mister Fell emerges once again, carrying a pot of tea that matches the decor on the cups. He pours out two cups, then sets the pot down before taking a seat in the other chair. "So… You are looking for a Dominant, then?" “I’m…,” Crowley gapes a bit, mouth opening and closing around what he isn’t quite sure to say. Mister Fell smiles in understanding. “I apologise. I have a tendency to ask rather blunt questions at first to get a feel for what a potential client seeks. I suppose it’s not for everybody to just… say it.” “I don’t want to think,” Crowley all but blurts then, surprising himself a bit. Maybe it does get easier with time to just… say it. “That’s what I want.” *** Crowley seeks to live out his submissive tendencies, to forget about this job, to give up control. He gets refered to one Mister Fell who is not at all what he expects. But very much what he needs.

Black and White Sunshine by Azira_Amane (58k) "The cotton capital. The Second Summer of Love, the Haçienda. Irwell, Medlock, Irk and Mersey. Elizabeth Gaskell wrote her novels in a lovely little house. Oh. There’s so much to know…" Aziraphale East is, by his own account, a bit of an odd duck - and he's okay with that. He's always been happy in his own skin, in having been a confirmed bachelor his whole life. Everything changes on a work trip from London to Manchester, where he meets the vivacious and stunningly attractive Anthony Crowley. Like the splitting of the atom, Aziraphale is divided - and begins to wonder if it's not too late for love after all. Age, as they say, is but a number.

and @ineffabildaddy wrote some lovely trans!crowley smut for the fic we wrote together (with incredible art by @omens-for-ophelia)

Just Up the Stairs by foolishlovers, ineffabildaddy, omens_for_ophelia (39k) On Valentine's Day, amidst the chaos of handling work and university deadlines as a mature student, Crowley seeks solace with his neighbour Aziraphale. As they share a meal, their long-standing friendship begins to unravel, revealing hidden feelings they've harboured for six months. It's a night that could change everything.

#trans!good omens my beloved #love reading and writing trans!crowley 💜#good omens fanfiction #good omens fic rec #good omens human au #trans crowley #aziracrow #foolish recs

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blueiskewl · 5 months

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‘Faces of Sanxingdui’: Bronze Age Relics Shed Light on Mysterious Ancient Kingdom

A golden face with patinaed turquoise eyes stares out of the darkness. Illuminated around it stand three other bronze heads — some have flat tops, others round — all looked over by a giant bronze statue almost 9 feet high. All have the same piercing, angular eyes.

There’s something about the “Faces of Sanxingdui” — as this collection of sculptures is being billed — that feels both familiar and alien. Currently on display at the Hong Kong Palace Museum, they may appear Mayan or Aztec to the untrained eye, but these over-3,000-year-old sculptures weren’t unearthed anywhere near Mesoamerica’s ancient civilizations. They were discovered on China’s Chengdu Plain, at an archeological dig site called Sanxingdui (which translates as “three star mound”).

Thought to be the largest and oldest site left by the Shu kingdom, a civilization in southwestern China once only hinted at in myths and legends, Sanxingdui was not discovered until the 1920s, when a farmer stumbled across objects while digging an irrigation ditch. The site has since been found to contain the ruins of an ancient city made up of residences, sacrificial pits and tombs enclosed by high dirt walls. Archaeologists from the Sanxingdui Museum say the city was established some 4,800 to 2,800 years ago, until it was abandoned around 800 BC for unknown reasons.

The Chinese government has long promoted Sanxingdui as evidence of the country’s long, uninterrupted history — with the discoveries included in history textbooks for more than a decade. And while thousands of visitors have already flocked to the groundbreaking exhibition in Hong Kong, some analysts suggest that the items are also being used to support the Chinese government’s vision of national identity.

The mysterious and talented Shu

The Shu kingdom, which emerged in the Sichuan basin during the Bronze Age, is believed to have developed independently of the Yellow River Valley societies traditionally considered the cradle of Chinese civilization. Its inhabitants created exquisitely crafted bronze, jade, gold and ceramic objects, depicting fantastical beasts, kings, gods and shamans with bulging eyes and enlarged ears.

Around 120 of the items are currently on display in Hong Kong, and it’s the first time many of these objects, most of which were excavated between 2019 and 2022, have been showcased outside Sichuan province.

Remarkably, the sculptures predate the Terracotta Army, a collection of earthenware statues depicting the armies of China’s first emperor Qin Shi Huang, by at least 1,000 years. Wang Shengyu, an assistant curator at the Palace Museum said the objects are far more advanced, imaginative, and artistic than those being produced anywhere else in China at that time.

“You can tell that it’s very sculptural and very artsy,” Wang said at the exhibition opening, pointing to a roughly 1-foot-tall bronze figure whose fantastical, braided hair extends out to three times the height of its body and, had it not been broken, would stretch much further. “You can imagine how magnificent it was. From above his nose and all the way up, it would’ve been over 1.5 meters (4.9 feet) tall, according to the fragments (archeologists) found. The end of the pigtail is on his shoulder.”

Little is known about the Shu kingdom other than what’s been discovered on the 3.6-square-kilometer (1.4-square-mile) site outside Chengdu. There is no evidence of a written Shu language, and historical literature contains scant information about its culture other than a handful of myths and legends, including a reference to a Shu king called Can Cong whose eyes were said to have protruded — perhaps explaining why so many of the 13,000 relics recovered from the site feature bulging eyes.

After the Shu state was conquered by the Qin dynasty in 316 BC, Shu culture was “buried” under the “mainstream” culture that later emerged on China’s central plain, Chinese authorities wrote in a 2013 UNESCO submission seeking to have Sanxingdui and two nearby archeological sites recognized as World Heritage Sites. They are currently on UNESCO’s “tentative list.”

Since 1986, eight excavated pits at Sanxingdui have yielded giant masks of gods with bulbous, insect-like eyes and protruding ears, mythical creatures with gaping mouths and an almost 4-meter-tall (13-foot) bronze “tree of life” sculpture decorated with ornaments like a Christmas tree. All the items were found shattered, burned and buried, leading experts to believe the pits were used for ritual sacrifices. Some have now been painstakingly re-constructed by archaeologists. “It took 10 years to reconstruct the tree,” said Wang Shengyu, an assistant curator at the museum who helped curate the exhibition.

That tree is not on show in Hong Kong, as it is considered too precious to send abroad, but a section of one of six others discovered and ornaments are on display at the museum, as well as a 3D holographic projection of what experts think it would have looked like – its layers and branches adorned with birds, flowers, fruit, dragons, bells as well as jade and gold foil ornaments. The set are thought to have been part of a theater space.

‘Historical myth’ of a continuous civilization

The exhibition places these items in the context of other ancient civilizations and includes the Shu among the many societies to have existed in the country’s “5,000-year history.” According to a press release from organizers, museum and Hong Kong government officials at the opening stressed the “continuity, inventiveness, unity, inclusiveness and emphasis on peace and harmony” of Chinese history.

Henry Tang, chairman of the governing body behind the West Kowloon Cultural District (where the Palace Museum is located) and a former candidate for Hong Kong’s top leadership role, said in a statement that the district and museum are looking to “promote cultural and artistic exchanges between China and the world, ‘tell China’s story well’, and strengthen the public’s cultural self-confidence.”

But the narrative that the Shu kingdom was innately Chinese is contentious, according to Ian Johnson, a senior fellow for China Studies at US think tank, the Council on Foreign Relations.

“Over the past few decades, the (Chinese Communist Party) has been trying to push a historical myth that all the peoples who have ever lived inside the current borders of the People’s Republic are ‘Chinese,’” he said over email.

“The basic idea is that the PRC (People’s Republic of China) encompasses people who naturally belong together and therefore, from today’s standpoint, form a nation. Hence any effort to have autonomy or even independence is taboo — it runs against history.”

The People’s Republic of China was established in 1949, and its government has often used China’s continuous history as evidence that ethnic groups such as the Tibetans and the Uyghurs have always belonged to China.

Johnson said that there was little support for the idea that civilizations along the Yellow River had much in common with those in the Sichuan Basin.

“They have commonalities but are not the same — just as ancient Assyrians and Phoenicians and Greeks weren’t the same, even if they shared certain things in common,” he said, adding: “sponsoring these kinds of exhibitions are popular and win the government credit.”

When asked to comment, the Hong Kong Palace Museum said the exhibition was “curated based on academic and archaeological research” and that it reinforces its mission to deepen audiences’ “understanding of the lives and cultures of various regions and ethnic groups as well as exchanges among them in ancient China, which have contributed to the magnificence of China’s civilization and its ‘diversity in unity’ pattern of development.”

By Christy Choi.

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