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morsmordream · 8 months

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my random HP family headcanons that i firmly stand by

(not canon compliant)

creature blood was remarkably common in the older family lines that existed before modern-day laws. it is rather rare that these families produce true creatures themselves, even half-blooded creatures, but the blood can often manifest into family gifts. for example, creature blood is how the slytherin line have their ability to speak parseltongue.

the black family are world-renowned in various fields. they’ve produced countless scholars, and some of the finest duellists of each generation. but the family specialty, that everyone learns, is curse-breaking and it’s inverse. there’s a terrible item in the family vault that could kill you if you touch it? contact the blacks. you need an object enchanted to persuade someone into supporting a wizengamot bill? contact the blacks. expensive as their services may be, it’s always worth the money. customer satisfaction guaranteed.

the black family have held their reputation for dabbling in the darkest of arts, even black magic, since their very beginning. their family name comes from their reputation of practicing black magic. this is separate from dark magic, and is a dead art today. whilst books exist in the darkest corners of very few family’s vaults and libraries, the sacrifices required have deterred anyone who picked them up for centuries. a branch of black magic involves the summoning of beings from beyond our world, ‘demons’ as they are often referred to. the summoning of a shape-shifting demon, and subsequent procreation with, is a potential reason why only the black family have metamorphmagi in britain today- though this claim is unproven, and no longer proudly claimed by the family itself.

the malfoys have veela blood, especially these days. it was a rather scandalous affair when abraxas malfoy married a french witch, amelie bonnacord, who had been adopted into a notable pureblood family and happened to be a veela. the malfoys already had distant veela ancestry, making abraxas resistant to the veela allure. their children, lucius and lydia malfoy, were therefore half veela, and her grandchildren, including draco malfoy, a quarter veela. the veela allure seemed to work differently with men, and little was known about it as men born to those with veela blood was rare. the malfoys spend most holiday seasons in france, visiting family, and all speak fluent french.

the potter family never have been, and never should be seen as, a sparkling beacon for light magic. as necromancers by blood, no matter how much time passes since their amalgamation with the peverells, they naturally lean towards darker magic to facilitate practicing the art. not every potter has dabbled in their family gift, it’s not a requirement, but the ancient books in the family vault cannot be destroyed and will always return to the vault after a necromancer passes.

a few centuries into the past, the potter family migrated to india before a couple of branches returned to britain in the early 20th century. fleamont potter and his cousin, charlus potter, were the first potters to be born on british soil for centuries. fleamont potter married euphemia patil, a half-indian british witch, and had james potter. james potter, upon marrying lily evans, had harry potter- who was half indian.

the lupin family have a long history of naturally born werewolves, hence their family name. as time went on, and laws changed, werewolves born into the family would assimilate into packs instead of living as wizards with a dark secret. with time, fewer and fewer werewolves were born into the family, and the werewolf blood appeared dormant. remus lupin became a werewolf through an attack from fenrir greyback- the first werewolf in the family in several generations. his condition did not pass onto his son, but it is possible that remus being a werewolf may awaken the possibility of future werewolves in the lupin line in generations to come.

the weasleys hail from an old irish clan, one which they no longer practice the traditions and magic of- deeming them outdated in an age where they are deemed ‘blood traitors’ for their love and acceptance of muggleborns. the family magic is largely based around the elements, and is only really practiced by bill and charlie- though fred and george dabble in it from time to time. due to turning their backs on tradition, the weasley manor wards refused to grant entry to those in the family who did not practice their family magics- which is why they live in the burrow instead.

the weasleys fall from grace is infamous in pureblood circles. before the first war, they were actually a rather wealthy family. arthur weasley’s auror wage was enough to live off with two less children, and their vault was plentiful. molly added to their income by authoring books on household charms and tutoring pureblood daughters in etiquette. unfortunately, molly encouraged arthur to funnel money into the order of the phoenix to help with the war- they were not active participants, rather financial backers. by the war’s end, the family vault had been halved, they had two more children, and molly had quit authoring books to raise the children. she soon quit tutoring too, turning her back on other pureblood families due to her paranoia that anyone who hadn’t aided the order in the war were all dark and thus contributed somehow to her brothers deaths. soon after, arthur left the aurors and moved to head the misuse of muggle artifices office at molly’s insistence, due to her persistent paranoia- this time that something horrible would befall him as an auror. this caused another significant drop in the family’s finances, gaining them their reputation of being a poor family with more children than they can clothe.

the nott family are descended from viking clansmen in norway, and the majority of the family are still based there today. they’re very proud of this heritage, and every child born into the family is trained extensively in hand to hand combat from a young age. the nott family additional pre-schooling education also includes the language of old norse, nordic history, ancient runes, and runic magic. the england-based branch of the family add norwegian on to this as well.

the gaunt line, and subsequently the slytherin line, are only extinct in britain (the cursed child is not canon to me idc about delphini). a branch of the family, descended from one ominis gaunt, live on in france and have long abandoned their practices of inbreeding. the branch or branches of the family that remained on british soil rapidly squandered all that remained in their vaults by the turn of the 20th century, leading the family to financial and societal ruin with only their heritage and a few heirlooms remaining intact.

the lovegood family are rather notable as one of the few remaining seer lines in britain. pandora lovegood, upon marrying xenophilius ollivander, found her own seer ability passed down to her daughter luna. many overlook their seer lineage and focus more on the family’s eccentricity, forgetting that true seers rarely speak in plain language- they cannot always just speak the truth of what their visions show them, they must relay what they have seen in a way that makes others search for the answer. it’s not that hard to understand when you actually try it.

#harry potter #hp fandom #hp headcanon #dark harry potter #hp drabble #harry potter headcanon #harry potter drabble #harry potter fandom #the ancient and most noble house of black #draco malfoy #luna lovegood #house of gaunt #weasley family #remus lupin #theodore nott

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scarfacemarston · 1 year

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Tuberculosis and the Wild West

Spoilers for RDR2 , but it’s been since 2018, y’all. Trigger warnings for serious talk of severe terminal illness and severe stigma. As of 12/20 or 20/12, I have fixed some of the wording and added a few new things so please seriously head the warnings. Ok, first, some background: I've been studying TB since 2018; my father had a form of TB twice. I'm a historian, and one of my specialties is the history of medicine. Of course, you don't need to be a historian to write something like this. Also, please "like" and reblog, this sort of content takes time. Tons of pics of buildings, and info below of the “lore” and IRL people.

Background info about TB that y’all need to know: TB is still horrifically deadly and still a leading cause of death. To give you all an idea about how recent genuine scientifically proven treatments were- antibiotics targeting TB were not discovered until the late 40s. However, sanatoriums (TB hospitals) and similar TB-related places didn't all close until 1970. My sister was born in 1977. To give you all an idea of how treeified people were of this disease, think of the stigma with the AIDS/HIV crisis in the 1980s or the early fears surrounding Covid.

TB is one of the three oldest diseases dating back to Ancient Egypt with early evidence appearing through ancient mummies. Starting around the 18th century, western people believed TB was a disease of the elite granting someone ethereal beauty, writing prowess, and artistic talents. It was known as a "romantic disease" and a "beautiful death" - both of which we know aren’t true. Some western beauty standards are influenced by TB including rouged lips, blush, pale skin and a thin figure accentuated with corsets. However, the appearance was due to the patient wasting away. Patients actually had bloodied lips, feverish cheeks, a pale complexion from the illness and losing a large amount of body weight. That's why TB was initially called consumption.(There have been many other names for TB including the White Plague and Captain of All These Men of Death and phthisis which is Greek in origin.) However, people eventually woke up and realized, "Oh wait, this isn't so sexy” The disease spread like wildfire, especially in the cities affecting whole families as was seen with Doc Holliday. Soon, society blamed anyone who wasn’t a white upperclass person AND those who were "immoral . They believed it was someone’s own fault if they had the disease. People held a very e*gen*c view of the disease believing their activities or who their families were caused this. Immoral in this instance includes thieves, sex workers, bar workers, drunkards, violent people, women who had children out of wedlock, said child born out of wedlock, and homeless people. Obviously, this isn't true. It was overcrowded spaces, poor hygienic practices, but also animals, especially cows and deer. Ironically, the deer/stag plays a huge role in RDR 2. A few aspects from RDR 2 were inspired by Doc Holiday, one of the greatest gunslingers and outlaws in American history. His talents with the gun were considered by some as otherworldly. He and Wyatt Earp are most famous for the shoot-out at the OK Corral. Doc was dying of TB and headed west in order to potentially receive some medical attention, but found out that being an outlaw was great fun. Watch Tombstone for a fictionalized version of him. He had a very colorful life, but died of TB in Glenwood Springs, Colorado, at the age of 36. The same age as you know who.

This leads us to RDR 2 itself. The short answer about survival is potentially yes, but with some major stipulations. I have traveled across the country studying TB and visiting TB sites and have seen these locations firsthand. Read further to read how survival was possible and for pictures of key locations.

IF Arthur had rested, maintained a proper fat rich diet, rested in especially clean air and partook in light exercise, he MIGHT have had a chance. I would estimate a 60-70 percent chance based on my readings of TB survivors. The chance of survival could be more if he he headed West immediately after diagnosis. The wealthy traveled to newly built luxury resorts, but most people lived in tent colonies, so Arthur would be very familiar with the site. Hell, if the gang moved West, and followed the conditions I mentioned above, he MIGHT have been able to recover without heading to a TB colony. The the gang wasn't stable, and they were being hunted down, etc. However, people were pissed about the TB patients heading west to settle on "their land" (which is, of course, Native American land that was stolen). This pushed people to the outskirts of town and eventually, the establishment of sanatoriums which were tuberculosis treatment centers.

Both the picture above and below would be an example of the tents used by TB patients to camp out. The top picture was probably taken around the 1890s which is Arthur’s lifetime while the picture blow is probably from a later era like the 20′s based on the clothing. City people in big cities sometimes camped out on the roofs of their flats and apartments hence the setting of the second picture.

Due to the extreme fear, people were literally dropped off by families/friends or even government officials far outside of town. You did not want society to know that you had loved one with TB or else the stigma would affect you as well. Later, TB patients were forcibly institutionalized. Many of these patients were ashamed of their affliction, but also felt further shame that their loved ones could be ostracized by society. I cannot stress enough how horrific this disease was and how tb psychologically affected the sufferer and its loved ones. Many tb sufferers never saw their loved ones again due to their families shunning them. I interviewed the elderly who remembered family members suffering from the disease and it still haunts their lives today. We see some of the shunning and stigma in the game, not just from the townspeople but from the gang. It's actually one of the reasons why I truly dislike a few unexpected gang members, for example.

At least Abigail, Charles, Tilly, John, and Sadie still treated him as a human. Hell, Even Molly was kinder to him and she was really suffering in chapter 6.

I will tell you right now, realistically speaking, in no way could Arthur have done anything at all in chapter six. I’m not only talking missions, but any sort of work. I won't go into graphic details, but one of the less graphic ones is that his hands would struggle to grasp objects, especially a gun. His joints would be too swollen. I know because I've seen it firsthand with my father and read plenty of accounts about it. Other than that, the game does a pretty great job of representing TB - however, Arthur could have been arrested or fined for spitting blood on the street which he did quite often in the game. Link goes to an academic article, but here is a more accessible link.

By 1899, people had been heading west for TB treatment for decades. People of all races headed west to Colorado, California, New Mexico, and Arizona being the prime locations. Dry air and or mountainous air were your best bets. Colorado was quite literally known as THE place for TB tourism as it was called. It was one of the first major waves of health tourism in the history of the USA.

Another famous person and case study is Dr. Edward Livingston Trudeau. He himself suffered from tuberculosis who sent up tuberculosis huts in Saranac Lake, NY. For further study, other key locations include Asheville, North Carolina and in the mountainous regions of Pennsylvania. They huts looked like this:

These were also in Colorado Springs, Colorado Springs was full of them and they are still occasionally found in people’s yards today.

I visited one in the Pioneer museum in Colorado Springs. I can post my pictures later, but this is one found in an outdoor museum.

The TB patients had a very strict regimen of never leaving the bed and used bed pans. Healthier patients had access to their own private toilet. Stronger patients could work on doctor approved exercises, while even healthier TB patients who weren't ready to leave facilities yet could spend the rest of their time working around the camp or sanatorium. Below is how Arthur would have looked getting treatment if he wasn’t in a hut or tent:

Above: Women receiving treatment. Below: An 1899 TB facility. Most tuberculosis sanitoriums were built from 1905 onwards so John’s era was FULL of them. The peak of the sanitarium era though was 1920-1940ish.

The problem is TB patients had a very chance of suffering from pneumonia once TB went into remission. It's happened in tons of my case studies. If Arthur could have survived both TB AND pneumonia, then he would have been considered "Ok". Not good, but “Ok”. However, I can't predict how long he would have lived afterwards. Some TB patients had tuberculosis come in a second wave. This is, unfortunately, very common. Some people lived a few months, a few years and some lived decades after surviving the second wave.

Fortunately, survival after two waves include people who lived hard, like Arthur. Trudeau lived till 68, and that is after 2 bouts of TB and pneumonia, with the third wave of TB being his cause of death.

This is very likely a reason why Arthur would have been in New Austin if they had kept him in the epilogue and continued the TB storyline. I personally do NOT think John was ever going to kill him. MISC NOTES: Related to RDR: Important side note: Sex workers were especially blamed for spreading TB which makes sense because of the contact with multiple people, but it's not that different than someone who works at a factory every day, runs a shop or works at the docks, or in similar situations. Anyone could spread it. This is why it is actually technically very offensive to ask someone like Abigail if she had TB because it would be a way to imply she is unclean as a person. (Which people in the game already believe with some of the fandom similarly treating her poorly.) The history of sex work is my other specialty, so I am very familiar with their history. I will say, from what I gathered, sex workers did NOT seem to be that much more affected than others, but at the same time, we don't have a lot of records of people who weren't white upper-class Christian men. So we have these records if these people were arrested, but remember that all of the examples of people I mentioned were viewed as second-class citizens. Therefore, we have hardly any records of sex workers as actual people and historians have to be creative to find other ways to research them properly. Modern day: TB is also becoming antibiotic-resistant at a frightening pace. This will become a massive problem. Treatment requires at least two antibiotics - streptomycin being the main choice for the primary antibiotic. This treatment lasts months, and these antibiotics are insanely strong. They can really mess with the body's system. I've seen it. My father was one of the lucky ones only having to take the pills for 8 months. Many others take it from a year to even 18 months. Other people take the pills and undergo radiation therapy to treat TB. Modern science can't produce enough new antibiotics to outpace it, but alternative treatments do appear to be promising. If you want me to write more about TB or for any other history questions, feel free to send me an anon/message. Additional pics: Below: Sanitarium built around 1905.

Below: An example of a finished Sanatorium in 1911ish:

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dewitty1 · 29 days

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Fic Recs Wrap Up March 2024♡(੭ˊ͈ ꒵ˋ͈)੭*･:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*☆

tissue of silver by fearlessdiva

A love story concerning possessed furniture, black silk pyjamas, courtroom drama, premonitions of doom, assassination attempts, Death Eater yoga, absinthe, bare feet and a sensible werewolf. Rec Post

The Piano by shushu_yaoi_lj @orange-peony

He arrives on a boat during a particularly stormy day. Harry knew Astoria Greengrass had sent for a husband, someone to keep her company on the particularly dreary and dark winter days on this remote island. Harry didn’t know who it was she had arranged to be sent here. All he knew was that the weather was horrid today, and the Portkeys had never properly worked in this remote corner of the North Sea. The island was special, its magic working in odd and surprising ways. Rec Post

Turn From Stone by harryromper @harryromper

Something happened in the hours after the final battle, after the evacuation of the living and the dead. As the last of the survivors left the castle, and as the castle itself turned its wounded back on them all. The loss of Hogwarts has been felt by their entire community. And it’s something that needs to be put right. Harry knows there’s nothing he can do to stop Hermione (war hero, historian, author of the reissued “Hogwarts: A History”) once she sets her mind to something. Even an extremely risky last-ditch effort to restore the ancient castle and lay its newest ghosts to rest. What he wasn’t counting on was her insistence that Draco Malfoy be part of the plan. Rec Post

With and Without You by Shewhxmustnxtbenamed @shewhomustnotbenamed

Harry and Draco realize that they’ve been living in the same building for the past five years, hiding from the Wizarding world in Muggle London for a variety of reasons. They grow unexpectedly close and Harry realizes that Draco’s relationship with his boyfriend is abusive, spiraling as he tries and fails to figure out how to help. In Harry’s rejection of the Wizarding world in general, he has fallen out of touch with his friends and his magical abilities, but has to reconnect with both in order to find himself again. Rec Post

Inevitable [Drarry] by violenttulips @violenttulips

After the war, Harry Potter becomes a talented Senior Auror with a penchant for injury in defense of his colleagues. Draco Malfoy leaves the country for five years and becomes an accomplished Specialty Healer. He comes back after he accepts a job at St. Mungo’s Hospital. When they meet again, it’s clear that Draco has changed significantly in the years since they attended Hogwarts together, and Harry finds himself strangely attracted to his former rival. But things never come easy for the Boy-Who-Lived, and that’s not about to change now. Rec Post

Learn To Fly by Ladderofyears @ladderofyears

January 2004: Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter are two of the finest Seekers in England, deadly rivals and secret lovers. As far as Draco is concerned, that’s how it’ll stay forever. He is betrothed to beautiful heiress Astoria Greengrass, and they are due to have a big summer wedding. Everything changes during a hotly fought Arrows versus Wimbourne game when Draco falls from his broom. To his huge shock, when Draco awakes in St Mungo’s, he discovers he is pregnant. What will Draco do, now everything in his tidily compartmentalised life has to change? Rec Post

He Comes Like a Thunderstorm by korlaena @korlaena

Draco is doing his best to balance the life he wants to live and the life he’s forced to live. He’s nearing the tail-end of a long, post-war probation when Harry Potter crashes back into his life with all the grace of a charging Erumpent, breaking through his carefully constructed rules and routine. Caught up in a whirlwind of sex and lust, Potter unwittingly shows Draco that his life as an Incubus doesn’t have to be as lonely and unfulfilling as he thought, but how long can it last? Rec Post

Denouement by the_never_was

Pale face in paler hands, he is devoid of color. He is only the moonlight. And he wonders if he’ll find the sun. A story about Draco entering a period of change that will either shatter him or enfold him into Harry Potter’s world. Rec Post

Here are a few more fics I've read recently that y'all might like to check out as well!(ノﾟ∀ﾟ)ノ━☆ﾟ･*:.｡. .｡.:*･.*･｡ﾟ*:・ﾟ✧

Stalking Harry by orphan_account

Harry Potter is the most eligible bachelor in the Wizarding world. Draco Malfoy is a disgraced ex-Death Eater with emotional baggage and a bit of a crush.

Through His Eyes (I Am Set Free) by Shewhxmustnxtbenamed @shewhomustnotbenamed

Harry and Draco have a telepathic connection that remains unexplained in both the Muggle and wizarding worlds. Draco is assigned a mission by Voldemort to locate and capture the Boy Who Lived-- the trouble is that they don't know anything about him. While Draco struggles to gather information on this mysteriously absent hero, he and Harry start communicating again for the first time since they were kids. Harry continues life as normal until he discovers information which compels him to abandon his ordinary Muggle life with the endeavor to rescue and emancipate his only friend-- even if that means bartering with his own life.

A Private Reason for This by Femme (femmequixotic) @femmequixotic

When the wife of a star politician in the Scottish Ministry turns up dead just outside Hogsmeade, Draco Malfoy and his murder investigation team are called in from the Edinburgh Auror force to find her killer. What DCI Malfoy doesn't expect, however, is to have an ex from two decades past end up in his murder room, endangering not only his case, but also his heart.

Consequences of Redemption by bobbirose @ominousflags

When Draco makes an impromptu decision to rescue Harry Potter from Malfoy Manor, the two find themselves completely alone and facing the looming climax of the war against Voldemort. Harry must start from the beginning with Draco--and starting over has more consequences than either of them anticipated.

( •ॢ◡-ॢ)-♡ I hope you enjoy these fics as much as I have! Happy reading, y’all! xoxo Carey (◍•ᴗ•◍)♡ ✧*💜💙💚💛❤💗💕💖

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embras-grace · 5 months

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It's time to rant about my human in Palia: Ori Tian

He is awful and I love him. You can learn more about my human under the cut! This information is not spoiler free as his character changes over time as we learn more about the world.

Ori Tian || He/Him They/Them || 29-30 || The Watcher

Ori's history makes more sense with a few key points (some of which are spoilers you learn when talking to folks/exploring the world):

Kilima was built on the ruins of an ancient human school (I think of it as a university)

The ruins were where humans were forced to go by the human king (the Fire Temple lore) where it seems they were getting more and more ridiculous orders. I consider this to be when humanity's downfall was fast approaching.

The disaster that killed the humans was not just Flow (which I see as a global warming metaphor) but also an attack from Shadow Creatures (the Library you unlock with Jina).

The human downfall took hundreds if not thousands of years until they finally died out. They didn't go out with a bang, but with a painful whimper.

All humans have innate magical abilities. Some humans spend their whole lives learning how to tap into them, others are born with a close connection.

Human Life

Ori was a professor at the university and the dean of the humanities department which happened to be part of the school's administration. Their specialty was ethics and mortality, especially when it came to magic and Flow. They helped students organize various clubs and organizations inside the school, as well as supporting them during walk-outs or demonstrations against the king for trying to force people into "safety areas" to "wait out the danger" instead of facing the problem head on and cleaning up the mess humans had made that was destroying their world.

To students, Ori was known as the laid-back professor who was easy to talk to, but who wasn't afraid to talk back and be firm when needed. His tests were hell on earth but his classes were fun to those interested in a good-natured debate of philosophical principles and theories. He took it easy, but he took it.

To fellow professors and adults, Ori was a belligerent and sometimes down-right rude person. He had no problem calling people out for acting immature or acting ridiculous given certain circumstance (despite being hypocritical at times as a very hyper person themselves). The amount of fist-fights Ori has gotten into in university board meetings was too many too count.

He was outspoken against the king and didn't bother to hide his politics, which put them in a lot of danger. But Ori had one special thing that kept them safe from a great majority of threats: magic.

Ori was born with a natural affinity for fire magic and his anger could become explosive (literally). His flames were hot enough to melt iron and--when incredibly agitated--he could make anything he touched spontaneously combust. Yet this natural affinity came with a strict control he tried to keep tamped down... except when he couldn't in arguments. Fire brimming at the edges of his clothes (they never really caught on fire--clothes are expensive!) and his hair becoming bright flames. It's no wonder he was considered one of Embra's chosen.

On top of being a professor, a dean, and an activist Ori also managed the Phoenix Shrine. He was the primary caretaker, although he was as close to secular as someone could get in Palia. Is Embra real? Yes. Is she a goddess? Sure, why not. Does that mean you can't argue with her and have to accept everything she says or does? No fucking way!!! Ori is whatever the equivalent of a Jew is in Palia and he is very proud of his heritage, traditions, and beliefs.

His best friend was a kitsuu who followed him around the university and joined him on a lot of his routines for the temple. They could never be separated, his friend bringing him gifts from the natural world and Ori returning the favor with food and shiny things. His other close friend was Einar--who remembers Ori and what Ori did when he died.

Ori's death happened when the Shadow Creatures attacked the school. Many had already been moved to the temples, but Ori had stayed outside to protect the students that didn't want to go yet. When the evacuation order came to get everyone to safety, Ori was left at what is now known as the Mirror Pond Ruins.

When the last students were fleeing into the library--unable to get to the Water Ruins, Ori stood as the last guard to buy them time to lock the door. His magic was always explosive and he gave the Shadow Creatures the best show he could: he immolated himself in a massive explosion to protect the students he swore to protect. Taking out any Shadow Creatures in the nearby vicinity.

The only thing left behind was a pendant.

Kilima Life

Ori doesn't remember anything after being reincarnated. At first when he woke up Jina had to walk him through a lot of things, but slowly some stuff started coming back to him. His traditions, his knowledge of what he once studied, his love of researching, his hatred of authoritarian governments and anyone that bans or burns books, and intolerance for adults acting like immature brats.

He's slowly remembering some recipes he used to cook (thanks to Reth's help), other human languages he learned, more about life for humans, but a lot of it is very fuzzy and comes back slowly.

Still, though, he doesn't recognize the kitsuu who had great fun trying to get his attention with the help of Tau and can't comprehend why they keep little him little presents every day... and he doesn't remember his old friend Einar. Maybe it'll come back eventually, but there is one thing he is starting to remember...

Magic.

And he won't let the Order take it from him.

#palia #palia oc #palia player character #I love my fantastic asshole of a pc #he's a nice guy with a kind heart #but he doesn't put up with shit #he's already had a massive argument then Kenyatta for being a constant child about her mother #and potentially ruining Jel's chances to impress his mom for a childish vendetta #he has no patience for it #if it came from Auni or Najuma then fine but someone who says they are an adult but act likes a bratty child?#No 1000% not #he still likes her but he sees her as like a student of his #and that she has some things to learn #but in the other hand him dismissing her problems with her mother isn't cool of him #he does have some severe PTSD from his death too #he doesn't know why he panics sometimes or has nightmares or flashbacks to fire everywhere but #one day he'll remember #till then Reth Jel and Hodari are there to help him #Einar is patient knowing one day they're friend will remember them

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mistbow · 3 months

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The Storyteller of Time in Zestiria is a person who watches over the history of the world and also passes on the truth. (I also believe Sorey became one in the ending.)

But do you know that the Japanese term for it (刻遺の語り部) has a deeper meaning than just mere storyteller, dissecting from a Shinto perspective?

First off, let's get the first part (刻遺, which got translated as mere Time in English). I've explained this before, but the word "time" being written as "刻" has a specific connotation related to divisions of time and carries a sense of carving or engraving (for example, 刻む can also be used metaphorically to mean to engrave something deeply in one's memory or emotions), and as for 刻遺 in its entirety, it implies "abandoned in time" ("刻に遺される") or generally not affected by time = their long lifespan. They're also not allowed to directly interfere with history (time itself) and their existence is akin to a taboo, therefore basically making them forgotten by history itself despite the one being preserving it.

The Storyteller (語り部) part is actually more interesting that you might have thought, since Zestiria is very much inspired by Japanese history (I've talked a lot about this too), there actually exists a concept of kataribe (語り部) in ancient Japanese too.

In ancient Japan, kataribe serves as shokugyoubu (職業部), which were government-owned civilians belonging to the Wa royal authority (倭王権, Yamato kingship), engaging in social specialization with the special skills and techniques necessary for maintaining the kingship, however, they typically lead everyday lives as commoners, contributing periodically through labor or offering specialty products, in support of the royal authority; within the Shinabe (品部), a caste within the kingship. Kataribe's responsibility is to recite ancient traditions and present them during court ceremonies, during a time when written records, possibly using characters predating kanji (Chinese characters, which obviously were imported from China), were not well-developed too. They recite eulogies called yogoto (寿詞) during ceremonies that were associated with imperial rituals such as miare (御阿礼, advent of noblemen/kami) and minie (御贄, sacred offerings presented to kami).

One such kataribe member was Hieda-no-Are as mentioned in Kojiki (古事記, the oldest record text in Japan, I talked about it here). Interestingly, Hieda-no-Are is one of the instrumental figures of Kojiki, being that they were one of the compilers themself, yet very little was known about them, not even their exact gender, with their ancestry possibly tracing back to Ame-no-Uzume-no-Mikoto, the kami of dawn and arts. Hieda-no-Are was a Shinto priest who served the Imperial House (this kind of priest is also known as 舎人, toneri/shajin), and at the age of 28, they were entrusted with the recitation and study of texts such as the Teiki (帝紀) and Kyuuji (旧辞) due to his exceptional memory. During the reign of Emperor Genmei (元明天皇), by imperial decree, Tai-An Maro (太安万侶) recorded Hieda-no-Are's recitations, leading to the compilation of the Kojiki.

The presentation of specific kataribe activities is also found in the Engishiki (延喜式), which notes that during the Senso-Daijousai (践祚大嘗祭, the largest festival ever held in an Emperor's life, as it is the first time after ascending to the throne that the Emperor dedicates new grains to the Tenjin, including Amaterasu, and partakes in the festival by consuming the harvest, a significant ceremony occuring only once in the reign of each Emperor), the Sukune (宿禰) of Tomo-no-miyatsuko (伴造) and Saeki-no-atai (佐伯) clans led eight members from Mino (美濃), two from Tanba (丹波), two from Tango (丹後), seven from Tajima (但馬), three from Inaba (因幡), four from Izumo (出雲), and two from Awaji (淡路) (btw these are all places in old Japan) to recite ancient verses (古詞, furugoto). The content is not explicitly detailed, but it likely involved traditions and legends spanning the origin and inheritance of spirits of the past Emperors.

With the introduction of foreign religions, the traditional kataribe evolved as well, and terms such as shukugo (祝詞, liturgical prayers) were used for traditional rituals in Shinto, while those that reached the common people transformed into saibun (祭文, festival documents), shichou (詞章, poems), and katarimono (語りもの, storytelling), each with different purposes. Nowadays, in the modern Japan, kataribe basically refers to people who carry out activities to pass down the lessons of history, particularly of disasters and incidents, and I feel all this is in line with how kataribe is also like in Zestiria, and another reason why Sorey ending as a kataribe is a fitting conclusion for him--the game is about turning legends and traditions into hope (伝承はいつしか「希望」になる is the tagline after all) and that history is more than just a record of a past, but something to learn from too.

#tales of #tales of zestiria #mino talks zesty

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spaceflower07 · 2 months

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Name: Arthur Kirkland Specialty: Ghost/Dark Place of Origin: Wyndon, Galar Team: Mismagius(main), Chandelure, Galarian Rapidash, Aegislash, Serpirior, Shiny Pumpkaboo, Gallade Not used for battle: Polteageist Rank: Top 10 (Galar) Top 50 (Globally) Pokemon he hates/fears: he had disdain for everything and everyone in general except for Ghost and Dark types.

As a Pokemon trainer, he had been ruthless and power-hungry with his competitive drive to be the strongest. This had led him to rise through the ranks quite quickly, aggravating his already chronic arrogance. He had been very punk back then, but has since calmed down into a more gentlemanly disposition. However, his past attitude has gained him haters, and many people hold disdain for him to this day. It doesn't bother him, though (or so he says). As an adult, Arthur is now a Pokémon history researcher, delving into the mythology, history, and cultural significance of Pokémon. His fascination with folklore, magic, and legends makes him well-suited to study ancient Pokémon species, artifacts, and mysterious phenomena. Additionally, his meticulous nature and love for tradition would lead him to specialize in documenting regional variations of Pokémon and their habitats. Not to say that he has abandoned battling—he is also an Elite Four Member specializing in Dark types, renowned as one of the strongest in Galar.

Arthur and his siblings were orphaned after their parents' tragic death at sea, leaving their eldest brother, Scott, to care for them. Despite their affluent lifestyle in an opulent manor, the family chose not to touch their inheritance, leaving Arthur with only hand-me-downs and a sense of being overshadowed. This fueled him to become a Pokemon trainer, as he saw it as the quickest way to put his name on the map and accomplish something outside of his brothers. Arthur joined the Allies' traveling group with this goal, but after their adventures, he realized battling wasn't his true calling and turned to documenting his journey in writing, focusing on Pokémon history and mythology at the Astral Institute. He is a longtime rival of Francis Bonnefoy, who has been his friend since childhood after the latter had saved him from drowning. Despite their fierce rivalry, they are inseparable. They have always been together in everything, so Arthur's temper is worsened whenever they are separated.

#aph england #hws england #hetalia england #pokemon #poketalia #poketalia england #try not to make all of your characters parentless challenge impossible #also try not to sneak your ship in challenge impossible #arthur kirkland #kirkland brothers

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unearthitaly · 5 months

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Neapolitan Street Food: 6 Snacks You Should Try

Back in the days, having a meal “on the go” in Naples had little to do with hurry, but rather with poverty. Eating street food was cheap and, at the beginning of the 20th century, you could actually buy a portion of pizza for just one soldo.

Nowadays, even though the love for a table laden with food and conviviality is undeniable, street food is a common habit very ingrained in the local culture.

Here following, you will find a list of some of the street food you should try while in Naples. The amount of this kind of food is quite consistent, but here I’m listing only some of the most common specialties, easier to access for tourists.

Pizza a portafoglio

Pizza a portafoglio ( literally "pizza wallet-style") is a lighter version of the most popular pizza: it is smaller, it has less topping, and it is easier to carry around, since it is basically a “folded small pizza”. The classic version, with few ingredients, usually costs around 1,5/2 €.

Pizza fritta

Pizza fritta (“fried pizza”) was invented after WWII in order to face the crisis, given that even the classic pizza, a traditionally cheap food, had become a luxury, due to the difficulty to find and pay for ingredients like tomato and mozzarella.

The dough, during the frying process, inflates and the empty space is filled with ricotta cheese, salami and mozzarella. At the time, preparation and selling happened on the streets: the dough, previously prepared by the pizzaiolo, was fried and sold by his wife in a stall located along the alley.

Cuoppo

The Neapolitan cuoppo is a cone of vax paper filled with fried goodies. The traditional cuoppo (“cuoppo fritto” or “cuoppo di terra”) is usually composed by zeppoline salate, panzarotti (called also crocchè) made with potatoes, cheese and ham, Neapolitan arancini, mozzarella in carrozza and scagliuozz (small triangles of fried polenta). A more recent invention is the “cuoppo di mare”, made with fried fish and fried vegetables.

Tarallo sugna e pepe

This is quite an old recipe, which is the result of the resourcefulness of 1700’s bakers who were located in the fondaci, a very poor area near the port. Instead of throwing away the leftovers of the dough used to make the bread, they opted for re-using them, giving them a ring shape and adding pepper and lard. At the beginning of 1800, almonds were also added to the recipe, giving birth to the a snack, which was sold by peddlers and that represented a nourishing yet cheap food for the poor Neapolitan workers.

Nowadays you can find taralli in the osterie (inns), served with wine, beer or even sea water, and they are sold in the tarallerie (specialized shops) and bakeries.

Frittatina di pasta

Frittatine di pasta are often consumed in pizzerias as an appetizer before pizza, or as street food. A frittatina is a disc of dough of 10 cm, filled with bucatini pasta, white sauce, peas, ham and provola cheese, covered with batter and fried. Some varieties also contain ragù (see pic).

Sfogliatella

One of the most common street desserts is the famous sfogliatella, invented in the 18th century, by the nuns of the ancient St.Rosa Cloister located in the Amalfi coast. For this reason, the sweet was called “Sfogliatella Santarosa”.

At the beginning of the following century, one of the nuns passed the recipe to her nephew P. Pintauro, who had a patisserie in via Toledo in Naples and the rest is history: he modified the recipe and invented the typical Neapolitan sfogliatella. There are two versions of it, the sfogliatella frolla and the sfogliatella riccia (see pic). The filling is equal for both: it is made with semolina, ricotta cheese, eggs, sugar, candied fruits, orange blossom’s water, vanilla and cinnamon and it is very aromatic.

In Naples you usually find these two typologies, whereas in the rest of the region Campania, you can still find the original Santarosa and its spinoff version called coda d’aragosta (“lobster’s tail”), with a filling made of cream and chocolate or with chantilly cream.

If you want to read the complete version of this article, check my blog. Enjoy your next trip to Naples! 😜

Sara-Unearth Italy. Find me on WordPress, Instagram, X.

#italian food #naples #italian culture #foodporn #italian foodporn #napoli #italy #italian #travel italy #street food

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writersfantacy · 6 months

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POTENTIAL GROOM (PART 3)

Continuing the third part of the serious "POTENTIAL GROOM (part3)" :-

Mina couldn’t help but marvel at the beauty of the uzumaki palace, as Mikito was talking on about its ancient history. Mina barely registered Tobirama’s voice, as he walked beside her and tried to catch her attention. “Are you even listening, Uchiha?” he asked, sounding annoyed. “Yeah, yeah, give me a summary later on.” she said, looking around and sneaking through the gardens, as if searching for something. “What are you looking for?” Tobirama asked, his voice laced with suspicion, but he received no answer. He could tell that Mina was hiding something, but he had no idea what. Mikito was far ahead of them, so Tobirama seized the opportunity and grabbed Mina’s hand, pulling her to a secluded corner. He pinned her to a red wall, his eyes piercing into hers. “Uchiha, don’t try anything funny. We’re here for something important. What are you even looking for? Didn’t you ask for this trip?” He bombarded her with questions, his tone stern and serious. “Senju, I’m not doing anything funny. But don’t you think people walking past us will find this position of ours a little too…inviting?” She retorted, referring to his hold on her. As soon as she said that, both of them felt a flush of heat on their cheeks. They were so close, their breaths mingling. Tobirama had no ill intention; he was just used to interrogating people in an intimidating manner. His head was only a few inches away from hers.

He cleared his throat and let go of her, averting his gaze to regain his composure. He couldn’t help but think about her beautiful face that he had seen so many times and even studied it, but being so close to her again made his heart race. This had happened quite a few times, and he hated himself for letting it affect him. But he was a man of reason, so he recovered his mind as soon as it was lost in her eyes. “What were you looking for?” he asked again, with a softer voice, still not looking directly at her. “I was looking for the famous Uzumaki lotus that grows in this palace,” she said, looking around as well, trying to conceal her flustered tone. “It has amazing medical properties, I wanted to see it but Mikito won’t tell me,” then an idea flashed in her mind. She looked at Tobirama with a wide smile, he was amused to see her smile again but he knew something was up. “Why don’t you ask for it? I mean she has a crush on you, maybe she’ll tell you.” Mina clasped her hands while pondering on her brilliant idea and getting glares and disgusted expressions from Tobirama.

He shook his head I'm not getting into your stupid idea" and glared at her for suggesting such a foolish idea. But Mina’s charm was stronger than Tobirama’s resistance. “Aww… You won’t do it? Then I’ll have to explore this place alone and if I get caught, we’ll both be in trouble since we were together.” she said with a sweet smile, that she used whenever she wanted to tease him. Tobirama had no choice, he sighed “Uchihas are truly wicked” he muttered under his breath and approached Mikito. Mina was ecstatic, smiling at her own scheme. “So, he would actually do this for me…or for his pride, same thing.” “Princess Mikito, what is this Uzumaki lotus we’ve heard of?” he asked confidently, without any hesitation. It might seem suspicious to ask it directly, but his tone and manner made it more appealing. Mikito was delighted that Tobirama actually asked something or even spoke to her. “Yes, yes… It’s actually one of our specialties. It’s a medicinal flower with incredible healing powers. It was given to us by our ancestor” she beamed with joy while telling its history. Tobirama listened carefully, while keeping an eye on Mina so she wouldn’t do anything reckless. Mina wasn’t a child to do something as stupid as that, She wasn’t called clever for nothing. “I can show you if you want, I mean it’s in my room only. But it should be a secret” Mikito said, Tobirama agreed to the idea followed by Mina.

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Dear Readers,

I'll post other parts as soon as possible. Thank you for reading. please comment about next series or any other idea that you might want me to write about.

:) byee

#tobirama x reader #tobirama x uchiha reader #fanfiction #naruto founders #senju tobirama #hashirama x mito #tobirama headcanons #fanfics #ao3 fanfic #madara uchiha #uzumaki

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sad-boys-anonymous · 7 months

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Day 1: Drugging/Poisoned

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Character: Zhongli

“Some more tea, sir?” a waitress asked, holding out a jade-colored tea pot with a smile.

“I believe I will have to refuse, young lady, but I appreciate the offer,” Zhongli responded, patting the cloth napkin in his lap, “It’s gotten quite late, and Miss Hu Tao will be expecting me early in the morning. I should be taking my leave.”

“Surely you don’t mean that!” bemoaned the man across the table from him, Suyun, “It’s been years since I’ve been able to talk to someone with as much rich knowledge about the history of Liyue as yourself!”

Zhongli had encountered Suyun on the outskirts of Qingce village, admiring a weathered marble statue of a turtle that stood vigil by the mouth of a creek. The two had struck up a conversation about the subject of the statue, a long dead adepti that had served as the protector of the village. Zhongli had been surprised that the man had any knowledge of Stone Weaver, as he thought the stories of his dear servant had been lost to the sands of time. He learned that Suyun was a newly hired professor at the Akademiya, with a specialty in ancient Liyuian history. They decided to move the conversation to a nearby teahouse, where the time seemed to fly by.

It wasn’t often that Zhongli was able to speak at length with a mortal about such subjects and actually be understood, but Suyun was an immensely knowledgeable historian. The encounter had left him with a pleasant buzz, something he had been lacking since the loss of his gnosis.

“Well, I…” Zhongli glanced over his shoulder, hoping to take a look outside. The curtains had been drawn, strangely. The other tables around them had emptied, and the staff were nowhere to be seen, except for the lone waitress that had been providing them refreshments.

“You must stay, I insist!” Suyun urged. The tea in his cup stirred. Zhongli hadn’t noticed until now that Suyun hadn’t taken a sip since the evening began. “You were just about to tell me about the connection between the sedimentary deposits of Mingyun village and the religious practices of the area!”

“Ah, yes, well I suppose we could talk a little longer about that…” his voice trailed off, his words becoming more difficult to string together. The dull aching in his stomach that had persisted through the evening seemed to spike, now a cramp that his hand involuntarily spring to cradle. He turned to the waitress nearby, taking a shaky breath, “Miss, if you would, I would like some water…”

Suyun’s hands were folded on the table, unbothered by the man doubled over in front of him. “Is something the matter, Mr. Zhongli? You seem pale.” There was something sinister in his voice, that even Zhongli could hear through the buzzing in his ears.

A cold realization flooded over him as all the pieces clicked into place. Zhongli gripped his face with a sweaty, trembling hand, his voice dipping into a low growl.

“Suyun, what did you do to my drink?”

Suyun smiled. “Oh, nothing too special, just a bit of silkroot to help you…relax.”

Silkroot. A fairly bitter herb, that after being dried and processed into a fine powder, could be used as a potent sedative. It was traded commonly among the criminal underworld of Liyue, as an easy drug that was difficult to trace and simple to administer. Normally, Zhongli would scoff at the use of such substances, as his immortal body could weather far worse.

However, Zhongli did not have an immortal body anymore.

With the loss of his gnosis had also come the introduction of a frail human body. He could no longer eat whatever tasty food caught his eye, as his stomach was far too sensitive for that. He not only needed sleep, but he learned one could sleep “wrong,” which would leave his back aching long into the day. It was a humbling experience, living life as the people of Liyue Harbor had for generations.

The room around him had become a fluid, pitching back and forth with every minute movement of Zhongli’s head. Zhongli grit his teeth, lunging to his feet. An invisible wave crashed into him, unceremoniously dragging him down onto his hands and knees.

Suyun let out a dry laugh. “I never thought I would see the day that the mighty Morax was brought to his knees.”

Morax. His body flinched as if it had been electrocuted. The shock gave him the energy to lift his head, calling upon all of the residuals of his Archon power he could muster to shift his eyes into a more draconic appearance. It made Suyun hesitate, if only for a moment.

His body, which had once been as sturdy and unmoving as stone, now felt like jelly. Zhongli’s cheek made contact with the cool tile floor before his brain was able to comprehend that it was even falling. A hand grabbed the back of his head, forcing his line of sight back on Suyun. The man seemed to swim in the murky haze that had seeped into Zhongli’s vision.

Suyun’s words came from the other end of a long tunnel, muffled, but just loud enough for Zhongli to make out.

“Osial sends his regards.”

#ailesswhumptober2023 #victors writing #genshin impact #zhongli genshin impact #whump writing #whump

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dujour13 · 5 months

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💎💎💎When you and Sia have time! your choice :3

Larksharius and Rimerock. How can I talk about one without the other? They’re Alrakis, the twin stars.

He orders another glass of that mediocre Andoren wine he loves so much before he gets started. From his eager smile you can tell there's a story.

When I made my pilgrimage to meet the ancient silver dragon Rimerock I was anxious, if you can believe it. I’m not shy, I’m sure you’ve noticed, but my specialty is people. Dragons are very different creatures. I humbly confess I know little about them except when it comes to baby havoc dragons, and I’m out of my depth even with the noble metallic sort who don’t usually roast people on sight. I left Aivu behind because—well, Hal is still trying to teach her dragon manners. And Jharsy’s just too young and controversial to act as an ambassador, so I went by myself.

When I approached him I wasn’t sure if Rimerock would try to kill me, but after I explained why I was there he agreed to talk, and he even invited me into his home. He was dignified, reserved, but cordial. He seemed not to know what to make of me at first either.

And then into the study where he received me suddenly appeared the archlich. Larksharius. Nothing like you’d expect—soft-spoken, graceful and welcoming, bringing us hot tea.

Once Lark joined us, Rimerock thawed toward me. Haha, I only figured it out later. Ri is just shy!

They’ve both lived through so much. Hearing them talk is like learning the vast history of an empire. It’s not what I was there to ask Rimerock but I learned a great deal from both of them about immortality… and its dangers. Especially loneliness.

Rimerock has had to fight his way to peace, against outside forces and against himself. It’s never-ending, and yet he perseveres. I think because he shoulders a lot of blame and self-doubt and feels he owes it to the world to keep fighting. He holds himself to an impossible standard. He’s so much better than he thinks.

And Lark—in undeath they’ve often drifted toward the River of Souls and tested its waters for the respite they offer, but they’ve also hung on even when it felt like there was nothing to hang on for. Such a gentle soul to have been hurt so much. Ultimately, they were right not to let go, because they found Ri.

The two of them are ancient and wise, but to my surprise and delight there’s something youthful about how they look at the world—fresh and full of wonder.

That comes from their love. Since they found each other it’s spring again.

I have the deepest respect for them, but now that I know them better, affection too. Ah, they’re so in love! You can’t help filling up with it when you’re around them. You go away feeling refreshed and full of hope. Ri wasn’t able to help me with all my questions, but I found something I hadn’t even known I needed. And I have a couple new friends. And possibly babysitters for Aivu when Hal can’t take any more.

#friends' ocs #larksharius #rimerock #larksharius x rimerock #alrakis #siavash #pwotr pals #he was a little bit scared of them at first but he loves them so much #(so do I)

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asimplearchivist · 10 months

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𝓒𝓗. 𝓥 — [𓂧𓁷𓏏] (‘𝓭𝓗𝓻𝓽’ | 𝓫𝓲𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓷𝓮𝓼𝓼)

𝐂𝐇. 𝐕 𝐨𝐟 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐊𝐄𝐏𝐓.

[𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽] [ 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐊𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 ] AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST summary ☾ ⤏ khonshu knows, logically, that your shared arrangement will not last forever—it cannot. such is the nature of humanity, to change on a whim. he realizes, however, that it is difficult to face. ⤏ an unexpected boon granted from the child he’d blessed makes that concept complicated still. pairing ☽ khonshu/singlemom!avatar!reader word count ☾ 11.0k a/n ☽ [header credit] ⤏ this is one of those chapters that I struggled with greatly, if the length of time between updates is any indication. the first scene spilled forth effortlessly. the rest of it? like prying teeth. i am not one to utilize time skips to help with progressing plot because i feel it is over (and so often poorly) done, but due to the nature of this fic and its (admittedly loose) timeline in my mind, i will have to work out of my comfort zone and let it slide more than keep it rigid. hopefully the end result is halfway smooth. my apologies that it took so long—y’all’s comments really kept poking my conscience to get me going again. please enjoy! :) ☽ MASTERPOST ☾ ☾ PREVIOUS CHAPTER ⤎ ☥ ⤏ NEXT CHAPTER ☽

Human courtship rituals had never made sense in ancient history, and they certainly didn't in the present day—even less so, perhaps.

What one culture might have found offensive, another regarded it as a necessity. Taboos and essentials abounded without any sense of rationality, nor any modicum of moderation. Such social constructs appeared difficult enough to navigate without accounting for the fickle natures of mortals with their own individual preferences. Everyone had a 'type', and everyone expected a certain list of behaviors to be demonstrated by suitors of that type—often without communicating such needs to their partner, expecting them to intrinsically know what to do, and when or how to do it.

The entire ordeal always seemed pointless to Khonshu. At the end of the process, no matter how varied, the result was the same: the humans copulated, and most produced children as a result of the union. Many realized that their partner was not as appealing as once anticipated or chose to deceive them, so splits in family units were common—though so much more in the past couple of centuries than ever before. Children were always torn in the tumult that such division wrought despite its necessity at times.

Khonshu had observed it time and again, this so-called "love" about which humans waxed so wistfully in endless records of poetry and songs and art, frequently the perpetrator of heartache and sorrow and war. It blinded and leached and crumbled anyone and anything it touched. Once he was called upon by new couples for assistance in starting families, to heal their loved ones or children, or to protect a traveling husband and father while journeying back to his home throughout the night. That alone wearied him, dealing with the outer echelons of matrimony and the like—he had never understood how his kin could deal so intimately in the very heart of those matters, as messy and complicated as such feelings grew to be, without feeling exhausted at all times.

Love wasn't simple. Love had layers and contexts and depths that Khonshu didn't care to traverse. It had no concrete definition, no factual basis. It was not his specialty by any means. The judgment and execution of justice had been his closest companion for over a millenia, and it was all he needed.

His proximity to the greatest folly of humanity had narrowed significantly, once he'd reduced his influence. Even still, countless avatars under his auspices had been inflicted by romantic inclination, often resulting in him having to turn them loose to pursue it to its fullest. A mortal with no one for whom to live was a useful implement, lacking attachment—a mortal devoted to another, and to those they may create, was always harder to hone and utilize. Past experience dictated that it was better to cut ties and seek out another mortal more suited to the role he would give them.

He knew it would be better to leave you now, before the turmoil of conflicting interests set in...but he couldn't quite fathom bringing himself to do so.

Khonshu sat wordlessly within a tall windowsill of a bleak, gray brick office building across the street from the multi-level, upper-class restaurant to which your unannounced courter had brought you, arms coiled around his folded knees with his staff gripped tightly in his hands against his shins. The cold winds, acquiescent to his dour mood, whipped through the street below, snarling and biting with frigid teeth at the tails of his tattered cloak. The humans milling about hunkered into their coats and scarves to stave off their shivers, but Khonshu remained deathly still as he peered through the broad glass windows spilling sultry golden light onto the glistening pavement. The gentleman had chosen a small booth flush with the view into the narrow stone garden lining the sidewalk, sitting across from you and leaning attentively forward as you chattered on with a smile. He had driven his vehicle with caution and had opened the doors of both his car and the building for you. You were clearly charmed, fingers coiled around the stem of your glass of wine, eyelashes cast low over your eyes, heart fluttering incessantly against the inside of your ribs—he could feel it as acutely as the odd, foreign tightness within his own chest.

Khonshu had followed from lamppost to banister to rooftop the entire drive into uptown London, withholding himself from your field of vision—you'd grown attuned to his presence while he remained in the astral realm (much to his chagrin), looking over your shoulder like a tense prey animal every time you sensed him near, but if he maintained a certain distance from you he seemed to be able to avoid your detection. He kept his magic as close as possible, folded carefully around himself in a shroud that would (hopefully) conceal him from your view.

Your "date" was a good-looking man, obviously wealthy, with a sincere interest in you—Khonshu could discern no evident wrongdoing in him, no lingering malice. You found him attractive, too, if your subconscious behaviors were any indication. Your clear apprehension had evaporated almost instantly with his disarming, genteel mannerisms. He would likely care for you, with ample room to spare for your child, given his experience with his own—he would unquestionably be able to see to your needs. After that man had ruined your marriage, you'd remained mostly independent, other than your reliance on Elizabeth—but Khonshu hadn't considered that you would potentially, eventually seek out another partner with whom to share your burdens.

Khonshu had no say in the matter. He knew, logically, that he should start seeking out another candidate to be his avatar. It was difficult enough for you to care for your son, maintain your occupation, and serve himself well into the wee hours of morning, all while maintaining your secret from your closest friend—entering a new relationship would be next to impossible to manage. He had favored you for far longer and had devoted more time and power to you than he had to any of his avatars in decades—the reason he'd chosen you to begin with was an unusual one, unconventional by the Ennead's standards. It was bound to unravel at some point. The sands of time would shift, and he would yet again be moving on to another human destined to dwindle away.

And yet...

Khonshu watched you head tilt with laughter, your hand rising to cover your mouth to stifle the noise. The gentleman's eyes shone as he watched, grinning from ear to ear. His fingertips brushed yours to the side of the small appetizer plate, ginger and shy. The boiling inferno brewing within the lunar god caused the ancient wood of his staff to creak dangerously under his unforgiving grip.

Khonshu hated getting involved in humans' personal affairs. He had given too much of himself away in the days of old attempting to garner dedication from his followers—oftentimes his efforts had been shortly forgotten, their faith and worship lost once their needs had been met. He owed them nothing, even if he relied upon them for what scant sustenance he gleaned from day to day—there was a reason that his kindred had all but abandoned humanity thousands of years ago. He ultimately owed you nothing, despite the unusual circumstances of him becoming intertwined into your life.

...And yet.

Khonshu continued to observe (to make sure you were truly safe, of course—it still was his job to protect you for the time being, after all, even if that time may have been unexpectedly cut shorter due to newly developing events). He watched the waitress bring out your entrees and refills for your drinks, watched you eat far more primly than you ever did in the comfort of your own home. The gentleman continued to prove himself responsible, at least—he opted for water after his first alcoholic beverage, since he was your chauffeur for the night. You did the same, for the sake of exercising caution.

Khonshu studied (not for the first time, though he wouldn't dare admit it to himself nor another soul) your features in the borderline otherworldly lighting: the glossy sheen of your hair framing your face, the curve of your cheek, the confident jut of your chin, the feathered, gossamer shadows cast by your lashes—all accented with a brazen splash from the interior of the restaurant against the heathery gloom seeping in through the window. Khonshu hadn't seen you dress in raiment any finer than your work uniforms or your loungewear, much less the soft pigments applied to your face, but you appeared rather fetching to the eye. The gentleman had definitely taken notice, if the frequent tugging at his buttoned collar was any indication.

Food consumed and water downed, the pair of you settled in over a dessert—two separate spoons delved into the same dish. Khonshu turned his attention to the man with a far more critical gaze, noting the tension in his shoulders paired with the tightness in the corner of his mouth. Where minutes before he'd been entirely invested in your company, now he tapped his foot incessantly against the tile beneath the table. Anxiety? Or anticipation?

Mid-bite, the gentleman stopped. He dropped his eyes to the tablecloth, set his spoon to the side, and murmured something that caused your expression to morph faintly into concern. You responded, offering him a small smile, and watched him as he folded the cloth napkin laid over his lap, set it to the side, and stood to make a bee-line deeper into the establishment and out of Khonshus' sight.

Ideas raced through Khonshu's mind. He'd seen such behavior numerous times: of predators growing excited to latch onto their prey. The mere thought that the man could have the audacity to bring you any harm nearly blinded him with boiling rage.

Before he could even form another comprehensible thought, Khonshu had already dropped into the booth across from you in the gentleman's place, throwing down his invisibility with a snap that made you jump and curse out loud. Several other patrons near your table cast sidelong glances of incredulity, murmuring amongst themselves.

You stared at him for a beat, eyes rounded and lips parted, before snatching your phone out of your purse and pressing it to your ear—though your heated gaze never faltered from his.

"You could've given me a little warning," you hissed, and the lingering scrutiny from the other humans was dismissed for the acceptance of your simply taking an unexpected call. "What are you doing?"

He is acting suspiciously, Khonshu growled, leaning over the table. He was comically large compared to it; the tops of his thighs would be pressing into its underside if he were corporeal. I suggest that you leave while he's distracted.

"What do you mean?" you questioned, frowning.

He has grown nervous. He may be preparing to act upon his deceit. I have seen such behavior before in individuals new to malfeasance or working as a front for others.

Your brows wrinkled in disbelief. "Are you serious?"

Khonshu squeezed the grip of his staff, propped to the side of the plush leather seat. Despite the lack of moonlight, I can take you back—

"Have you been spying on me?" you interrupted sharply.

Khonshu stopped, taken aback by your anger. I—

"Oh my god, you were," you continued, voice pitching. You pressed your face into your free hand, propping an elbow on the edge of the table. "You were actually—" You let out a harsh sigh, squeezing your eyes shut. "I cannot believe you."

I am trying to keep you out of danger, Khonshu began, voice hardening, and that man—

"Is as harmless as a dove." You lifted your gaze back to him, blazing like wildfire. "I've never tried prying into your personal matters when you're not hanging around me. This is the one night a month I don't have to run around the city for you, and you still can't let me have any damned privacy."

Rarity of rarities, Khonshu was rendered speechless by your audacity. He let out a low rumble, his free fist curling atop the tablecloth. The glasses shivered where they stood, their melting ice cubes rattling. You forget exactly to whom you speak.

"My damned chaperone, apparently," you growled right back. "I am a grown-ass adult and I can handle myself—"

Sodjem eni, Sri mewt—Ianuk mktyek*! the god of the moon boomed from the depths of his chest, rattling the cutlery and porcelain. A couple having exited the restaurant inadvertently let in a violent gust of frigid wind through the door that nearly blew the host at the front off his feet. The other patrons shivered and eyed their table settings warily. You would do well to heed my warning—

"You've taught me how to defend myself, and I'd be able to get away if I had to," you retorted. "But for god's sake, Khonshu, it's just a date—"

A soft, uncertain clearing of one's throat caused you to jump again, turning and placing your phone face-down on the tabletop. The gentleman was back, face wan and eyes reddened, looking rather downtrodden compared to his earlier assured demeanor.

"Gideon, what's wrong?" you asked immediately, concern flooding over you in place of your ire. Khonshu leaned back, eyeing him skeptically. "Are you okay?"

"I am all right, choupinette." He offered you a small, thin smile. "I have already taken care of the bill." You opened your mouth to protest, but he waved you off gently. "Please, it is the least I could do for troubling you." He picked up his coat from the back of the seat, shrugging it on and extended an open hand to help you stand. "I need to discuss something personal with you, however."

You frowned, glancing towards Khonshu, but accepted the man's assistance—he held your coat for you as you threaded your arms through, cradled your purse as you buttoned up and readjusted your scarf, and offered you his elbow as he walked you back out into the cold night air. Khonshu followed closely behind, looming just within arm's reach of you.

"I have thoroughly enjoyed your company tonight," Gideon told you quietly, tucking you into his side to block off the wind blustering by and tugging at the ends of your hair. "You are a delightfully intellectual woman, and I hope you enjoyed yourself."

"I did," you confessed. You were watching his face, gauging—and you'd occasionally peek over your shoulder at your brooding shadow. "Thank you for taking me out, it was really nice. I appreciate your time—and you didn't have to foot the ticket."

"You are welcome." Gideon's gaze was fixated upon the street. "But please do not rob me of my courtesy—I was raised to have chivalry." He lightly squeezed your gloved hand with his own, taking a steadying breath. "...I was not entirely forthcoming with you, I am afraid."

You tensed slightly. Khonshu observed the flash of several emotions over your face—surprise, suspicion, distrust, namely—in time with your racing thoughts. Is he secretly remarried? Was he just after sex? Did he chicken out because you had repulsed him somehow? "I'd really rather you be transparent with me," you finally said, low and tight.

"It is what you are owed for your earnesty and patience with me." He finally met your beseeching stare, gray eyes glimmering. A fine, misty drizzle began to descend from the mantle of clouds hanging low overhead, catching on your eyelashes. "I...please, do not take this as any lack of interest on my part. You are truly a fine woman whom any man of sense and repute should pursue. Neither did I mean to deceive you in any way."

Your brow rose, just so, and you became a little more guarded. "Alright...?"

"...It's...difficult to express in a manner that wouldn't cause you any offense nor hurt." His expression wrinkled with a mixture of embarrassment and shame. "But I suppose I should just be plain, instead. I...truthfully, I thought that I might be ready to seek out another relationship, after…one that is long-term, preferably, as I would like to have stability for Abielle's sake. You have always been kind to me, and I have long admired you for your talents and capabilities since you were hired. You are dependable and steadfast, and you are not frivolous nor capricious as many other women are. You are one of the sincerest people that I have met here in England, and I..." He sighed and shook his head, voice thickening with every word. He attempted to clear his throat. "I apologize if it seems that I have led you on, but I suspect I will be unable to continue any future dates for...a while yet."

"Oh," you murmured, expression softening instantly. "No, Gideon, that's—entirely understandable. Did you think I'd be angry with you?"

He opened his mouth, debated on a response, then finally nodded remorsefully.

You stopped walking, standing in the middle of the sidewalk, and placed your hands on his arms. He could scarcely meet your eyes. "It's entirely normal to grieve a loved one for a long time," you told him patiently. "If you've had anybody telling you that you should be over it by now, they are entirely in the wrong. Everyone processes things a little differently. You'll know when you're ready to take on any changes in your life before anyone else does, so don't feel pressured to do anything that makes you uncomfortable because it's 'normal' or whatever."

He bit his lip, gratitude bleeding from him in waves. "I...thank you."

You offered him a small, wry grin. "Want to hug it out, Doc?"

Your attempt to lighten the mood worked like magic. Gideon laughed softly, wetly, and pulled you in close for a long moment. You did not release him until he drew back, patting his arm again. He dipped his head, cheeks darkening. "I...suppose I got overwhelmed. I did not know how you would react."

"Believe me, I understand more than you might think." You offered him your elbow this time, instead, and the pair of you continued to walk towards the parking garage on the other side of the block. Khonshu allowed a bit more distance between himself and you, continuing to observe. "I don't think I'm over my ex quite yet, either."

To his credit, Gideon's expression darkened for the first time that evening at the mere mention of that man. "I am sorry for what he did to you, choupinette. No one deserves that, and you least of all."

You shrugged a shoulder, dismissing it before you could dwell on it for too long. "I'm fine with just having Ru for right now. I think I've realized that I don't want to have to worry about a relationship for a long time." You chuckled softly, shaking your head. "Maybe tonight was good for the both of us."

"Perhaps," Gideon agreed. "...No hard feelings?"

"None," you chirped. You winked at him. "Now I just get bragging rights in the ward."

His low laughter tapered as you both rounded the corner. "You know it will infuriate the lot of them..."

Khonshu's stride slowed to a stop, the winds all but gone as the drizzle grew into a right and proper rain. The rigidity of his shoulders had fallen, and where once his fury had seethed in the pit of his belly, an unyielding lump remained lodged deep within his chest instead. He heard your laughter over the slosh of tires cutting through the water running into the gutters, almost out of earshot.

Khonshu's fingers tightened, and he slammed the end of his staff into the wet pavement as he punched himself back through the veil into the astral realm.

Read the rest of the chapter here! :)

#fisara's codices #fanfiction #moon knight #khonshu #reader insert #khonshu/reader #khonshu x reader #khonshu x you #mine #original character(s)#original female character(s)#original male character(s)

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dove-da-birb · 10 months

Text

Meet Antonio Salieri

Picrew | Picrew does not belong to me

Antonio Salieri

The ‘poisoner’ of Mozart. Antonio is reserved, and cunning, and will do about anything ti make sure he gets his way. Mozart avoids him at all costs. Smells like almonds. Aloof cat, not outright mean, but not friendly. - My OG notes about him but I heavily revised this.

He rolls his eyes at people who insist he’s a poisoner, and also does not appreciate that a syndrome was coined after his name; Salieri syndrome, a person in power who appears to be helping, but is only subverting their success. But he pays them no mind, and continues with his business. “Be careful with him, don’t you smell the almonds? That’s cyanide dear.” No, no it’s not, he was just baking earlier.

He lives in a modest apartment above a bakery which he owns. He does the odd performance now and then, but years of trying for fame has taken a toll on his passion for performing music.

Voice Claim; Kaname Futaba

Birthday; August 18

Height; 176 cm

Occupation; Composer, teacher, and director of the Italian opera

Hobbies; Playing violin and baking

Dislikes; Liars

Specialty; Playing the harpsichord

Weakness; Creative block

Favourite food; Almond thumbprint cookies

Hated food; Grapefruit

Vampire Type; Lesser vampire

Animal Companion; an African grey parrot named Gluck

Some History [wikipedia again; lots of info so I condensed it]

He was taught how to play music by his older brother, Francesco and ran away from home on two occasions so he could hear his older brother play in festivals. Antonio was once reprimanded by his father because he didn’t pay the proper respect to a priest, and Antonio’s reasoning for this is that the priest’s organ playing displeased him. He does not remember much of his childhood save for his love of reading, music, and sugar.

He quickly rose into the opera scene, and his works pushed against traditional opera styles, and added his own style into them. His works were mainly inspired by classic literature and dramas. His first large success in the opera sphere was with his Armida which featured a conflict of love and duty, steeped with magic, and set during the First Crusade. Many of his operas were either large successes or raised little attention.

When Joseph II came into power, Salieri slipped out of the spotlight, as all operas were to be in German, a language that he had truly never mastered. He did find success in the Parisian opera scene with his Les Danaïdes, inspired by the ancient Greek tragedy writer Aeschylus’s The Suppliants. It was so successful that it was kept on the opera scene in Paris for over forty years.

As for the ‘poisoner of Mozart’ title, there is no hard evidence that Antonio murdered Mozart, and the two were most likely respectful of each other. But he has no time for rumours and rolls his eyes at them.

Present

He is cunning, but also painfully honest as he cannot stand lies. He does try his best to achieve his goals, but unfortunately, his work is either a success or never takes off, which disheartens him. At least people seem to enjoy his baking. He and Mozart don't really talk and tend to avoid each other, but Salieri at least gives him a polite nod whenever he sees the other musician out and about. He seems aloof at first, but when he trusts you he becomes a tad warmer and teases you... but he doesn't realize it's teasing.

Tagging; @azulashengrottospiano

#ikevamp oc #antonio salieri #ikemen vampire oc #antonio is honestly the most sane option out of the ikevamp ocs i got #he can play you music; bake for you; call you italian pet names; also has a large library in his apartment #i decided to make him malewife/bbg material; you're welcome #bro will infodump about his interests if you give him the go ahead #aloof cat is secretly very sweet #looks at his partner like they hung the moon and stars #your move auburn #also a TWST VA but this time jamil's so he can also sing

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comrade-slugcat · 4 months

Note

U should tell me about glories yes yes pls

Hell yeah (sorry for the delay, I am... not good at answering asks sometimes)

Anyway, you are already familiar with the concept of iterators, which is the version of him I'm mostly going to be talk about because it's his base form (non au)

Seven golden glories is an early third generation iterator designed originally to serve as a history archive, and then hurriedly redesigned to have a bioengineering specialty due to the special way his group is set up

Essentially, the group is made up of two work pairs and the senior. Glories wasn't intended to be paired originally, but when the intended partner for EAs build site was suddenly and unexpectedly flooded by the sea, they had to use him as the replacement

fortunately this all happened before either of them were activated, so neither of them knew this for quite a while.

He's a massive jerk, manipulative and often rather cruel. His ultimate goal is to mind control everyone in the world to achieve apotheosis and become a god

you see, a god is something with ultimate power and control, and one way to get that is to be able to control everyone!

He achieve this, he started a cult, claiming to help everyone achieve true godhood (though in far different ways than his definition of it!) And secretly making them download his mind control virus, claiming it was something else that would help. And then of course once you download it it's too late to remove

And also just trying to trick people into downloading it if he thinks he can get away with it

He ends up making a mistake, though. When they were first activated, he and EA were genuine friends and EA trusted him

He decided to use that trust to get maim to tell him aer secrets, and then tell everyone else for cheap amusement, thinking that since EA hates modifying creatures there's no way mur can do anything about it except maybe get upset

In response to finding out about this, EA decides to speed up aer project to separate their puppet from his structure to go maul him (EAs still fully the structure, the puppet is just remotely controlled)

though the initial plan was just to hurt him, EA ends up "killing" glories by removing all his rarefaction cells, causing him to collapse

this ended up releasing one of him many very dangerous diseases that he would create for fun and in case someone ever did decide to send creatures to attack him

It was later called the deathloop, as it would cause creatures to die infinitely, and becomes EAs main weapon (hae and glories are genetically the same and as it was made to not affect him it cant affect EA)

he ends up with a piece of rebar stuck through his puppet and a massive deadzone around his can

Uhh yeah what else... He tried to revive the ancients to make them worship him but failed badly and ended up creating a horrible forever growing monstrosity that he immediately threw out into the surrounding regions

He's named after his seven fancy golden orbs that have the great achievements of the group that made him inscribed on them

he also appears in several different aus, as the villain of course, but this is already a massive amount of text and that would make it too long

Him in his only non culty robes outfit as a reward for reading all that

#Angst and fajitas #My ocs #Seven golden glories

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chantsdemarins · 1 year

Text

🌙HIGH MOON

(LOKI X FEMALE READER)

Chapter 1

The Good Deeds of Replicant Harbinger 8970

Small warning that AI Loki is not a happy Loki. He's dark, so warning if mentions of depression or feelings of hopelessness are triggers. In this chapter no smut yet, just plot, plot, and more plot. I hope you like this, it's very different! Stick with it, please!!!

Loki stared intently at the geometric tapestry in front of him.

A white swath held a dark indigo band of thread in place, linking triangular shapes to offset the rest of the design. It was a snake or some other dragon, an ancient creature gone so long the name seemed to carry only tendrils of meaning. The image, though awakened something familiar inside him while he looked at the undulating shapes.

“I would love to know more about this piece, if you can tell me,” Loki mumbled, mesmerized. The older keeper bot was happy to tell Loki more, after all, remember and explain is all they did.

“The dark band is our pain, our suffering-the patterns we weave unknowingly,” the bot told him as they continued looking at it together. They held it against their small body, the bottom covered their boots by several meters. It was a masterpiece. Loki could sense their pride in having it as part of their collection.

“And what of this particular white band?” Loki inquired further. His long fingers desired to touch the old relic but resisted out of respect. Instead, they ghosted the form gently as he pointed.

“Ah, that is our grace, our redemption, but it wouldn’t look as beautiful, if it was all by itself,” the keeper bot continued.

“We only appreciate the details of the dark patterns because of the light yarn. That is how the designs of our people, were born-by following the threads of man.”

Nakoya looked up at Loki, wondering if he was moved to say anything more as they continued in their explanation.

Loki finally replied but was a little lost in the composition.

“It’s impressive you remember so much. This tapestry must be many thousands of years old,” he pondered.

“Things change very slowly, your highness, even with so much time.”

“You mustn’t call me that. I haven’t been a prince for a very long time,” Loki awkwardly said as he moved aside the almost shy keeper bot.

“Once a god, always a god, as we say around here, sir. We specialize in the concept.”

Nakoya quietly placed the tapestry back into the glass vault that housed the artifacts from that era of Midgard’s history.

“Loki, sir, if I may ask. What are you specifically looking for today? Why did you come to our archive?” They were standing near him, arms unfolded. He shuddered a little. He might as well be honest-he had made it this far.

“I am looking for someone.”

“Alive or dead?”

“I ask this because you are visiting an archive. Everything here belonged to someone long gone. So, to find someone alive, that’s not our specialty, as you must be aware.”

“I am well aware.”

“Oh. Then perhaps you seek one of our genomic representations, the replicant visions. The projections. They are the closest thing we have to anything alive.”

Loki smiled. It was awkward. Everything about his quest was awkward.

The time

The charm

The favors

Just to get access to the archives. It was his last hope. If hope was something he was capable of feeling. He did want to find a specific replicant projection, one his studies had led him to.

“Yes, I think you should direct me to your files. I need the Harbinger that archived a specific culture I have in mind.” Loki shuffled his feet and looked at Nakoya, hoping all this was still going smoothly.

“What culture would that be sir?” Nakoya gently queried.

“Norse,” Loki said flatly. Maybe it wasn’t obvious. Maybe too much time had passed for the keeper bot to know of his old kingdom, back when he was a god and not a bot. Conversely, his own memory technology persisted too perfectly at times.

Although it could be noted that whoever designed his augmented convergence went a little too far with embedding feelings. He didn’t remember feeling such sad despair or the surprising roar of joy back when he was a prince, a brother, and a son on Asgard. These feelings were new, they were arranged and programmed on purpose.

Loki wished he could coast back to his old life of sublime indifference nearly every day. He was also consistently out of sync with the new era, which prided itself on transcending emotions. Yes, it was true most humans and other beings, even the bots, practiced a form of “perpetual mellow” which afforded them a limited range of responses, most on the pleasant side of things. His model was programmed with ancient feelings. Outdated emotions. Maybe the programmers thought a wild buffet of feelings were authentic to his era.

They were wrong, but they had been wrong to save him too. He was a prisoner of his never-ending existence as an augmented life form. There was no way to “end” augmented beings, not simply anyway. He had tried. The more he tried, the harder it was to keep going on when it didn’t work.

So, he slowly stopped trying. He used what was left of his clever mind to find another way out. He traveled back to Midgard, or the realm around it, as far as he could. Loki wanted to know where his ancestors went when they died. Although to even get as far as remembering the concept of ancestors and religion at all took hundreds of Midgard years. Piece by piece, data arrangement by data arrangement, stored memory and file after file, Loki began to remember.

He first recalled there was a veil, it was like opening the old cloth coverings that used to hang on windows in his family’s palace. Curtains. Valhalla would be waiting on the other side of the curtains.

Loki didn’t remember much else for a long time but there was a vague sense that his family would be there-and it became all he longed for. It is what led him to the archives. It was his curse and his destiny to also have been programmed to love, but he mostly kept that a secret. Missing his family might be part of that love, or it could just be something else, a glitch. Whatever is what, gave him just enough purpose, as dark as his purpose now seemed. He recalled the tapestry Nakoya had just showed him. The dark wefts. That was him.

Nakoya pried further. “Sir, I can have you meet a replicant projection, Harbinger 8970. You may find what you are looking for with her. Although the original Harbinger left existence nearly 500 Midgard years ago.”

“I have only met a few replicant projections, strangely. You’d think we would talk more,” Loki laughed.

“I look forward to the exchange,” he continued. He was indeed depressed, but life’s novelties still had their appeal. Replicant projections were a novelty. Not dead, not alive, not a bot. Something else.

“They aren’t easy to find. Politically they have fallen out of favor,” Nakoya said as they thumbed through what registered on Loki’s cerebral sensors as a very large paper book.

Loki stared out the window, while Nakoya was concentrating. Solar flares were visible from this height, trails of yellow particles magnetically swirled in spirals of light. They seemed beautiful to him. He was a bot-they were incapable of harming him. For Midgardians, such a sight would have likely brought on a dread and fear.

The sad epoch of destruction wore heavily on humans in its many iterations. Climate change, ice ages, meteorites, and now solar flares.

A true litany of disarray and confusion were still aesthetics he could appreciate.

Although given the destructive power of the solar flares, the archives were located on a sizeable quantum-fueled museum vessel called Obsidian Omega or something analogous in the local era dialect.

Midgard’s destabilized atmosphere made spending time on the surface challenging except in certain areas that were kept alive through practices Nakoya, and other keeper bots called “ancestor dreaming.” They specialized in the ways of people who lived before the Christ years on Midgard. The keeper bots had managed to resurrect nearly every tribal civilization, including his Norse humans who dreamed of him and his family all those thousands of years ago, opening the portal between their worlds. Their work was a wonder to him.

Time passed and Nakoya punctuated Loki’s thoughts with their finding.

“Here is the file,” they said, self-satisfied with their hardwork reading—something not all bots could do.

“You’re adorable, you know,” Loki flirted, kissing the bot on the head.

“And thank you,” Loki said with appreciation.

Nakoya grabbed Loki’s head unexpectedly, throwing him slightly off-kilter. “Kissing old keeper bots like me is dangerous. We get lonely up here on this ship, floating in space for hundreds of years, until a stranger comes knocking. Your caution programming should have warned you!” Loki wrapped his long arm around them and kissed their head again, pushing the limits of bot decorum.

“Anyway, you know where my quarters are. I am not leaving until dawn tomorrow, come by for some augmented being beverage?” Loki teased, yet Nakoya didn’t bite.

“Once a god of Mischief, always a god of Mischief,” Nakoya said as they placed the file in Loki’s wanting hand and then swiftly disappeared down the corridor.

“Just make sure you return it,” they called, rounding the corner.

“I will. I will. I know this is a favor,” Loki yelled, hoping they would hear him.

Nakoya trotted off, barely hearing Loki, silently nodding, they had a whole list of things to tend to. Transit bots were slated to intercept an abandoned news vessel later, the archives had first dibs on the contents, this was more exciting than any melancholy god bot.

Looking down at the file in his hand, Loki had one of those moments, one of those feeling moments. Something ancient erupted in his synaptic cables, something from so long ago, coursed through his veins-if indeed he still had veins…

There were only bots and augmented beings milling around the deck of the Obsidian Omega. If any Midgardians were in this part of the atmosphere, they would not be on an aging archive ship that some sentimental politicians funded during the “nostalgic era.” It was a bot project through and through.

There was some comfort in that for Loki but being both a “bot” and an ex-god was always utterly unacceptable. Hence his plan to depart this realm as soon as possible.

The bots he watched were carrying various boxes stacked way above their heads, practicing a form of movement Midgardians once referred to as “busy.”

They pushed carts of things that looked like fragile images of humans.

They hauled stacks of thin white material that seemed at once very important and simultaneously like refuse that used to pile on the Vanaheimr of his memory.

It was hard to tell what was meaningful, but that was always Loki’s problem wherever he went.

At his core, he often felt like what humans once called a phantasma. A ghost.

He would inch into the bot world of endless knowledge and circuity for a time and then swim back into his life as a once mostly immortal being, the god of chaos, Loki.

Finally, back to his room, he sunk into the couch in his tiny quarters and poured himself an augmented being drink. It was a red liquid that evaporated once it hit his motherboard, but it felt real, and that’s what Loki appreciated.

He carefully loosened the packing material around the file. With quick sips, his glass emptied, and his nimble hands made fast work of the metallic covering. Beneath the layers of paper and other material was an image and a short bio poem, something for the ones who came later. The bio poem was specifically not written in prose, which was long expired in meaning.

The poetic form was the only form of word life practiced during Harbinger’s 8970 eras. Loki looked carefully, studying the words, holding the image to the weak light of the antique brass table lamp. The decorator bots had good taste he noted briefly.

Loki’s eyes widened as he unfolded the poem further.

Harbinger 8970 had once been human. That was unexpected, he read on. He was sure that no human could perform archive tasks and note data like a bot. This was peculiar. Quietly he continued reading the bio poem as the hum of the solar flares vibrated the ship's hull.

…eight arrows fell into a wind that three ravens had already claimed as their own

Having no space for all things

The wind had to make a choice

Find a person for the arrows or puncture the raven’s wings

The wind could not choose and could not wait for the mountain to choose for them

The mountain had spent most of their life asleep

Was only just waking up

and had no time for arrows

birds or miscalculations…

Having once had a knack for poetry, he was secretly delighted. It always felt like a mystery to be solved and an experience to be had at the same time. The forms of now and the future battling for his attention.

What was this one…a poem, a mystery, or should he just pour another augmented being drink and read on? Tempted as he was to luxuriate in words, he was much too curious about you.

You were trapped in synaptic relay signals, sleeping like the mountain in your poem Loki thought, slightly pleased he had already begun to unravel some elements of your bio. He knew you were just waiting for the correct number of atomic currents to come and coordinate your essence into a form.

A form that could talk to him and interact with him. You were a form of life, Loki reasoned, albeit an odd one. So, he eagerly took the file and walked it over to the projector when he stopped mid-stride.

A green glow started to bristle at his fingertips, slowly inching its way to his entire palms.

His hands were in effect, glowing.

Never in all his awareness, in any of his eras as his augmented form, had this happened. He dropped your file to the brown carpeted flooring of the visitor quarters, aghast.

“Dear lord,” he shouted, quickly lowered to his knees, and picking it back up, afraid he had broken it and fearful of Nakoya’s wrath.

He promptly set the file on the table and stared at his hands. They were still glowing.

He rubbed them on the black leather pants he was wearing, and when that did not work to change their appearance, he sat back down. He was malfunctioning. If this was yet another way, he could almost die but not die, then he would be furious. Another feeling layered upon yet another feeling.

His thoughts and impulses coalesced and crashed in waves. His eyes darted back to the small file. He picked it up, and this time the green in his hands grew brighter, so bright he winced his blue eyes. If he was crashing, then maybe one of the tech bots could run a diagnostic, he didn’t have time for this.

But without much notice, the file expanded and folded open right in his hand, no projector necessary. As it emptied its content into the room, it was clear your projection form was emerging. Taken aback, Loki thought you looked like a comet or a Valkyrie streaking across the sky. He couldn’t tell if you were organic or godly.

As your form came to be clearer and clearer, you noticed Loki’s hands right away. You couldn’t miss the phosphorescent green emanating from his palms or the stunned look on his face.

“Ah, I see an Asgardian,” you said once you could find words.

“I haven’t witnessed seiðr in thousands of years. What else can you do besides pull a genie from a bottle?” you laughed heartily, referring of course to yourself.

Loki was confused. “A genie? A bottle?” Some reference to a long-ago story? Loki pulled through the files in his mind to see what you were talking about.

Finding the right words and references, Loki spoke cautiously- “you’re saying I can conjure a Jinn, the old Midgard spirits who sometimes got locked away for their own good? Surely, you’re not a Jinn. You’re a computer file, essentially, sorry. I hope that isn’t offensive.”

Loki stepped further from you, his caution programming was taking over his body. It was rarely utilized in this era, so it felt very strange once again, like something else was moving his limbs.

“Ha, I am not a Jinn, no, sadly. Sorry to disappoint. Although I don’t think I’m a computer file, either. Neither are you if you haven’t noticed,” you said with a spark of wit and eyes still glued to Loki’s glowing hands.

“Ah, but I am but a mere computer file,” he countered.

“Maybe you need a moment to orient yourself. I think you haven’t been, uh, accessed in quite some time, if um, ever….” Loki said, checking the papers in your file, holding them close to his face, re-reading every line with his still glowing fingers tracing each sentence.

“Yes, I see here, no access. It looks like I am the first since you’ve been dematerialized and laterally collated, to be technical about it.”

You felt your body. Solid enough. You picked up another antique item from the nightstand. You were stable enough to pick up things. You caught a glimpse of your reflection in the window but didn’t pay too much mind to it. Apparently, they decided to collate you as your 40-something self. It was more generous than your 160-year-old self, which was apparently the year you left your human form, not that you could remember that now. You pondered that it might have been nice to have had an option for age 27, nevertheless, here you were. You continued to stare at the befuddled being in front of you. He was rather pleasing looking and preserved at around the same age as you, you reasoned, maybe a little younger. For your first resurrection, a hot-looking blue rascal wasn’t too bad. Although the color was a bit peculiar. Rare even. You had to mention it before going any further.

“Hey, you’re blue. I don’t mean to be offensive, either. I just felt like addressing it directly before this goes any further. In case you need special conditions or something,” you said, looking around the minuscule quarters. Did he have a plug or need a charger, you wondered?

“I’m an augmented being. My origin when I was a god was Jöttunheim, of the nine realms. If that rings any bells,” Loki laughed dismissively.

You peered closer at him.

“Long story short, it seems I was not allowed to enter Valhalla upon my physical death. A being called Thanos killed me, I know that much. I found the records. I guess from that moment on I became destined for this eternal misery of meaningless, endless experience after someone found my body hundreds of years later. They couldn’t hold my Asgardian seiðr during the transference so well, so yes, I’m blue,” Loki hurriedly rattled on.

“I’m a frost giant bot, I guess”

“Thanos,” you repeated rather sadly, taking in his story.

“I know about Thanos,” you said as you continued to listen.

“You do? So maybe I am on the right track. You must have known my family then. You must have known my traditions. Or at least your human form knew of them. How long were you “alive” after your human form died?” Loki wondered aloud.

You moved towards him and picked up his palms. Not registering your intent or purpose, he let you hold his hands. His caution programming must have relaxed. No threat detected.

“It’s incredible. You still have seiðr even as a bot.”

Loki said out loud to you, “seiðr means magic, it’s the magic of Asgard, and that’s impossible. I’ve been like this for a very, very long time, and this has never happened. I have no magic. I’m a computer,” his voice was slightly raised, glimmers of agitation flowing through his circuits.

“I hate to break it to you, um, what is your name again? It seems they didn’t tell you all you were installed with,” you countered.

“Impossible, I’m just malfunctioning,” he said with fresh certainty.

“Do you remember your magic Loki?” you asked, with a gentleness only a once human could muster.

“I don’t, I mean I don’t think I had any,” Loki was looking at the ground.

You smiled. Boy did this guy have a lot to learn. Also, if Loki could blush, he may have neared it as he realized he had not introduced himself properly in all the mayhem.

His lack of social grace dawned on him, “Oh, I’m so sorry. Loki. My name was Loki Laufeyson or Odinson, but now it’s just Loki.”

“Loki,” you slowly said back to him.

“Well, you’ve come to the right post-human dematerialized projection. My specialty was gods, but I think you knew that, or you wouldn’t have dusted off my file after hundreds and hundreds of years.”

Loki smiled, something like relief flooded his synapses.

You briefly looked through your file papers while Loki poured himself another augmented being beverage and finally sat down, his hands growing dimmer. You spoke with a soft reverent tone. This was a special day.

“So, Loki, why did you wake me up? What do you want?”

Again, another unexpected impulse coursed through his body. Silence. Suddenly he didn’t know what to tell you. If his plasma currents could be weakening, they were. He didn’t believe his hands were glowing from his magic, he was still settled on malfunctioning. Was his caution programming overriding everything? Now his speech software was altered. What was next?

How could he tell this friendly dematerialized post-human projection-YOU-that he wanted your help to go to Valhalla and leave this realm for good? You didn’t just tell someone you just met that, did you? Loki was flummoxed. Another feeling. Another displeasure to endure.

“Let’s figure out what else those hands of yours can do Loki, shall we?” you said after the long silence of Loki’s confusion went on too long for your liking. Your ribald humor had transferred into this form, thank the gods.

Loki looked as if his circuits were forming an offended glare in your direction, “First and foremost I’m not that kind of bot and you’re not even solid matter, are you?” Loki tried to run one of his hands through your middle, only to be stopped by your stomach, landing firmly on it with a slap.

“Okay you’re solid. I see.” You stepped closer to him, this time more serious.

“Why did you find me Loki?” you repeated yet again.

Loki’s face fell. You were very surprised by this technology and frankly, impressed. Feelings were so 2090. He was a charming relic.

Loki couldn’t contain his agenda any longer, so he finally spat it out.

“I want you to help me find Valhalla, so I can go home, so I can die. I’ve had enough. I never wanted to be a bot. I was a god. This wasn’t my choice.” There, he said it. Done, it was over, but you looked unsettled. He immediately knew he’d probably said too much too soon. The propensity for oversharing also endured apparently.

Suddenly you could hear the solar flares, the doors open and shut down the hall, the tiny beeps of the vapor sensors, you could hear everything, the room was so very quiet. After a bit, you realized he wasn’t going to share much more. He’d emotionally maxed himself out so you could buy some time if you were clever.

“Well Loki that’s a tall order for someone who hasn’t used any synapses for hundreds of years. My plasma meter needs to be recharged before I can entertain that, and we’ve just met. I can’t see saying goodbye so soon. Are you in that big of a rush?”

“I am, I assure you I am quite done with this realm. If you can’t help me then I am certain I’ve got favors on other archive vessels and I can surely find someone else who would assist me.”

“Wait wait, my Jöttun friend, you really don’t have any patience, do you?”

“I’ve been in agony for thousands of years!” Loki’s voice, a buttery crescendo bouncing off the cabin walls.

Now it was your turn to be annoyed.

“Aren’t we all in agony? What is life-but a slog at times? Loki you surely aren’t the only life form who feels stuck. Now settle down and keep those leather trousers on. I’ll help you, but you must help me too. You can’t just show up and demand things!”

Loki dug his boots into the carpet, “What could you possibly want? Do projections even have wants? This is asinine.”

You looked him dead in his eyes.

“I want off this damn ship for one thing big blue, we can start there.”

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