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#ancient china notes
fireandspiceland · 11 months
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silly thoughts I had yesterday but milf Britannia and mama Greece getting it on having that sweet girls being pals relationship where they are basically lovers but claim to only make out as friends and Germania and grandpa Rome mourn about them being hot lesbians who won’t allow them to join the fun to China who’s like #cant relate cause he’s the one getting to enjoy sexy naughty times with them hehe
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sspacegodd · 7 months
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I was watching Ancient Mysteries on The History Channel and reading a neo-platonic hermetic tantric sex manual by a Sumerian shaman when I tossed a handful of hensbane on the hotplate, inhaled the smoke, and slipped out of my fleshbucket, ending up precisely where I was afraid of:
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In the midst of a mind-shattering mystery involving famous alchemists; phrenology; a cult that secretly communicates by tightly binding and molding newborn infants’ soft skulls into topographical messages using a mystic hybrid of Tibetan, Chinese, Nepalese, and Sanskrit called Kali (“Skull Alphabet”) because the shapes of its characters are patterned after the cranial sutures of the human skull; three foreskins of Jesus; and space aliens who have been warning us of their presence with Post-it notes.
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hisui-dreamer · 1 month
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YOOOOO CONGRATS ON 2K FOLLOWERS!!!
For the flower event, may I request a Leona x gn!reader with flowers that mean something like 'i love you' or 'you mean the world to me' but with flowers that is from a Chinese culture?
if its not possible, then regular ol' flowers are fine too
lotus bonds
Pairing: Leona Kingscholar x gn!reader
Synopsis: gifting leona a cool flower you found, but he seems to appreciate it more than you thought he would
Tags: fluff, reader is a bit oblivious?, domestic fluff
Word count: 420
Notes: i couldn't find a flower with the exact same meaning so i hope you're okay with this one!!
Masterlist
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flower of choice: conjoined lotus
its unique characteristic of having conjoined flowers on one stem symbolizes unity and interconnectedness in love, mirroring the connection between lovers. if a lotus root is cut, there are "threads" that still connect them, meaning it is not easy to force them apart. if one flower is damaged, the other is affected as well, signifying the concept of growing old together and sharing life's joys and sorrows.
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"Leona, Leona, look what I found!"
The slumbering beastman stirred from his nap at the sound of your voice, his heavy eyelids fluttering open. With a low grumble, he rubbed his eyes, attempting to adjust his eyes to the sunlit room. "What's all the noise about?" he muttered, his voice thick with drowsiness.
"I found these flowers at the lake today," you said softly, a hint of colour dusting your cheeks. "These two are conjoined together, isn't that amazing?"
With his curiosity aroused, he reached out, his fingers gently grasping the delicate petals of the flower, his touch careful and deliberate. As he examined each bloom, the concept of conjoined lotuses stirred a distant memory. He recalled reading about them some time ago, their significance in the Far East, a message they symbolized…
Conjoined flowers, a metaphor for the intertwining bonds of mutual love and affection found within marriages… with lotuses being the purest loves of all…
A flush of warmth crept up his cheeks as the realization washed over him. Glancing at you to study your expression, you seemed to be oblivious to the hidden meaning behind the flowers.
He chuckled softly, a hint of amusement in his voice. You were far too daring for your own good. He brushed his hand through his hair in an attempt to cool the heat rising within him. You really have no idea of the effect you have on him, huh?
Setting the flowers delicately on his bedside table, he made a mental note to cast a preserving spell on them later.
"C'mere," he murmured, tugging gently at your hand, drawing you into his embrace. Resting his head against your shoulder, he savours the comforting press of your warmth against his chest. He delights in the way you nestled into his embrace, a contented sigh escaping your lips as you leaned your weight against him.
...Maybe marriage with you wouldn't be so bad.
"Thank you for the flowers," he whispered against your ear, his arms enveloping you in a gentle squeeze.
"So, what other stuff did ya do today?"
Masterlist
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if you liked this post, don't forget to reblog!
fun fact: lotuses are most famous in ancient china for being a metaphor as a good king, with a poet saying "though lotuses grow from mud, they remain untainted". so you can interpret reader giving the coolest looking lotuses to leona as "you're the coolest bestest king in my eyes" :)
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letsatomicbanana · 5 months
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Ink!Sans Cultural Character Coding
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art by @/sakuramochi64 on twitter
Disclaimer!
This post is meant to present and analyse obvious and obscure East Asian (Jpn-Chi) ethnic and cultural influences on Ink!Sans character. If any of the material in this essay is incorrect and/or considered morally offensive, please contact me!
Ink!Sans by @comyet
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/Despite the fact that Ink is a non-human monster skeleton character, he is often portrayed with human-like traits and characteristics that range between a bunch of topics. One of them that's portrayed as very predominat to his character is his etchnic cultural background/inspiration. Again, this post is meant to analyse and to discuss such inspirations and how it affects his character./
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INSPIRATIONS
According to Ink's creator, Comyet, the concept of Ink!Sans was conceived by a Japanese and Chinese ink calligraphy brush. These are known as Fude brushes (筆) and Xuan brushes (宣笔 Xuān bǐ) respectively. This ultimately inspired his ink abilities and powers, just like his concept of being an 'artist' (In simple words, it inspired Ink as a whole).
'The history of ink brushes and the ink material is a long and complicated journey to cover, but it's important to know that these were invented in ancient China around 300 B.C (traditional Chinese: 毛筆; simplified Chinese: 毛笔; pinyin: máo bǐ) and are used in a vast variety of East and Southeast Asian countries, like Korea; Vietnam and Japan.
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example of the brush Ink!Sans was inspired by.
At glance, ink (the material) is an enduring medium that still surrounds society till this day and it's used in multiple cultures across the world.
Writing with ink calligraphy brushes are common in the Europe and the Middle East as well, but the material was crafted of iron salt and oak galls. When written, ink is often a dark color but fades to brown tones of rust'. Such phenomenon was detectable in the Middle Eastern Bible manuscripts and even ancient European literature as an example.
Ink!Sans was based of the ink material created in East Asia, most commonly made with carbon-base black substance, which preserverd the dark coloration even after hundred of years.
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↑ Example of an ancient Japanese painting, such arts are called 'Sumi-e' (Japanese, 墨絵) or ' Shuimohua' (traditional Chinese,水墨畫).
Unlike iron gall ink, carbon based inks are still very common to this day.
'Throughout the long history of East Asia, writing with ink was a very important ability to have. The Materials were made with precision, long traditions of training in calligraphic skills were developed, and writing and literacy were often wrapped up in questions of social status and class.
Although the development of major Chinese calligraphic scripts was completed by the fourth century, the art of calligraphy continued to evolve over the millennia. Master calligraphers with years of training and dedicated practice were recognized for their personal styles, and later generations of artists often adapted brushstrokes and designs to their own style. This stylistic evolution of scripts continues to enliven Chinese calligraphy to the present day.
Calligraphy was an important mark of personal learning and aesthetic sensibility in Japan. Portable, lacquered wood boxes were designed to hold an inkstone and water dropper in the base, with trays to hold writing brushes and solid ink sticks. Inkstone boxes (硯箱,suzuribako 'ink stone box' ) could be easily carried to a pleasant location, even outdoors in fine weather, to write correspondence, diary entries, or poetry.'
Fun fact: Ink's font 'Note This' is inspired by such ancient writing.
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Example of Ink's canon speaking font and Japanese calligraphy (書道, calligraphy)
'However, when it comes to the subject of painting with the material, different schools of painting existed in China, the scholar-painters of Song-dynasty China generally preferred ink-based paintings over the more colorful, pigment-filled paintings produced historically and at the painting academy. Chinese painting manuals and commentaries from the Song (Sung) and Yuan dynasties (rarely mention pigments, possibly because it was assumed a painter’s skill shouldn’t depend on the use of colors.
Japanese artists are known for using media appropriate for the subject matter. Images depicting traditional Japanese narrative tales were typically rendered in opaque colors with outlines created in ink and later obscured by color overlay. Ink monochrome was closely associated with Chinese styles, particularly those transported to Japan via Zen Buddhism. Ink-based forms created with modulated strokes and layered washes suggested introspection and spiritual exploration.'
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Ancient Japanese paintings that uses dull colors and ink outlines.
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Exhaustive examples of ancient Ink paintings. Dragons and Clouds 雲龍図屏風 (左隻)and Seitei kachō gafu 省亭花鳥画譜
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DESIGN
Also clarified in an ask on her main blog, Comyet describes that traditional Japanese clothing inspired Ink's 2020 outift redesing, such inspirations are very obvious in first and second analysis.
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Ink!sans reference sheets for the 2020 design, which can be found in Ink's official F.A.Q
Starting off, the pants.
Ink's pants were inspired by Hakama pants (袴), a traditional Japanese garment designed as a skirt-like pants often worn over any type of kimono. His pants seems to be inspired by umanori (馬乗り)Hakamas, whose had a division in the middle and often used in horse-riding activities.
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Example of a Hakama.
The Hakama is a wide pleated pants (seven pleats, five in front and two behind), with a rigid backrest (腰 板,koshi ita) placed at the level of the lumbar region. It is tightened with four straps, on the left and on the right, as well in front as behind.
Historically, the origins of the Hakama dates back to the Sui and Tan dynasty were this garment was worn by the Chinese imperial court. Later, the Hakama exported itself to Japan during the Kamakura period (1185 to 1332) and became a traditional garment for the upper classes of Japanese society as well as for samurai warriors who wore it over a kimono (Hakama-shita).
During the history of Japan, the Hakama took on different styles and was mainly made for men, although in the beginning it was a unisex garment. During the Asuka and Nara era (6th to 8th century), the Hakama came in two versions. The first one was open on the front and was tied on each side of the waist with two straps. The second one was open on the left side and closed on one side only.
During the Edo period, the Hakama was worn by the nobles as a complement to the outfits of the time such as the noshi and the kariginu (狩衣; a sleeveless jacket with very pronounced shoulders). Very functional, these pants were also adopted by samurai warriors who usually wore them as Kamishimo (上下/裃). It is a combination of kimono, Hakama and kataginu. When the warrior visited the shōgun, he wore a Hakama called naga-bakama which greatly restricted his movements.
Edit:Currently, hakamas are both worn by men and women.
However, under the scarft, Ink also seems to use a jacket that features a collar that has striking similarities to a Mandarin collar (or Mao collar)
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Ink!sans reference sheets for the 2020 design, which can be found in Ink's official F.A.Q
Mandarin collars originated in ancient China and were worn  by Qing-era bureaucrats.
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Picture of a Chinese man in a traditional Mandarin collar (early 1900's)
These are short, stand-up collars and sometimes fasten in the center with a small hook. Such collars are still used today for both fashionable and practical reasons. One example of modern usaged of the clothing is seen in the U.S Amry combat uniform, that features a stand-up collar of Chinese origin.
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Picture of the U.S Army combat clothing
Regarding of color palette, Ink!Sans redesign uses soft but dull colors and a sinple silhouette and fabric for the outift, such design choises are similar to male kimono's dressing codes which uses dull colors (like dark blue, grey, green and occasionaly brown). Male kimonos are always more simple in design compared to female kimonos.
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Photo that shows the difference of kimonos used by men and women
Although not specified, Ink seems to wear brown thigh-high socks, also known as 'tights' under the outfit. Japan has a long-standing cultural tradition of wearing such piece of clothing, this trend is particularly popular among young people and is often associated with the "gyaru" subculture, which emphasizes fashion, beauty, and individuality. Additionally, thigh-high socks are often worn with school uniforms, and are considered a symbol of youth and innocence. Additionally, it is also considered fashionable and trendy in Japan, and you can see many young people wearing them.
In regards of physical appearance, Ink also seems to follow ancient Japanese and Chinese beauty standarts, specially one's targeted towards women.
In ancient japan, specially towards the Nara (奈良時代, Nara jidai), Heian (平安時代, Heian jidai) and Edo period (江戸時代, Edo jidai) the beauty standarts for Japanese women were of those with slim eyebrowns, flat oval face shape and narrowed eyes.
Such attributes can be observed on Ink!Sans apperance.
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Visual representation of old Japanese beauty standarts
/Keep in mind that some of such standarts presented are now out of fashion due to the westernization of asian countries. Specially regarding eye shape/
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MUSICAL THEMES
Ink!Sans has a long history of being associated with East Asian music, specially those of Japanese origin.
Themes that comyet associated with him includes, 'Code Wu- Asia River Album 江水/Asia River' ( post can be found here), 'Dullahan under the willows' and 'Futatsuiwa from Sado (二ツ岩で佐渡) both from the japanese game 'Touhou'. (post can also be found here.
He's also associated with East Asian musical instruments, something quite noticeable in Ink!Sans theme for the the web-series 'Underverse'. Such theme is called 'Brushwork'.
The theme starts with an instrument similar to a Shamisen (Japanese-三味線) and a Guzhen (Chinese-古筝) and also uses a traditional flute.
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Photo of a Guzhen and a Shamisen, respectively
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TRIVIA
On Underverse's opening for season 2, Ink!Sans can be seem between a field of Sakura trees or Cherry Blossoms (桜).
Cherry blossom trees are an icon of Japan. Some people even call the cherry blossom Japan’s informal national flower. The Japanese school year starts in April, during cherry blossom season. The flowers symbolize good luck, love, and springtime. Since they bloom for such a short time, cherry blossom trees also represent human mortality. They remind us how short and precious life is.
In the same series, Ink is also drawn in a Sumi-e inspired style for the 'Soulless Heart Instrumental' video. Such artwork features Japanese writing in black ink.
Ink's canon instrument is the flute. Although invented in ancient germany, the flute is highly associated with East Asian cultures and it's music, chinese and japanese culture are the main ones . Other than that, Comyet already made a connection to Ink's asian influence and the instrument itself.
According to research made by the University Microfilms International (UMI) affirms that the moderny performance and melody of the instruments has clear East Asian roots, mainly from Chinese and Japanese style of music.
'The flute is a particularly appropriate instrument for such a study because of its versatility of pitch and timbre, the latter being one of the most important elements in Eastern music; it is capable of 'pitch-bending' and infinite changes in tone quality which are impossible to achieve on instruments of set pitch.
The flute music selected for stud/ shows varying degrees of Eastern influence. Depending on the nature of the composition, the Eastern elements may be extremely subtle and difficult for the untrained to decipher; in other instances the composer makes clear those sounds or concepts with Eastern roots, either through accompanying explanation or within the context of the music.'
Sources
1.National Museum of asian art (materials & techniques. Ink section)
2. Asian Brushpaper (an-overview-of-chinese-ink-history)
3. Wikipedia (wiki Hakama-pants)
4. Aikido Journal (Hakama-101)
5. Wikipedia (Mandarin-collar)
6. Kirrin finch (What-is-a-mandarin-collar)
7. University Microfilms International (UMI) (east-asian-presence-in-modern-flute-music)
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ms-demeanor · 2 years
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Your Mother-in-law is wiser than you know.
Fiat currencies come and go, but gold and silver stay valuable.
If some catastrophe happens, and you and your family wake up to realise that you've all been transported to ancient Babylon, or the Persian Empire, or the Roman Republic, or Medieval England, or Ming Dynasty China, your credit cards and your bitcoin and your bank notes with Illuminati symbols on them will be useless.
Gold and silver? Melt them down and sell them, you'll immediately be able to trade with the locals.
It's a smoky day in the postapocalypse. The fires never really stop, but there were a lot of masks thrown away during the pandemic, so most people have gotten used to raking through landfills and sanitizing their finds in the weak red sunlight. But breathing smoke through three layers of paper is draining and so is clearing the toxic soot off your skin when you make it back inside a filtered building.
It's hard to get by - it's Southern California, after all, and it was never meant to support a population this size. The water-deaths that happened in the first three months weren't enough to relieve the barely-functional grid, and power has been down for two years. There's nobody left to clear the cars that ran out of gas on the way out of town, so the only way to leave is on foot, and then where would you go? Nevada and Arizona don't have water either, the 5 is a warzone, and it's a long, long way to Oregon and you might get killed at the border if you make it that far.
Sometimes you dream about taking your bike down to the beach and finding a sailboat bobbing in the surf. You dream that you know how to sail. You dream that you brought enough food for the journey North when you took a day trip to collect clams in the surf. You dream that your friends are with you, and that you push the boat into the waves and make it all the way to Washington with good weather and clear skies and nobody else you love dying.
But you're not at the beach, and there is no boat, and you can't sail anyway. It's a smoky day in the postapocalypse and you've got a cut on your leg that has turned a worrying color.
The Goldline Station closest to your house has become a kind of weekend market. It's hard to walk along the freeways, and dangerous, but the train tracks are pretty clear. If you're lucky, sometimes you can even get on a hand car and ride for a while if what you need isn't at the local station. But you know the drugstore guy is always in the same shaded parking space by the dry fountain.
Drugstore Guy used to work at a drugstore. He figured out what was going on before anyone else at his store did, and filled his truck with everything that would fit, grateful that he'd brought his truck with the camper shell instead of his wife's Prius. He managed to grab enough stock that lots of people around here survived things that people two towns over didn't. He even grabbed the stock of vaccines, and has managed to amass enough in trade that he's still got a refrigerator with full vials. You don't want to know what a TDaP shot costs these days, and are grateful that you had a tetanus shot a month before everything went to shit.
The parking spot never has a lot of customers around it because Drugstore Guy doesn't need volume. What the parking spot DOES always have is three huge dudes with very big guns chatting with their boss, sitting around a big cooler in beat-up beach chairs.
All of them perk up as you ride over. The huge dudes are very still and very hostile, but Drugstore Guy is smiling at you, his eyes crinkled above is brand-new, never-used masks. You hop off your bike and lay it down behind you, the missing kickstand is an embarrassing liability with these men watching you.
"Hey," you say quietly, walking closer. "You got a Z-pak?"
"Sure," says Drugstore Guy. "But I don't think you can afford it. How about some penicillin?"
You shrug. "Allergic."
Drugstore guy nods. "That's rough. I've got penicillin like candy. I don't have many Z-paks."
You shift nervously from foot to foot. The wound on your leg throbs, reminding you of how far an angry red color had spread around it when you put a bandage on it before coming here.
"Z-paks don't last forever," you say. "You got any that are expired? I think I've got enough for that."
He laughs. "They're all expired. I still think you can't afford it." He looks behind you. "People who can buy my stuff don't ride broken bikes."
You shrug again. "It's not broken, I just didn't want to trade for another. Maybe I'm a little lazy, but I'm not cheap."
"Alright," Drugstore Guy says. "What've you got."
You take your backpack off slowly. You know the big guys have seen the revolver you've got holstered against your ribs, but everybody at the market has a gun. You're not worried about them seeing it, you don't want them to think you're going for it. You dig into the pocket that was resting against your sweaty shirt, the safest place to keep anything valuable you're carrying. The plastic container you come up with is about the size of a playing card, and the silver dollar inside of it flashes in the sun. You pass it over for Drugstore Guy to examine.
The look he gives you, with what you can see of his face, can only be described as pitying. "I don't know if you know this, kiddo," he says, "but US Legal Tender really doesn't mean much these days."
You shake your head. The fact that it's a dollar isn't important. "It's silver. It's real. One ounce of silver, more than 99 percent pure."
Drugstore guy looks at the coin in his hand and back to you, and back to the coin. "Even if it is 99 percent pure," he says, "which you can't prove, what the fuck am I supposed to do with silver?"
It's hot and smoky and your leg is burning and his question throws you for a loop.
"It's silver," you say. "You know. Silver."
"Buddy, I can't eat silver," Drugstore guy says. "And neither can anybody else around here. Who would I even spend this with?"
You're sweating, and your head hurts. "I've got gold too," you say. You hadn't planned on blurting it out like that. You didn't want to use it, and had hoped the price wouldn't get that high. "Real gold. 24 karat. A half-ounce bar. It was worth two thousand dollars before."
"Yeah?" Drugstore guy says, "And what's it worth now?"
You laugh, weakly. "A Z-pak, I hope."
"Nope," he says, and holds the silver dollar out for you to take. "What else you got?"
You're swaying a little. You don't take the coin back. "I - I've got some platinum and palladium, but you'd have to meet me-" you stammer.
Drugstore guy is looking at you like he's worried now. Like maybe whatever you've got is catching. "Do I look like I've got a use for platinum or palladium? Do I look like I need to make a bunch of high-end electronics today?"
"It - it's a store of value," you answer. "Precious metals have been used in ancient Babylon and Persia and the Roman republic and in Medieval England and Ming Dynasty China. It's - it's gold."
One of the big guys leans forward on his elbows, looking at you over his sunglasses. He looks a little more sympathetic than is boss does right now. "Do you have any eggs?"
"What?" You say. This whole excursion is beginning to feel more and more surreal.
"Jay's right," Drugstore guy says. "I could let a Z-pak go for two dozen eggs. "Or how about bullets? What caliber is your little pea-shooter there?"
"It's a .38," you say, "I don't - I don't have any eggs. Or bullets to spare." God knows that's true, you've got what's in the gun and you haven't even seen an egg in a year.
"Iodine? Bleach?" Another guard says. "How about hand-sewing needles? Or beeswax?"
"Coffee," you say, out of nowhere. You have four cans in an insulated bin in your garage. "I've got a can of French roast. Still sealed."
"Well now," Drugstore Guy sits back in his chair, cheerful again. "That is worth a Z-Pak. Is it on you?"
Drugstore guy agrees to give you half the first dose from the Z-Pak and to hold onto the silver dollar as collateral while you ride home to get the coffee and bring it back to the market.
You're feeling pretty worn out by the time you make the trade. Drugstore guy passes you the cardboard packet of antibiotics and the dollar coin at the same time.
"Are you all on your own, kid?"
"Maybe," you say, defensive. "Why?"
"Because in spite of the mercenary nature of this exchange I am actually concerned about the well-being of my community and someone who shows up to trade with gold when they've got coffee seems like someone who could use a little help. We have a cookout on Sundays - it's bring what you can, eat if you can't - and there's a few people who meet up at the library on Wednesdays to do a skills exchange. If you've made it this long surely you've got some skills that got you here, and clearly you could stand to learn a few more."
Your mouth drops open behind your mask and all that you can think to say is "How does anyone know what day it is anymore?"
Drugstore Guy beams at you, and hands you a flier. It's not printed, but stamped. There's a map to a park and a promise of free, clean water to all who attend. "You ask. Today's Sunday. Dinner's at six."
~~~~~~~~~~~
All of which is to say, Human Pet Guy, that there is very little you could do that would endear you to me *less* than tell me that I should listen more to my mother in law, who thinks that bigfoot is going to steal her grandchildren, about apocalypse survival scenarios. It is also to say that if you think that a silver dollar is going to be worth much more than a bitcoin in an actual survival situation you are Significantly More Wrong Than You Think.
The thing that metal hoarders don't understand is that while, yes, fiat currency is an arbitrary agreement to exchange paper at an artificially set value *so is the use of metal as a tool of exchange.* The amount that a silver penny was worth in medieval England was arbitrarily set because the *intrinsic* value of precious metals is pretty far removed from most people's daily lives so sometimes a piece of silver is going to be worth a lot less to someone than the twelve loaves of bread that the king had decreed *AND* because in all of the examples you listed counterfeiting was a huge problem in SPITE of being in a relatively high-trust situation, by which I mean that in situations where you have a well-formed society of people who trust one another and a rule of law and courts where people could redress wrongs you STILL had problems trusting the purity of the precious metals you were offered as currency and that isn't something that gets any better when you're dealing with people who are fighting over who gets to be the Ayatollah of Rock and Rolla.
So yeah this may be an issue of me out-crazying you because I'm not coming at this from a perspective of "fiat currency is good" I'm coming at this from a perspective of "precious metals are actually pretty worthless as a survival strategy if you're anticipating a society in which people will shoot you to take your diesel so start a compost pile, learn how to mend clothes, keep chickens, grow vegetables, and load ammo if that's the society you're worried about."
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fatehbaz · 1 year
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On the night of April 30, 1541, the Ming Ancestral Temple in Beijing was struck by lightning and burned to the ground. [...] 
[T]he fires forced the Jiajing Emperor to resurrect one of the dynasty’s most expensive, difficult, and destructive projects: the logging of old-growth timber in the far southwest of China. Disaster struck again in 1556, when fires burned the Three Halls that form the central axis of the Forbidden City. The Three Halls burned yet again in 1584. Through the end of the sixteenth century, repeated damage to the imperial palaces forced reconstruction. Yet the lightning strikes in Beijing were also a disaster for the old-growth forests of the southwest, where the logs to build the palaces had first been cut in the early 1400s. As logging supervisors soon learned, ancient trees could not be felled on a regular basis. Officials pressed ever deeper into the gorges of southern Sichuan and northern Guizhou to find them, bringing massive transformations to the environment in the process.
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The foundations of Beijing were laid between 1406 and 1421 by the Yongle emperor, a junior son of the Ming founder, who moved the court to his personal appanage in north China. [...] Grasping the sinews of power that connected his court to far-flung regions of the empire, Yongle pulled one million laborers to Beijing to build his palaces.
Because the weight of Chinese buildings is carried by their pillar-and-beam frameworks (liangzhu), monumental buildings required monumental trees (Figure 2). So Yongle also dispatched a similarly large labor force to the old-growth forests of the far southwest to cut the fir (Cunninghamia lanceolata) and nanmu (Phoebe zhennan) that grew straight and tall enough to be used for imperial construction.
We cannot be certain just how many logs were cut to build Beijing, but the figure must have been astounding. In 1441, two decades after the completion of the project, 380,000 large timbers were left over from the earlier construction. By 1500, these too were gone, used for repairs or too damaged by rot to be used for construction purposes.
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In the sixteenth century, logging officials wondered how their predecessors had been able to obtain so many giant timbers. Li Xianqing, who supervised more than 40 logging sites in the 1540s, noted that large trees could still be found, but they could only be transported out with great difficulty and at great expense. The majority had to be discarded as hollow or insect-damaged.
Even when a quality log was found, it took five hundred workers to tow a log over mountain passes.
Skilled craftsmen were on hand to build “flying bridges” (fei qiao), stone-lined slip roads, and enormous capstans (tianche) to tow the logs up slopes (Figures 3 and 4). In the remote forests of the southwest, loggers faced attacks by snakes, tigers, and “barbarians” (manyi); “miasmatic vapors” (yanzhang, probably malaria); storms, forest fires, rockslides, and raging rivers (Figure 5). Labor teams had to carry their own food and often starved. At the rivers, logs were tied into massive rafts bound with bamboo for buoyancy, towed by teams of 40 men, and then launched on the three-year, three-thousand-kilometer journey to Beijing (Figure 6). Only a small fraction of the trees reached the capital in a condition where they could be used for palace building.
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Expeditions exceeded their budgets up to fiftyfold.
One official remarked, “the labor force numbers in the thousands; the days number in the hundreds; the supply costs number in the tens of thousands each year.” Another saying held that “one thousand enter the mountains, but only five hundred leave” (rushan yiqian chu shan wubai). To make matters worse, logging mostly occurred within territory that was under only loose Ming control [...].
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The Yongle Palaces were said to replicate the otherworldly atmosphere of the old-growth forests where their pillars originated. The presence of these timbers in Beijing linked the capital, materially and symbolically, to the southwestern landscape of cliffs and gorges where the trees had grown.
But ancient sentinel trees could not be reproduced on demand. The fifteenth-century logging project was a millennial event, removing the growth of hundreds or even thousands of years. Later officials were forced to come to terms with the transformations their predecessors had wrought in the ancient forests. Eventually builders had to switch to smaller, commercially available timber, using ornate artisanship and commercial efficiency to substitute for the austere majesty of the early Ming palaces, and the thousands of years of tree growth on which they rested.
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All text above by: Ian M. Miller. “The Distant Roots of Beijing’s Palaces.” Rachel Carson Center for Environment and Society, Environment & Society Portal, Arcadia no. 39. Autumn 2020. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me.]
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nitefise-art · 1 year
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The names of the Ruinous Quartet
So I’ve been playing Pokemon Violet and the names of the four Ruinous Pokemon are clearly derived from Chinese, so I thought I’d share some thoughts on what they mean.
The Ruinous Quartet comprise:
Wo-Chien
Chien-Pao
Ting-Lu
Chi-Yu
The first thing to note is that the names seem to use the Wade-Giles system of romanisation, as opposed to the Pinyin system used today. I don’t know Wade-Giles, so I’m going to be translating these to Pinyin for the explanations.
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Wo-Chien
The Pinyin equivalent of Wo-Chien is Wo Jian. This doesn’t tell us what the tones are, but the Mandarin name for Wo-Chien according to Bulbapedia is 古简蜗 - Gǔjiǎnwō. 蜗 (Wō) means “snail” (more commonly said as 蜗牛 - wōniú). 简 (Jiǎn) is more difficult to translate because it can take on a lot of meanings depending on context and what words it’s paired up with (it can be a noun, adjective or verb), but in this context it refers to the strips of bamboo that were used for writing in Ancient China before paper was invented. These were strung together so they could be rolled up (kind of like sushi mats lol) when not being read:
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This is why Wo-Chien is the Tablets of Ruin. This version of 简 (Jiǎn) isn’t commonly used anymore, instead it’s more usually used to mean “simple” (简单 jiǎndān).
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Chien-Pao
This one is fairly straight-forward. The Pinyin of Chien-Pao is Jian Bao. This “Jian” is a different word from the one above referring to the bamboo slips, which was 简 (Jiǎn) - this one is 剑 (Jiàn), meaning “sword”. And Bao here is 豹 (Bào), meaning “leopard” (not buns, which incidentally is 包 Bāo). Hence the Mandarin name for Chien-Pao is 古剑豹 (Gǔjiànbào), meaning ancient sword leopard. So Chien-Pao is literally Sword Leopard, which makes sense as it’s the Sword of Ruin.
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Ting-Lu
Ting-Lu in Pinyin is Ding Lu, and the Mandarin name is 古鼎鹿 (Gǔdǐnglù). Lu here refers to 鹿 (Lù), meaning “deer”. Ding refers to 鼎 (Dǐng), which are ancient Chinese cauldrons with three legs and two handles (below). This is depicted on Ting-Lu’s head and is why it’s known as the Vessel of Ruin. So Ting-Lu is basically the Cauldron Deer.
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As a bonus, the character 鼎 (Dǐng) can be traced back to a hieroglyphical depiction of the actual cauldron itself (source):
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Chi-Yu
This one is a bit of a mystery. The Pinyin for Chi-Yu is Ji Yu. Now Yu is obviously 鱼 (Yú), meaning “fish”, but it’s unclear what character the Ji refers to. All three previous Pokemon’s names derive from the animal and their associated item (tablets, sword, cauldron). Chi-Yu’s associated item are beads, but that translates to 珠 (zhū), not “ji”. The Mandarin name for Chi-Yu is 古玉鱼 (Gǔyùyú), meaning ancient jade fish. This is another example of different Chinese characters being apparently spelt the same but said differently -  玉 yù vs 鱼 yú. Maybe this is why they didn’t go with Jade for the English, both because Yu can stand for both and Yu-yu would look somewhat silly. 
One possibility (which is what Bulbapedia goes with) is that Ji Yu is  鲫鱼 (Jìyú), which is a type of carp (note also that Bulbapedia records it as goldfish, but goldfish is 金鱼 jīnyú). 
Another (less likely but I think more interesting) possibility is that Chi-Yu isn’t Wade-Giles at all, but just Pinyin, in which case “Chi” could be 赤 (Chì), which is a fancy word for red (红 - hóng), kind of like how you can just have red but if it’s scarlet or crimson then all of a sudden it’s more exciting even though no one’s actually thinking about the precise shade differences. This would fit given Chi-Yu’s fire typing.
Aaaaanyway I hope this has been interesting and happy 2023!
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Hey, I saw you wanted some requests. So, can I have how the Allies act when they have a crush? ✨Thank you✨
Allies when they have a crush
note: sorry it took so long. it was england's fault, i hate british people (joke ofc). oh also probably mischaracterized a lot. (sorry again)
England
He's trying to be subtle, but he really isn't.
Tries to wait it out until it goes away. It wasn't a success
Would eventually try and show how cool he is, did you know he met Henry the VIII?
You get to munch on his speciality too! Burnt crumpets with some british tea. Please tell him it's good.
Doesn't mean he'll suck up to you though! You’re not special, or anything.. (Yes u very much are)
He’s trying to be impressive and cool without making it obvious.
Not really showboating though. He just wants to prove he can be a reader’s man, not Superman.
America
Y’know how I said England won’t showboat? Yeah well, this guy will.
He’d try and show you how strong he is by inviting you to hang out with him while he works out. (He doesn’t even work out usually, he just wants to look badass)
Would take you out often, not like a date of course. Just lunch, Y’know?
Also trying to be a reader’s man. He’ll hold the door open or pull your chair out for you.
Gets you very nice gifts that he knows you’ll love, he tries to remember your likes.
He will attempt to sneak his hand into yours when you two walk together
Always offers (and ends up) helping you when he thinks you need it
France
He twirls his hair and kicks his feet while talking to you on the phone.
Would love to cook you something good to eat, he tries extra hard to make sure you enjoy the dish he makes. (He’ll be glancing at you to see your reaction when eating it)
Takes you to the different beauties throughout his country
This might be off topic, but I feel like he adores people with strong admirable qualities.
He would like to take you shopping with him. You don’t have to though, but he will still try and dress you up. He just finds it fun.
Very affectionate with you, he keeps an arm around you when walking or sitting together.
He won’t flirt with anyone anymore now that you’re his main romantic focus.
China
The fact he even has a crush is kinda wild, but here he is. Anyways, I feel like he’d be good at hiding it for awhile (until he chooses not to anymore).
Once he’s stopped hiding it as much he’ll start giving you nice gifts. (Necklaces, snacks you like, things that reminded him of you.)
He’ll take you to gardens and temples so you can enjoy his culture, he just likes them and hopes you do too.
Plays the role of your (ancient) best friend who gives amazing advice and comforts you when your in pain.
He would listen to anything you say, and if it seems like he isn’t paying attention, he really is.
Might be a bit off topic, but he definitely gives you the most gifts on your birthday. Expect 20 of those bitches when you wake up.
Not much else to comment on, he does his role in your life well.
Russia
It’s pretty easy to tell he likes you for the most part, but you’d somehow never be able to tell he’s interested in you, though others might. (the baltics and his sisters)
The type to put on a scary movie if you’re scared of them, so you can hold onto him when startled.
He likes to go on walks with you, no specific area, it can be the park or in the middle of nowhere. He doesn’t really care where.
Very much a big fan of being affectionate with you. He likes to hug you a lot, sometimes the hugs feel like he’s strangling the life out of you, and sometimes they’re gentle and sweet.
Also holds your hand often, but he ain’t even sneaky about it. Just does it to be sure you’re there, he’s always a bit worried you’re gonna abandon him.
He’s also pretty protective of you and wouldn’t let a single thing harm you physically or emotionally.
Gets along with your parents very well, he’s a sweet gentleman to you.
Canada
Everyone knows. Everybody. Knows. His crush is no secret, but that doesn’t make it any less adorable.
He loves you because you remember him every time, and he appreciates that more than you can fathom.
Trying to be the bestest bud you can have, would love to have lazy Sundays with you where all you do is pancakes and movies.
He likes to check up on you often to see how you’re doing, would do anything to make you happy if you’re sad.
The type of guy who’ll invite you camping or hiking. He enjoys the outdoors and would appreciate if you enjoyed them with him.
He gets you loads of stuffed animals, he’d probably spend forever at a claw machine trying to win you a prize.
Kumajirou likes you, and you two get along well. When Canada mentions his crush on you to him, he’ll encourage him to confess.
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nemainofthewater · 4 months
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Sweeping gracefully down from on high, their robes a pure, pristine white, untouched from the dust of the secular world...
How do they do it? Is it a special dirt repelling cloth? A talisman sewn into their robes? An army of servants following them at all times with a change of clothes?
Or is it... something more mundane. Something like Ancient Chinese Fantasy Bleach (all stains removed or your money back!).
(It is 100% also the army of servants, there's no way these characters are scrubbing their own clothes. They'd probably wear less white if they were responsible for their own laundry)
Whether this is because they themselves invented it or because exasperated (and overworked!) support staff or servants invented it for them, this is the 'Cdrama Character Most Likely to Be the Cause of the Invention of Ancient Fantasy China Bleach' poll
Vote for the characters with the best laundry regime! Propaganda, call out posts, and write-in candidates welcome!
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papaver-decervicatus · 7 months
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Cat/Mouse/Den: Pt. 2, Mus Rusticus
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After months of tense flirting and teasing with the mountain of a man she only knows an König, Mouse finds herself in a life-or-death situation while on patrol in the Alps. Maybe her new admiration isn't as one-sided as she thinks…
CW: Obsession, stalking, canon typical violence, intrusive thoughts, unsanitary wound care
Authors Note: Wow! The response to this fic has been incredible, heartwarming, and just baffling to me! I cannot express how happy I am to share this with you all!
Being completely objective, this chapter requires some suspension of disbelief, the circumstance is not totally likely but alas, I am here for fun.
My college classes are starting up soon, so expect slower updates moving forward. As always, please feel free to leave a comment/reblog with a message saying you want to be added to the taglist or just interact in general!
Cura ut Veleas❣️~ Caedis
PREV | Pt. 2, Mus Rusticus | 4.1k words | Mouse POV | NEXT
He’s a vision, he’s hard to miss on the horizon, he stands out like a mountain lion against his fellow men. He sways his hips wide, the trusty Glock Field knife he keeps on his belt shines like a beacon. It’s such an outrageously cocky move, to keep glinting metal on his person when she’s sure he’s supposed to be stealthy. He’s tall as a tree and broad as a train and always has some hood covering his face. He’s sniper candy, he’s so obviously right there it makes her dig blunt nails into her arm in frustration. He’s hard to miss, should be her straight shot. 
But he never is. 
She never gets the barked orders, the confirmation. She’s asked a hundred times. When it’s in the forest, it’s less warfare and more stakeout. She’s not paid enough to know what she’s looking for, but she always sees him. And she’s always been told not to shoot. She stops asking at some point, but like everything else with this man, she doesn’t quite remember when. Her life is a blur of missions and off time and him and nothing else.
It’s been months since the ravine and she’s seen him just about everywhere she’s been. When SpecGru was gathering intel on KorTacs drug affiliations, she saw him in the haunted deserts of Sonora, Mexico where she lies in the dirt redder than blood and coyotes sing her to sleep. She gazes down at him atop crumbling 16th-century Byzantine marble when she picks off the guards of a weapons supplier in Belgrade, Serbia. In the ancient and verdant bamboo forest of Yibin, China, hunting down spy affiliations, she camps across a creek from him for a night. 
It’s a small world, but not quite small enough for her to believe just how they keep running into each other. No matter where she ends up, their eyes always meet. 
The eyes of the apparition with bloody tears on top of an executioner's hood always flick right towards her, even when she’s under a ghillie or some camo or nothing particularly obtrusive at all. She’s even taken off her scope once or twice to reduce glare, to see if the monster still turns her way then. To see if the cat is following a laser pointer she’s unwittingly putting out. 
He does.
Always finds her.
No matter what. 
He would’ve been a good sniper, in another life. If he wasn’t built like the trees she climbs for her shots. 
Very few things are constant in her work. Very few people stay, very few people know. It’s awful, but she starts to hope to see him on the fields. Like he’s some coworker she’s been flirting with in the coffee lounge. 
But he’s not her coworker. Quite the opposite, he’s a soldier on the other side. The enemy. He breaks men’s spines on his knee like toothpicks. He hums with visceral energy, like mud, blood, and guts. He disembowels men like fish. He walks like a monster with three legs (and at some point about three months into their little game, she touches herself thinking about that third leg.) He swings wide, he keeps his knives sharper than cat eyes. 
His stare is constant, glacial, beautiful. 
She wonders what the rest of him looks like, with such a beautiful set of eyes. Beautiful thighs. Beautiful shoulders. He must have some reason for the mask, but she can’t help but think (or hope) he’s a good kisser under there. That his hands must be larger than life, that his skin must be warm. That his teeth must feel good if used in particular places with caution and moderation. 
She’s sure if he ever caught her, the cat would sink his teeth right in. 
She finds she wouldn’t quite mind getting chewed on by him when they accidentally pick up each other’s radio frequencies in the field. They should be encrypted. They shouldn’t be able to, but the cruel stars align and they make their pacts. 
It’s a game of cat and mouse.  They’ve got their own little rules, too. 
They don’t talk about work or positioning, he always knows where she is but never tells anyone on his team. Once she reaches out, he never gets any closer. Like it’s a game. Like they’re playing hide and seek and he knows he opened his eyes too early so he’s closing them again and pinky swearing not to tell. 
He must not tell, because SpecGru has yet to fall into an ambush. So has KorTac, though. If anyone knew they’d have their heads, but no one else does. The secret stays between them and their radios become the divining rods of close encounters. 
Mostly it’s just breathing on each line, mostly it’s just- 
“König?”
“Maus?” 
“Mhm.”
“Hmm.”
And that’s it. And they breathe at the same time, and he looks up at her in the trees or in her towers or wherever she is. And she hopes he’s thinking the same terrible things that she is, and she hopes that he keeps striking out at base camp and bars and wherever just like she has, and she hopes that he’s lonely like she is. That he has nothing else to focus on so she takes all the space in his head like he does hers. 
She knows she should get a shrink or a good fuck to stop fucking thinking about him like this, but sometimes he whispers a joke into his radio and she laughs, and sometimes she tells him about the book she’s been reading, and sometimes he shows her his favorite knife tricks, and sometimes she tells him stories of before she was in the military and he always laughs and asks questions to show he’s actually engaged and he cares and- 
She doesn’t know when she started missing shots. When she started covering his ass the three or so times he didn’t recognize some hostile getting a bit too close for comfort. 
When the fire is heavy and the mission is condensed into a 100th the size of their usual open field rendezvous, she’s seen him in action. He can handle himself, he can more than handle himself.  Some terrible part of her hopes, though, that he is thankful for her. Cover fire from a traitorous Angel in the trees, makes for a good romance novel but a terrible dynamic in war. And that’s what this is, right? It’s war? But what for? 
She doesn’t know. She’s not sure she wants to. So she keeps their little secret and she prays that he stays safe when she really can’t risk covering for him. To that point, though, he does himself no favors. He fights like he can’t get hit. 
When they’re alone he’s the perfect gentleman, he gets no closer than when she reaches out to contact him first. When they’re not, it's a whole different story. He runs into the middle field like if he can just reach her, he can keep her. If he can carry back his conquest, well… kings get their war spoils, don’t they? It’s a terrible secret she keeps alive only in her heart, but she hopes one day he finally will. 
She’d never shoot one of her own, to save his hide. But when it’s one of his own going after his neck, or when one of hers needs cover too, or one of some other guys on him, it’s easy. 
The Mouse saves the King. 
But a game is no fun with only one player. 
The King also saves the Mouse. 
It’s November, it’s somewhere in the Alps. She’s had quite the pleasure of seeing him so in his element, so proud, broad-chested, and covered in the swagger of a mountain as it walks with its own. The snowfall constricts her view but not his movement. He’s practically prancing around like a snow leopard and despite the temperature it’s warming her up a little to think about how happy he looks down there. 
“Are you gonna get me, kitty?” She hums into her radio, lips curling into a saccharine smile, when it’s just them alone in the cold. His eyes find her immediately after she’s made contact. Like always, they breathe in and out at exactly the same time once those terribly fantastic eyes of his meet hers. 
“Haha!” His whole body shakes like an earthquake when he laughs. “No. Just…” he stops for a moment like he’s catching his breath or remembering the right word, “-watching.” He says, hand reaching to his mask, lifting it up just enough so she can see a red, red, mouth and sharp, sharp teeth turning in a cruel, Cheshire Cat smile. He languishes on a stump, playing with his signature knife, downright admiring her from far away. He pulls his mask back down, but the outline of his exhales still turn into clouds in the snow. 
They breathe in tandem. Their hearts must sync. 
Today is unusual because he is actually working at something in his grasp. Usually, his beloved knife is his dancing partner, his muse of movement, the loyal companion of his oversized hands. 
Many times she’s been lost in the beautiful dance of his hands and his knife, as he flicks it up and catches it with ease. Every time he does so, her heart clenches in her all of a sudden seemingly too-small chest as she fears it’ll come down and slice him. She knows how sharp he keeps his many knives, she knows how terribly it would go for him should it ever fall out of its practiced battle dance. The knife, of course, never does. When he gets bored of tossing it, he starts doing little tricks. He balances it on his index finger, he spins it between the fingers on his massive hand, he can even juggle it between his hands without a moment's hesitation. What’s worse, is the whole time he does it, he is watching her with a relaxed posture. Like he’s showing off like he’s saying “Don’t you see how good I can be with my hands? Don’t you want to invite me over? Don’t you ache to know just what I’ll make them do for you?”
This surgical precision never ceases to amaze her because she’s seen him around his comrades. The steady hands she so admires (and yearns to touch her) disappear and shake like leaves the second he has to talk strategy or cover for others outside of immediate battle. He’s a capable soldier, he’s a great commander, he’s an excellent strategist, sure. But he’s never at ease enough to make his knife dance like this, never like he is with her. His hands shake without adrenaline and with the company. 
His hands never shake when the two exist like this, though. No, the shy soldier boy who won’t look anyone in the eye doesn’t exist to her. Like a fairytale, the second the two see each other, he disappears and instead, a man of ferocious devotion finds himself in her sights. He waits for her. He never once gets closer to her than the moment she reaches out to him first. 
It would almost be romantic. If it wasn’t war and she wasn’t herself and he wasn’t himself. 
Her comm line lights up, ripping her away from her inattentive, lovelorn adorations. Apparently, there’s an enemy scout that’s inching treacherously close to her position and slipped past someone further ahead of her. If he gets beneath her, she’s D.O.A in her tree. 
She sees König’s body tense a second after hers, the way she’s come to recognize he’s received a transmission. He stops his idle patrol and puts down the something he was working on in his hands. Quickly, he tucks it into his pocket. He’s ready to hunt all of a sudden, the relaxed air of his body falls away with all the quickness and ferocity of an avalanche. She knows to pity the poor soul on the receiving end of that look in his eyes and-
Is it her this time? Her heart stutters to a stop. 
The snow is picking up, she can’t see much of anything but she sees him blur into motion. Towards her spot. 
“Keep moving and I shoot,” she says to him. In warning. Begging him not to. She’d miss his comfort if he does make her. 
“It’s right under you, Liebling.” His voice rasps through static colder than the snow on the ground. 
She realizes she’s stranded on her branch, there’s a widow’s maker close enough to her perch to mean she’s screwed if she moves too quickly. She doesn’t have enough time to maneuver out of the tree safely and she’s a sitting duck for someone else’s shot, so long as all they’ve got is short range. If it were longer range she’d be dead already. She’s going to fall to her death or get shot at from below. It’s a shame, but she’s a little happy that it’ll be König, her cat, that’ll catch her corpse. 
She sees the would-be assailant on the horizon and she brings her gun to her cheek. He darts frantically between trees, careful to only go far enough that she’ll have to re-aim as he darts out again. He’s gaining a substantial amount of ground as she finally has a good enough line of sight to execute and-
Her gun jams. 
With all the futility of a mouse in a glue trap, she begins to shake and replace everything she can afford to in such little time to make her rifle usable. The man on the forest floor uses all of the seconds she cannot afford to waste as it becomes clear that he will reach her before she can either get down or get her gun unjammed. 
But by the time she’s gone to pray and say her goodbyes in her head while frantically looking around, she hears the footfalls of a desperate man crunching snow and she sees red spill out. 
König’s massive hands cradle one of his very own, dead. She sees the outline of hardwired explosive packs on the corpse’s chest, apparently a suicide bomber? Alone in the Alps? 
For his part, the giant doesn’t seem the least bit displeased with his kill. He wipes his bloody knife on his pant thigh and sheaths it like it’s nothing. He’s got another man’s blood all over his lower half, he sliced that poor bastard clean between his third and fourth ribs.
“Threat eliminated. My position is compromised, I’m moving.” She says to her comm. 
“Rog, Mouse.” Someone in command responds. 
She, very slowly, makes her way down to the carnage near the base of her tree, sniper rifle at her hip like a mother huddles an unruly toddler. When she’s only 12 feet in the air instead of 40, König spreads his arms out to her. It’s snowing. Hard. He doesn’t move, arms outstretched like a tree.
“Maus, I‘ll help you!” He says. 
It’s the first thing he says to her outside of the buzz of the radio. 
It’s her name. Or, the only one he knows her by. 
And the first thing he says is a promise. A promise of help. A promise of aid. 
She shouldn’t trust him. 
She tosses her gun to the pillowy snow, against all safety protocols and everything she’s ever known. He doesn’t move for it. He’s got a rifle of his own, well- not a sniper's rifle, on his back. Maybe he doesn’t need two?
She unhooks her cabling. 
It’s snowing hard. 
She kicks off the tree and into the air. 
It’s snowing really hard and dawn is breaking. 
He does, indeed, catch her. 
He audibly gasps when she lands in his arms. He doesn’t move, she’s much too small and light to move the man. He just holds her. For a moment- in the air. 
“… klein,” he all but whispers and puts her on the ground. His hands don’t start trembling as she expects them to.
She doesn’t know what that means and goes to pick up her gun and makes a quiet mental note to find a German Dictionary or self-teacher or something if this weird romance is gonna keep up. 
“What’s this guy's story?” She motions to the left. Where there’s the stump of a man who should’ve been her death. 
“Traitor, against both sides. Al Qatala. Made off with classified files.” He rolls his shoulders, completely unconcerned. 
It could be a lie. It could’ve been that this man just has a weird obsession with her and couldn’t stand to see her get taken out by someone that wasn’t him. 
Well, if that were the case, why’s she still around? He could just kill her. But then again, couldn’t she have killed him multiple times over? 
She doesn’t think he's lying. He’s affected by some things, not by others. He’s much too jittery and anxious of a man to lie so easily to her. She recognizes she’s putting a terrible amount of trust in the enemy, but if it’s gotta be anyone, she’d rather it be the man who sometimes radios her terrible jokes instead of some stranger. 
But now they’re as face to face as over a foot and a half of height difference will let them be. There’s still the hood on his face which is haunting, but this monster-  he’s scarcely made a move to her that hasn’t been some perverse version of love or care. 
She realizes she’s thankful for him. 
Stockholm syndrome, she decides. Even though this is the first time they’ve been within 80 yards of each other. 
“Thank you.” Is what she says instead, breathless and quiet, almost like she’s sorry she has to say the words out loud. Almost like they’re bad news like she’s telling the kids they have to put the family cat down. 
“Bitte schön,” he says, gentle and warm like a wool blanket. His hands are drumming on his thighs with nervous kinetic energy and he looks intently at where he grabbed her, maybe he’s worried he hurt her? But he’s not trembling. She tries not to think about it, that he’s not trembling. Her face is red and her heart is fast but for all the wrong reasons.
Before they part ways and go back to their little lives on opposite sides of some silly war she’s sure is not worth the human toll, he reaches into his pocket. 
He brings the little thing to his hood and places it right where she reckons his lips are. 
Their breaths puff into billows of smoke. 
They breathe in time. 
It’s bloody from his pant legs when he presents it to her, holding the tiny object in two forefingers and thumbs. She cups her hands in front of her like a child begging the family pet to drop an injured bird it found in the backyard. He drops it just like that pet, a few inches above her hands to avoid bloodying her hands directly. Like it would be a shame. Like he cares about tainting her. 
It’s a piece of light wood, whittled into the shape of a mouse. 
She holds the thing in the palms of her hands and they ache. It is so small, so hard for even her to hold. His field knife, the one he loves so much, is massive but she knows it was the one that he used to make it. She did research one day, trying to discover what sort of blade it was. It's a custom Glock Field Knife, with a near mirror-perfect patina and two whole inches larger than the standard issue. She also thinks he wrapped the handle himself because she cannot find that stark red chord on any seller’s website. It's a monster of a knife, for a monster of a man. It’s not made for woodworking, for whittling, for creation– it's a thing of utter annihilation and destruction. Yet, he changed its nature. He utilized his most favored possession to carve intricately into fallen birch wood. He’s given a second life in the shape of her name to what would rot without his attention. He has created, against all odds, something beautiful and delicate out of a brutal tool and doomed material. For her.
She is dumbstruck by this man. She has no words for him, for herself, she wouldn’t have any for anyone who asked either. Suddenly, the Alps aren’t so cold even though it is verifiably snowing. 
When he turns to go she thinks how much his hands must’ve hurt to make this little thing and she can’t just let him go, not empty-handed. 
“Wait!” She calls to him. 
He stops and looks back at her. She fishes around in her pockets and curses her nearly-frostbitten fingers until she finds it. 
She tosses it to him. 
He opens the little leather pouch and she sees his smile through his eyes as he recognizes what it is. It’s her pocket whetstone, with the crown she doodled onto the leather holder with charcoal. 
Her lucky charm. 
She shouldn’t trust him, she’s really got no reason to. But this man, he’s saved her life. He likes knives more than she does, hell, uses them more than she does. There’s really no reason for her to have it (just like there was no reason for her to put his symbol into the leather.) His glacial eyes melt while looking down at the object and she’s never known the winter wilderness to be so warm. She tries not to think about the way her heart speeds up when his eyes soften looking at the object. 
“I will only use this from now on, Maus.” He says, voice quiet and reverent. Like he holds the keys to his kingdom when he holds the cheap piece of rock. 
“Don’t. It’s- it’s not a great one. Just. My charm.” She shrugs. She wants to say ‘It’s a piece of shit and useless, just like I am. It’ll fuck up your knives. I know you love them. Don’t ruin useful things on my account.’ 
“All the more reason to treasure it.” He replies, simple and unburdened.
God. She wishes he wasn’t so charming. There’s no going back. 
She feels like she’s in his jaws already, totally caught. He seems not to realize that he could march off with her and go anywhere and she’d just let him. He walks away and it genuinely hurts when his form disappears into snow and trees and leaves no trace like he’s a fairy tale. Like he’s not real and never was and cannot be. 
And with that, the King had saved the Mouse. He turned and left and she moved her position before returning to base camp. 
The next time she sees him, about a week later, she sees him sharpening his massive field knife with the tiny whetstone on his comically large thigh, and in response, she thumbs at the wooden effigy in her pocket. They laughed into their radios to each other. Her cheeks flush red. Her thighs clench around nothing. She dreams about those big, big, hands, the ones that cradled her in the air, pinning her down and leaving black and blue bruises all over her hips and thighs. She thinks about that red, red mouth tracing said bruises with a gentle tongue. She thinks about the hands caressing her neck, the mouth kissing the top of her head. The hands, holding her at the hip snug to his massive frame throughout the night. The mouth, hushing her to sleep and promising to be there in the morning. 
She’s got nothing for him, though. Other than her body and the vain, ridiculous, impossible dream that’s enough for him. He doesn’t seem the romantic type. She doesn’t think he’d settle down. She doesn’t know him at all, not really.
But, she does have something for him. The answer to a question from what feels like lifetimes ago. 
“It’s because I’m quiet.” She whispers into her radio, half hoping he won’t pick up. 
“What?” He hums back. 
“Mouse. Because I’m short and quiet in the field.” 
“Really?” He asks back. “That’s it?”
“Yep.” A heartbeat too long of silence passes between them. She chews the inside of her lip to bits, waiting for a response. “Your turn,” she prods gently. 
“Because I am not.” Is his response. 
“Really, that’s it?” She chuckles into her radio. 
He just laughs on the other end. And now she’s really got nothing else to give him, save a rare book recommendation, a laugh in return for his bad jokes, and her sharp eyes always trained on his form in her scope. She’s got nothing to give him that she hasn’t already given him, and nothing he couldn’t just find elsewhere. 
But God, she wants him all the same. 
It’s dangerous to be at war. 
It’s dangerous to play cat and mouse. 
Even more dangerous to fall in love on top of those two. 
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taglist!
@kneelingshadowsalomee @sprout-fics @bucca2 @dead-cipher @gallowsjoker @lostagoodcigar 
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This is one of the only terracotta warriors that was found almost completely intact.
Note the detail on the bottom of his shoe, showing that grip and traction were considered in footwear even 2,200 years ago.
Each life-sized clay warrior was crafted to be completely unique and there are no two terracotta warriors-among the 8,000 total—that are exactly the same.
Shortly after the completion of the tomb in 210-209 BC, it was looted for weapons and burned, causing the roof to collapse, crushing the terracotta warriors.
All the other terracotta warriors that are currently on display were painstakingly restored.
What's even more remarkable is that the terracotta warriors were originally painted in bright colors by skilled artisans.
Unfortunately, when they were exposed to air and sunlight during the excavation in the 1970s, the colors began to curl up almost immediately and disappeared within minutes.
These terracotta warriors were put in place to guard the tomb of the first emperor of unified China — Qin Shi Huang (18 February 259 BC – 12 July 210 BC).
To this day, the tomb has yet to be opened.
According to ancient historians, the tomb contains an entire kingdom and palace in which the ceilings are decorated with pearls to mimic the night sky.
The tomb is also said to contain extremely rare artifacts and has been rigged with crossbows to shoot anyone trying to break in.
To keep its location a secret, the workers were entombed with the emperor.
As described by Han dynasty historian Sima Qian (145-90 BCE) in the Records of the Grand Historian, he mentioned that inside the tomb, "mercury was used to fashion the hundred rivers, the Yellow River and the Yangtze River, and the seas in such a way that they flowed."
Modern tests have indicated extremely high levels of mercury in the surrounding soil.
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twiwoncrackpopcorn · 9 months
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ツイステ Twisted Wonderland SPOILERS - Lilia Vanrouge “Armor of the West General” SSR Mirror Banner
banner starts on the 29th June, together with the next part of MAIN STORY ARC.7
Lilia full-body sprite in-game will look a little bit… different from usual (=^▽^)σ
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it’s an Attack card, DUO with Sebek,
this Card will NOT have a Personal Story, instead you get card-exclusive GuestRoom Furniture when you unlock the Vignette levels
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Side Note / Lore / Trivia / Lazy-translation-justification : In Ancient Japan/Korea/China, there was a way of calling Generals and Ministers by “Left” and “Right” using 右 左 characters, but they also often translated as “West” and “East” as seen in the Asian games of chess from the same period. I am honestly not sure which version Yana-sensei is going with (might even be a completely different twist) but I picked this one for now _(:3 」∠)_
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olderthannetfic · 2 months
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https://olderthannetfic.tumblr.com/post/740412128006225920/my-fave-backwards-ass-thing-that-constantly#notes
There's this one joke I see often mentioned, this one is specific to white people, and honestly it was a bit funny the first time. "White people colonised the word to get spices, only to not do anything with them." Like I said, it was a bit funny the first time. But it kinda became more eyebrow raising when I noticed how many people unironically said it, and apparently have genuinely no clue why "white people" suddenly stopped focusing on spices. I mean, we better not look at any part of southern Europe, but moving on.
You know. Why did white people colonised the world for spices, but then people stopped using them? It's almost like there's a reason for it. A very specific reason. A very important HISTORICAL reason. An important reason why spices became less used, especially by the peasantry. A reason that could explain why food would suddenly be less about indulging in flavor, and more about just being able to eat at all. Something like a food scarcity suddenly reaching an all time high and trade becoming a lot more dangerous. A VERY significant thing that happened in WORLD history. Something that became even deadlier with the industrial revolution. Something that made it so that most modes of transportation which previously had been used to get food from one place to the other became a lot less accessible and also a lot more dangerous. Anyone? Got some answers? And honestly, I find that anyone who judges food in such a way to be incredibly obnoxious. Different countries, cultures, and people have different flavor profiles. Some rely on spices, some on herbs, some on fats, some on vegetables, or even just on bringing out each ingredients own flavor, some are even just more focused on survival. Food is dependent on geography and what's available, and some palates prefer certain tastes. The closer you get to the arctic circle the less you will be able to add to the food because the most available food is literary animal protein, with import prices being absolutely insane.
Making a bit of light fun of different foods isn't the issue, it's the stupid maliciousness about it that's obnoxious. Putting your culinary culture above others boorish and just insanely childish in a globalized world. I honestly have a huge dislike for anyone who needs to mock and act all snooty about other cultural foods. Just because you are too afraid to widen your culinary horizons, doesn't mean you have to show everyone what a little baby you are.
Signed -A foodie.
--
Frankly, people are also stupid af about the basic principles of aesthetics and showing off. The pendulum swings between "I can get bling and you can't" and "Everyone can get everything, but no one can buy taste"/"Quality of the materials is what matters, not fanciness of preparation".
On one end, we have Medieval European food and gem-encrusted things, on the other, the French culinary revolution and all beige homes.
Ancient Rome has aesthetics treatises on this. China has experienced this back and forth. Heian Japan was into modern tacky bling, while zen shit is firmly Team Greige.
It's a basic feature of how aesthetic trends work.
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trans4hire · 3 months
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So I was originally just going to let this die in my notes where it belongs but since @catboybiologist seemed to really like it and encouraged me to share it here we go, my list of Catboy "Facts" (there's a story of how I got to this point that I'll put in the replies if you're curious)
Catboy facts:
Catboys are half-human half-cat meaning they are humans with cat like traits
Cat ears and tails, catboys only share traits with shorthair cats
Catboys are naturally hairless except for head eyebrows and tails, their hair also doesn't grow after reaching adulthood
Catboys have an average lifespan of 15-20 years and reach adulthood after just 1 year
Catboys can breed with other catboys, every catboy has a sort of branch 4 inches deep in their rectum that contains a uterus, it's smaller than Catgirls Uterus' so most Catboys will only have 1-2 kids at a time, their pregnancy term is 2 months
Catboys diet consists almost entirely of meat, such as fish, beef, pork, eggs, and milk
Catboys will produce milk for up to 2 weeks after giving birth
Catboy milk and catboy semen are made of the same ingredients, the only salient difference is in the lack of sperm in milk and the milk is pink whereas the semen is white
Catboys vary in intelligence with some as high as 100 IQ and most as low as 75 IQ
Catboys can breed with humans but pregnant catboys will only ever produce catboy offspring, if impregnating a human female the resulting offspring can be either catboy or human, a human giving birth to a child seeded by a catboy will still be pregnant for 9 months whether the child is a catboy or a human
Catboys are often preferred for catboy breeding for perceived "purity" as well as catboys inherently high impregnation chances and semen production 5 times greater than humans
Because of their lack of natural fur catboys can only live in warm climates in the wild and must be kept indoors during cold weather
Catboys have 4 small fangs in their mouth
Catboys tongues aren't rough as they have no need to lick themselves clean and their opposable thumbs mean they have no need to lick meat from bones
Most catboys love water and are natural born swimmers
Catboys have a tendency to knock things off high surfaces and stare at nothing for hours on end
Catboys can sleep up to 16 hours a day
Catboys have 4 ears, two cat on the top of their head towards the front and two human ears on the side of the head, both sets of ears are functional and provide excellent sense of hearing
Catboys are considered sub-human, they are protected from cruelty but aren't allowed to vote, own land or property, get married, etc
Catboy farming is illegal in three countries: North Korea, China, and Isreal.
Catboys have a tendency attraction towards males, a rare 1% of catboys are attracted to males and females
Female handlers are used to milk catboys since catboys can become attracted to male handlers, throwing off their normal rhythm
Catboys are often kept in chastity cages while not being milked or bred so they don't attempt to milk themselves or other catboys
Catboys were worshipped by the ancient Egyptians
Catboys and normal cats do not get along very well as strange as it sounds
Most catboy bedding is fleece to keep them warm
Many people have longcoats for their catboys in the colder months so they can still get exercise
Catboy semen is valuable in the breeding world, more valuable than most other types of semen due to the versatility of it
Catboys have no natural defense mechanism so they often don't last long in the wild, as such most catboys will prefer to live on farms or with humans
Catboys are generally recommended to be kept with other catboys or they could get depressed
Catboys enjoy napping in high places and in sunny areas
Catboys only divergence in breed is down to hair/tail color
Catboy penises range in size from 6-9 inches
Catboys aren't circumcised as it's considered cruelty due to being genital mutilation
Catboys range in height from 5'8" to 6'0"
Catboys used to have giant hands and feet, this trait was eventually bred out and isn't seen often in modern catboys
Catboys can speak but don't often speak to each other, using some unknown method of communication
Catboys have whiskers as babies but lose them 6 months after being born
Catboys are given earrings to keep track of them
Pet catboys while not as common as other popular pets are quite common in some countries
Germany is the catboy capital of the world...... apparently
Catboys generally prefer climates closer to the equator but can live as far North as some Canadian provinces if kept in the right conditions
Most catboys are only found in the western hemisphere and Europe, why Europe is an outlier is unknown
Your chances of being murdered by a catboy are low, but never zero
Keep one thing in mind after reading this: None of it matters, if your favorite catboy fact isn't up here or if you don't like X or Y about my catboys, make your own! Post catboy facts twice as long as mine. Don't like that mine live for a short time? Make yours Immortal. Don't like that mine are mostly hairless (like sphynx cats my Fav cats) then make yours look like chewbacca. Just don't take it out on me, I'm just a poor Catboy Farmer trying to make a living.
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winterlogysblog · 5 days
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Fairy Scents ft. Kiane Kids Scent Headcanons
It's well established that each fairy has a scent that is associated with a flower or a herb. So far we have confirmed scents for each notable fairy we have been introduced to.
So after some quick research I found some info about these flowers and their scents
King - Gold Osmanthus
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Osmanthus Wine tastes same as I remember, but where are those who share the memory XD
Origins: China
In the language of flowers, they carry the meaning of love and romance, symbolising true love and faithfulness
Smells like a mix of juicy peaches, ripe apricots with soft leather or suede.
Elaine - Lavender
Origins: Mediterranean
Represent purity, silence, devotion, serenity, grace, and calmness.
Biblical meaning of lavender symbolizes purity, devotion, and love
Delicate, sweet smell that is floral, herbal, and evergreen woodsy at the same time
Helbram - White Rose
Origins: Ancient Greece
Symbolize loyalty, purity, and innocence.
Combination of floral and fruity notes, with hints of honey and jasmine
Fun fact: A White Rose is what King used to kill Helbram (the first time) it turned red because of the blood
Gerheade - Mint
Origins: Mediterranean
Symbol of Hospitality and Wisdom
Gloxinia - Ginger
Origins: Maritime Southeast Asia
In many cultures, ginger is considered a symbol of love
Used in religious rituals to symbolize cleansing, protection and blessing.
Warm and spicy, with a hint of sweetness
Lancelot - Lemon
Origins: Unknown (said to be first grown in Northeast India, Northern Myanmar, or China)
Symbol of purity and cleansing
Headcanon Time
Since Nakaba hasn't spoken out about their scents I'll give my thoughts on the matter.
Lancelot introduced fruits into the mix of scents and Gloxinia smells like Ginger which is a root so I went ham with this.
Nasiens - Oleander or Sunflower
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Oleander are toxic which is very fitting for our Mad Herbalist
Smells like Vanilla
Oleander symbolizes love, beauty, and resilience
I want one of Kiane's kids to smell like Sunflowers cause you know... Sunflower
Sunflowers also don't have a distinct smell so it's actually fitting for Nasiens since he grew up thinking he's human so there's really no natural fairy-like smell he could have detected from himself
Sunflower represents longevity, lasting happiness, adoration, and loyalty
Sixtus - Peach
Since Sixtus looks extremely like King I think it's only fitting if his scent is close to King's as well
Peaches symbolizes longevity
Belte - Jasmine
Belte gives Helbram energy and he kinda looks like him too so his scent also needs to give Helbram energy
Jasmine stands for purity, simplicity, modesty and strength.
Zana and Zillian - Blackberry and Raspberry
Since they're twins I want their scents to match
Blackberries are mild, sweet and slightly acidic scent, with earthy and woody nuances.
Some believed that blackberries contain properties of abundance and prosperity
Raspberries are fruity, sweet and slightly acidic
Raspberries are symbol of kindness in Christian art.
Tioreh - Pink Hyacinth
Phao - Lily of the Valley
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Symbol of purity, joy, love, sincerity, happiness and luck,
Has a floral and green scent, with fresh and slightly sweet notes
I want one of Kiane's kids scents to come from the earth, something underground. There's an underground Orchid but it smells bad so that won't do so I specifically looked for a flower that has an earthy scent. I also want it to be PINK for Tioreh
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Sweet, robust, and earthy
Pink hyacinths symbolize playful joy.
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myfaveisfuckable · 3 months
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Shang Qinghua:
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The guy's a head of logictics in a magic kung fu school in fantasy ancient China. Like his department is basically the normalest guys on the whole mountain. Also in the world where important characters' appearances range from 11/10 to 20/10 hes like a solid 7.
And no one knows he is the literal creator of the world they live in. As in, he's a writer who was reincarnated with memories into the world of his own novel. Like, ppl come to him if they need a roof one of their superpowered teenagers broke fixed and he looks at them and knows their entire life with all of the secrets and traumas they hide, ya feel?
And in addition to that, he's also, in this world, a spy for the demons and a trusted advisor to one demon lord. And eventually they get together. So like imagine if your school's head accountant showed up one day with a huge demon on his arm like Hiiiiiii this is my new bf one of the kings of Hell. And that's Shang Qinghua.
Zhou zishu:
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I wanna start at how he's normal because it may not be obvious from images, but it's very clearly described in text (media is a book): he is described to have a face that's not very memorable (not counting the moments he's described from his bf's POV, but like ayy thats love), and tends to blend into background (to the point that theres a moment his fucking employer he was walking with forgot he was there), and thats just how he naturally is. But ALSO he is using disguises to look even MORE normal and average and unassuming. Like his 'just a guy' energy is off the charts and hes leaning into that further.
Ofc, going into how he's Not Normal, this helps him in his job of being a spymaster / head of assassination org working for the Crown Prince (eventual Emperor). This guy has committed soooooo many crimes. (Creating the spying&murdering government agency first among them in my opinion, but I know many other fans would point to murdering children and/or war crimes first.) And then the bastard man (beloved) is like hmmm i quit actually. and he just lies to the Emperor and leaves and goes to travel the countryside daydrinking and sightseeing. And being soooo totally normal that a fellow amoral murderous bastard he accidentally runs into takes note of him and develops a crush on him.
So like he's just a guy. He'll kill you. He's roleplaying being ye average household with a cannibal who found him in a ditch. His fucking vibe is simply unparalleled.
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