#entombed event

[mmaxie-musings]

HOW TO GET MY BEST FRIEND IN THE HOSPITAL WHEN HE IS CLEARLY BADLY INJURED BUT REFUSES TO GO??. GUYS. HELP

THAT TALK WENT THE WORST WAY IT POSSIBLY COULD HAVE

#pkmn irl #pokeblogging #pokemon irl #rotomblr #rotumblr #entombed event

[haunting-hari]

HARI?? ARE YOU OKAY???

-Hantu

yeha w'ere all fine here

#rotomblr #pkmn irl #rotumblr #pokeblogging #pokemon irl #ask #entombed event

[chbnet]

@chbnet pjo show countdown event → 2 days left (the sea of monsters)

You shall sail the iron ship with warriors of bone, You shall find what you seek and make it your own, But despair for your life entombed within stone, And fail without friends, to fly home alone.

by @dallaswinstons

#percy jackson and the olympians #riordanverse #pjoedit #litedit #booksociety #fictionnet #usercossette #userjamie #userbie #userdahlias #usersmia #useraish #userelio #userriel #chbnetpjocountdown #s:pjo #b:tsom #ours

[guacamoleroll]

— ᴘᴇʀ ᴛᴇ ᴇ ᴘᴇʀ ᴍᴇ ɴᴇʟ ᴄɪᴇʟᴏ · ꜰʏᴏᴅᴏʀ ᴅᴏꜱᴛᴏᴇᴠꜱᴋʏ

content. gn!reader. based on a request. forehead kisses, flirting, slight character study, possible inaccurate depictions of italy, teasing, slight suggestive themes (towards the middle), soft!fyodor, translation at the end. muse-typical metaphors. not proofread. 1.7k+ words.

author's note. this was so fun to write! a very delicate balance of sweetness and humor, along with the slightest dashes of spice and angst. thanks to @rusmii for descending from the heavens to remind me of "love in portofino." i had it playing on repeat <3

would you like to see more? join the taglist or comment under this post!

It was difficult to describe the issues that arose from you and your lover's hectic schedules, at least to others. How would you ever begin to explain it—he's a terrorist dead-set on the eradication of sin from your world, and sometimes that doesn't mesh with your nine-to-five career. Yeah, that would be well-received at brunch. But it was your reality, and for the most part, you made it work.

Simple meals served between stints of scheming in his office; convoluted stories discussed amongst infrequent breaks in your living room. Both of you were aware that a relationship would not be easy, but you made it work. It wasn't for lack of trying on his part; however, you knew he disguised his desire to be close underneath a mask of perfection, pretending it was solely for your benefit. Sure.

So, to your surprise, a pamphlet appeared on your nightstand. You scanned the cover with scrambled thoughts—its glossed sheen describing the wonders of Rome—and when you inevitably arrived in his office to question its sudden appearance, he simply stated that he 'required a visit to the country' and that he knew you'd be interested in joining him.

To most, he's an enigma, but you read him like an open book. There was no use in pointing out his scheme, so instead, you settled into the idea of a vacation, joyfully assisting in any help he needed booking the trip—you had been to the city before and often spoke of your wish to return someday, which had seemingly caught his notice. He placed you in charge of specific details of the itinerary—smaller stops on your preset route, the transportation, restaurants for lunch—though he noticeably had already planned many of the larger events. 

And that's how you arrived here. Rome, Italy. It was as luminous as you left it. You traded in your everyday attire for breathy linen and flowy cotton, allowing the Mediterranean sun to dance across your skin. Your ebony-haired lover was not far behind in fashion, a stark difference from the heavy wools and flannels of his motherland, which you had forced him to leave back in Yokohama so as not to worsen his already weakened constitution. 

The brilliant city held a beauty incomparable, its streets nestled with centuries of history that went beyond books, laid to rest underneath soil and entombed in stone. Even Fyodor, with many years of travel under his belt, couldn't help but admire the manmade structures of a bygone era, which reached like beacons of human ingenuity into the firmament. 

It had been ages since you explored the streets, and it was better now that you had a partner to hold your hand, hopping from place to place as you took in every destination with a new perspective. And in your exploration, you prayed Fyodor would find a connection with some kind of sight, with anything at all. He was a man so distant from mankind that you couldn't help but fret over his self-made isolation.

You were both exhausted—you had been on your feet for hours, and even though he tried to conceal it, you'd be foolish not to notice the slouch of his back as he tried to fight off sleep. He struck you with a knowing look whenever you cooed at him, forcing you to advert your eyes straight out onto the road as you scanned for the vehicle that was supposed to take you to the hotel.

Half an hour passed—nothing. You started to get worried.

"We've been scammed," he said, beating you to the punch as he stood from his seat on the sidewalk. You filled in his place, slumping against a wall as you hid your face in shame—one of the few tasks he had charged you with, and you had managed to mess it up!

He let out a breathy chuckle, patting the back of your head like he were comforting a scolded child. "We'll simply get a taxi."

You groaned, your stomach twisting at the sensation of your own incompetency, before allowing yourself to peek between your fingers to look out into the open world—and that was when you spotted it. A quaint shop with a flickering sign and a handful of mopeds slumped over outside. Fyodor's gaze followed yours, his brows furrowing as he found the target of your ire.

"Absolutely not."

But you had already grabbed onto his hand and pulled him out into the street, with surprisingly little resistance from him as he allowed himself to surrender to your will.

"You haven't experienced everything Rome has to offer," you hummed with a noticeable smirk, tilting your head to gaze at him between your lashes in a mocking attempt to sway his favor. "Come onnnn, Федечка."

He huffed, although his normal stoicism held an unmistakable look of fondness. "Ты маленькая гадюка."

You didn't need a translator to understand the meaning behind his words, heart filled with an almost sadistic joy as you approached the older gentleman that was running the shop. He seemed equally as amused as you were once he deciphered the situation, trading cash for keys as you skipped out the door.

Fyodor had planted himself onto the Vespa's seat without complaint, though you could not help his striking resemblance to a child on a bike that was far too small for them. He had his legs propped at an awkward angle to keep them from scraping against the ground, and the subtle twitch of his brow told you everything you needed to know.

You, on the other hand, were more than comfortable enough to settle between his legs, leaning against his chest as you reveled in the rare domesticality of the moment. That was until two arms decided to slither around your waist, a span of warm breath prickling your skin.

"You're quite brazen for someone that fell right within my grasp," he cooed, his voice dropping into that velvety, sadistically sweet tone that never failed to make you melt. 

The bastard had planned this on purpose—he had reviewed your travel plans beforehand, including the transportation company. Much like you could read him, he knew your story from cover to cover, often reading over every page like his favorite novel. And he knew the best ways to make you squirm, his hand snaking up your side, brushing the sensitive divots of exposed skin as it made its way around your throat, giving the slightest but most lingering of squeezes.

That was until you unintentionally floored the gas pedal, propelling you both onto the street—luckily, there wasn't too much traffic at this hour. Despite the rush of the sudden acceleration, you had found that your heart returned to its normal pace as you moved with a rhythm within the twists and turns. You zipped past various sights, most of which were the most enjoyable, in your opinion—a glimpse into the lives of those who occupied these homes. There was a comfort in the consistency. People had passed and left, but the atmosphere remained the same, passed with care through every generation.

And then, your eyes caught onto something, and the muscles of your fingers instinctively flexed against the handlebars. The arms around your waist squeezed you when you began to tilt the moped steadily to the right.

"Don't—"

But you chose to do it anyway, slipping into a narrow sidestreet. You tried not to burst out in laughter at Fyodor's dumbstruck expression through the wing mirror, wishing to capture this moment in a frame somehow. Who knew that all it took to shut the mouth of the destructive mastermind Demon Fyodor Dostoevsky was a trip on a potentially dangerous vehicle? 

You had recognized the pathway as a detour to an infamous part of the city—a perfect view of the Tiber River. It was difficult not to divert your path straight into the water when you funneled out into the road, the setting sun drawing a picturesque scene that could not be replicated, even if you returned to the same spot at the same time. There would never be another moment like this again. That sweet breeze parted the sky, both cradling and revitalizing you. 

You crept onto a safe spot to park the moped and jumped off to rush to the edge of a bridge that overlooked the entire river, leaning against the railing while being careful not to tip your body over the side. The water sparkled and flickered from the rays of the dying light, twinkling as creatures rested underneath its surface. It enveloped you in an atmosphere of complete calm as if you and Fyodor were the only ones to exist in the world.

Speaking of.

His eyes had drifted toward a view completely different from yours, at least in aspects of physicality. You may have admired a sunset as the peak of fleeting beauty, but you seemed completely unaware that you encompassed every aspect of such a celestial entity, yet in such a strikingly ethereal way. He had seen many sunsets many times, much like he had seen many humans—unique and fascinating in their own way, but not always beautiful. But then, you crashed into his life, and he knew it was always intended for you to remain at his side. Much rarer than a sunset, much more precious.

He would take your life into his hands, ones stained in blood and sin, and unlike all the others he held within his grasp, he would nurture it—cherish it. Like a blossoming flower, he intended to care for you, an invaluable treasure.

He had already found the sight he had been searching for.

"Look!" you exclaimed, practically bouncing as you pointed toward the swaths of fluffed clouds that embellished the sky. "Isn't it gorgeous!"

You didn't even notice the slip of his mask as he joined by your side, brushing a kiss against your temple as he eyed the blooming excitement on your cheeks with your grin. The wind swept through in another attempt to swaddle you, letting the fresh smell of water brush through the folds of your clothes and the tresses of your hair. You turned your gaze to Fyodor, laughter caught in your throat as your eyes peered into his—locked onto you with an almost unnoticeable but most genuine of smiles.

"It truly is."

федечка = fedechka ты маленькая гадюка = you little viper

ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ: @aureatchi @betweensinners @lovedazai @osameowdazai @ruru-kiss @ishqani @zyilas @lovesick-fairy @fedyascoffin @squigglewigglewoo @kelperspelt @miloofc @s1eepybunny @dazaisms @deepseafragments @ajaxism @himikoslove @little-miss-chaoss @justcallmesakira

© 𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐋 2024 — do not repost or modify my works for any reason. do not steal graphics w/o explicit permission. reblogs are appreciated.

#muse's anthology ‧₊˚ ⋅ #request: @dearhoney-31 .ᐟ #starring: fyodor .ೃ࿐ #gn!reader #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bsd #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd x reader #fyodor bsd #fyodor dostoevsky #fyodor x reader #fyodor dostoevsky x reader

[taki-yaki]

I just thought of a prompt: In the game Astarion mentions during the first decade of his enslavement he met a sweet man that he didn’t want to bring to Cazador, which led to his year of entombment and giving up on fighting Cazador. What if Tav is a descendent or relative of that sweet man, and he left a journal of how a pale elf saved his life before escaping into the remote countryside. Tav is abducted while on her way to Baldur’s Gate to investigate the journal, and when she meets Astarion she immediately suspects it’s him.

When it’s revealed he’s a vampire spawn Tav is now sure he’s the elf that saved her ancestor/relative’s life.

Oooh, this is interesting, I have made this one a little bit angsty in one section. But I feel like this would change up the dynamic if it was in the game

Astarion x Descendant Tav Headcanons

For most of your life, you grew up living in the countryside, far from the large bustle of the city life in Baldur’s Gate. Despite your family's willingness to distance themselves from the city, it never seemed to deter you. Ever since you were gifted your grandfather’s journals as a child, chronicling his life in the upper city, from the views to that of the variety of dishes they provided, seemed like a dream to a country child like yourself.

Although one section was a mystery to you, that of in-depth descriptions of a pale elf. When you asked your parents, they never wanted to speak much about it, saying when he returned, he looked entirely different, changed by an event that took place there. They would always try to steer your thoughts away from the city if prompted any further.

One day, you decided to leave the small village on a whim to journey to the city, wanting to put an end to the mystery. Travelling along the road to Baldur’s gate to investigate the mystery, is cut early after being abducted by the nautiloid ship, now being set back further from where you started with a tadpole in your head.

However, one face looked familiar among your new travelling friends. A pale elf, one which matched the exaggerated descriptions inside your grandfather’s journal. However seeing him in person said otherwise, matching what was written, ‘Ruby eyes as if looking into a ripe rose’ and ‘Silver lock curls that brushed softly against his ears’. But how could an elf like him look the same after so many decades?

Upon discovering his vampiric nature, explains how he was able to stay young for so long. One night you decide to confront him about your grandfather’s journal, showing him the entries and asking if he knew anything about it. Of course, he would deny not having a clue about what you are talking about

“Why do you insist on exhuming the past? I have no such knowledge of meeting a person like this”

His eyes would dart away from yours wishing to no longer engage in such pointless dribble. Any other mentions of the journal would just leave you with him trying to skirt himself around the topic.

One night though, he approaches you, drunk on, presumably, the blood of a bear, clinging to you refusing to let you go “I’m glad you’re alive still” he’d slur “You were so naive and sweet, to be subjected to such a thing”. When you try to question him about it, he refuses to answer any further, just tightening his grip on you longing to stay in the moment, eventually having to drag him back to his tent for the night.

The next morning, approached his tent to check on him, “I suppose you want to know what I was talking about last night” His body turned away from you to stare at the deep crimson of the tent walls. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to”, he turns to face you “Hmm, well I don’t want to talk about as much as you do, but that won’t do anyone any good”.

He explains how, in his first decade of slavery, he found a sweet naive man, who dreamed of making it big in the upper city of Baldur’s Gate. Compared to most he would find from petty criminals, street drunkards and brothel-goers, he would occasionally find some naive soul who wished to make it big in the city. 

One of those was your grandfather, he never tried to charm him, more so befriend him, he warned him to never approach him again and to run far away from this city if he wanted to live. 

“He was the first and only one who I ever truly let go” his eye meeting the floor 

“And I punished horribly for it” the grip on his shoulders tightening.

An awkward silence fell upon the tent “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pushed you like that to answer”. A light laugh leaves his lips as he turns to look at you, “Ha, you're just as sweet as he was, but…I’m glad he was able to make a life for himself, unlike me”. Slowly you clasped over his shoulder, his eyes staring directly into yours “Don’t speak so short of yourself, I promised you that I’ll keep you safe, just as you did for my grandfather, your actions won’t be in vain”.

Whilst travelling to Baldur’s Gate the two of you bond over the descriptions left in your grandfather’s journal describing the palaces within the city, ‘The Blushing Mermaids signature dish, salted small-fish stew, may be one of the establishment's more unique dishes that they have to offer.’, “We have to try that when we get to the city it sounds amazing”, “Hmm, how about we just avoid the Blushing Mermaid, I know their calamari dishes don’t live up to their praise and that was over 200 years ago.”

Upon reaching Baldur’s Gate, you felt as if you had the biggest culture shock of your life, from the once romantic establishments now being nothing more than an average local tavern and the food they served was nothing but the morning leftovers from last week's catch. Now staring down at the dish through the murky stew a piece of baitfish floating to the surface. “Now darling, it was your choice to go here you should looked more pleased with the dish that dear old grandfather elegantly described to you.” smiling at you with a smug look.

Despite the reality of city life overwhelming your naive outlook on life, one quiet night in elf song, you turn to Astarion, “You know, over 200 years ago, if you didn’t let him go that night, then I would have never met you, funny how things worked out like that”, “I’m glad you think so too, ever since that night, I wonder sometimes if I ever made the right decision, but know I think I do, and I’m thankful to have met you”.

#astarion x tav #astarion x reader #bg3 astarion #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion headcanons #a bit of angst in this one guys #I did have to keep referencing line from the game to try and get a good sort of in character vibe as a whole #hope you enjoy

[sepublic]

Given the Serpentine have become more and more integrated with Ninjago and humanity again, especially in light of the Merge, it seems that human-Serpentine relations are fairly decent now. So I think there's reason to believe that future generations, and even people now, look back at how the Serpentine were all entombed at the end of the war, and actually frown upon it because they rightfully see it as disproportionate to do that to an entire culture and species. Someone might have many Serpentine friends and neighbors who remembered being entombed and then freed. Ninjago as a whole probably appreciates the Serpentine, and celebrates them as fellow citizens.

So with all that in mind plus Lloyd becoming a legendary hero as the Green Ninja, and how the Serpentine reframe certain historical events. Do you think people nowadays celebrate the Green Ninja for freeing the Serpentine? And it's listed as one of his many, many legendary acts of heroism?

#Ninjago #Serpentine #Lloyd Garmadon

[hmslusitania]

Unified theory of Indiana Jones and The Mummy? My interest has been piqued 🍿 👀

Okay so I think it goes without saying that these movies clearly take place in the same universe, just off the bat.

That said, we also know that several of the (unseen) previous generation of characters had careers that would've taken them to similar geographic areas -- notably Howard Carnahan and Abner Ravenwood, who were Egyptologists of roughly a similar age.

So, it would make complete sense to me if, at some point, they were contracted to work on the same project. Whether or not they got along, whether or not they worked well together, is immaterial. The important part is that they both brought their daughters. Now, according to the wikis for the respective franchises, Evelyn (Carnahan) O'Connell was born in 1903, and Marion Ravenwood was born in 1909, and young girls, as Marion would've been, tend to heavily imprint on older girls especially when they're stuck together in a camping situation. And I think Evy, a perpetual baby sister, would've jumped at the chance to get to be the cool older sister type friend.

They would've corresponded after that.

In 1925, Marion writes to Evy about her father's dashing new student who she's fallen hopelessly in love with (and an equally passionate disavowal of the man only a few months later).

In 1926, Evy writes back to tell Marion that she's been part of an expedition to help recover the site of Hamunaptra (leaving out the magic, because that would be just a shade too far; adding the fact she may not have found much treasure but she did find a husband in the post script -- prompting many more questions from Marion).

They write each other about Evy's journey to respectability as an archaeologist and Egyptologist, and her impassioned arguments with another young archaeologist out of the University of Chicago, who Evy pointedly refused to name in any of her letters out of disrespect (the nature of their academic disagreements is simple -- Evy's seen magic with her own eyes and brings a layer of credulity to her interpretation of sites that Indy just cannot fathom. Well. Not yet, anyway).

They write when Alex was born, when Marion moves to Nepal.

In 1933, Evy writes her about the Oasis at Ahm Shere, but she leaves out the part where she died and was resurrected, and the part where the entire oasis was sucked into the afterlife afterwards.

(In 1935, Indy sees Magic in India, and he thinks briefly of his continuing journal publication feud with the British-Egyptian Egyptologist E. O'Connell, and then he locks this information away in a part of his brain he does not touch lest he go mad.)

In 1936, Marion writes her about the search for the Ark, about her father's old student -- a professor now himself -- coming back into her life. She mentions the pit of snakes, being entombed, and the deaths of the Nazi bastards. She doesn't mention the magic, the actual Ark of the Covenant saving their asses. It would sound crazy, after all.

In 1937, they see each other in person for the first time in over a decade by chance at the Cairo Museum. This is before the events of the Last Crusade, so for the moment, Marion and Indy are more-or-less together and more-or-less happy about it. Rick and Evy are there for their standard work reasons, delivering some recently excavated artefacts.

At first, everything goes fine. Evy and Marion recognise each other, and as nearly life-long penpals tend to do, take a moment to remember how to speak to each other in person, but then they're thrilled for the opportunity to do so. The four of them agree to get dinner together and it's at dinner while they're talking about their work that Indy makes the connection between E. O'Connell, academic rival, and Evelyn O'Connell, and Evy makes the connection that Marion's "Indy" is actually that very same Henry Jones Jr who Evy's wanted nothing more than to knock senseless with the Book of Life for over a decade.

In the ensuing loud argument that nearly gets them thrown from the restaurant and during which Rick and Marion decide they're best friends now, both Evy and Indy accidentally reveal their hands as regards magic, archaeology, and the realities therein. They part dinner as wary allies.

The academic detente lasts just until Marion writes Evy about the dissolution of her relationship with Indy and concurrent birth of their son, and then the rivalry's back on.

Frankly, all of them prefer it this way.

(As an additional aside, while he was serving in WWI, Jonathan Carnahan met and befriended {""befriended""} an Australian nurse, who had the mixed fortune to lose all of her father's titled cousins during the war and returned home as the Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher)

#the ghost ship scribbles #indiana jones #the mummy #wilddragonflying #with the exception of checking birth years in the respective wikis #this is all just off the cuff #so if there's incorrect continuity don't @ me

[mitsuristoleme]

The Odds Is Gone

Written for @kentopedia ‘s collab event- Love Through The Ages

I present to you my take on the tragic love story of Mark Antony and Cleopatra VII! Except picture Sanemi as Antony and Reader as Cleopatra!

cw: 2.4k words, historical au, fem!Cleopatra!Reader, Mark Antony!Sanemi, angst, smut, praise kink if you squint, they banter just a little bit, mention of Sanemi cheating on his wife, suicide, this one is beta read yall!!!, 18+ minors dni (i swear if i see a minor/ ageless blog interact i will block you)

a/n: The amount of rewriting and research i put into this fic is so fucking unreal i kid you not. I switched between 4 POVs and so MANY plot points to cover or leave out, it made me lose my mind. Also I feel like I need to mention that I hit 2k words right when Sanemi says “I love you” for the first time. So. Do with that what you will. Also this is my first time writing smut, and also angst, please go easy on me.

A hugeeeeee thank you to @forest-hashira for helping me out. Without them, this fic would probably not be what it is. Go show them some love (threat)

This fic switches between the narrative and a bunch of flashback scenes. The flashback scenes are all in italics and I've put in dividers between each one, just so there's no confusion in what's going on.

Caesar intended to keep you as a trophy.

You let out a prideful scoff, sandals clacking loudly as you strode towards the medical wing of your palace. 

Did the man truly think he could bring you, Cleopatra VII of Egypt, as a fucking war trophy, to show off to all of Rome? 

You paused in front of the ornate door, your heart urging you forward, yet your feet frozen in place. 

The door swung open, interrupting your silent debate with your own body. As if the Gods themselves would not force a decision this cruel on you. 

The chief doctor’s eyes widened slightly as she took in your presence. She recovered her composure quick enough, bowing low in respect. 

“My Lady,” she greeted, “I was just about to send a message to you. I suppose the Gods would rather I tell you in person.”

“Kocho,” you dipped your head in acknowledgement.

“Lord Shinazugawa’s body has been embalmed and it is ready for whenever you decide to hold the ritual for his entombment.”

You nodded.

You suspected she would have to do this exact charade with someone else if you carried through with what you were planning. 

“You’re dismissed for the day, Kocho.”

“But My Lady-“ 

Your gaze softened as you met your friend’s worried eyes. 

She seemed to hesitate as she asked, “Are you alright, My Lady?”

“I am, Shinobu,” you nodded reassuringly, “Truly. Thank you for everything. I will come find you later. I would like to see him. In solitude, please.” 

She bowed and left, but not before throwing a worried glance over her shoulder. 

You waited until she had vanished down the corridor to throw open the gold embossed doors to the medical wing. 

As you shut the doors behind you, your gaze landed on him. Sanemi Shinazugawa. Roman Consul. Triumvir of the Second Triumvirate. Mighty warrior. Your lover. Your ‘Nemi.

As you stepped closer, the wound on his chest, where he had stabbed himself with his sword, was glaringly obvious on his alabaster skin. 

You had seen him with scars, memorised every inch of the ones on his chest, his face and his arms. You never thought there would be one that would lead to him, lying lifeless in front of you. 

He did not seem dead. Only as though he was sleeping, as he did every night beside you. He seemed as though any moment, he would wake from his seemingly peaceful slumber and land his adoring lilac gaze on you, his lips curving into that beautiful smile.

Oh, what wouldn’t you sacrifice to have his eyes on you again. You would take every bit of disdain he may have towards you for your betrayals during battle, for faking your death. You would give everything just to have him back.

Every nerve in your body screamed to rudely interrupt his sleep and demand his affection, his hands over your body and his lips on yours. 

But you couldn’t. 

Your lover had taken his life two days ago. He had impaled himself on his own blade because he thought you were dead. 

He had bled out in your arms, on the floor of your chambers as you had wept in regret and heartache. 

Sanemi was dead. And it was all your fault.

“He has vowed to kill you himself, My Lady,” your messenger said.

You couldn’t blame him. Not really. If you’re being truthful, you understand the impetus.

So why did hearing your lover’s declaration (could you even call him that anymore?) coming from your messenger’s mouth feel like a knife being driven into your heart?

The thought that the very man who would spend hours whispering sweet nothings into your ear, making silly jokes that made you double over laughing, the man who made you feel like just a normal woman instead of an Empress equated to a Goddess, had now taken it upon himself to bring about your demise, was agony to your heart.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself, ever the picture of grace and composure to your subjects.

“Tell him I have committed suicide.” 

“My- My Lady?”

“You heard me.

You had sent the damned message to protect your life.

But what of your heart?

Your heart that he’d held in his hands. 

The same hands that had held his sword as he fell upon it. The same hands that had held yours, bloodied and broken, but still warm. The same hands that had wiped away your tears as they fell, smearing blood over your face as he whispered his final confession of love towards you, smiling the way he always did.

“We shall meet in another life, my love,” he’d rasped before his hand went limp against your cheek and his body lifeless in your arms.

“SANEMI!”

You lunged forward to grab him from your guards with a piercing cry.

His mouth quivered into a wobbly smile as you clutched onto his broken form with a fierce protectiveness. Or was it a grimace? You sank to the floor, unable to support his weight any longer, resting his back against your raised thigh, holding him by his waist and supporting his head.

You shot a look towards your chamber doors, your guards taking the unspoken order to leave you alone.

“Well hello, dearest,” your lover’s weak voice said, drawing your attention back to him, “It would appear that you’ve lied to me once more.”

How this man found the gall to tease you, even on his deathbed, was admirable.

“Gods, I love you,” you whispered, running your hand along his stubble. It must have grown out during the time you’d been apart. 

He coughed, blood making its way out his mouth, as he clutched at his chest with an agonised groan. As his coughing fit subsided, he grinned at you, showing off his now blood stained teeth, “I love you too.”

You pressed down on his wound the way Shinobu had taught you, looking at him worriedly.

“I shall call for Kocho. You require medical att-”

Sanemi pressed a bloodied hand against your mouth, stopping you from continuing.

“No,” he whispered, “I’m afraid this is where it ends for me. I have decided it does. I fell on my sword because I couldn’t bear to live in a world without you in it. I shall not go back on my decision now.”

You shook your head, eyes pooling with tears, “Yes, but I am here, you fool. I am alive and you must stay with me. How am I to live without you?”

He took a shuddering breath, raising his hand to gently wipe your tears off your face. The metallic sting of iron hit your nose as his hand smeared his blood across your cheeks. His actions did nothing to soothe you, only making you sob more, hugging him tighter to your chest.

You cupped his face and watched as his own tears fell, rivulets of salty water, carving their way through the crusted red near the corner of his mouth. 

“I love you,” he said, his voice shaky, his hand never having left its task of wiping your tears away. “I love you so much, it hurts more than stabbing myself in my chest.”

Another pained exhale. 

“We shall meet in another life, my love,” he rasped, his hand slipping off your cheek and his head lolling back against your leg.

You hugged his body close to you, sobbing against his shoulder, knowing that his fingers would never comfortingly run through your hair again, that he’d wiped your tears off your face for the last time.

“I miss you ‘Nemi,” you murmured, ghosting your fingers across his now clean face. The memory of his features crusted over with blood had made your mind its home, Sanemi’s final moments coming back to you in your nightmares. 

The night of his death, you had refused to part with his body, laying in bed with his cold corpse, desperately praying to Isis to bring him back. To Ra to give you back the man you loved. 

But such is fate. 

The next morning you woke, feeling horrible, still in your royal robes, your eyes puffy from crying, Sanemi still dead, and Caesar’s declaration to take you as prisoner looming over your head.

An idea formed in your head, a way to escape the loss of your dignity and to be reunited with your lover.

“More,” you near sobbed between kisses, “Sanemi, please, I need more.”

His hands were running over your body, trailing over your sides, grabbing at the fat of your thighs, tweaking your nipple, leaving a trail of blazing need behind his touch. He was everywhere. Except where you needed him and it was driving you crazy.

You could feel his achingly hard dick pressing into your stomach. Just above where you wanted it.

Gods, this man was going to make you go insane.

You let out an almost embarrassingly loud moan into his mouth when his finger brushed against your clit, bucking your hips up, seeking more of his touch. 

“Desperate are we, Your Majesty?” he teased, relenting his attack on your lips to trail hot open mouthed kisses down the column of your throat, stopping to suck at your breast, and continuing further down, before suddenly pulling away.

A light smirk played at his lips at your despondent whine. He leaned down, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head, hovering his lips above yours.

His lilac gaze darted between your eyes and your lips, “If only Egypt could see the little whore their almighty queen becomes for a filthy Roman, hmm?” 

“If only your wife could see you fucking the Queen of Egypt, hmm?” you bit back, relishing in the way his eyes widened, the scar on his nose crinkling as he grinned at you.

His hand wandered down to rest between your thighs, parting your folds to rub slow circles around your clit, cocky grin never leaving his face. “Don’t you worry, My Queen. I know just what you want.” He brushed his lips along the shell of your ear, before whispering, “And I am going to give it to you.”

With that, he lined himself up with your dripping cunt and gently pushed in, inch- by- inch, drawing it out, making your eyes roll back into your head from the delicious stretch. 

“Alright there?” Sanemi’s voice forced you to open your eyes to meet his concerned gaze. 

Always one to take consent before he obliterated you. 

Letting out a pleased hum, you reach up to thread your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer to kiss him, your tongue moving languidly against his. “Move, ‘Nemi. Please. I can’t take it anymore.”

“Shh I got you, pretty,” he soothes, pulling his hips back, thrusting back into your pulsing heat, eliciting a wanton moan from your lips. 

He set the pace almost torturously slow, his cock moving in and out of your wet heat with sharp calculated thrusts, kissing your cervix every time he sank into you. 

He shifted slightly, pulling your torso up before settling a pillow he’d taken from the currently unused side of the bed under your lower back, gently setting you back. The change in position had your hips propped up, giving Sanemi a lot more leverage over the speed and depth of his thrusts. 

He gave his hips an experimental roll, his lips curling into a self satisfied smirk when you moaned, your fingers digging into his forearm. 

“So- so deep-“ you gasped.

“Am I now?” he groans as he picks up the pace. “C-can’t help it, darling. This sweet cunt is just sucking me in. Gods, you’re so warm- So wet for me. All f’me, huh?”

“Mh-Mhmm- Only for you, Sanemi, only you,” you whined, your walls clamping around him. Your hands found their way to his back, fingernails digging into the battle hardened skin as you clutched onto him, as he feverishly pounded into you.

“I love you,” Sanemi whispered reverently. “Dear Gods, I love you so much.”

Tears rolling down your cheek snapped you out of your reverie. 

The night he’d said 'I love you' for the first time. 

You’d spent the rest of the night tenderly making love, whispering hushed confessions of love to each other. 

He would never say the words to you again. 

Gods, how you missed him. 

You moved aside your robes to reveal the wicker basket hanging next to your leg. Your hands were shaky as you freed it from the rope tying it to the  inside of your robes.

Setting the sealed basket down on the floor, you turned to your dead lover, running a gentle hand along his jaw, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. 

“We shall meet once more, my dearest. In another life, you shall be mine for longer. And I shall cherish your smile with the fire of a thousand suns. Thank you. Our time was short, but precious all the same. I love you.”

You opened the basket, revealing the hissing asp. Smiling, you held your hand out towards the poisonous reptile, allowing it to slither onto your arm. 

You shivered at the coldness of the snake’s skin against the warmth of yours, a pained exhale forcing its way out of you when you felt the fangs pierce through the skin of your forearm. 

By no means were the effects to be immediate, you had done enough research to know that. 

You sat on the floor, next to where Sanemi’s embalmed body lay, for the longest hour of your life, watching the flesh of your forearm begin to bruise and swell up, stinging painfully. All the while you pondered if you should get up and find Shinobu. Make up some excuse about the bite. 

Would your people not consider you a coward should you go through with this?

But was it not a bigger disgrace to be paraded around as a trophy of war? 

No. You would not turn back on your decision. Just as Sanemi had not.

Consumed by the urge to see the face of your lover one last time, you pulled yourself off the floor with great effort, only for a wave of intense nausea to hit you, causing you to double over as you vomited your guts out.

Your legs trembled before giving in under your weight. You vaguely registered your ankle twisting, surely causing a sprain, as your senses dulled. Black spots danced around your vision and your mouth started dribbling foam.

The last thing you heard was a panicked shout of “MY LADY!” before giving in to the warm embrace of death.

tagging: @forest-hashira and @wifeyana

please dont repost or copy my work without my permission

reblogs and comments are always appreciated!

check out my masterlist

dividers by @/saradika

#demon slayer fanfic #kimetsu no yaiba #kny fanfic #demon slayer smut #kny smut #kny x reader #demon slayer x reader #kny x you #kny x y/n #demon slayer x you #demon slayer x y/n #sanemi smut #sanemi x reader #sanemi shinazugawa #sanemi x you #kny sanemi #mythology au #mark antony #cleopatra #antony and cleopatra #mark antony and cleopatra

[nalyra-dreaming]

Some comments, in order of the images:

The gravel that looks like what the tree is standing in in the reading room? In a coffin?? And... blood being poured onto it??? And Louis coming up from that gravel???? Okay, I might be totally wrong here, but what if that is what the show does with the Merrick ending? OR that is when Louis is entombed and Armand revives him. But... 👀

This is post biting. Blood down his throat and down the shirt, as if someone attacked him. Or... as if someone bit and didn't mind the spilling.

Armand does seem to look at Louis there. And he seems quite vulnerable.

The coven master. The bored coven master. "The vampire is bored." (Alright, maybe Armand is not really bored here - BUT given how certain events work out because Armand is ready to let his coven go...)

Talk about a power setup/shot of the table.

Seems like this is a revenant given the background. Too bad, I had hoped it was Allessandra^^

Madeleine hurling the flat iron through the window where someone put a swastika on - I love it (as in the reaction), but of course it's going to be quite bitter to watch all that I bet.

Lestat screaming for Nicki. This is just a small taste of what's to come season 3 and ... we are not ready.

This shot with Lestat behind stage - that is the opposite direction that we got in the other trailer, and the caption of "memory is the monster" all over it. These... *beep*. Talk about visual storytelling. Contrary POVs and all that. This show, seriously. Down to the friggin' trailers and the sequence in which they are released.

That is probably before Armand offers his wrist. Interesting to include this here since it doesn't really add to it all. Or seems to.

And ... Lestat. Can I have hair like that? Pretty please? Louis gave him such a glow-up in his mind, seriously....

"What would Christ need have done to make me follow Him like Matthew or Peter? Dress well, to begin with. And have a luxurious head of pampered yellow hair."

*grumbles*

#finally got my hands on a high res version of the trailer #nice nice nice #so many details #they are talking about details too #THAT is not a coincidence either #amc iwtv #iwtv #amc interview with the vampire #interview with the vampire amc #iwtv amc #iwtv 2022 #interview with the vampire #iwtv trailer

[asimplearchivist]

𝓒𝓱𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓲𝓬 𝓟𝓪𝓲𝓷

𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐘 𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈 𝐨𝐟 𝐗𝐗𝐕

[𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽] [ 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐊𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 ] AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST summary ☾ ⤏ khonshu forgot when he last hadn't felt pain. you make it easier to bear. pairing(s) ☽ khonshu/reader | promises kept!verse word count ☾ 1.8k a/n ☽ ⤏ my eighth entry for the moon knight bingo hosted by @juneknight and @spacecowboyhotch over at @moonknight-events. I will eventually crosspost this to the main fic for promises kept on ao3 when it will best fit the chronological progression of the chapters. ⤏ got a little feelsy with this one. khonshu being so stubborn makes promises kept a glacial slow burn, but sometimes I just want to write him soft. I caved here. ☽ MASTERPOST ☾ ☾ PREVIOUS ENTRY ⤎ ☥ ⤏ NEXT ENTRY [TBA] ☽

Some days were harder than others.

Khonshu had long since grown accustomed to his present state—malnourished, most definitely, and somewhat inhibited by old wounds on top of it—but the length of time under which he’d had no choice but to suffer did not make the affair any easier with which to deal. The constant nagging ache deep in the core of his wellspring—what he could only suspect was the closest equivalent to hunger in mortals, as he didn’t quite experience the same sensations—was an ignorable, background sensation at this point. Any bit of a boon he was granted by his few remaining followers soothed the worst of that acute, piercing emptiness, but given the fact that his avatars required continual support via the maintenance of the magical integrity of his ceremonial armor, oftentimes the energy would instead be passed right along to them instead of being kept for himself.

Such was the explanation behind Khonshu’s ghastly appearance—how could he sustain his physical manifestations when the continuation of his duties sapped what little energy he had from his own shallow wellspring to start with?

He never spent very much time taking in his own visage, whether it be in reflections provided by glass or by water. Even still, however—after over two thousand years of being trapped in the unrelentingly vicious reality of scrounging around for any scraps of divine energy he could come across for the sake of alleviating the hollowness resounding within himself—he would catch himself expecting to see glimpses of his old silhouette in his periphery, but was always met with the skeletal remains of the glory long ripped from him by his fellow deities.

He tried not to dwell on it too much, and it usually never came up naturally—most of his avatars through time assumed, given their ignorance towards the culture from which he’d originated and had nurtured, that it was how he had always appeared. Languishing in the negative feelings and memories that particular line of thought always drudged back to the surface only debilitated him. Righteous anger was easier to deal with than the repressed wounds still weeping from betrayal and despair. Those feelings never went away, really, given that his ‘hunger’ was a near-constant reminder of that single life-altering event over two millennia prior, but…most of the time he was able to shove them to the back of his mind.

You certainly helped him to do so.

An inexplicable balm to his soul, Khonshu found relief and refuge in the unshakeable lee you formed against the rest of the mortal world entombing him. Your steadfast dedication and devotion fed him, little by little, just enough to ease the ache. Perhaps it was irrational to rely upon that mutual symbiosis, a feedback loop doomed to fail eventually, since he was forced to channel that energy right back into the armor to keep you from harm, but he’d be damned with assurity if he was forced to forfeit you now.

You, mercifully, didn’t comment upon the…unfettered touchiness…that he displayed when the weariness that always followed a night out executing his justice superceded his finer mental factulties.

Your bed was much too small to fit the both of you comfortably, but you’d insisted that it would work if you sat up against the headboard and he pulled his legs up onto the mattress. Your fingers were light against the sweep of his shoulder, tracing the stark line of wiry muscle that conjoined at the scapulae. You’d already explored much of his back this way, reading the topography of him with your palm. Your other hand rested upon the curve of his head, thumb rubbing small circles that metronomed your steady, slow breaths and your occasional quiet humming.

He should have felt foolish, contorted not unlike a child with his head resting on your lap. Throughout the lengthy span of his life, he’d never stooped so low to demean himself in such a manner. The rest of the Ennead would make him the laughing stock of all pantheons if they knew of his particular…weakness for you. Although the Grecians often intermingled with man, the Ennead had long since forbidden it…but he couldn’t help but wonder. If it was so wrong, why did it make him feel the way that it did?

Even still, it would not be a good thing for them to discover. He didn’t fear himself much anymore, but if anything ever happened to you or Badru…

“You okay?” you asked softly, smoothing your hand up between his shoulders to cup the nape of his neck, rousing him from the light, dozing trance into which you’d unwittingly induced him. “You went all stiff on me.”

Khonshu grumbled. I am fine.

You let out a noncommital, if skeptical, sound and shifted a little to press the heels of both your hands into the meat of his shoulders. He winced as you dug in, working some of the tension free from his physical form. “Just got you relaxed and then you went and started overthinking again,” you tutted. “What goes on in that big noggin of yours, I wonder?”

Nothing good, he mumbled.

“I already knew that much,” you huffed. You found a particularly sore place below his scapula and his fingers knotted into the material of your t-shirt tighter as he smothered a grunt. “You’re just as bad as I am.”

You couldn’t fathom the heaviness of all that weighs on my mind, he pointed out sourly.

“Mmhmm.” You leaned forward and reached down to press at the base of his spine. His hiss was muffled by your thigh. “And you fuss at me for not keeping the armor as long as I need it,” you sighed. “Why don’t you use your abilities on yourself, too?”

Because he would bear it if it meant harm wouldn’t befall you. Because he would starve himself until he withered to dust if you had another chance to retain the breath in your lungs. Because you could bleed him dry and he would give you the knife with which to tap the celestiality that coursed through his arteries.

Heliopolitan maladies differ from that of humanity’s, he said instead.

“That seems a little counterintuitive,” you remarked, dragging up his sides to rid his ribs of their tension.

I require a greater expenditure of energy due to the nature of my body being primarily incorporeal and thus sustained only on my magic. It is much easier to heal tangible tissue. Khonshu tilted his head to peer up at your face, creased with determination and focused on the length of his back sprawling away from you. The material of your duvet was soft and warm against the bare skin of his torso, a balm against the perpetual chill that clung to his bones. The natural, thriving heat that emanated from your body certainly helped. What I consume is sufficient.

You frowned, eyes traveling over the gaunt press of his skeleton against his ashen, tawny flesh, barely hidden by the leanness of what muscle he’d retained in this form. “Somehow I doubt that.”

It was enough to sustain him and little else, but you didn’t need to know that.

You are fretting over nothing. Although that is nothing new, he jibed, hoping to redirect you.

He could sense your dubiety, but you thankfully dropped the subject. “...Do you sleep?”

Rarely. Allowing himself to slip into dormancy in his present state for any considerable length of time was a dangerous game he only dared to play when his wellspring was at its lowest tolerable level. He had also always preferred to remain vigilant in order to watch over the earth for any outstanding threats that may crop up on the misfortune-prone planet. Now that he had you and Ru under his protection, he especially resisted the urge that tugged at him at his weakest points. But I am capable of it, if that is what you mean.

“I had wondered. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with your guard down.”

There were reasons for that, too, ones that he’d prefer that you never learned.

I must never set down my creed for even a moment, he said, else the world fall to shambles in my absence.

“That’s called catastrophizing, in my realm of expertise,” you pointed out gently, forfeiting your inspection of his throbbing (but less achey) back and instead scratching your fingernails feather-light over his scalp. Frissons broke out over his skin and skittered down the length of his spine. “Thinking about worst case scenarios doesn’t give you any more control over what could or will happen. Plus, I think we’ve got a sufficient number of guardians all over the world to help give you a break.”

You are aware that those merchandised puppets are not even aware of the realm in which I dwell and deal, aren’t you?

“I’m pretty sure I’ve heard stories about sorcerers or something, but that’s besides the point. You need to let yourself rest occasionally. I don’t even want to imagine what several thousands of years’ worth of burnout looks like.”

You were looking directly at it, frankly. Khonshu readjusted his arms to wrap around your back, hands overlapping your waist as he buried his face into the crease of your thighs once more. I am resting.

You went silent at that, movements stilling for a long moment. Then you shifted, hunched over him, and placed a chaste, lingering kiss on the crown of his head. “Well, then I’ll leave you alone.” You returned to your position against the headboard, pillows cushioning your back, and resumed your soothing touches along his scalp, neck, and shoulders. “...If you wanted to sleep, I can stay up for you for a while. If the world starts ending, I’ll be sure to wake you up.”

It was far more tempting an offer than Khonshu could resist, given your attentiveness had coaxed that old exhaustion to the surface like the tide. He wondered if you possessed any supernatural abilities of your own, or if it was because that was the same tone his mother had always used to convince him to sleep when he was young. You wouldn’t know if there was a disturbance in the astral plane if it struck you by the back of your head, he murmured, sagging into you steadily.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you returned quietly, thumb tracing the impression of a scar along his temple. “Just let me take care of you, Khonshu.”

He was trying his best, truly. It was certainly difficult to protest such a precious gift offered with no malicious intents underlying its tender promises.

#fisara's codices #fanfiction #moon knight #moonknightevents #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight fluff #khonshu #reader insert #khonshu/reader #khonshu x reader #khonshu/you #khonshu x you #khonshu fanfiction #khonshu fluff

[mmaxie-musings]

ACO GRABNEBD MEGFEEHELPPP

I STIL SONT KNWO IF CELBI'IS OKAYU FFUCUKKK

#pkmn irl #pokeblogging #pokemon irl #rotomblr #rotumblr #entombed event

[haunting-hari]

HEY! MAL HERE!

WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO HARI.

#MAL'Z POSTZ #entombed event #rotomblr #pkmn irl #rotumblr #pokeblogging #..WILL HE BE OKAY?

[6-and-7]

Doctor Who x TMA pt. 4: The Daemons as the Dark.

In the AU as I envision it, this is the one where Three becomes a full avatar of the Buried. He was susceptible to it already by being trapped on Earth, and the events of The Silurians properly marked him. Now the Master's summoned a spirit of the Dark to serve him, and the Doctor was forced to entomb them all below the earth to stop his scheme. He was in turn, however, trapped in the Dark as much as Azal was by the Buried -- until Jo came to save him. Just like in the episode, she would sacrifice herself for the Doctor, becoming the Distortion to rescue him. Though, as time went on, she would stop being Jo and become Iris Wildthyme instead...

#art #doctor who #my art #fan art #the magnus archives #the dark #the daemons #third doctor

[marvel-starwarsfangirl]

The Endless Cycle: In Defense of the "Filler" Episodes in "The Bad Batch"

I'm up to the the half way point of season 2 of the Bad Batch and there's something I've noticed about the filler episodes: there's actually a point them. The Batch doesn't simply "do." Whether immediate or later down the line, the "filler" episodes do have a point even if we an all agree they're not the best. I remember first watching and being like, "where's the plot" and "when can we get back to Crosshair?" And I'll admit, I did prefer the episodes where there was something more impactful happening. However, the more filler-y episodes weren't pointless either. The biggest difference between season 1 "filler" and season 2 is that season 1 sets up arcs and other characters while season 2 "filler" has more emphasis on the Batch themselves. The "filler" episodes make up what I call the survival arc in which the Batch must learn how to make a living for themselves.

Season 1

Ep. 4 "Cornered"- this is the episode where we meet Fennec Shand. Fennec is a part of the bounty hunter arc. Although there doesn't seem like much happening other than Omega getting chased, this episode sets up future conflict. The Batch now has to keep Omega safe from bounty hunters who are after her.

Ep. 5 "Rampage"- like the previous episode, this episode serves as a means to progress the bounty hunter arc. It is also the first time we see the boys work for Cid. Although it seems like a pointless episode, there is a point. The Batch go on a mission and in turn, Cid gives them the information on Fennec. Fennec was established in the previous episode as an antagonist.

Ep. 6 "Decommissioned"- in this episode, we learn about Rex's involvement in the show. Although the majority of the episode is just a mission for Cid, the end gives us a hint of what's to come. Rex is crucial for the Batch's understanding of the chip. This culminates in the events of episodes 7 and 8.

Ep. 13 "Infested"- this furthers the Batch's relationship with Cid. But other than that, this is the only episode I'd truly call filler.

Season 2

Ep. 4 "Faster"- Tech finally gets the spotlight. Not only do we see more of how clever he truly is, but Tech gets recognized and appreciated for it. It's a fun episode that lets us know Tech more. There is also an interesting contrast between Tech, a human who talks more like a droid at times, and TAY-0, a droid who talks more like a human. However, Tech is human and it's what makes him smarter than a droid at the end of the day.

Ep. 5 "Entombed"- another fun episode where we see more of Phee and her dynamic with the Batch. Two things I noticed: Omega tends to mimic others she finds cool or role models to her and how tired Hunter is. As my cousin pointed out, this episode solidifies the fact that the Batch is just going through the motions at this rate.

Ep. 6 "Tribe"- this episode is the foundation of what Pabu later solidifies: the Batch, Hunter in particular, being tired of constantly doing missions and wanting to find their own place to raise Omega. Gungi is separated from his home because of Order 66 so the Batch decide to help him. Through their interactions, Hunter pays attention to Omega and realizes that she deserves to be a kid, not a soldier.

These "filler" episodes take the Batch through an arc across the seasons. In the beginning, it was their means of survival. Not only could they use those missions as a way to get info, but it was a means to get money for food and repairs. In season 1, they were so eager to do what they could in order earn their keep. But as the Empire's grip began to tighten around them, that attitude slowly began to change. We see it in the form of Hunter's tiredness and frustration. By season 2, it feels like the boys and Omega are just going through the motions: need to live, go on mission, get money, rinse and repeat. This is no life for Omega and Hunter realizes that. While life as mercenaries might fit some like Cad Bane or Fennec, it clearly doesn't suit the Batch longterm. They want something more. Echo in particular realized that this was not the life for him or this brothers.

Echo as a character is very interesting even if he unfortunately doesn't get much to do. In the Clone Wars, he was part of Domino Squad who were sort of a Bad Batch themselves. Following orders as a cadet was Echo's thing; it was what earned him his name. However, there is more to Echo than just being a rule follower. Echo is very loyal and sticks to his beliefs firmly. He's kinda like Cross in that aspect. After losing Domino Squad, he only had Fives left. Fives, similarly, is someone who has a set of values that he sticks to without fault. I think they both inspired one another to be honest. Echo is then lost at the Citadel and turned into a cyborg. Fortunately, he is rescued by Rex, Anakin, and the Batch. Despite his suffering, Echo never lost his fighting spirit. I firmly believe that Echo feels indebted as a result of his rescue and second chance. He sees the Batch as a chance for a new life and to help others the way they helped him. When he chooses to off with Rex, it is to further his goal of helping others. Whenever Echo talks to Hunter, it's usually about what the Batch could be doing. Echo has a very solid set of moral values. He longs to give others a second chance at a better life. He was given that chance and he won't waste it. This is why I think he leaves in the second season. The Batch have been stuck in an endless of cycle of mission-payment. There's no greater good being fulfilled, only survival. Echo is tired of sitting around and doing nothing; he needs to find his own path. He's getting worn out. So, when Rex comes along and asks for Echo and the Batch's help, Echo makes a choice to fulfill what he needs to do. He's going to give others a second chance make a difference.

Then there's Hunter. Hunter spends the first half of season 2 in what I call "tired dad mode." Like the rest, this man is going through the motions and it's slowly eating at him. Was this the life he or his brothers were promised? No. Hunter is supposed to be the leader and look where the Batch is now. And then there's Omega. Hunter imprinted on her. That's his kid, the reason he wakes up each morning, and you can't argue otherwise. No one is going to get between them without a fight. But Hunter knows too well that war and a life as a mercenary isn't what Omega needs. She needs somewhere safe to grow up and be a kid. The clones never had a choice, but now, they do. The episode "Tribe," is a foreshadow to Pabu in my opinion. The Batch get a small taste of domesticity and they like it. More importantly, Hunter likes it. He realizes this is exactly what Omega needs.

In contrast to Hunter's tiredness is Omega. While the filler episodes show us just how the rest of the Batch is tired of this endless cycle, it has the opposite affect on our girl. Omega has never been outside Tipoca City until the Batch rescued her and adopted her. The filler episodes, which see the Batch on various adventures, let Omega explore worlds and things she's never seen before. Her wonderment always amazes me. It emphasizes her role as the heart of the Batch even more. The filler also lets Omega learn lessons about life and teach others as well. Twice, she convinces her brothers to help Cid because Cid helped them. Omega's personality is a complete 180 from the Batch but that's not a bad thing. She gives her brothers a new perspective just as they give her one. However, there needs to be a balance in life. Omega is still learning and growing. She may love all the crazy adventures and what they might teach her, but that also brings the inherent risk of danger. She needs to be allowed to be a kid. This is why Pabu and the events of "Tribe" are so important to Omega's growth. She may prefer adventure, but knowing life without worrying about one's survival is equally crucial. Omega still has a lot to learn, but her spunky energy and love for life will take her far.

With Wrecker and Tech, it's a bit different since they both kinda just float along with the rest of the group. They both are tired of the same old but don't have strong reservations the way Hunter or Echo do. Wrecker at the end of the day just wants to live happily with his family and blow things up. The missions give him fun things to do; there's never a boring moment when things go awry. Wrecker is more a less a child. But he knows when something is serious and can handle it with maturity. Where Crosshair struggles to open up and keeps his feelings buried, Wrecker is an open book. His "go with the flow" attitude is similar to Omega and makes missions more bearable. Tech, on the other hand, is more irritable. Being the logical one, he understands why the Batch continues doing what they do. However, his tone of voice and casual quips reveal that he too is done with everything. He needs to break out of the cycle. This isn't working anymore. Tech is someone who always goes for what's most strategic and to quote Mori from Bungou Stray Dogs, "the optimal solution." Need more speed? Just drop the weapons. Gonna go racing? Study the track beforehand. Even in season 1, he does what's needed to be done in order to continue surviving. He doesn't visibly show that he is tired; he does it through his words. Tech and Wrecker seek to continue on living and keeping their family safe. They don't feel the need to do more like Echo or have to lead like Hunter. That's the difference. Because Tech and Wrecker don't carry a heavy burden the way Echo and Hunter do, they drift along and it's gradually getting to them.

To summarize after such a long post:

The filler episodes drive the plot along by introducing certain ideas and characters. However, they also represent the endless loop of going through the motions. Mercenaries isn't the life the Batch should be living but are stuck in because they have no choice. Echo longs for more, Hunter is tired, Omega enjoys them for the adventure they bring her, and Tech and Wrecker go along with it because what else can they do?

That's my analysis on the Batch and filler episodes. I'm sure I'll have more to say, specifically Tech and Crosshair related in the future. Anyways, take care.

#star wars #the bad batch #tbb meta #tbb crosshair #tbb tech #tbb hunter #tbb echo #tbb wrecker #tbb omega

[pushing500]

Today I was watching Toddler Ro run around the colony doing his thing (mostly bugwatching) when he started to get tired. He's perfectly capable of going to bed by himself, but Henry came over to carry him to his crib anyway. I bet Ro thinks Henry is the coolest big brother ever. <3

Andy drew a very helpful label/sign on the ship landing platform in case the landing beacons weren't enough to let passing shuttles know where they were supposed to touch down.

We had guests from the Hare Clan, and one of them was our ex-colonist Boomer, who we let go in a Diplomatic Marriage event.

He is not married to Eggardus yet, but the Vikings of the Hare Clan did entomb him in a warcasket. Poor boy. I might not have liked him very much, but I think he deserved better than to be reduced to little more than a machine of war.

Then when the guests from the Hare Clan were departing, they left me this very thoughtful gift. I haven't decided if I'm going to keep it or not. Part of me thinks it would be a very weird thing to use, but another part of me thinks it would be really, really funny.

First | Next | Previous

#rimworld #gracie plays #The Animist Alliance #art #my art #traditional art #rimworld art #unpolished art #slightly more polished art than usual #Henry is engineered as a soldier #I think he is fiercely loyal to everyone at Eureka #And if they won't let him fight to protect them then the least he can do is carry them to bed when their legs are tired #He's definitely strong enough #Plus I thought it'd be cute to draw #Just like Andy's adorable rocketship drawing #“Spaceships go here” he says as he scribbles with chalk on the landing platform #I wondered if we'd ever see Boomer again #I'm glad he came to visit but it makes me a bit sad at the same time #I liked his whacky old-timey sleazy salesman vibe #Big robots and battlesuits aren't really to my taste #which is an odd thing for a T'au player to say now that I think about it #Oh well I don't like the T'au for their battlesuits anyhow #Any ideas for what to do with the thoughtful gift of muffalo mammaries are welcome #Have a fabulous day everyone!! xoxo

[blueiskewl]

Ancient Herculaneum Scrolls Blackened by Vesuvius are now Readable  

X-ray scans can just tease out letters on the warped documents from a library at Herculaneum.

The lavish villa sat overlooking the Bay of Naples, offering bright ocean views to the well-heeled Romans who came from across the empire to study. The estate's library was stocked with texts by prominent thinkers of the day, in particular a wealth of volumes by the philosopher Philodemus, an instructor of the poet Virgil.

But the seaside library also sat in the shadow of a volcano that was about to make terrible history.

The 79 A.D. eruption of Mount Vesuvius is most famous for burying Pompeii, spectacularly preserving many artifacts—and residents—in that once bustling town south of Naples. The tumbling clouds of ash also entombed the nearby resort of Herculaneum, which is filled with its own wonders. During excavations there in 1752, diggers found a villa containing bundles of rolled scrolls, carbonized by the intense heat of the pyroclastic flows and preserved under layers of cement-like rock. Further digs showed that the scrolls were part of an extensive library, earning the structure the name Villa of the Papyri.

Blackened and warped by the volcanic event, the roughly 1,800 scrolls found so far have been a challenge to read. Some could be mechanically unrolled, but hundreds remain too fragile to make the attempt, looking like nothing more than clubs of charcoal. Now, more than 200 years later, archaeologists examining two of the scrolls have found a way to peer inside them with x-rays and read text that has been lost since antiquity.

"Anybody who focuses on the ancient world is always going to be excited to get even one paragraph, one chapter, more," says Roger Macfarlane, a classicist at Brigham Young University in Utah. "The prospect of getting hundreds of books more is staggering."

Most of the scrolls that have been unwrapped so far are Epicurean philosophical texts written by Philodemus—prose and poetry that had been lost to modern scholars until the library was found. Epicurus was a Greek philosopher who developed a school of thought in the third century B.C. that promoted pleasure as the main goal of life, but in the form of living modestly, foregoing fear of the afterlife and learning about the natural world. Born in the first century B.C. in what is now Jordan, Philodemus studied at the Epicurean school in Athens and became a prominent teacher and interpreter of the philosopher's ideas.

Modern scholars debate whether the scrolls were part of Philodemus' personal collection dating to his time period, or whether they were mostly copies made in the first century A.D. Figuring out their exact origins will be no small feat—in addition to the volcano, mechanical or chemical techniques for opening the scrolls did their share of damage, sometimes breaking the delicate objects into fragments or destroying them outright. And once a page was unveiled, readability suffered.

"Ironically, when someone opened up a scroll, they would write on a separate sheet what they could read, like a facsimile, and the original ink, once exposed to air, would start to fade," says Brent Seales, a computer scientist at the University of Kentucky who specializes in digital imaging. What's more, the brute-force techniques usually left some pages stuck together, trapping hidden layers and their precious contents.

From 2007 to 2012, Seales collaborated with Daniel Delattre at the French National Center for Scientific Research in Paris on a project to scan scrolls in the collections of the Institut de France—former treasures of Napoleon Bonaparte, who received them as a gift from the King of Naples in 1802. Micro-CT scans of two rolled scrolls revealed their interior structure—a mass of delicate whorls akin to a fingerprint. From that data the team estimated that the scrolls would be between 36 and 49 feet long if they could be fully unwound. But those scans weren't sensitive enough to detect any lettering.

The trouble is that papyri at the time were written using a carbon-based ink, making it especially hard to digitally tease out the words on the carbonized scrolls. Traditional methods like CT scans blast a target with x-rays and look for patterns created as different materials absorb the radiation—this works very well when scanning for dense bone inside soft tissue (or for peering inside a famous violin), but the method fails at discerning carbon ink on blackened scrolls.

Now a team led by Vito Mocella of the Italian National Research Council has shown for the first time that it is possible to see letters in rolled scrolls using a twist on CT scanning called x-ray phase-contrast tomography, or XPCT. Mocella, Delattre and their colleagues obtained permission to take a fragment from an opened scroll and a whole rolled scroll from the Paris institute to the European Synchrotron in Grenoble. The particle collider was able to produce the high-energy beam of x-rays needed for the scans.

Rather than looking for absorption patterns, XPCT captures changes in the phase of the x-rays. The waves of x-rays move at different speeds as they pass through materials of various density. In medical imaging, rays moving through an air-filled organ like a lung travel faster then those penetrating thick muscle, creating contrast in the resulting images. Crucially, the carbon-based ink on the scrolls didn't soak into the papyrus—it sits on top of the fibers. The microscopic relief of a letter on the page proved to be just enough to create a noticeable phase contrast.

Reporting today in the journal Nature Communications, Mocella and his team show that they were able to make out two previously unreadable sequences of capital letters from a hidden layer of the unrolled scroll fragment. The team interprets them as Greek words: ΠΙΠΤΟΙΕ, meaning "would fall", and ΕΙΠΟΙ, meaning "would say". Even more exciting for scholars, the team was able to pick out writing on the still-rolled scroll, eventually finding all 24 letters of the Greek alphabet at various points on the tightly bundled document.

Even though the current scans are mostly a proof of concept, the work suggests that there will soon be a way to read the full works on the rolled scrolls, the team says. "We plan to improve the technique," says Mocella. "Next spring we have an allowance to spend more time at the Grenoble synchrotron, where we can test a number of approaches and try to discern the exact chemical composition of the ink. That will help us improve the energy setting of the beam for our scan."

"With the text now accessible by virtue of specialized images, we have the prospect of going inside the rolled scrolls, and that's really exciting," says Macfarlane. Seales agrees: "Their work is absolutely crucial, and I am delighted to see a way forward using phase contrast."

Seales is currently working on ways to help make sense of future scans. With support from the National Science Foundation and Google, Seales is developing software that can sort through the jumbled letters and figure out where they belong on the scroll. The program should be able to lump letters into words and fit words into passages. "It turns out there are grains of sand sprinkled all the way through the scrolls," says Seales. "You can see them twinkling in the scans, and that constellation is fixed." Using the sand grains like guide stars, the finished software should be able to orient the letters on the whorled pages and line up multiple scans to verify the imagery.

The projects offer hope for further excavations of the Herculaneum library. "They stopped excavating at some point for various reasons, and one was, Why should we keep pulling things out if they are so hard to read?" says Seales. But many believe there is a lower "wing" of the villa's collection still buried, and it may contain more 1st-century Latin texts, perhaps even early Christian writings that would offer new clues to Biblical times.

"Statistically speaking, if you open up a new scroll of papyrus from Herculaneum, it's most likely going to be a text from Philodemus," says MacFarlane. "But I'm more interested in the Latin ones, so I would not be unhappy at all to get more Latin texts that are not all banged up."

For Mocella, being able to read even one more scroll is crucial for understanding the library and the workings of a classical school of philosophy. "Regardless of the individual text, the library is a unique cultural treasure, as it is the only ancient library to survive almost entire together with its books," he says. "It is the library as whole that confers the status of exceptionality." The scanning method could also be useful for texts beyond the Roman world, says Seales. Medieval books often cannibalized older texts to use as binding, and scans could help uncover interesting tidbits without ruining the preserved works. Also, letters and documents from the ill-fated Franklin expedition to the Northwest Passage in the 19th century have been recovered but are proving difficult to open without doing damage. "All that material could benefit from non-invasive treatment," says Seales.

By Victoria Jaggard.

#Ancient Herculaneum Scrolls Blackened by Vesuvius are now Readable #library at Herculaneum #Mount Vesuvius #The Villa of the Papyri #archeology #archeolgst #ancient scrolls #ancient artifacts #history #history news #ancient history #ancient culture #ancient civilizations #roman history #roman empire #roman literature #long reads