#sacred silver bracelet

[lovenikkiclothes]

Based around the head accessory ‘Delicate Flower’.

#love nikki #bright night #moonlight glow #immortal white deer #long snowy night #delicate flower #cloud nostalgia #sacred silver bracelet #hook and bell cane

[love-toxin]

always smelling like/having something of the four’s on you :( wearing Steve’s blue jeans or jerseys that fit ever so slightly bagging on you to the point you always feel engulfed in him even though he’s away. wearing Robin’s rings and jewelry that always make her hands so pretty when she holds you or cups your face before a barrage of kisses. stealing Eddie’s leather jackets/band tees because they smell like sweet tobacco smoke and late night giggling with notes of tender love. always having Nancy’s back-up tube of lipstick or perfume roller in your pocket for when she wants to touch up from completely ingraining her skin and lips against yours. :( I’m so soft

Bonus points for: Jonathan’s camera with the worn straps, Argyle’s hats with little doodles drawn on the undersides of the brims, Chrissy’s kitten-soft cardigans and sweaters, and Billy’s sacred Polaroids of the west coast with dates and memories scribbled on the back :( miss Ellie I love all of them sO MUCH-

IM GONNA SOB. ANON UR ADDING YEARS TO MY LIFE ♡

Steve's blue jeans are classic, well-worn, denim soft to the touch. He pulls them up and fastens them for you on your hips, his fingers lingering there once they're set and the denim bunches up around your ankles. These ones are yours, your pair, that you can stretch or shrink or belt or do anything you want with. Splatters of paint on the shins from when he helped Dustin paint his bedroom, smelling strongly of his cologne--he sprayed a little extra on them so it'll stick to you. His smile brightens the room when he leans back to take a look at you, so soft and pretty in his pants. He knows you're gonna keep stealing his anyways, but if he minded, he wouldn't leave his closet open whenever he wanders away to use the bathroom or get a drink when you're over. It's worth it to have to dig in his father's dusty closet to find something to wear if he gets to see you in his clothes forevermore.

Robin has so much jewelry you don't know what to make of it all. Rings, necklaces, watches, bracelets--they make up a little ocean of silver and gold across the top of her dresser, a cracked mirror propped up for her to check them all out. They're unorganized, some a little tangled together. Easy for you to sneak something here and there just to wear it when you're both out together. It's a way for you to hold hands without your fingers touching, some divine show of ownership. You wear her rings, fiddle with her necklaces, you show off the glitz and glitter of her jewelry like it's a crown marking your royal status. It sometimes doesn't occur to her that you're wearing them until she's too close to hide her shyness, her cheeks a rosy hue as she swallows at the sight of her favourite pendant hanging around your neck. So pretty, you're the prettiest in the world--and you can have as much as you want, so long as she gets to see those gleaming gold and silver accents contrast your glowing skin.

Eddie's leather jacket is sacred. Pins piercing the fabric in perfect array, leather frayed in the way it's supposed to for it to fit perfectly. It carries the scent of tobacco and pot and the smell of his hair, both shampoo and cologne a sickly sweet-musky combo that floods your senses when he puts it over your shoulders. It's heavy for that frame of yours, but you keep it up, and he's struck with pride. What he wouldn't give to rip all those clothes off and leave you in nothing but his jacket. He could wear the stains of your sweat on the inner lining, could lift it to his nose and inhale the smell of you and instantly feel that head rush that's better than any special shit he could get off Rick. That thought is what pushes him to let you have it, to zip it up and tell you to keep it safe. Your doe eyes when you ask him if he's gonna do something dangerous, something scary, again. And he just laughs, despite knowing how worried you really are. Because Eddie knows he'll never run away again--but he also won't leave you to fret and cry at the thought of losing him, never again. Not his little angel.

Nancy's lipstick leaves a stain wherever she kisses you. Smudges, smears, blurs, brightens her skin when she's dragging you up and down against her lips, angling you so she can get every inch that she wants to mark. Prim, proper Nancy is also the martyr Nancy, the same hands that apply her lipstick with a delicate touch also wield the guns and fire and violence that you owe your life to. Her breath raises those goosebumps to your skin, lips pursed to suck one harsh, defining bruise in your skin through her teeth. One small, purplish splotch ringed with scarlet lipstick, made permanent only in your dreams as Nancy finally pulls herself off of you. Fishing in your back pocket, she produces those two tubes that she knows she'll always find on you--and with a practiced hand, she reapplies her lipstick and uncaps her roller to dust her throat with perfume, ensuring an image just as pristine as she arrived with when she wipes those smudged lines from her fair skin. Perfection.

Jonathan has little else but that. His camera. Beat up and old, cracked lens replaced with a cheaper but unbroken one, leather straps thinner than they were but still holding strong. There's no hope in affording a brand new one, much less a nice one, but the smile on your face when he bashfully gifts it to you makes it feel like he gave you the world. You don't have to take it, it's a piece of crap, I just thought you might want something to start--and you're kissing away those mumbled worries from his lips, eyes glowing with adoration as you hold it close to your chest. The strap fits perfectly around your neck, leather sliding against your skin and soft, already broken in by years of use. The first photo you take, lens held up with careful fingers, is of him. Off-colour and standing nervously, smile shy but sincere. You'll keep that forever, that one and many more framed up in the house you'll share one day.

Argyle loves many things, and few of those love him back. You slot into that category, he's sure, which is how he finds himself drawing out his love on the brim of his most precious cap. The underside, of course, to keep it secret--but almost nobody would decipher the symbols that represent you. A sun, a flower, a cluster of stars, a line of poetry he read once in school that fits you perfectly, makes the words stick in his head because they always make him think of you. His heart thuds against his ribs like it's trying to break out when you put that Surfer Boy visor on your head, plucking it off his own just to giggle and spin it to wear it like you've seen him do. Your awed gaze turned upward to survey those doodles when you notice them, and the smile you show off when you take it off to look at them closer...that's enough in itself. More than he could ask for, yet only a snippet of what he'll get when he finally brings himself to admit who those lovelorn drawings are for.

Chrissy's sweaters are a statement. Cheerleader. Princess. Hawkins' Sweetheart. When you wear each one, they spell out her love on your sleeves, her devotion to give you things so precious that she wouldn't hand over for anything else. Baby pink and mint green and pale yellow, blue and white and lavender and peach and all the colours that crystallize in the sky when a rainbow forms after a storm. That's what you feel like to her, that's what you are--a precious, pretty splatter of colours in her comparably dull world, the reward she's been blessed with after a life of locked doors and tears and a churning stomach. Your skin spells out so much more when the soft fabric of her clothing bristles against it, more than anything she ever hoped for herself. You wear them, and all she sees is love.

Billy can recall the dates with almost complete accuracy. Each polaroid pinched between your delicate fingers has a story, a life behind it that you've never seen, but one that Billy remembers with relative fondness. Some are punctuated with painful memories, but those ones he glosses over and you move on to the next. He sits by your side on the floor, leaned against his bed, a cigarette perched between his lips and music playing quietly for once in the background, and you hold out each of the photos spread out in a vast array between both of your legs. Smoke stings your lungs but smoothes the ache in his chest, the burn that flares up when he's faced with image after image of that beach, those waves, and that smiling blonde in the sunhat that he was forced to leave behind. It didn't dawn on him before, but your piqued curiosity and the giggles and "awww!"s you fill the room with at seeing his baby pictures spark a new idea in his mind, and a smirk on his face. Those memories from the west coast have been replayed to death in his mind, those pictures old and fraying--he needs new ones. Ones that will never make him ache or burn with regret. Photos of you.

#steve harrington #robin buckley #eddie munson #nancy wheeler #jonathan byers #argyle #chrissy cunningham #billy hargrove #steve harrington x reader #robin buckley x reader #eddie munson x reader #nancy wheeler x reader #jonathan byers x reader #argyle x reader #chrissy cunningham x reader #billy hargrove x reader #st 4 #stranger things #ellie writes #anons

[dionysianfreak]

Could you explain all that’s on your alter and what it means? I’m trying to redo and get mine together

i have many different permanent shrines in my house, all eclectic and unique to the God(s) whom it's dedicated to. this came right after I posted a temporary shrine so I'll include that too in case that sparked your ask :)

i like to set up temporary shrines in my home and in my travels so I can honor specific epithets or moments in life. i always take items off the individual main shrines of the Gods in order to build the small ones. this one started as honoring Dionysos and welcoming the month of Dionysia but grew as I felt Apollon and Hermès wanted to join as well. this is the first honoring space I've had with just these three since the very beginning of my practice.

starting on the left, this is where Apollon is. He only has a few items, but I'll be brief this post isn't 8 years long

the glass contains white wine. my mom is a wine fanatic and gave me a bunch because she had accumulated it from gifts and dislikes white. so i give it to the Theoi as an offering occasionally.

the candle holder in the back is the only one I could find to hold the yellow candle i wanted to use lol

I got the brass incense burner at a local Christian second hand store. i believe i found it at the same time i found my Artemis statue. i got it because i thought it was adorable and it has a handle

i believe the stone is a yellow banded agate. I got it at Goodwill in a pack and it's been His ever since

the statue is of the roman Romulus and Remus, which I got at an underground antique shop with my closest friend. though I've always seen Artemis and Apollon instead, and Leto as their protective wolf-mother

Dionysos takes up a majority of this space, but He also has the most votives on His shrine to add

Dionysos's statue has a jewelry draped on it; a bracelet I made at my first festival, a rosary my grandmother gave to me with the crucifix replaced with a charm of the Hanged Man, and a leopard necklace i bought from a woman with a pop up booth. i always drape my totums in decor like jewelry or ribbons, I don't know when I started but I like to give special attention and adornment to the images of the Theoi

in the center sits a red fox skull, it was gifted to me by a friend. only second to the leopard, the red fox is an animal i closely associate with Dionysos and feel very connected to personally

I put two phalluses, a candle and a tiger's eye carving, on this shrine for protection and abundance. i use the phallus as a protective votive often, especially if Dionysos is involved

below the skull, I have a pyrite and a banded amethyst. I've always closely associated the two with Dionysos, but this amethyst in particular has been there for me through a lot

there's a little za 🍃 on there for Them all, but mainly Dionysos

there's a small totum of a leopard, it's there because i wanted it to be. leopards are extremely sacred to Dio in my worship, along with any other feline, but especially them

the silver champagne glass is full of red wine. the stem has grapevines and ivy growing up it, it was perfect for Him. I generally keep it full of wine 24/7

in the bottom left corner, there's a red book called Toasts and Tributes. it's a book of toasts and poems from 1904 that i use as a prayer book for Dionysos. i like to blindly flip through the pages and let the right one fall open, and use the first one I see as a prayer. a few name Him directly, as you can't have a toast without naming the God of wine !

Hermès has few items both here and on His main shrine. this is mostly because most of His stuff is in my car, including His little statue

the orange vase has an image of Hermès on the front. i picked it up from a lovely antiques dealer in my town. the other side has an image of Psyke, but it's almost always turned to show Hermès

within the vase i have rodent bones I picked up from the side of the road, and a chicken feather from my flock. my worship doesn't involve my chickens much, but i like to ask Him to watch over them occasionally

the candle in the back is there simply because I like candles to show my worship is "active" and the shrine is being used in a sacred way. when I blow them out, it's a time of rest for the space

on the far right, there's a golden candle holder with wings. I got it around when Hermès and i first began our relationship

on it, I have a ring with wings on it. i wear it when i travel or when I wish to Honor him in my day to day life

my permanent shrines are simply the shrines for the Gods whose shrines have grown disproportionately over a long time. in the case of Dionysos and Aphrodite, Their shrines are simply too big to put anywhere else. i am very votive-centric in my worship, and I have a crow brain, so They all have too many trinkets I've found an collected throughout my life

there's waaaay too much to go over everything, so I'll go over what's most important to me and why i have it :)

i have enough seashells to build a temple for Her. i seriously have so many that I've collected and found at Goodwill, it's a problem. i view the beach as the juxtaposition of Aphrodite—where the sky and the sea clash passionately. about half of these I have collected whenever I got the chance to be on an ocean beach

images of Aphrodite are very common for me to stumble upon,l so I've collected quite a few items. because of this quite a few sub-shrines have emerged within this shrine. epithets are distinct in nature yet part of the whole, in my opinion, so i rarely worship epithets without worshipping the root Deity as well

Fragrance is sacred and common as hell in my worship of Aphrodite so you can see multiple fragrant items littered around. perfumes, incense, dried roses, oil diffusers, and more. fragrance is easy, fast, and sensory friendly for me and was common in antiquity as well. it's a win-win

dressing up or devoting outfits to Aphrodite is something I do frequently, so jewelry is littered everywhere. all of it is gifted and thrifted <3 Aphrodite is extremely generous

this is Aphrodite Areia's epithet shrine, the print in the back honoring Ares Gynaecothoenas

and this is my little shrine to Hestia :3 I sometimes use the matches to light my fireplace. i bought the small statue on a whim when I found it at a local shop. She seems to prefer it simple and minimal

I'm gonna end it here because this is getting long. if you have a specific Deity in mind, few Gods i worship have been private about Their shrines. i hope this helps inspire you. add things for fun or just because you want to and give things that just feel like they should go. eventually, you'll have a haven of memories and of personal sacredness. trust and They will guide you well

#shrines #personal #theoi #dionysus #dionysos #hermes #apollon #aphrodite #aphrodite areia #ares gynaecothoenas #helpol #hellenic polytheism #hellenic deities #pagan #polytheism #altar inspiration #altars #greek gods

[moonchildbaby]

Masquerade - Terry Silver x Reader

A little possessiveness can just prove my loyalty to you ?

Inspired by “Masquerade” by Beach House

Mentioning of violence!, murder!; Gender neutral yandere!Reader

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

All is calm when you remove the cushion from his head. No sound, no movement, nothing that interrupts this perfect moment- a moment of balance.

Your eyes absently trace over the buttons bleeping, shimmering in the background of your vision as you focus on the specks of dust floating through the air, settling, as if recognizing what will become one of them. Settling on the cooling skin and you imagine them devouring the flesh underneath.

A man. A cause of pain.

Entangled in his sheets he lies and you chuckle to yourself at how you managed to wipe him out in the first place. One of the greatest karate masters in the valley. In Japan.

Mute he lies. Peaceful. Just as you wanted it. How it should have been that night.

In the end it was very simple, Not even a struggle.

But how should it been when you have been hiding in the shadows waiting. Watching him close his eyes as your fingers slid towards the morphine trickling into his body one drop at the time, filtered through the tube running into his body....

....His eyes in wild realization upon seeing what you had done, the haze hooding the lids while the orbs pierce yours holding nothing but pure wrath and something akin to determination. Hah how sweet it was. That look. A chuckle akin to a purr pushes forward from the back of your throat, slithering onto your tongue and moistening your lips as it flicks out for just a second. A python after the kill. You had squeezed the life out of that bloodbag, the delicious anger in his face, the disbelief never but a flicker when he heard of your last name finally after so long of play pretend.

And when he had looked at you so sweetly, eyes in turmoil. you couldn’t help yourself to who had really payed Mike Barnes a visit after the brat had dared to open his mouth and speak of someone so holy and pure as him. Had used the sacred letters in the filthy mouth of his. Who would still be punished after his petty ambush by your hand. Yet you promised, knowing of their bond, that you would save the best for last. Yes, yes you would take special care of him after all remainders had been cleaned. Little Larusso. Dannyboy as your silver tongued saint liked to call him.

You kick the cushion from your feet as you slip from the door, unbothered by the uprising commotion. You sense it. the vibration. The uprising storm you feel in the sticky hospital hallways. The voices a deep thunder in the background as you weave through them unnoticed, not even a shadow to trail behind.

There are advantages looking like the counterpart to the master in Silver. Goldilocks Unassuming, mellow and friendly like a Buttercup wrapped in white satin blouses, a hint of Chanel, big eyes, warm colour in skin and cheeks. Toylike and naïve, an easy laugh..... All that makes it easy. Fooled them once more.

Its pouring when you approach the silver Mercedes 300 SLR Uhlenhaut Coupe, easily sliding into the black leather seat as the winged door closes above your head, the engine roaring louder than the thunder in the palm trees as the two of you speed through Beverly Hills.

“So?” he coos. Demanding yet voice a velvet duvet suffocating any remaining morals of a time before him.

You can’t help but smile up at your silver haired devil. Your good man. The stars and the moon on a blue night. The martyr those lowlife beings had dared to hurt, dared to touch.

Terrys body had healed. His pride had not. So you felt a little gift had been in order to restore your beloved’s temper.

Doe-eyes turn up to his, a smile on your lips as your hand holding your silver band places itself on his bejewelled one holding the gearstick.

“ An offering to your success. “  

When your palm turns he can see it, the war trophy, a hospital bracelet simple white and nothing more on it than

Chozen Toguchi        Born XX/XX/62

The smile you give each other can from the outside only be described as a horrendous bone-chilling sight.

But then nobody would be able to feel what you feel. See what you see in each other, the moon, the stars and the sky reflected in existence. You think of Napoleon and all the ancient emperors . What does a perishing “existence” mean to god, to an empress, to anyone for the sake of their emperor.

“And there will be more.” you promise, eager to see the beautiful curve of Terrys mouth as something flashes in the sky of his eyes, lightning reflected in your own.

“Cobra Kai never dies.”

#thomas ian griffith #terry silver #cobra kai spoilers #terry silver x reader #yandere #reader insert #karate kid #karate kid 3 #Cobra Kai #fanfic #requests open over my main account @moonchildbaby at the moment #originally posted to retrosimp on tumblr #chozen toguchi #daniel larusso

[shi-daisy]

Better End

Hi everyone, today we have a fix it fic for the squad where the only pov we have is Tatsuki. Day 2, 3 and 4 are smudged together cuz mama is doing other projects and needs to focus but Ulquihime Week is sacred and we are going for it! Hope you all like!

@ulquihimeweek

Ulquihime Week 2023- Day 2 Dance, Day 3 Scandal, Day 4 Brekaing the 4th wall

Better End

It was as if she'd been written out of their lives. Just like the time the arrancar took her.

Ichigo was strangely calm, and so was Kazui. Tatsuki hated it when her best friends didn't tell her things. She thought that was over since high school.

"Give it some time, she'll be back soon, and we will be written properly."

She didn't know what that meant. Not until she woke up one morning in her apartment and there were papers for a dojo in her desk. "What the...?"

Tatsuki went over to the kitchen and saw many pictures on the fridge, she was posing with kids that won martial arts competitions. A flash of memories rushed through her mind and she quickly headed to where she now knew her best friends would be.

The kindergarten was full and it was hard to get to the front of the dance classroom. Tatsuki heard whispers as she tried to find a good place.

"Her ex-husband is here with their child. How can she do this?"

"They divorced cuz they got married young. Her new fiance is so different from Kurosaki. Makes me wish she wasn't such a good teacher so I could switch schools"

"Scandalous to bring your boy and ex-husband to a performance with your new man."

Finally she saw it. Orihime achieving her dream of being a children dance teacher, by the side of a man she'd only had described when Tatsuki comforted her on sleepless teary nights.

'He should've been saved. We should've been together!' Orhime had lamented repeatedly until she suddenly stopped and continued on with her life.

Tatsuki knew she wasn't over it. She'd seen her wearing the silver bracelet whenever she could. But now she had changed the bracelet for a ring of gold and emerald.

"Hey, you made it!"

Ichigo's voice startled her, as Tatsuki sat down beside him and Kazui, as they were ready to see Orihime perform a dance with Ulquiorra.

"Is this it? The rewriting thing you mentioned?"

"Yeah...I think you know that that our lives were not going in the direction we wanted. Now they are and we don't need to worry. This time, we'll all be okay."

She didn't question it. Not when she saw Keigo, Mizuiro, Chad and Uryu in the distance siting down and waving at them. The quicy didn't have a doctor's uniform, their tall silent friend was the one in veterinarian attire. Keigo seemed giddy to be waring his ramen's shop attire, and to her surprise Mizuiro was wearing a wedding ring, and accompanied by a smiling happy lady.

At the center of it all was her best friend dancing gleefully with the man she loved, no longer dulled, tired and conforming, but thriving either her old fire and zest. He too looked doffrent from expressionless nihilistic man Orihime described, as he was smiling brightly at the sight of the redhead, letting her lead the dance and happily supporting her. They looked like the couples Orihime had onceenvied, but there was no need for that anymore.

"When they're done we should all go get ramen at Keigo's. I have a feeling his shop will be full now."

Ichigo smiled, ruffling Kazui's hair as the boy admired his mother's performance. "Sounds like a plan."

#ulquihimeweek2023 #ulquihimeweek #ulquihime #orihime x ulquiorra #ulquiorra shiffer #orihime inoue #day 2: dance #day 3: scandal #day 4: breaking the 4th wall

[alstroemeriadissonance]

So, with the Egypt AU cards, would it be too much to ask for a High Priest!Vyn and Scribe!Rosa having sex in the temple when no one is around? 👀

And could there be some aphrodisiac involved too?

Lotus-eaters (NSFW)

I'm sorry this doesn't quite fulfill all the conditions in the ask! Instead of the temple I have set it in his palace instead; and instead of aphrodisiac, perfume. But I hope you still like it D:

This is something of a new thing for me so I hope I pulled it off...

Usual NSFW, mdni, etc.

Some said the lotus symbolizes purity. 

Scholars who have visited other lands, however, told of tales where the lotus played a part in making people forget their worries.

The Royal Scribe stepped into the lakewater adorned with white lilies floating across the placid moonlit water. Chest-high lakewater enveloped her body, trailing ripples as her white garments floated around her like smoke rising from the incense.

She had removed most of the gold jewelry that usually adorned her body prior to entering the water, but the few ornamental chains that remained on her person glistened in the moonlight refracted onto the lake.

Training her wide olive eyes at the bright, mysterious fullness of the moon shining directly above her, the Scribe sought the moon’s blessing; its silent glow that guided humanity in its eternal wisdom.

Wisdom. That was exactly what the Scribe sought, and the reason why she waded into the deep waters of the lake; she had seen the High Priest do so, and was wondering if gazing at the stars and moon from within the waters of the lake would grant her, at least, an epiphany… 

There were so many things to worry about; now that she and the High Priest have brought about a momentous change in the Pharaoh’s affairs, much of the decision-making that involved the welfare of the common-folk have been foisted upon their shoulders. 

The recent turn of events felt like a tall order for the Scribe, and in her smallness she felt that she was not worthy to take on the yoke of this enormous responsibility. 

While she did care for the well-being of everyone around her, who was she, but a mere Scribe? An ordinary person. Surely someone else of higher stature and birth would be a better counsel for the Pharaoh in these matters.

She touched the lotus pod floating right in front of her. 

I wonder, if I eat this would my troubles be eased?

Then like an unexpected breeze blowing through the fields, a low, tender voice cut through her troubled thoughts.

“There you are. I was looking for you, my beloved.”

She did not have to turn around to know who it was; the Scribe knew the owner of the voice quite well. 

Once, she was blindfolded to focus all her attention towards that very voice and its owner; letting his soft, gentle voice melt like honey, engraving onto her body the memory of its melodious tone–along with it the heavy meaning that his voice bore for her alone. 

Like a secret song, between lovers.

“High Priest,” the Scribe began, still lost in her ruminations. “Have you ever heard of the Lotus-eaters?”

The man in white linen robes skirted the edge of the lake, entering the Scribe’s field of vision. He was always such an apparition, especially during moonlit nights; swathed in the Priest’s garb of white linen, with its cape fashioned into a symbolic facsimile of the sacred ibis’ wings and accented with gold.

His immensely thick, long moonlight silver hair bound into a neat braid that hung behind his back.

“The Lotus-eaters?” The High Priest smiled, his interest piqued by her question. “Yes, I have read about their stories. Those who inhabited an island filled with lotus; blessed with the loss of their worldly cares.”

His eyes, shining like gold, lit with the fires of knowledge; gold that rivaled the luster of the numerous gilded bracelets adorning his right wrist.

The Scribe could only wish she possessed a mere fraction of wisdom found in those eyes.

“Sometimes I feel like eating a lotus fruit or two,” she said, wistfully. 

“Oh? Care to tell me why?” The High Priest sat himself on a large rock that lay by the edge of the lake, making himself comfortable.

The Scribe shook her head gently, the long auburn hair floating behind her making small waves across the calm surface. “Nothing so serious. I just feel like…lost, at times. Maybe overwhelmed?”

“And so you seek the blessing of the lotus fruit, is that it?” The High Priest asked.

“Yes.” She sighed, and idly touched the newly-blossomed lotus flower floating nearby. “I suppose I am being childish.”

A soft, amused laughter chimed like quiet bells in the night air. “The method may be construed as childish, but.” A pause. “Your concern is not. Are you beset by worries? Is it about the task that the Pharaoh gave us, perhaps?”

The Scribe nodded, gathering a lotus flower with the palms of her hands, quietly beholding the pure beauty it held in its petals.

A companionable silence befell them, as the High Priest looked on while the Scribe studied the lotus flower in her hands. 

Eventually she gently placed the delicate, white-petalled flower back onto the water’s surface.

His elegant, low voice cut the veil of quiet between them.

“Are you aware that along with your cares, eating the lotus would make you forget everything that you have ever cherished,” he said, enunciating the words carefully to emphasize their importance. “Do you also wish to forget that which we share with each other?”

“What do you mean?” She looked up at him. 

“For that is what eating the lotus fruit does, in those tales,” he whispered. “The Lotus-eaters forget everything. Their worries, cares.” A sad smile tinged his lips. “...their friends. Their love. Everything that they hated. Everything that they have ever cherished. All of them forgotten, the memories dying at the altar of peaceful apathy induced by the Lotus.”

She sighed. Of course, there has to be something given, in exchange. “No…I apologize. I didn’t hear that part of the story. All I heard was that the lotus could help forget one’s problems.” She let out a self-derisive chuckle. “Think nothing of it. I was just being childish. This is but a mere whim…I’m just tired, is all.”

“Well then, do you wish me to be of assistance?” The High Priest looked at her meaningfully. “I may be able to help you, if only for the moment. After all, we do share the burden that the Pharaoh gave us. It is only right that I share with you the little things that help me.”

“I have troubled you for far too much now, High Priest,” the Scribe said, not wishing to impose on him even further. “I–”

“Am I not allowed to be of service to my lover?”

Ah.

In her stomach, myriad butterflies spread their wings and fluttered about, sending the Scribe almost reeling into the water as she felt weakness in her knees. 

Lover. He called me his lover. 

Yet despite the magic of the moment she merely smiled and said, “No, that is not what I meant. I would be honored–this common person would be greatly honored–to receive your aid, High Priest.”

“You know how special you are to me, my rarest blossom. You are no mere commoner,” the High Priest gently said as he stood up, bending slightly towards her to offer his outstretched hand. “Come. Let me take you to my palace. I shall let you receive the blessings of the Lotus, without the dire effects.”

The Scribe took his proffered hand, yet she let out a surprised yelp as he shifted his grip on her, his hands holding her underneath her armpits; almost effortlessly pulling her out of the water and into his arms. “Up you go.”

Water splashed all around his priestly robes, but the High Priest did not mind; instead he swept her up her feet, carrying her in his strong arms. “Apologies for my impertinence,” he said as he started walking, not minding the heavily blushing Scribe. “Your feet are wet; I am merely concerned about you getting dirtied with mud.”

Yet being carried all the way to the High Priest’s palace was not the Scribe’s main concern. Her main concern was that her white garments–thoroughly drenched with water–were practically transparent, letting her…more delicate parts show.

She covered her blazing hot face with both hands, softly keening in embarrassment all the while.

“Ohoh? What is this?” The High Priest allowed himself a smirk. “Have we not been intimate before? I have seen all of you already,” he said, voice sultry and suggestive. “And I will once again, later.”

===

What the Scribe did not expect was for the High Priest to strip her of her sopping wet clothing upon reaching the threshold of his palace.

Afterwards he had her sit on the elevated dais in the middle of his audience hall, slightly shivering in the cold night air; her naked, damp skin partially covered by the thin fabric of the High Priest’s cape draped around her shoulders.

He had excused himself for a bit to fetch something, and so the Scribe made use of the time alone to observe the palace’s interior. 

She had not many chances to do so in her previous visits; the High Priest had a way of ensuring that she focused entirely on him, and him alone.

The dais she sat on was padded with soft cushions covered with the smoothest of fabrics. Sheer cloth hung from the high ceiling, draping all the way down around the dais and obscuring the view from beyond the elevated platform; lending the room a somewhat sensual atmosphere that she supposed may have occurred entirely by accident.

It’s the usual cloth that keeps mosquitoes at bay, but…

Moonlight streaming through the ornate windows bathed her in an ethereal glow. The lamps and reed candles were already snuffed out by the time they arrived, and nothing else but the pale blue moon’s rays provided illumination within the hall.

The Scribe pulled the High Priest’s cape tighter around her shoulders. It smelled of lotus, and something woodsy, yet slightly medicinal. Myrrh, perhaps? She wondered as she lifted the edge of the cape to her nose, gently sniffing the pleasant smell that marked his presence at any given time.

“Are you pleased with the scent?” came the High Priest’s low, sweet whisper, as if afraid to ruin the quiet moment were he to speak loudly.

“Yes. It smells of you,” she answered before realizing what her words implied; yet another fierce blush set her face and neck ablaze, like a ceremonial fire. “Um, that is to say…you always wear this scent.”

A satisfied grin spread on his lips as he approached her, an arm cradling a blue glass jar. “It makes me glad knowing that you have committed my scent to your memory.” The High Priest knelt beside her, placing the blue glass jar on the dais. “Am I that special to you?”

The Scribe had to laugh at his question. “You, the revered High Priest, dream of girls everywhere…you are asking me this? If you are special?”

He tipped his head to one side, his long braid sliding off his shoulders. “But of course. My beloved Scribe does not think the same way as other people do. You choose to stand by painful truths when others choose to acquiesce, in the face of dogma.” A subtly scented finger traced her lips. “It is your opinion that matters to me. Well?”

There it is, once again. That teasing side of him that he rarely shows anyone. 

“You know the answer to that,” the Scribe shifted slightly on her haunches to face him more comfortably. “Surely you have heard how my heart beats for you whenever you’re this close…”

“Heh…”

Lips descended upon lips; as they indulged in their kisses the High Priest slowly slid his cape off her shoulders, leaving her body clothed with only moonlight and nothing else; a stark contrast to how he was fully dressed, except for his cape discarded onto the dais, now forgotten.

Only the soft, wet sounds of their kissing could be heard throughout the hall, punctuated by their occasional moans and sighs of longing.

The High Priest pulled back from their deep kiss with great difficulty. “Mm, not yet…I did tell you I would let you indulge in the Lotus’s blessing, did I not?”

Eyes still half-lidded in desire, the Scribe could not do anything but nod in reply. But I do not need the lotus anymore, she wanted to tell him, yet her kiss-moistened lips would not obey her bidding. You are here. You are all I need…

“But I will need your help, first…” the High Priest moved, turning his back–and his abundant silver braid–towards her. “Could you help unbind my hair?”

“Of course,” the Scribe murmured as her hands sought the end of his braid. Soft fingers caressed the lush, well-cared for mane of silver until her fingertips touched the edge of the fabric holding his braid in place.

Carefully her skillful fingers undid the knot, and she tugged at the strip of cloth until it came loose from the braid. It’s the same strip of cloth that he gave me, she realized, and the memories associated with it came rushing to the forefront of her mind, sending her into another flustered loop.

She hid the unbidden rush of emotions by busying herself with his hair; unfortunately for her his tresses were smooth enough that it only took a slight combing with her fingers for the braid to fully unravel.

“I-it’s done,” the Scribe breathed, marveling at the strands of his hair entwined around her fingers. “Your hair, I mean.”

“Thank you.” The High Priest shook his head slightly, and his lustrous locks cascaded over his shoulders; unbound his hair was long enough to pool around his knees as he knelt on the dais.

With his hair loose, the High Priest looked immensely beautiful in the pale blue glow of nighttime. The Scribe bit back her surprise; this was the first time she had seen his hair outside of its usual braid.

His gold eyes sparkled mischievously. “Ah, you are looking at me that way again,” he said, voice enticing. “But not yet. I have yet to deliver on my promise to you.”

“The lotus?” she murmured absently; the desire to emulate the Lotus-eaters in the pursuit of her peace of mind all but forgotten.

A chuckle escaped the High Priest’s lips. “Yes. The lotus,” he reminded her with an amused tone. Then, “Sit up straight,” he gently instructed her as he took hold of the blue glass jar, removing the stopper that kept its contents from spilling.

As soon as the stopper was removed, a soft, familiar fragrance permeated the air. “It’s…it’s your perfume,” the Scribe murmured. “But why…?”

Carefully, he tipped the blue jar over her shoulders, pouring the fragrant, spiced oil over her shoulder blades, and her nape. “You will see,” was all he said.

The Scribe let out a small gasp as sweet, woodsy-smelling oil slowly traveled down in numerous sensual waterfalls all over her skin; rivulets and trickles of scented oil ran down her body: down her arms, the curve of her breasts, across her stomach; eventually trickling down her buttocks and pooling by her inner thighs.

Oil had seeped in through the cushion the Scribe sat on. 

It was as if the High Priest had anointed her with the oil.

“My perfume is a mixture of myrrh, cinnamon, lilies, and…” His long-fingered hands gently kneaded her shoulders before they slid down her body, lingering on her breasts. “...lotus. You may find that bathing in this fragrance may ease your anxieties, somewhat,” he whispered, his lips close to the Scribe’s ear enough that his low, erotic voice sent shivers down her spine. 

Tenderly his hands cupped the heft of her breast, massaging the oil into her skin. “Is this…unpleasant?” His warm breath fanned the Scribe’s cheek as he posed her the question.

All the while the Scribe trembled underneath the sweet treatment his fingers gave her. “N-no. No, please, don’t stop…” she moaned, softly. “It feels…good…”

The High Priest hummed in approval, fingers not letting up their fondling of her mounds. “Well, then, I shall wipe you down…”

Another gasp. “High Priest, that would be unnecessary, that’s too–aah!” Too much for someone of your stature to do for a commoner like me, she wanted to tell him, but his teasing fingers found her nipples, the pads of his fingertips arousing them to hardened peaks. 

A soft kiss on her cheek. “You are my lover. Remember that.” He briefly withdrew his hands from her body. “And I am marking you as mine, with my own scent. This perfume is mine, and mine alone…”

He then gathered his long silver tresses with his hands. 

Gently he wiped the oil coating her left arm by loosely wrapping his hair around her upper arm; then with the soft grip of his hand he slowly slid his locks down, towards her wrist. 

He repeated the motion for her other arm, with as much care and reverence. 

“This is…” The Scribe murmured as she watched the High Priest reverently polishing her skin with his own hair. Her voice trailed off, her words leaving her at the sight of her lover paying her body such worship. The feel of his own locks sliding down her limbs; his warm breath caressing her neck as he performed his lover’s duty; their amorous proximity–all these sending ripples of voluptuous warmth spreading down her loins, and soon enough the cushion she sat on was not only drenched by the fragrant oil he is bathing her with, but also with the juices of desire drenching her inner thighs.

“You were saying?” The High Priest momentarily let go of his oil-saturated hair, now brimming with his intoxicating scent, and tipped her face towards his with a long, slender finger. “Do not be afraid to speak your mind in my presence,” he whispered, leaning forward to slowly lick her lips. “Hahh–you do know how much I value your words, your thoughts…”

Her breath shuddering, the Scribe opened her lips slightly, letting their tongues entwine in an erotic, openmouthed kiss while his hands slid down once again, this time to tenderly wipe her abdomen down with his hair. 

The kiss did not break, not even as his hands and hair paid homage to her body. Lips locking, tongues sliding against each other as the High Priest’s hands slid further downward, his hair brushing–teasingly–onto her sensitive bud between her inner thighs.

With a moan the Scribe now could not help but throw her arms around her lover, pulling him even closer, still not breaking their kiss. Their breaths came in urgent, heated huffs; with every intake of breath the Scribe found herself drowning not only in the heady, woodsy scent of his perfumed oil but also of the man’s desire for her.

“I’m sorry, I’m–” her words were interrupted as the High Priest sucked on her tongue, indulging himself as his hands worked to wipe down her lower abdomen and her upper thighs. “Don’t keep interrupting me while I’m trying to say something!” she managed to murmur as soon as his mouth let go of her tongue, only to once again lock lips with his.

The High Priest let out a deep, throaty chuckle against her lips in response. “Lie down for me. I shall start working on your legs, and feet,” he said, then kissed her fully once again before helping her into a comfortable position as she laid down onto the cushions.

“Your lips distill nectar, my bride; honey and milk are under your tongue,” He recited words taken from a poem of another land, as his eyes beheld the beauty of the Scribe laid out in front of him, her auburn waves spread out around her head like a dark, bewitching halo.

All his, for his taking. The most beautiful, divine offering, all for him. 

“The Song of King Solomon,” she whispered. “I should have known you have read that, too.”

He then shifted his body towards where her legs lay, his hair trailing down the Scribe’s body as he moved. “Of course. It filled me with dreams, for the moment that I finally find the one I was looking for.” The High Priest bent low, planting a kiss upon the Scribe’s abdomen.

This prompted a moan, and her thighs squirmed in response. 

Golden eyes–now clouded with lust–beheld her secret flesh between her thighs, moisture glistening in the light of the moon that filtered through the sheer curtains surrounding them. “Do you want me this much…” he murmured as he brought a finger to her slit, slightly dipping its tip into her hole and wetting the fingertip with her juices. 

“Hahh–please…” she writhed on the cushions, olive eyes darkened with hunger. “I want you. Please.”

The finger was withdrawn, and a thick, clear string of her juice hung onto the pad of his fingertip, stretching it. It remained unbroken even as he lifted his finger high enough that the Scribe could see it, hovering above her pelvis.

“Yes. Look how much you want me,” were the High Priest’s words as he showed her how the string of her love-juice shone in the moonlight.

Enthralled, she said nothing, but could only moan as the High Priest brought his hand back to her now-swollen mound, gathering more of her wetness. “Your love has penetrated all within me,” he whispered, once again reciting lines taken from poetry.

Then he brought his fingers–slathered with the Scribe’s essence–to his lips. “Like honey plunged into water.” Holding her olive gaze with his gold, lusty own he tongues his fingers slowly, licking them clean of her juices.

This show aroused her so much she could only whimper, as yet another fierce blush burned her skin.

The High Priest smiled gently down at the Scribe, yet the shadows cast on his face made it seem like he was leering at her. “We are not done yet,” he said as he slowly shifted over her legs, letting his oiled hair cascade over one of her thighs. 

With careful hands he lifted her knee, bending it to allow his lips to trail soft kisses with tongue up her thigh.

Once again the Scribe squirmed underneath his reverent worship. 

“Haha. Please let me indulge in you. I have waited for so long.” A kiss on her knee. “So very long…” He opens his lips enough to let his tongue run its course from her knee to calf, letting her foot rest on his shoulder.

A loud gasp came from his object of worship in front of him. “That’s my foot…which is–” 

He adjusted his hold on her foot; one of his hands supported it by the ankle, while the other slowly, sensuously rubbed it with his oiled hair. Strands of his silver locks threaded between her toes, thoroughly anointing her foot with his fragrance.

“...unclean…” the Scribe continued her protestation, voice now meek and lost in the dark, carnal spiral of their shared lust for each other.

The High Priest’s lips sought out her large toe, sucking on it.

“Wait, what are you doing…?” She cried out, this time her body writhing on the cushions enough that she unintentionally spread her legs wider. She only realized her delicious folly as his fingers crept up her inner thigh, their journey ending as the tip of his digits once again lodged inside her hot flesh.

“I have already cleaned you, my beloved.” He said, grinning at her as he let the flat of his tongue slide across her sole. “Trust in the High Priest’s words when he declares someone clean,” he drawled in between his tonguing of her toes.

“Hnnnh–ah!” She arched her back, moaning loudly. And–distracted by the sweet sensations brought about by his sensuous licking–when two of his long, elegant fingers plunged inside her forbidden fruit she cried out even louder, her voice carrying far into the night. “Oh–hahh–please…!”

“Yess…sing louder for me,” A wet kiss upon the ball of her foot. “I have told the palace guards to give us a wide berth. They know.” Once again the flat of his tongue traced the outline of her scented, delicate foot. 

In the meantime the fingers of his other hand started to slide in and out of her heated flesh between her thighs, thumb flicking at her bud every so often. 

Unconsciously the Scribe started to move her hips, grinding against the hand fingering her core so thoroughly, deeply, chasing that sweet pleasure that lovers indulged in their sweet embrace. Deft fingers moved inside her, stretching her, fingers sought out that ridge that when touched would send her deeper, farther, into the throes of coital pleasure. “Mmnnh–there, right there, ahh–” she babbled as she started to lose her grip on her prized sanity.

“So, you yearn to be touched here,” the High Priest whispered as his fingers pressed more firmly at that certain spot inside her that made her mewl and whimper helplessly. “How about this?” He added another finger as he thrust even deeper inside, thumb still lightly flicking at her now stiff nub.

“Aaah…!” Now totally lost to pleasure, her hands found her breasts, repeating how his hands caressed her nipples earlier: fingers teasing them into sensitive hard peaks. Hips still rutting into his pleasuring hand; back arched the Scribe was now the very image of wanton lust.

Ah. What was I worried about again? Her thoughts were wonderfully emptied of her worldly cares. The lotus– 

Her flesh twitched, the sheer electric current in her loins intensifying and cutting her thoughts short. Her mind blanked out–all that could be seen in her eyes was the strong need to reach the precipice…

“More, please, I want to–” 

Yet the High Priest’s words came cold, and cruel: “No, not yet.”

When he pulled out his hand the Scribe very nearly wept. “But why–I was so close!”

Giving her foot one last lick he gently put it down onto the cushions, then with his hands he gathered her buttocks. “Because, I want to do this…”

So saying, he lifted her hips toward his mouth, hiking up her body and letting her thighs drape over his shoulders. With nary a warning his tongue slipped inside the hole his fingers recently vacated, kissing it as he did her mouth with as much fervor.

The sounds that came from the Scribe’s mouth were now unintelligible; the lightheadedness resulting from the blood flowing directly to her head sending her even further towards the edge of her climax. 

Lips slid up to her bud, his tongue swirling around its tip as he sucked, hard.

“!!” The Scribe threw her head deeper into the cushions; the coil of pleasure quickly unraveled within her core and she cried out, her body shuddering, thighs clamping hard around her argent lover’s shoulders. Fingers gripped at the smooth covers of the cushions underneath her, until her arms reached out for him, desperate to kiss him as she fell into the deep end of sensual abyss…

The High Priest indulged her, gently sliding her legs around his waist as he bent down and moved his body against her. He proffered his lips slick with his perfumed oil and her own juices, letting the Scribe taste, and smell, the heady scent of himself mixed with her own lust for him. Their tongues leisurely entwined as she came down from her orgasm.

“Mmm. Delicious. The most delicious offering that I have ever received,” he murmured as he shifted his robes, removing the inner garment tied around his waist and hitching up the hem of his robes. “But I want more. And more.” 

His eyes were obscured by the shadows cast under the brightness of the moon; the gold in his irises darkened into something more primal in nature.

The Scribe was still in the middle of catching her breath. “Hahh–ahh–of course…” was all she could manage as he pulled her even closer, the hair around his face now spilling around her head like an immensely fragrant, ethereal veil of translucent silver. 

Drowning in his needful kisses, despite how his tongue sought to distract her from everything else, she could feel his hands guide her thighs into wrapping around his now naked waist. 

A telltale hardness poked at her entrance.

“Well then, if you yearn to be taken to the Isle of the Lotus-eaters,” the High Priest whispered seductively as his hips started to move, stiff cock thrusting within her bit by excruciatingly voluptuous bit, “My desire is to reach Elysium. Do you know of it?”

Before she could even start to process his question he bottoms out inside her heated walls, his girth filling her so wonderfully that nothing else mattered for her at that very moment. 

Ah. Maybe this is how the Lotus-eaters felt, came her passive, fleeting thought, until that was also wiped out as he began to thrusting in and out inside her wet flesh. 

The heavenly friction of his cock inside her sparked that innermost hunger within once again; and once again she reached out to pull him down into yet another kiss; the both of them exchanging desperate breaths scented by his perfume. 

If I can drown, and die by his kisses, thought the Scribe as her tongue danced along with his, then let it be done.

The High Priest’s hands held her fast by her waist, pushing her even closer to his hips as he drove deep inside her. Such was the force of his ramming that his ornamental gilded bracelets clinked and chimed at his every movement, their bright chimes mingling with the outright lusty music of the Scribe’s soft, needy mewling, his quiet grunts, and the sound of flesh hitting wet flesh.

“You did say you–hahh–will be together with me always, did you not?” He whispered, voice shuddering, almost pleading. “I am about to–” his movements picked up strength and speed, making the woman underneath him writhe in yet another imminent orgasm. 

“...yes…!” The Scribe cried out, her now twitching flesh squeezing his cock until it spurted and filled her with his seed.

Elysium. He spoke of Elysium, she thought in the midst of burgeoning afterglow. Did he reach it?

And when he slumped onto her body, once again covering her vision with his bountiful silver tresses and her lips with his amorous, blissed-out kisses she knew that he had probably reached it.

===

Present day.

It was well past midnight when a knock resounded at her door. Their lodgings in Mien central were quite modest; the soft rapping on the wooden door caused enough racket that it roused her from her slumber.

“Rosa? It is me, Vyn,” came the muffled voice from outside the door.

Shaking the sleep out of her head Rosa swung her legs off the edge of her cot, feet fumbling for her slippers. “Dr. Richter? Just a minute, I’ll unlock the door…”

Upon opening the door she was greeted with a swift kiss on the lips. “My apologies for waking you. I thought you were still awake, your lamp is still lit,” he breathed against her lips. “Also, ‘Dr. Richter’?”

“I thought you were with the others.” Rosa smiled, then stood on tiptoe to plant another kiss on his lips. “Vyn. Feeling a little lonely tonight?”

Vyn sat himself on her cot, his hand fishing out an object from his jacket pocket. “I always yearn for your presence, beloved,” he said, flashing her a soft, yet seductive smile. “But aside from that I have found something of interest. I thought it would make a good gift–a souvenir–for you to remind you of our travels here.”

In his hand was a small blue glass bottle.

“Hmm? What’s that?” Rosa sat beside him, marveling at the beautiful sparkle of the deep azure-colored glass sitting on his palm. 

“This is a vial of perfume. I had a chat with Professor Padilla,” Vyn said as he pulled out the stopper from the bottle. An alluring scent of floral and woodsy notes wafted into the air. “She told me this was taken from an experimental batch, from when they attempted to recreate an ancient perfume said to be used by a high priest.”

Rosa gingerly held Vyn’s hand holding the perfume bottle, lifting it to her nose. “This scent…seems oddly familiar,” she murmured absently after a few sniffs. “But I can’t place where I’ve smelled it before…”

Vyn looked at her with an unreadable gaze in his gold eyes. “I have to admit that I do feel that same deja vu,” he said. “But unless we have smelled a mixture of myrrh, cinnamon, lily, and lotus it would be quite impossible to be acquainted with this particular scent before we arrived here.” A pause. “Not even my training with wine tasting and scents involved pure myrrh, for example.”

“Hmm.” Rosa tipped her head to one side, peering at Vyn closely. The scent now slowly permeating the air has triggered certain memories that she couldn’t quite place. “You know, Vyn, somehow…”

“What is it, Rosa?”

She smiled sheepishly, slightly confused. “Somehow I think you would look good with long hair.”

“Hm? Whatever made you say that?”

“I don’t know…” Rosa absent-mindedly prised the bottle off Vyn’s fingers and dabbed a bit of the oily perfume onto a fingertip. “You know what they say, scents sometimes jog memories?”

“Yes. It sometimes functions as well as, or even better than mnemonics,” Vyn murmured, observing Rosa as she reached out to his nape, applying perfume on the skin at the back of his neck. “...Rosa?”

She leaned forward, burying her nose in the crook of his neck and breathed in deeply. “This…this smells like it fits you more?” she said, still bemused with her out of place memories. “Not sure.”

Vyn let out a low chuckle as he took back the vial, and dabbed a bit of liquid to Rosa’s exposed collarbone. “It is a scent that becomes you, as well,” he whispered. He slipped the vial into his pocket once again, and pulled Rosa into his arms. “Why not make it our new scent?”

“You sure you want us smelling of the same perfume, Vyn?” Rosa giggled as his lips glided along her jawline.

“Yes. And maybe grow out my hair a little bit,” Vyn said, before nipping the tender part of her neck. “...To please you.”

He reached out to her desk to snuff out the lantern’s flame; and in the moonlit darkness the lovers marked each other with their newfound scent, etching echoes of a strange shared memory into their thoughts for days to come.

#tears of themis #tears of themis fanfic #vyn richter #mo yi #vyn richter smut #tears of themis au

[brucenorris007]

I dunno whose post it was, but someone was on the subject of Knuckles and the idea that what if he’s also functionally immortal and will continue to exist guarding the Master Emerald even as far in the future as Silver’s timeline(s). I think the idea also stemmed from or at least mentioned the idea of the m.e. being sentient and messing with Destined Child’s memories so that even if Silver met him again Knuckles wouldn’t remember.

Which is a long-winded way of introducing my headcanon for a Knuckles whose fate does involve an indefinite post on Angel Island that sees him outliving almost everyone else

Because I don’t think he would forget. The past and history is important to him, even when he doesn’t fully understand it. He wouldn’t be nearly so stalwart about his station otherwise.

And he would count his friends, his mismatched nontraditional family, as part of his history.

That’s sacred to him; and Destined Child is also a treasure hunter.

As they pass away, he gathers their treasures.

Espio’s kunai

Vector’s gold chain necklace, which he only wears at home

Charmy’s helmet

The Chaotix detective agency sign and the one album they recorded during their brief stint as a band

Amy’s hammer, the weapon of a warrior and compassionate soul he greatly admired

The Tornado 2 and the Cyclone, which he even threatened violence to obtain (Tails was responsible for several engineering marvels and some thought his transforming aircraft should be preserved), and for which he patiently taught himself the mechanics of well enough that he could fly them back to Angel Island

Chip’s bracelet, something Sonic personally passed on to him and which holds place of pride on his wrist; he never tried to preserve anything else of the hedgehog’s: the wind was ample reminder

As interesting an idea as it might be, I don’t believe an immortal Knuckles could forget his friends

Destined Child never knew his tribe by blood.

That just made the tribe that chose him all the more precious.

#Bruce talks about #Knuckles #Knuckles the Echidna #headcanon #well. tangential headcanon based on another post which outlined an idea #I'd have looked for it to tag them if not for Tumblr's crap search system #I don't necessarily headcanon that Knux is immortal #Just that if he were. He'd approach the fact something like this

[makeminemarvel]

Favorite Namor costume other than the classic?

The problem is I admire the classic silver age design- green Speedo, gold bracelets, buccaneer earring if you're lucky- so much for its elegant simplicity. It updates the golden age costume (which is even simpler, the black or red speedo with stylish stripe) with a more fantasy aesthetic while maintaining its character.

His dress-up formalwear is a highlight, such as for re-coronations, tyrannical rule or weddings. His silly helmet-crown makes me laugh but a grand cape suits him.

In terms of superhero costumes, I am fond of his rehydrating Reed Richards-designed black seventies suit.

It maintains the crucial aspect of Namor's design, cleanliness and simplicity, but it adds a little structure with the shoulders that adds a regal quality. The shininess makes it wetsuit-like which is important. The other most important aspect of a Namor costume, in my opinion, is practicality. Namor's classic design is a swimsuit (he's not in his underwear!) because he is an aquatic hero and swims all the time. The weird gold armpit wings look like flippers or fish fins and I also like how even the big belt looks like a wrestling trophy. This costume encapsulates Namor's main activities, swimming and fighting. In fact, you could tell that just by looking at it if you never seen Namor before. You look at this guy and you know he's a swimmer and you know he's a bare knuckle brawler.

Honourable mention: his short-lived X-Men costume from X-Men Red!

Possibly a few too many panels and colours to count as simple, however very practical and the short sleeves and wrist warmers are very sporty, very him.

Now for some self indulgent complaining 😈

The two criteria we've gathered for a good Namor costume are: 1) simplicity, 2) practicality.

This thing is 1) complicated, so much so that no artist has ever drawn it the same way as another, and 2) impractical, as he is covered in heavy armour stupid for swimming (setting aside his superstrength) and dangling chains for enemies to grab onto. What is with that gap between the... Belt? And the buckle??? Is the stylised seashell emblem glued to his skin? I understand the royal -> armour instinct but I think it must be resisted in Namor's case, based on the criteria we've set out but also because Namor's powerset leaves him far less vulnerable to the injuries armour protects you from. (Unless it's a special powerup like the sacred armour of Atlantis from the 90s series, of course, which is just rad).

In addition I notice that in a great many AU designs or fan redesigns of Namor's costume, artists will frequently give him a panel of additional fabric on the front of his swimsuit for no reason, I suppose to look archaic but it always pisses me off. For instance ultimate Namor has one (but I won't post any pictures because those issues are shit and Greg Land is garbage).

#namor the submariner #namor #namor mckenzie #asks #ty for asking conner ❤️

[mannazandwyrd]

A modern pagan prayer bracelet or meditation aid, suitable for broom-closeted devotional polytheists:

Start with your base bracelet. This can be a leather or slicone strap or a silver charm bracelet - whatever you already have or suits your budget.

Choose European-style big-hole slider beads for your bracelet (or a smaller hole if your base bracelet will allow), in colours that you associate with your deity/deities, in a number that’s sacred in your tradition.

Beard/hair beads and artisan lampwork made for SCA / historical reconstruction purposes work nicely. Support the artisans doing that work, and check out Etsy’s vintage section and your local vintage stores and antique malls (I like smoke-cleansing and repurposing vintage finds because it has a smaller environmental footprint than buying new). The silver charms from the 50s-80s may need an adapter bead to dangle from a newer bracelet, and major manufacturers (Trollbeads, Pandora, every chain jewelry store) have made and are making sterling beads in every theme imaginable. Semi-precious gemstone beads are also available.

Then write (or adapt) a meditative chant to go with the beads. A list of your deities’ aspects/names/heiti can be a good place to start. Different chants for different purposes are worth exploring, and you don’t need to do them out loud. Put the chant(s) and the cleansed bracelet on your altar and ask your deities to consecrate them.

I’m hanging with the Norse, so I snagged a vintage foxtail-chain bracelet (Trollbeads), and went through my Viking-and-earlier-replica bead stash looking for ones with 4mm holes. I chose nine lamp-worked glass beads and a few sterling ones; it’s a work in progress. I’m going to keep my eye on Trollbeads, too, because as a Danish company they have a number of beads directly inspired by Norse mythology (and even a Mjolnir bead).

In the photo: Lampwork mostly by Grimfrost, LykosLeather, and VikingsHagedisen - my fancy replica beads from other vendors have a smaller hole (through my own lack of foresight) so will stay on my necklace-slash-brooch-chain. Sterling is all vintage, and the beads with a gold stripe in them are vintage Trollbeads but still mostly available on their website. Some of these will become Yule gifts.

In my UPG, Loki is using my energy centres (chakras in reiki and yoga) as part of teaching me energy and trancework, so my nine glass beads currently are: black, red, orange, yellow, green, sky blue, sapphire blue, purple, white. Kurt Hoogstraat’s “On Contemporary Seiðr” talks about this syncretic practice a bit; I am including the ‘earth root’ and ‘soul star’ centres in my version, and thinking of it as my Bifröst bracelet. It doesn’t hurt that at a glance people think it’s a gay pride thing (everyone I know knows I’m momma bear to a trans teen).

The photo also includes some other options I’m playing with based on what I currently have at hand. I also have repurposed my childhood sterling charm bracelet, reusing the chain for beads (it needs a new clasp) and the charms for sortilege divination purposes, with the help of some sterling split-rings and skinny Thai hill-tribe silver spacers.

What I like about this idea is that it’s so versatile: it can read as whatever gender feels best for you, it can be simple or maximalist, casual or dressy, work-appropriate or wildly artsy, and as subtle and stealth as you need it to be. Because charm bracelets of various kinds have been around for decades, you can do it on whatever budget you have, or ask to be gifted one from that place in the mall. Childrens’ plastic letter-block beads and pony beads can be used, if it suits you and your deity (a certain trickster I know would be delighted with that). You can swap out the beads as you go.

#norse paganism #norse polytheism #inclusive paganism #devotional polytheism #prayer beads #meditation aids #making a modern practice #broom closet practice ideas #post 7 of 7 #7 days of Lokabrenna #polytheistic monasticism #long post

[magdalenas]

it does disappoint me that, for such expensive jewelry, most vww is only brass plated with silver / gold / rose gold etc bc it really doesn’t last … i think only my sacred heart necklace is possibly sterling silver as it has yet to have any issues but the chain to my gold orb pendant (which tbh i can’t find rn since moving home 😵‍💫) completely bit the dust and my rose gold orb bracelet is showing signs of wear on the inside, i noticed today … and i really don’t wear them that often to avoid deterioration bc i probs won’t ever be able to replace them … i am always careful abt crazy things like if i sweat too much while wearing i’ll take it off (how the sacred heart got tangled tbh i took it off after a night of clubbing in the car ride home cuz i felt hot and just put it in my purse cuz i was drunk 😭) and i’m always careful to put them on with clean hands either before using facial products or perfumes or whatever or after … gotta look up how to make them last longer .. maybe there’s just something wrong with my luck :(

#maybe it’s not expensive when you look at like things that are $1k+ or whatever but idk for a poor person i feel like $100+ for a necklace #is a lot esp if it is prone to wear & tear #but ahhhh i love the look so much ! they’re the most fashionable things i own and i always get compliments :((( #i don’t wear tons of jewelry other than my nose stud which doesn’t come out #but i’m trying to be cuter … in general .. it’s hard bc i’m just poor and my body doesn’t feel suited to fashionable clothes #so these are like … my special little things that elevate my otherwise mostly average outfits #i don’t have bad taste i just have like .. barriers that keep me from looking how i want to look :(

[untitledducklett]

[Cael trots, quite literally, out onto the stage followed by Berior and Lucretia. Cael and Berior are sporting face and body paints respectively. The script on Berior's sides and face are glowing softly pulsating in time with his heartbeat. Both he and Lucretia have been polished to a mirror sheen. In the middle of Cael's forehead a strange, dainty, white flower has been painstakingly painted the leaves of which go over his eyes which stand out as bright amber against the green. He takes a deep breath before taking a deep bow, as he comes up the bracelet that @xxfrosted-heartxx made for him can be seen against his glinting armor. Around his feet is a thick carpet of multiple types of flowers: Zinnia (thoughts of absent friends), Daffodil (unrequited love), Anemone (forsaken), Marigold (grief and cruelty), Snowbell (The Dawn Queen), Cylcamen (goodbye).

"Hello Sootopolis!" he calls the same grin he wore while busking now taking over his features. "My name is Cael Adair, the Vanitian Absol to my left is Berior, and the Vanitian Leavanny to my right is Lucretia. Today we'll be putting on a little ballet based on traditional Vanitian training exercises."

Cael nods towards someone off stage and music begins to play, the song is in a similar language to Téir Abhaile Riú. Not the same exact language but a definite third cousin. The petals around his feet begin to kick up as he and Berior take position across from each other. Berior begins a swords dance as Cael charges forward reaching into the 'blades'. As if manifested by the move itself Cael pulls out two collapsable blades bound together by a strand of teal ribbon, there is a pattern on it but it's difficult to see due to the positioning of the camera. He touches the tip of one of the blades to the ground and draws a circle the petals underneath it kicking up as he does. He lunges for Berior who throws up a King's Shield embossed with two mechanical looking pig pokemon rearing up, back to back. Cael's blades tap off of the shield. He backflips away his feet kicking up trails of petals as he does. Berior gallops forward with an iron headbutt which Cael dodges with an expert duck. This continues until the first verse ends. Out of a thick shroud of darkness shining gold silk erupts wrapping itself around Cael's arm disarming him.

As the fog dissipates Lucretia is seen standing on the thread attached to Cael's arm. She charges down the thread at Cael scraping her arms together in a hone claws. Berior intercepts cutting the thread with his horn. Lucretia does a backflip and as soon as she lands she summons a petal storm. The petals on the ground quickly coalesce into a bright, shining, tornado of petals. Cael and Berior get back to their feet staring down the variant Leavanny. She sweeps her arms sending out a flurry of gold and silver leaves like throwing stars. Attached to each is a thin thread. Cael crouches behind Berior as he throws up another King's Shield to block the leaves, she retracts them giving a chance for Cael to retaliate. He jumps onto the shield and, using it as a springboard, leaps towards Lucretia, swords drawn. Lucretia hooks the ribbon between his swords and severs it sending Cael back towards the ground.

Cael slowly falls to the ground as if he were suspended by wires to cushion the landing. He lies still. Berior then lets out a howl of rage, he uses sacred sword grabbing it by the hilt in his teeth as he charged forward with Iron Headbutt. The tornado of petals picks up speed as Berior dashes forwards concealing the two pokemon. When the petals finally drop Berior is standing over a still Lucretia.

The crowd erupts in cheering that seems to revive both Cael and Lucretia. The trio line up single file and bow to the audience.

"Thank you everyone! May this small piece of Vanitas stay in your memories!"

The video closes with Cael recalling Lucretia before hopping onto Berior and riding out.]

[OOC: art of the Athelas plant by Bonnie Klein, Berior's paints were done by me, the lineart was a mega absol coloring page that was edited]

#sootopolis circuit #Hopefully I did well enough to make it to the next round! #pkmn irl #rotumblr #pokeblogging #pokemon irl

[belladonazeppole]

Pytix, The Mother of the Sea Monsters

CV: Romi Park

Goddess of the Ocean, Ocean Madness, Rain, Sea Storms and The Unknown.

Pantheon: Norse

Age: Eons

Height: 7'10 ft (2.40cm)

Gender: Female

Aliases:

The Mother of the Sea Monsters.

The Queen of the Seas.

Empress of the Sea Deeps.

The Jötnar of the Monsters.

Appearance:

Pytix is a tall woman with a robust and voluptuous build. Has purple skin, long earfins, black eyes, black wavy hair that reaches past her shoulders and two front braids in the side of her face. She also has white freckles all over her face and body, has spiky teeth and her lips are pinted in a deep red.

She wears a dark blue low-cut dress, a black bodice, a full skirt with a lace pattern and black heels. She wears leather pants underneath. A silver necklace with an indigo gem, turquoise earrings, silver bracelets.

Personality:

Temperamental, Stubborn, Eloquent, Caring, Faithful and Brutally Honest. She keeps it for herself most the time and wants to be out of petty conflicts and others gods problems the best she can but behaves in a cordial manner when talking.

Her patience can be very short so she can have very angry outburst and is know to hold grudges for a long time.

Pytix normaly feels indiferent to humanity until they started to trash the ocean which only gained her wrath towards them. She has a kind side underneath all her coldness, she loves all her children and is always kind with them, and gave them a comfortable life, but never to level to spoiled them.

Pytix is deeply in love with Poseidon who she also is incredible lustful. She protects the people she likes with everything she has in her disposal and would tell things as she sees it, which sometimes sounds cruel but would admit when she is wrong. She is also a woman hard to impress.

Trivia:

Her sacred animal is the jellyfish and her sacred plants / flowers are the begonias, devil's ivy and impatiens.

She is the original ruler of the sea so when Poseidon marry her, he become the king consort.

Is close friends with Gaia, who she visits in Tartarus often and keep her update of the state of the world. Of the few people that she genuine likes.

She has bioluminescence.

Pytix rules over the deep sea while Poseidon rules over the surface, both of them are happy with these and visit the other a lot.

While not a secret isn't also public that she is a jötnar.

#shuumatsu no valkyrie #shuumatsu no walkure #record of ragnorak #record of ragnarok oc #original female character #original character #pytix oc #progenitor au #snv #ror

[andthorns]

task 01 — living spaces

mari's apartment is a sacred space to her, one where she can write undisturbed and be alone with her thoughts. she lives alone for this very reason, needing her own space where she can bask in the creative process without anyone disturbing her by asking her to clean the kitchen or go out to pick up milk. with its somewhat eccentric and cluttered decor, the apartment reflects mari perfectly, and she has built it to become a place where she can draw both inspiration and comfort in equal measure.

BUILDING. mari lives in a top-floor apartment in a three storey building closer to the side of town where the local residents live rather than her fellow students. her landlady, an ancient italian woman who is perpetually in a terrible mood, lives on the ground floor. the building is an old one, complete with creaking stairs and groaning pipes, but mari loves its character and many strange residents.

LAYOUT. the relatively humble apartment consists of a hallway, one bathroom, a small kitchen, one bedroom, and the living area, which is where mari spends the majority of her time — mostly due to the fact that this is the room containing her desk. the living space leads onto a tiny, rickety balcony overlooking the street below, and she has managed to cram a table and two chairs onto it so she can sit there in the evenings and watch the world go by with a glass of wine.

DECOR. mari has lived in the same apartment since the beginning of her sophomore year, and it shows. the decor is, to put it generously, eclectic. much of the mismatched furniture was there when she moved in, but she has put her own touch on the space with several second-hand items, framed prints on the walls, and a plethora of trinkets (see below). the resulting effect is bohemian and slightly chaotic, not helped by the fact that it's more than a little disorganised. mugs, papers, and clothes are scattered across every available surface, and books are stacked precariously in towering piles on the floor. though she makes efforts to tidy it all up every once in a while, she actually quite enjoys the mess, as it makes her feel like a real writer.

TRINKETS. since her family was cut off from her grandparents, mari has become something of a kleptomaniac. she never steals anything too valuable (with one notable exception, of course), usually just small items that people might not notice are gone, but over the years she’s amassed quite a collection. pieces that were stolen years ago — a little china elephant, a green glass ashtray, an enamel box that she now keeps supplements in — are displayed around her apartment like trophies. more recent acquisitions — a gold bracelet belonging to aileen, an engraved silver lighter that was formerly fitz's, a fountain pen taken from one of her professors – are kept locked in a drawer of her desk.

DESK. her desk is, to her, the most important piece of furniture she owns. it's the place where she does most of her writing, and so it took mari a long time and several discarded pieces before she found the one that was right for her. the heavy wooden desk sits under her window, and is piled high with books or items that she's using as her current inspiration, though a vase of flowers and a few half-empty coffee cups are usually present as well. the drawers are mostly filled with stationery, with the exception of the bottom drawer, which is filled with the treasures she's collected. the marchesa diamond also lives here in a small velvet bag, pushed to the very back so she doesn't have to think about it.

GUESTS. though mari is an introvert and sees her apartment very much as a place both to create and recharge, her door remains figuratively open for anyone who might need refuge. the couch is always available as a place to crash in emergencies, and closer friends (namely aileen) are welcome to share her bed. she doesn't often have romantic visitors, but once in a blue moon there might be someone she stumbles back with after a party.

#praeditus.task #look... i haven't incorporated her kleptomania into a thread yet but i WILL #if anyone wants to have something stolen hmu #anyway enjoy xoxo

[blossom-adventures]

Would you consider Hidden Scar for FFXV and your OC?

Thank you for the request and thank you for your patience, here is my second prompt from my @badthingshappenbingo card, Hidden Scars. It takes place in my Final Fantasy XV story, think of it as a little teaser of what I’m working on, this story has a personal Head Canon regarding Captain Drautos and other residents of the region of Cavaugh

I hope you like it ☺️💙

Bracelets

Violet dropped back onto the grass, Prompto sat down next to her.

“Remind me to politely decline next time you invite me for a run,” Violet huffed, the 18 year old, blonde laughed “I’ll stick to my early morning jog with Captain Drautos”

“I wasn’t expecting you to struggle like that, Violet”

“My usual running companion is in his 40’s and built for strength more than speed, and we usually talk while we run” Violet sat up and took a few sips of water and caught her breath.

The pair sat in the high, summer sun in the park for a while, watching others passing by on the footpath. Violet twisted the bracelet on her right wrist

“That’s a nice bracelet, Violet, I’ve always thought so, is it leather?” Violet looked down at the wide leather band; black, red and purple dyed leather with a silver clasp that bore the Amicitia coat of arms.

“It was a gift, from Captain Drautos, tanned and dyed leather, yes. It’s a traditional thing from his homeland”

“But you’re Insomnian”

“Yeah… but he wanted me to have one…” Violet looked down at her wrist “I have a scar, that runs around my wrist. When I got it, I was so scared to go to school, I knew people would ask about it and I wasn’t ready to explain it, I refused to go… for about a week, then the Captain brought me this” Violet undid the clasp of the leather band and showed Prompto the gagged scarring that ran around her wrist, he unconsciously fidgeted with his green striped sweatband on his right wrist, which didn’t go unnoticed by Violet. “We always need to feel comfortable, if that means hiding a scar, then we should, right?”

“Yeah…” Prompto nodded. He looked at her while she put her bracelet back on. “You said that those are traditional for the Captain’s homeland, right?” Violet hummed, “does he wear one?”

“He wears 8 of them, 3 on his right wrist, 5 on his left, his are much smaller than this though, and they all have different meanings”

“Which are?”

“I can’t tell you… those leather bands are sacred to his culture, it’s like Galahdans with their beads”

“So, if it’s so sacred, it must mean a lot to receive one”

“It is, people of Cavaugh can give people a bracelet, but only someone who means a great deal to them, it creates a bond, anyone should be honoured to receive one”

“I didn’t realise you were so close to the Captain” Violet lay back down on the grass and smiled fondly

“He’s like family”

#blossom rambles #ffxv #blossom’s oc violet amicitia #ffxv prompto #bad things happen bingo #hidden scars #blossom writes

[roshan-blogs]

Rudraksha bracelet | Benefits of Rudraksha Bracelet

The ancient practice of wearing Rudraksha Bracelets has garnered immense popularity In the realm of spirituality and holistic healing. These sacred beads, derived from the seeds of the Rudraksha tree, hold significant importance in various cultures and traditions. Readmore

#taylor swift #nostalgia #rudraksha mala #rudraksha #rudra #rudraprayag #rudrakshabracelet #succession

[rakhibazaar]

Helping Guide for Trendy Rakhis for Raksha Bandhan 2023

Introduction

Raksha Bandhan is a traditional Hindu festival that falls on the full moon day in the Shravan month. In your diary, you can mark August 30, 2023, to celebrate it with your family. The festive occasion is also famed as Rakhri, Avani Avittam, and Janai Purnima and commemorates the beautiful and unique bond between brothers and sisters.

Every year when unmarried and married sisters tie a Rakhi on their brother’s wrists, they put their faith in them. The sacred Rakhi thread has a deep cultural significance. It strengthens the relationship between the two. The brother is her constant support, and she feels completely protective when he is around. Moreover, the brother also promises to protect her always. He continues wearing this Rakhi thread of love and protection for many days, which shows that sisters are unique and genuinely valued. 

Before the festive occasion ends and you may get busy enough to indulge in last-minute Rakhi shopping, here are our recommendations for the trendiest Rakhis online for Raksha Bandhan 2023 with the best gift combos. Investing in these online Rakhi gift ideas will be beneficial whether your brother stays with you or in a different city or country. Select a Rakhi that will look adorable on your brother's wrist with a suitable combo to make the Rakhi celebration an event to remember. 

Owing to technological advancement and the round-the-clock availability of the internet, you can buy Rakhi and Rakhi gifts online from the comfort of your room. Within a few clicks, your order will reach the desired doorstep. However, ordering Rakhi for your brother from a trustworthy online Rakhi shopping platform is a must for a hassle-free experience.

Bracelet Rakhi:

It is made of threads, beads, stones, pearls, and metals, like gold or silver. These Rakhis are a modern take on the traditional Rakhi and are worth buying for fashionable brothers. These Rakhis are in demand as they are a combo of Rakhi & Bracelet. 

You can order bracelet Rakhi with sweets & assorted chocolates. They are delightful indulgences for your siblings, giving cherished memories. 

Golden Rakhi:

Many online platforms have a wide range of golden Rakhis to grab your eyeballs. It is made of gold or gold-plated materials to give it a rich and luxurious appearance. Skilled artisans enhance their appeal by creating beautiful designs, patterns, and motifs. Moreover, gold is associated with purity and prosperity, so golden Rakhi for your brother will enhance his fortune and strengthen your bond.

Create a festive package combining golden Rakhi with a decorated Puja Thali. It will provide a ceremonial and religious touch to his Rakhi celebration.

Personalized Rakhi:

Raksha Bandhan celebrates & honors siblings’ love. This Raksha Bandhan, you can order a Rakhi online with a small photo of you and your brother, his name or initials, or a message reflecting your heartfelt love and good wishes for him. 

A Personalized Rakhi with a customized gift, such as a keychain, mug, or cushion, will be treasured for years.  

Cartoon-Character Rakhi:

Raksha Bandhan allows you to strengthen your bond with your siblings. So, if you have a kid brother, dedicate this Rakhi festival to him. Order a cartoon-printed Rakhi online, such as Peppa Pig Rakhi, Mickey Mouse Rakhi, Minions, etc. It will add an element of fun and excitement to his Rakhi celebration.

The top-notch Rakhi gift ideas for kids include Rakhi with chocolates and sweets, T-shirts, colored pencils, puzzle books, crayons, etc., to help make a special place in their hearts.

Conclusion: Brothers are special. So, you can't settle for the ordinary when selecting a Rakhi online. You can also check the latest Rakhi collection with gifts available at Rakhi Bazaar https://www.rakhibazaar.com/. The company offers an express Rakhi delivery service that allows you to send Rakhi to the UK from India and worldwide. You can also send Rakhi to India from the UK, the USA, etc., free of shipping costs.    

#Send rakhi to India #Rakhi Gifts Online #Online Rakhi