#truly historical artifacts

[hiddenst0rms]

You know you’re in the trenches when you’re searching so hard for sickfics that you’re in Fanfiction.net accounts from the 2000s with the bios looking like “Hi guys XD follow me on MySpace” 

#truly historical artifacts #showing my age a bit here #if I find a fic from say 2006 and the author is clearly in high school #I'm like #wow #I was a child #and yet I can still enjoy them to this day #I wonder how these authors are doing

[hehosts]

❝ this is my library, ❞ he says, gesturing to the expanse of the floor they currently occupy.

they are at the center, surrounded by shelves containing neatly stacked books, tomes, scrolls, and other such materials. it is an endless expanse, going upwards, to the left, right, forward, back —— ah, wasn't there an entrance there just before? he ignores the shifting bookcases, arms coming to fold behind himself as he offers this fresh mind a look into something rather extraordinary. it makes his office seem humble, simple even.

❝ one of them. please, by all means ... look around. you've earned it. ah, and if you come across a locked door, simply check your pocket. you'll notice you have the keys —— it's on you to find the right one. [ ... ] well? i anticipate you'll want to have a look around. go on. ❞ he gives an amicable wave, pausing before he asks, ❝ or are you expecting me to accompany you? if we're being honest, this sort of is a dual-purpose trip for me. i have a few ... things ... i need to collect. find me in the area labeled restricted, but wait outside. i'll know if you come in. trust me ... it's prudent you stay out. everywhere else? by all means. ❞ // * open starter from the great man feat. his library !!

#* ( goro ) ♡ — ace of spades #* ( goro ) ♡ — ic #for all those interested in his library #it's like kind of similar to the one in atla but like ... idk i guess bigger and more expansive and also houses not just books and scrolls #and like tomes and stuff but also like er faces and identities and voices and what not #you know the spoils of his deals basically and the things he's collected and taken over the years #so also lots of historical artifacts if your muse is into that sort of thing! #from societies known and unknown #like idk atlantis and the like but also ones im sure not even recorded anymore #idk go wild tbh like whatever your muse is into he probably at least has a book on it or something #if your muse is a magic user go for the scrolls or smthn #truly go wild #idc if they go into the restricted area either go for it #make it dramatic

[girlhaggard]

the art historical canon is clearly founded upon western/european narratives, and this bias has always been abundantly clear throughout my education in the discipline. it manifests itself in academic texts or museum exhibitions which indiscriminately lump together african, oceanic, asian, and indigenous american art despite these works originating from wildly different cultures, contexts, and time periods; through the flippant recognition of "primitive" art as it relates to european modernist sensibilities; when entry-level art history classes discuss european theft of foreign artifacts through the lens of a colonial savior complex as opposed to the cultural genocide it actually is. we discuss the missing relief sculptures of the parthenon not as left but as part of the patronizing Elgin Marble narrative: we are saving these historically significant works from the turmoil of the global south! in reality we are re-writing the cultural histories of these important and significant civilizations. we are disrespecting their histories and customs and the people which built those from the ground up. this theft and western/colonial re-contextualization, this purposeful reframing of the canon to favor european conventions and sensibilities goes so much deeper than even the most woke art history program will dare to delve into.

#just learning about how fucked up the acquisition and decontextualization of the benin bronzes is #like damn we never got into THAT shit in AP art history #my senior seminars def picked these issues of art history canon & western bias & colonialism a little more #but we never truly got into how fucked up it is to not only seize these artifacts but!!! #how in doing so we divorce them from their historical context and consequently rewrite the historical narrative of these cultures etc etc

[nellywrisource]

A writer’s guide to the historical method: how historians work with sources

In this post, I provide a brief overview of how historians engage with different types of sources, with a focus on the mindset of a historian. This insight could be valuable for anyone crafting a character whose profession revolves around history research. It may also prove useful for authors conducting research for their book.

Concept of historical source

The concept of historical source evolves over time. 

Initially, the focus was mainly on written sources due to their obvious availability. However, as time has progressed, historians now consider a wide range of sources beyond just written records. These include material artifacts, intangible cultural elements, and even virtual data.

While "armchair historians" may rely on existing studies and secondary sources, true professional historians distinguish themselves by delving directly into primary sources. They engage in a nuanced examination of various sources, weaving together diverse perspectives. It's crucial to recognize the distinction between personal recollection or memory and the rigorous discipline of historical inquiry. A historical source provides information, but the truth must be carefully discerned through critical analysis and corroboration.

Here's a concise list of the types of sources historians utilize:

Notarial source

Epistolary source

Accountancy source

Epigraphic source

Chronicle source

Oratory and oral source

Iconographic source

Diary source

Electronic source

Example: a notarial source

These are documents drafted by a notary, a public official entrusted with providing legal certainty to facts and legal transactions. These documents can take various forms, such as deeds, lawsuits, wills, contracts, powers of attorney, inventories, and many others.

Here we are specifically discussing a lawsuit document from 1211 in Italy.

A medieval lawsuit document is highly valuable for understanding various aspects of daily life because in a dispute, one must argue a position. From lawsuits, we also understand how institutions truly operated.

Furthermore, in the Middle Ages, lawsuits mostly relied on witnesses as evidence, so we can access a direct and popular source of certain specific social situations.

Some insight into the methodology of analysis:

Formal examination: historians scrutinize the document's form, verifying its authenticity and integrity. Elements such as structure, writing style, language, signatures, and seals are analyzed. Indeed, a professional historian will rarely conduct research on a source published in a volume but will instead go directly to the archive to study its origin, to avoid transcription errors.

Content analysis: historians proceed to analyze the document's content, extracting useful information for their research. This may include data on individuals, places, events, economic activities, social relations, and much more. It's crucial to compile a list of witnesses in a case and identify them to understand why they speak or why they speak in a certain manner.

Cross-referencing with other sources: information derived from the notarial source is compared with that of other historical sources to obtain a more comprehensive and accurate view of the period under examination.

Documents of the episcopal archive of Ivrea

Let's take the example of a specific legal case, stemming from the documents of the episcopal archive of Ivrea. It's a case from 1211 in Italy involving the bishop of Ivrea in dispute with Bongiovanni d'Albiano over feudal obligations.

This case is significant because it allows us to understand how feudal society operated and how social status was determined.

The bishop's representative argues that Bongiovanni should provide a horse as a feudal service. Bongiovanni denies it, claiming to be a noble, not a serf. Both parties present witnesses and documents supporting their arguments.

Witnesses are asked whether the serf obligations had been endured for a long time. This helps us understand that in a society where "law" was based on customs, it was important to ascertain if an obligation had been endured for a long time because at that point it would no longer be contestable (it would have become customary).

The responses are confused and inconsistent, so witnesses are directly asked whether they consider Bongiovanni a serf or a noble. This is because (and it allows us to understand that) the division into "social classes" wasn't definable within concrete boundaries; it was more about the appearance of one's way of life. If a serf refused to fulfill his serf duties, he would easily be considered a noble by bystanders because he lived like one.

Ultimately, the analysis of the case leads us to determine that medieval justice wasn't conceived with the logic of our modern system, but was measured in oaths and witnesses as evidentiary means. And emerging from it with honor was much more important than fairly distributing blame and reason.

Other sources

Accounting source: it is very useful for measuring consumption and its variety in a particular historical period. To reconstruct past consumption, inventories post mortem are often used, which are lists of goods found in households, described and valued by notaries to facilitate distribution among heirs. Alternatively, the recording of daily expenses, which in modern times were often very detailed, can lead to insights into complex family histories and their internal inequalities - for example, more money might be spent on one child than another corresponding to their planned future role in society.

Oral source: in relation to the political sphere, it is useful for representing that part of politics composed of direct sources, that is, where politics speaks of itself and how it presents itself to the public, such as a politician's public speech. However, working with this type of source, a historian cannot avoid hermeneutic work, as through the speech, the politician aims to present himself to a certain audience, justify, persuade, construct his own image, and achieve results. This is the hidden agenda that also exists in the most obvious part of politics.

Iconographic source: it concerns art or other forms of "artistic" expression, such as in the case of an advertising poster. They become historical sources when it is the historian who, through analysis, confers upon them the status of a historical source. Essentially, the historian uses the source to understand aspects of the past otherwise inaccessible. The first step in this direction is to recontextualize the source, returning it to its original context. Examining the history of the source represents the fundamental first step for historical analysis.

Diary source: diaries are a "subjective" source, a representation of one's self, often influenced by the thoughts of "others," who can be close or distant readers, interested or distracted, visible or invisible, whom every diary author can imagine and hope to see, sooner or later, reflected on the pages of their writing. Furthermore, they are often subject to subsequent manipulations, and therefore should be treated by historians only in their critical edition; all other versions, whether old or new, foreign or not, are useful only as evidence of the changes and manipulations undergone over time by the original manuscripts.

Electronic source: historians use Wikipedia even if they often don't admit it out loud.

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#writing advice #writing help #writing reference #writing tips #creative writing #fantasy worldbuilding #fantasy writing #worldbuilding #worldbuilding tips

[romanoffsbish]

A Vintage Taste

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!R

Warnings: Red Room Trauma.

Smut: Mommy (N) | Doll (R) | Drugging(CNC/Viagara) | Food Play 🍓| High-Tech Strap (R) | Breeding | Overstimulation (KO) | Praising |

Word Count: 5,048

Natasha was a collector, a curator of the finest things the world had to offer. She obtained rare artifacts meant for museums, paintings made by the historical elites, and a very long list of other various means of artistic expression.

If she wanted it, it became hers, even if that meant breaking laws from time to time to secure it. Money is power, so she ruled.

——

One of the things she collected, what actually inspired her to start her life of curating, was a porcelain doll with the prettiest of features. It was given to her by her neighbor friend, Sara, as a way to say goodbye before she moved.

Natasha loved that doll more than life itself, which wasn't hard to believe with the life she'd been dealt. It broke her heart when she woke up in the army vehicle to find it was gone.

Dreykov grinned devilishly at the little girl, he held the delicate antique in his hands, she sobbed openly knowing of her cruel, twisted fate. Tears cascaded down pale cheeks as the man ripped the doll in two, tearing away her far off dream of a full life, taking away her will to fight for that dream; but it didn't die.

It was a long time before she obtained that freedom, and it's been an even longer time since she escaped to chase a new one.

A dream that lead her right to you.

She remembers the first time she walked down the streets of New York with Clint, he'd taken a strong liking to her. A paternalistic need to show her love, and to show her how life could be; the inspiration for his willingness to walk down the streets of a bustling Manhattan.

He was blabbering on about all he'd planned for the day, just to find he'd lost her attention to a little hole in the wall thrift shop. He had jogged back to her, ready to scold her for not stopping him, but he paused at her expression.

Natasha was transfixed on a doll, he'd seen her reflection surrounding it, slightly muffling its features, but he saw the redheads clearly. There was a spark of vulnerability in her eyes that he knew ran deep, it was the first time he'd ever seen her walls fall like this. It was sweet.

Clint shook his shoulders of his trepidation for the sake of the redhead. Superstition had him in a chokehold but he didn't have it in his heart to break hers so he bought the 'creepy' hunk of porcelain for her anyways. Then he silently vowed to take a bath in salt to placate karma.

Years later he told Nat about that feeling, and his noble act of bravery. She then watched in amusement as the Avenger jumped at the sight of five dolls clustered in a corner. Laughing in his face mockingly as she felt truly offended.

His words of misfortune proved untrue, only a year after she found that doll did she find you.

Her precious Y/N, you were the picture of perfection in her eyes that only sparkled for you. Your gorgeous features showed of an equally as tormented upbringing, but your heart radiated with a joy that was unfazed.

You kept your heart, and made her reminisce.

You were undeniably warm, she was shivering. So she gravitated to you without fear, her eyes hopeful, and you took her in without question.

Now Natasha sits in her reading cove, watching the rain pelt against the slanted windows of the roof. Nervously she tapped her short, red nails against the cracked spine of her favorite book as she anxiously awaited for you to return.

You'd only had to drop the kids off with Yelena, which she knows is a half hour trip with your fifteen minutes of silly gossiping at the door.

"Kate Bishop" this and "Natalia" that, she knew the drill, and she wholeheartedly adored it.

But it'd been over an hour now, and you weren't answering any of her texts or calls. Never did she let her defenses fall, retirement for her didn't come with the dream of peace. It came with risks, and to lose her edge over the enemies could be catastrophic for many.

Natasha breathed a sigh of relief, if not for the sudden, and adored sound of gravel crunching beneath tires she'd have called for backup.

"Where were you?" Natasha shrieked as she graciously made her way down the slippery cobblestone steps with an umbrella meant to shield you from the storm. You waited in the drivers seat, a knowing glint in your eyes as she reached for your hand to safely guide you out.

She'd always been so cautious with you, her fragile doll from the very first day you met.

Natasha was enamored by you, and you were just as curious about her. The attraction was instant, and the relationship moved fast.

You shook your head with a silly smile as you looked down to her bare feet, eyes curious as they moved up over her delectable, creamy thighs exposed to the world, and finally over the swell of her breasts to thin camisole straps.

Natasha smirked, then winked. "I'm Russian."

You cackled, head thrown back, the jolt was more than enough to make Natasha's hand move to your back to stabilize you. Effectively pulling you closer, lips hovering over yours as she whispered: "Where were you doll?"

You swallowed thickly, arms wrapping around her neck so you could kiss her swiftly. A failed means of distraction, her question only being hotly repeated into your mouth. You'd wanted to surprise her, but the chance was fading.

"I had to get Lena some groceries," you start, "She agreed to have the kids all week if I only got her enough food to satiate Milo's appetite."

"And her own I'm sure," Natasha teased.

You giggled, "Yeah, when I found fifteen boxes of mac and cheese on her list I realized that."

Natasha rolled her eyes but kept her smile fond. Her little sister was so childish it was adorable, but say that word to the blonde and suddenly it becomes an apparent falsehood.

"Then I had to get another epi-pen for the car for Eli as I gave the actual one to Yelena."

Natasha hummed, her agreement clear in your thoughtful decision. "You're so precious."

Your nosed scrunched and Natasha swooned. You'd always get even more adorable when she spoke so sweetly to you, cherishing you into a state of awkward appreciation. Love abounding in a way that almost felt suffocating, but you managed to settle into the warmth every time.

Her love was a safety net you hardly ever left.

Your lover saw the look in your eyes had hazed over some, she knew you had clear intentions for how tonight's going to go without your four year old son, and two year old daughter here.

"I also got us a few groceries as well," you say suddenly, popping the lust cloud swarming around your heads. Natasha nodded, and then wasted no time passing over the umbrella, and ushering you into the house, saying that she'd grab the groceries from the back seat for you.

You hesitated, but relented. She pecked your lips softly. "Hold onto the railing sweetheart."

"I will mommy," you appeased, purposeful in your chosen phrase as you ascended into the cottage. Lingerie you managed to hide burning the skin beneath your thick grey overcoat.

Natasha was hot on your heels, she tossed your bags of food onto the hardwood table without much consideration to if you'd gotten eggs. Her greedy hands pushed you into the marble counter, but before she could fully pounce your hands pressed to her chest. "You're dripping on my floors Natalia, take a shower, and relax."

You were playin dumb now, Natasha loved it, feigning shock at her movements as if you didn't egg her on with the use of your words.

Natasha acquiesced, leaving you to reheat the borscht you'd prepared the night before, knowing that it's best served reheated. Giving it ample time to steep in a fridge overnight.

While she took an expectantly fast shower you unloaded your groceries, and began to make a half dozen chocolate covered strawberries for a dessert, you then slipped them into the freezer.

You grabbed wine glasses, preparing your wife a glass of white, before topping off your own.

Then you pulled the bread from the oven, the outside was crunchy, and the rest soft. You plated two each on your finest China bowls, smeared them with butter, then lifted them moments later to layer the borscht beneath. 

Natasha made it down just in time to see your bare ass before you were taking your seat. She looked you over with disdain for your apron.

You looked her over with your breath caught in your throat. It appears you were no longer the only one teasing, she'd joined, and played well.

The redhead had settled on slipping into a grey, ribbed tank that fit tightly to her body. Her bulky muscles were flexed as she curved her arms beneath her breasts, shifting your attention to them without a stutter in gaze.

Natasha smirked as she took her seat across from you. "Dinner looks great doll, thank you for always taking such good care of me."

"Mhm." You smiled. "I love taking care of you."

Natasha dug into her food, dipping the bread into the stew, making sure to get some of the dolloped sour cream to ensure a well rounded bite. The redhead moaned genuinely as the flavors melded over her tongue harmoniously.

You chuckled, "Do you like it Natty?"

"It's amazing sweetheart, so, so delicious."

"Thank you mommy," you softly giggled, more to yourself as the redhead took a sip of wine.

It wasn't long before she yearned for you in a way that was undeniable. Yearning for you was a constant for her, but this time was different. Natasha could feel the thrum of her heart in her ears, she shook her head and cleared her throat as she felt the sensation trickling down. Landing in her cunt where she felt a pulse.

She eyed the wine in her hand suspiciously now, taking note of the granules you'd failed to dissolve. It was a purposeful choice she's sure.

Natasha saw you grinning over your own glass, you let the tainted beverage slosh against the sides, swirling the cup with confidence as you focused back in on your nearly empty bowl.

Natasha slurped her last bit down, a low groan following the lewd noise and you felt your body tense. The stimulant was working rapidly.

You collected the empty bowls, walking away with a tantalizing sway of your hips. Natasha adjusted her posture, legs manspreading as she focused on your every move. The hem of her boxers digging into her skin as her high tech strap began to harden, bulging the fabric out.

Natasha cursed the forced adrenaline running through her veins. She intended to take her time with you, but now she's not so sure she won't bend you over the counter right now.

You pulled something from the freezer, and returned with a bright smile as you plated the strawberries in front of her. They shined with the help of the condensation on the chocolate. Natasha smiled at the plate, it was sweet, and above all else appreciative—a silent thank you.

You rewarded her manners with a gasp, "Oh my Natty, I'm still wearing my apron..." She shook her head as you turned your back to her, she understood the request, but before untying it she made sure to lavish your backside with open mouth kisses and occasional love bites.

When you turned back around you looked momentarily dazed, then you were back to smiling with a glint of mischief as you lifted the apron over your head and finally let it fall.

Natasha's eyes widened as you became fully exposed to her. There were straps adorning your skin, but fortunately nothing inherently crucial was shielded from her wandering gaze.

In the sweetest way possible you'd dressed up for her. Bridging the line between heartfelt and downright depraved. With your breasts and glistening cunt free of imprisoning fabric she was ready to pounce. She originally thought being able to see your bare backside minus the thong was a real treat. This was her nirvana.

But then she stuttered as she appreciated the way black strand's holding the lingerie over your shoulders and backside change into red when she looks to your abdomen. The emblem of her retired superhero persona covers your skin, with white lace to replicate an intricate web interlaced between the hourglass lines.

Natasha beckoned you over with a slow curl of her finger, you breathed in deep before obliging her as you tried to come down after imagining her doing that inside you instead.

You straddled her lap, legs stretched to their limits as she didn't close hers even an inch. Natasha lifted a strawberry to your lips, you obediently parted them so she could push the strawberry passed them. Nat softly tutted when you naturally tried to bite into the delicacy, "Patience doll, let mommy soften it some..."

Natasha played with you, pushing it passed your lips, only to pull it out before you could manage to taste the chocolate that was melting. Fucking your mouth with a coated strawberry wasn't exactly on her sex bucket list, but when inspiration strikes, she's one to run with it.

"Take a bite baby," she finally whispered, and you bit into the strawberry, the desired crunch of the chocolate ruined by your warm lips, but you didn't mind much when the richness of the melted chocolate bloomed more noticeably.

Natasha used her thumb to catch the juice that ran down your chin, she slid the digit into her mouth with a content hum. Then she wanted more and reached out for you, hand behind your neck guiding you to lean your body into hers so she could capture your lips with hers.

Her tongue slowly slid over yours, hot and heavy breaths being exchanged as she sought to taste the dessert that laid upon your tongue. Natasha moaned as the sweet, tart flavors were able to mix so flawlessly with your own taste.

There was just always something so delicious about you, the redhead could spend hours alone just kissing you until you were out of it.

Normally she'd kiss you until your lips were swollen, and tears were flowing down your cheeks at the desperation you felt for more.

But this isn't one of those times since every single touch from you burned her, with that pleasurable ache residing in her lower belly only growing more prominent as she kissed you sloppily, she knew it was a wrap on taking it slow. It hurt, but she knew that her usual love for devouring your lips would have to be set aside, the kissing becoming shorter.

Especially when you caused Natasha to lose sight of the bigger picture, your pleasure. She groaned huskily into your mouth as your hips instinctually ground down into hers, smearing your wetness all over her cotton boxers.

The moment her strap hardened fully against her boxers you groaned, then began running your slit over it without wavering in the power of your thrusts. This idea that you'd turned her on so much that she already activated the nerve trackers in the strap to make it work made you particularly feral. The overwhelming smell of you as you smeared your arousal all over her boxers left her in the same desperate state.

"Slow down doll," she purred against your neck, her buff arms wrapped around you to keep you from still rutting into her aimlessly. "Mommy needs to eat you out sweetheart, it feels like I might die if I can't taste you soon."

Natasha didn't give you much time to respond, she simply lifted you up onto the dining room table and buried her face between your legs with a sigh of unbridled contentment. Taking what was hers, and holding no remorse. Not that she needed to with the way you were singing her praises. A cocky smirk raising her wetted cheeks as her tongue flicked over your clit and she heard as you forgot how to breathe.

"Fuck, mommy, I'm so close," you cried out as she swirled her tongue within your greatest depths. Natasha drove her tongue even deeper and your back arched off the table, your thighs trembled and you finally drenched her cheeks.

Natasha's eyes found yours within an instant, she slowly lifted her head to reveal an almost predatory smile, her lower face glistened under the soft yellow lights of your dining room, and you found yourself struck by her raw beauty.

No one could ever compare, not to you at least, she was a step above the rest in your eyes.

"What's on your mind doll?" Natasha was now hovering above you with a playful smirk, she could see you lost in something deeper than the haze, it nearly worried her until you smiled. It was goofy, and kind, a reminder of just why she loved you so deeply. "You're so beautiful."

Her heart burst with adoration, every day she found herself falling more in love with you, something she once thought to be impossible.

She never expected her life to be like this. From the mornings spent wrapped up in each other, the soft kisses you two would exchange just before the giggling commenced as the toddler’s came bounding into your bed for snuggles. To the nights like these, where your bare bodies entangled with one another’s more intimately. This life with you was like a dream come true.

Natasha leant down to kiss you, it was softer than the moment initially called for, but it was what you, her sweetest girl, truly deserved. “Thank you baby,” she whispered, smiling against your lips. “But I’m nowhere near as beautiful as the sounds you’re going to make.”

The glint in her eyes read of danger, her lips quirked up as realization washed over you just in time for her finger's to slip inside. "Fuck." Your fingers dug into the muscles around her shoulder blades as the pleasure overtook you, your head hitting the table as your back arched.

Natasha roughly nipped at the stretched skin of your throat as she steadily thrusted into your cunt, your slick was so abundant that it was pooling and leaving behind a polish for the table that was already being rubbed in by your backside that jiggled with every harsh thrust.

Once you came around her fingers with a throat scratching, incoherent scream Natasha pulled out of you against your bodies natural pull to keep her locked in place. You whined, but she pressed her lips to yours, and caught your moan as her strap easily slid inside you.

"I'm going to fuck you to sleep doll," Natasha spoke in a whisper, her teasing breath rushing over the heated skin of your neck enacting a scattering of goosebumps to rise on your body.

You felt impossibly warm, body buzzing with a need, the warmth only intensified as she licked from your throat to your earlobe, seductively whispering: "Then I'm going to continue to fuck you until you cum back to life."

To emphasize the truth in her words she rocked her hips back, then sharply thrusted back inside your dripping heat where she belonged. The anatomically ambiguous tip of her strap hit your cervix, inspiring a delicious mix of pain and pleasure to course throughout your body. You rewarded her with a moan.

Your continued flurry of sounds as she railed you were more symphonic than any of Beethoven's compositions. In moments like these, thick with infatuation and driven almost exclusively by lust, Natasha had found herself concocting devious plans. Like the one where she plans to one day open a museum for you.

One where the walls shook as your glorious sounds reverberated off of them, a continuous loop of your labored breath intermixed with whorish moans and squelching noises from her fucking your pussy so well it was singing.

There'd be photos scattered on the walls, in many forms such as: polaroids, like the one of you with your eyes crossed as she fucked her strap down your throat, or the ones of your tits. The visual possibilities would be endless.

There would also be film strips from sex tapes. They'd be raunchy stills, in sepia, scattered on a wall that surrounds a boxed off area with a single oak door meant for walking through.

Natasha would guide you in with a corrupted hand on your lower back. There'd be an old timey projector, and you'd watch with your mouth agape as videos you'd never seen before broadcast just how filthy you two can get.

Then she'd recreate those scenes with you as they played in real time, never letting your eyes stray away from the screen. Just so she could see your face when it turns into a livestream of the both of you. She imagined you'd clench around her fingers as you saw the screen, she can picture the look of surprise that would soon fade to embarrassment before bliss.

The idea arouses her to no end, especially because she knows you'd melt at the gesture. Natasha was nothing short of romantic, she made it her mission to never stop wooing you.

This would be a personal project of course, never opened to the public because Natasha doesn't much believe in the sharing is caring mantra. No, she believes instead that since she fought through thick and thin just to have you that you would be hers alone. It was only fair. You felt the same about her, whenever anyone ever came close to her in your younger years you'd send them home shitting themselves.

Possession in relationships could be rather daunting, most times it became overbearing. But with each other, it's a peaceful process, it's the only way the two of you know how to exist. More to the point, was that this was wanted.

Natasha stayed true to her promise, she always did. It was after you'd cum for her three times, with this brutal pace being set, and she'd had you teetering on another edge of unforgiving bliss that it began to become a reality.

Her first, and likely only orgasm was intense as she felt herself clench around her end. Sharp teeth sinking into the skin at the juncture of your neck and shoulder as it tore through her. Thus activating the finale you’d anticipated.

On your end you felt as the strap externally warmed, and twitched as if this was a real sequence. Then her warm, genuine semen filled the stretched space between the walls of your quivering cunt, in toe curling abundance, it even came sloshing out onto your thighs.

A silent scream echoed through the vibrations against her lips on your neck, no sound left you, but she knew. The way your body trembled beneath hers was fascinating, but it was when you completely slumped against the table that she felt her movements become feral.

“Fuck, I love it when you do this,” she grunted, her hips continued to fuck the strap into you, her arms holding up your limp legs, causing her to reach your furthest depths, and ensure her cum made it deep into your barren womb.

Natasha admired your raw beauty, your face calm, but occasionally twitching from pleasure. All too suddenly she added that extra bit of pressure to your neglected clit, and in seconds your upper body rose off the table with a shriek as you were overcome by pleasure, what’d put you to sleep had also been like an alarm clock.

“Mommy, please, no more,” you cried, as your hands tried to push her away, but it was never of any use when you did that. You knew what to say to make her stop, but you never did, because you both knew you loved this feeling.

All you ever did while weakly protesting her lust was create red lines on her chiseled biceps that she’d look to fondly the following morning as the hot water from your shared shower makes it sting. “It’s okay, let mommy make sure her seed is gonna stick doll, just a couple more seconds and then it’ll be over, I promise.”

A couple of seconds turned into a minute though, as she lazily kept up the rocking of her hips. The sloshing sound of your cunt slowly became drowned out by your whines from the overstimulation. Natasha knew you couldn’t handle another intense round, so she stilled, not wanting to work herself back up either.

The drugs had officially worn off, her urge to devour you was now back to her average, which was still high, but there’s always tomorrow. For now you needed rest. “See doll,” she purred, tongue tracing over the bruising mark she’d just left behind on your neck. “We’re all done.”

Natasha pulled out of you, slipping the plug she’d already had with her inside of you, her lips peppered your face with kisses as she too worked to calm you down. Natasha hated to see you in pain, but she wanted to ensure the third and final addition to her family took.

This was it, the last of her scientifically engineered seed, what gave her the chance at motherhood that was once torn from her, and she didn’t want to have to ask Tony, the smug man, or Bruce, the jealous ass to make more. Fortunately, with her super soldier serum in the mix the cum was potent, it’s never failed.

When you whined again, she shushed you, “It’ll be okay love, we just have to be secure.” You nodded tiredly, eyes fluttering open again as your body had regulated some. You smiled up at the redhead in a dopy, lovesick fashion. “You're always so good to me," you sighed dreamily as you met her lips for a perfect kiss.

Natasha smiled genuinely. "You're my most prized possession, you deserve cherishing."

"You're mine too," you sheepishly admitted, and the woman's eyes shone with tears that you quickly kissed as they slipped down her cheek. "My entire life is you and the kids."

At the mention of your kids, your unending love personified, Natasha grinned widely. Her hands caressed the skin of your stomach. "I hope it works." She kissed your tummy then she smiled up at you shyly. "For good luck."

"Yeah?" She shrugged then swiftly moved back up to kiss your lips with uncontainable passion. "Mhm." Her arms wrapped around your body, and she stood up with you with far too much ease. "Now let's go get you cleaned up love."

Her strength was truly mesmerizing, even after all this time with her you were still amazed that she could carry you. Especially when she still stayed so gentle after the rough sex. Natasha could break you with ease, fortunately, she never would. You were like a fragile doll, but you’re one that would never be made to break.

The redhead cleaned you both up as quickly as she could before slipping off to make a snack for the two of you to share. She settled on some carrots with ranch, and a PB & J to split, she even threw on a few chips for your happiness. After scarfing down the food, she made sure you had an entire bottle of water before she settled you onto the mattress with care.

Natasha laid behind you on her side, her arm wrapped around your waist protectively. She had you pulled into her, back pressed to her front without much space between your bodies. Every time, without fail, after a passionate night together you'd find yourself like this. The both of you cherished these sweet moments.

"I love you," Natasha whispered as she kissed your bare shoulder, breaking the peaceful silence that had settled over your bodies.

You momentarily turned to face her, kissing her lips tenderly. "I love you too Natty."

The redhead kept you there a moment longer, lips lingering over the marks already forming on your throat until she returned to your lips.

"Get some sleep doll," she softly commanded, then she retook her rightful place behind you.

The both of you were physically exhausted, but your minds were racing with the excitement of what just took place. Hope for life reignited in ways that left you restless and wide awake.

So you watched the rain run down the window, multiple lines in a race of sorts it seemed, you'd silently placed bets on the winner. "I think the one on the right is gonna win," you yawned, Natasha chuckled, "The what is gonna what?"

"It's too late," you yawned again, "I was wrong because they met in the middle and merged."

Natasha snorted, "Go to sleep now doll, you're clearly losing it." She pulled you in closer as you grumbled a hey in protest. Then you rolled over so you could lay with your face in her neck and place a few gentle kisses to her collarbone.

"Goodnight Natty." Natasha stayed up for another hour after you, simply relishing in the way your body felt so close to hers. How perfect you were under the soft casting from the moon, the subtle rise and fall of your chest a reminder that you're alive, and this love was indeed real.

Her tired eyes flitted around the room until she found the tattered doll she once adored. The one she repaired in secrecy, and that looked just like you, her wildest dream come true.

Reminiscent eyes fell back to you with ease. “Moya krasivaya kukla.” She’d smiled softly before pecking your parted lips. Your nose scrunched adorably, but fortunately you had remained fast asleep in her arms, the corner of her eyes crinkled in response. “I love you so.”

(My beautiful doll)

Natasha was once a collector, but it seemed that after she found you the thrill was gone. Expectedly so, there was no longer a need for it; she'd curated her standalone masterpiece.

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff oneshot #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff fanfiction #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x y/n #natasha romanoff x female reader #natasha x reader #natasha x y/n #natasha x you #natasha x fem!reader #gxg #queued post

[difeisheng]

A Jianghu Mystery of the Middle Xi: The Tomb of Li Xiangyi

By Qiling, University of □□ (2024)

Left: A photograph of the inscribed text at Li Xiangyi's tomb, reading, "The grave of the Sigu Sect's departed Sect Leader, Li Xiangyi". Right: Artist's sketch renditions from eye-level frontal and aerial side views, recreating how the tomb may have appeared during the Xi dynasty.

Among the numerous important archaeological finds from the Xi Dynasty, the tomb of Li Xiangyi is not the most well-known, nor has it yielded any artifacts of particular intrigue, yet it has raised questions about certain points in history since its discovery. The tomb constitutes a small site, near a mountainous overlook which should have received little common traffic at the time of construction. Its structure is in line with some other aristocratic burials of the Middle Xi period: aboveground, with a chamber at the center of a raised rectangular dais several meters wide, large enough to bear only a single individual. A stone marker, which has survived in legible condition until today, declares it the tomb of Li Xiangyi, leader of the Sigu jianghu sect.

Records about Li Xiangyi are found at other archaeological sites contemporary with this tomb, and so his name is not an obscure one. The Sigu Sect complex has already undergone excavation for nearly two decades, with evidence that Li Xiangyi spent several years there as its first sect leader and founder. His tomb is within two hours' walking distance of the Sigu site, though isolated in its location, compared to the Sigu Sect's grand mountain entrance. (The complex itself was inhabited well after his death; bamboo slips cite Qiao Wanmian as the Sigu Sect's next major leader some years after, who oversaw it for several more decades into the later Xi). In addition, the Baichuan-Pudu site, closer to the eastern coast and historically the headquarters for the Baichuan Court, is affiliated with Li Xiangyi. Its origins apparently lay in an offshoot of the Sigu Sect, which grew into its own independent legal organization after his death.

Legends surrounding Li Xiangyi's life have been well-documented, both at Sigu and Baichuan-Pudu, but also in books and transcriptions of oral stories at sites around the country. These are dated to both the Middle and Late Xi periods, as well as a few scattered mentions in writings from the following dynasty. As a jianghu sect leader and swordsman, Li Xiangyi's reputation truly preceded him. Some tales speak of his early accomplishments, ridding towns of villainous tyrants and defeating criminals. Others talk about the founding of the Sigu Sect when Li Xiangyi was seventeen, and his subsequent missions leading his fellow swordsmen to protect the borders of the country. Not all of these narratives can be verified with surviving historical proof, and given Li Xiangyi's status in the shifting canon of folklore, the percentage that are hyperbole or fiction is likely significant. However, one that should be true, and is the most frequently told story throughout these sources, is that of Li Xiangyi's death.

All texts place Li Xiangyi as having died relatively young, with some providing a specified age, generally around twenty. He perished in a duel with Di Feisheng, leader of the Jinyuan Alliance, a rival jianghu organization and presumed threat to the Sigu Sect. As the sources say, the Jinyuan Alliance killed Li Xiangyi's sect brother, Shan Gudao, and in retaliation he used the Sigu Sect to launch a war against the Jinyuan Alliance. His final battle was the last in this war, dying in the East Sea on Di Feisheng's ship. The Jinyuan Alliance in return was badly defeated by the Sigu Sect; excavations at its first compound in the last five years have shown evidence of siege, with fire having destroyed large parts of the buildings. Afterward, the Sigu Sect disbanded without Li Xiangyi, with only the Baichuan Court continuing to function, before being resurrected one decade later.

Given this knowledge we have about Li Xiangyi, the matter of his burial should be straightforward. He had a tremendous impact on the jianghu in the few short years that he stood at its peak. He died heroically, if tragically, to obtain justice for a brother. He was honoured with a tomb, standing guard over the sect he dedicated his youth to. Why, then, is said tomb regarded as somewhat of a mystery?

This tomb was first stumbled upon during extended surveys of the Sigu site territory, with excavation taking place within the last two years. Parts of the stone chamber and foundation of the dais have withstood time, as have most things left inside. The tomb bears no signs of looting. However, there are some details which, alongside discoveries from other archaeological sites, contribute to a shadow of uncertainty on the existing narrative of Li Xiangyi's life.

Firstly, is that the austerity of the tomb does not line up with what we know of Li Xiangyi. Although overall sufficient enough for someone of his great reputation, the tomb is rather plainly embellished. There are an unexpectedly small number of burial objects inside, with those present being neither rare nor expensive. For all his contributions to the jianghu, less money and resources were poured into remembrance of Li Xiangyi than seems proper for his time.

Secondly, and far more significantly, is that the tomb holds no human remains. Whether the fact of Li Xiangyi having no recovered body to bury was made public is unknown; if it was, we do not have record of it. Certainly those who arranged for the tomb to be built and sealed would have carried this with them the rest of their lives, but no one else may be accounted for. Granted, it is not impossible for a disappeared body to have been common knowledge or presumption, as Li Xiangyi was killed at sea with no guarantee of being found. Yet this, combined with the ordinary appearance of the tomb, causes the entire site to appear... a nominal thing. Constructed to maintain acknowledgement of Li Xiangyi's absence, though his death was only marked by words, rather than a physical state.

He was given a tomb, but was Li Xiangyi truly dead before it was built?

In terms of the aforementioned other archaeological site findings, there is one that potentially implicates Li Xiangyi's death at an interesting political junction, within the context of the dynasty. The Xi Dynasty was unstable and relatively short-lived, established after taking back the Central Plains and adjacent territories from the southern conquering state of Nanyin. It endured for just under two centuries, the first of which was fraught with pockets of conflict, with many jianghu skirmishes such as that between the Sigu Sect and the Jinyuan Alliance. The greatest threat to the Xi Dynasty (until its fall) came one hundred years after its founding. Recovered archival records from the Xi capital excavation report that remaining Nanyin loyalists attempted a coup, supported by jianghu organizations, including a restored Jinyuan Alliance (although whether Di Feisheng was still its leader at this time is unclear). This attack was ultimately unsuccessful, but important to note is that the leader of this renewed Nanyin force is described as being Shan Gudao, Li Xiangyi's former sect brother.

Although Li Xiangyi brought the Sigu Sect into a war upon news of Shan Gudao's death, that demise seems to have been faked, with Shan Gudao disappearing underground only to reappear as part of a later rebellion. Could Li Xiangyi have been aware of this? Was his reaction to Shan Gudao's apparent death genuine? Or part of a coordinated plan, using him as a reason to destroy the Jinyuan Alliance, to eradicate any future resistance? Did Li Xiangyi, too, fake his death alongside Shan Gudao, in service of a shared cause? Were remnants of the Sigu Sect instructed to build an empty tomb, cementing Li Xiangyi as a dead hero so he could work in the shadows of the jianghu instead?

This is merely speculation, contradicted by the fact that if Li Xiangyi had indeed done as such, unlike Shan Gudao, after his duel with Di Feisheng he has no reappearance in any surviving records or at any archaeological site. As well, Li Xiangyi should have had no motivation for committing to such a scheme, with even loyalty to Shan Gudao a stretch for putting all the lives of the Sigu Sect on the line. That being said, history has a way of surprising the present, and this theory may not be entirely ruled out. At any rate, Shan Gudao's survival is a baffling accompaniment to Li Xiangyi's (lack of a) burial, one which will hopefully receive clarifying answers in future archaeological developments.

Perhaps the strangest piece of the puzzle concerning the end of Li Xiangyi's life, however, is Di Feisheng. After the Jinyuan Alliance was scattered by the Sigu Sect, stories regarding Li Xiangyi declared him dead and disappeared. Yet not unlike Shan Gudao, he became known in the jianghu once more about ten years later, witnessing the Nanyin's attempted coup and living long after. His tomb remained untouched, and was excavated eight years ago as part of the greater Tianji Mountain site project. The location of Di Feisheng's tomb is surprising, not only because it directly links him to the powerful and wealthy He clan of Tianji Manor, but also because he was buried next to their sole young master during the Xi Dynasty, Fang Duobing.

The son of financial minister Fang Zeshi and engineering master He Xiaohui, Fang Duobing became a notable youxia travelling the jianghu in the emperor's name, assigned in the wake of the attempted Nanyin coup. According to palace records, he was also betrothed to Princess Zhaoling, although the marriage agreement was eventually formally dissolved. What is otherwise known of Fang Duobing was his admiration of Li Xiangyi, having styled himself as a follower and disciple of him during his youth. As well, one eye-catching artifact among Fang Duobing's burial goods was a preserved wooden replica of a blade, with Li Xiangyi's name carved near the hilt. Likely a children's toy, prized and kept safe throughout Fang Duobing's life.

The exact nature of the relationship between Di Feisheng and Fang Duobing is not entirely certain, but it must have been a very close one, for Di Feisheng to have the privilege of burial on the Tianji estate. This topic justifies future study for our understanding of the Tianji He clan, already known in prior generations for its socially subversive relationships, but pertinent to Li Xiangyi is that the man whose most infamous act was to kill him, was laid to rest beside one who revered him. Why was there such a bond between these two figures, if the stories of Li Xiangyi's death have any truth to them? Did Li Xiangyi really die by Di Feisheng's blade? Did Li Xiangyi's empty tomb, plausibly signifying Di Feisheng's innocence, alter his relationship with Fang Duobing? Or indeed, did Li Xiangyi, the man himself, have a part to play in this?

No traces of him from this time remain in the archaeological record, true. But this should not be taken to mean without doubt that he was not alive then at all.

The discovery of Li Xiangyi's tomb has been an exciting development for studying this era of the Xi Dynasty, but it has also outlined doubt in areas of one man's life that were previously taken as likely facts. Li Xiangyi's tomb is scarcely fitting for his name as a founding sect leader, built more for the sake of its existence than anything else, and there was no body sealed inside to begin with. In addition, Shan Gudao— someone dear to Li Xiangyi— established a precedent of faking his death. Di Feisheng, known across the jianghu for killing the man, held a close bond with someone later in life who had personally looked up to Li Xiangyi, and so he may not have been fully responsible for Li Xiangyi's death to begin with.

What truly happened to Li Xiangyi, resulting in a tomb such as this? The past holds the answer, knowing things that we do not. Hopefully the future of archaeology will continue leading to new discoveries, and allow us to more completely understand the legend that was Li Xiangyi.

#this is probably a better archaeological research paper than the one i wrote on sanxingdui a few days ago #anyways hi yes. i just impulse wrote a fake archaeological paper for fun. enrichment. whatever #also i tried not to sound too pop culture archaeology in this #to any other anthropology or archaeology majors. if it comes off that way i am sorry </3 it's past 4am rn #mysterious lotus casebook #li xiangyi #di feisheng #fang duobing #ashton writes fic #difang #<- to any difang shippers just sit with me for a bit and think about these two being buried together

[iamalivenow]

alive can i have new podcast recs please i want new podcast recs please please can i have new podcast recs please horror and also gay

so tma ended, now what? horror podcast recommendation list part 3 oh my god they made more of these things

malevolent - i think people are already turned on to this one because its slowly becoming the new big thing imo. malevolent is about a guy named arthur who fucked up and got his eyes stolen by an eldritch abomination that is also now physically tethered to him and they dont like each other enough to just live like that so they go on an adventure to try and unstick themselves from each other. its a lovecraftian mythos story, so thats the type of horror you're getting. it's not a comedy and its not a romance but it both is a comedy and is a romance you know what i mean? 10/10 can you believe its just one guy doing all of these voices

red valley - red valley is about a guy named warden who works in a weird government agency tasked with trying to find a seed vault that very quickly becomes not a regular seed vault. the characters in this one are all so well written and the gut punches kill me. this is a bit more near future(ish) scifi than regular horror, but while you're listening to it turn into a road trip you're going to be like "alive this isn't scary" and right around that time is when they're going to introduce truly what is one of the most fucked up concepts i've ever heard. 10/10 the british people made me cry again

out of place - okay so stop me if you've heard this one before. there's a british guy working in an archive where he gets weird kind of scary things and his archive institution is shady and there are tapes and its not mag again i swear. out of place starts much the same but instead of getting scary bullshit, andrew starts receiving historical artifacts from different alternate history realities. its fantastic world building, good story telling, and just like. existential dread nightmare after existential dread nightmare. 10/10 i can't listen to this in the grocery story because i will just stare of into space and sigh for twenty minutes at a time.

they're all ongoing and at around 20ish episodes right now and i love them. i only do these rec posts when i can find at least three shows so sorry for how long this ask took to get to <3

#tma #the magnus archives #wtnv #malevolent #red valley #out of place #malevolent podcast #podcast recommendations #podcast recs

[starlightervarda]

So

As someone who has cried at ruins, art and temples my ancestors left behind, at how I can't read or speak our own native language, and how what remains of that is in a liturgical language used in secret by an oppressed religious minority...Butchered Tongue has me in my feelings.

It's so hard to love yourself as you are when the people that had your face have been defaced, demonized and disregarded. Not just by the people that invaded us and imposed their language, culture and religion on us for centuries, but by your own people. Not much survived the centuries of brutal colonialism and religious fanaticism, and even if you had a grace period where more began to appreciate what your ancestors left behind, the push against it, to distance yourself and identify more with the invader's culture and even their ethnicity because they are 'right' by decree of religion, is depressing.

It doesn't help that we now have foreigners holding our artifacts in their museums, and pushing insane narratives about aliens building our monuments. Then there are Americans constantly making claims to our ancestry due to racist conspiracy theories, saying horrific shit about how we're the descendants of invaders and that they are the true heirs despite constant proof otherwise. What's worse is having that narrative supported by the most powerful media in the world, casting anyone but us to play us.

They fetishize our aesthetic, our history, our mythology, our land, but hate those that spawned from it.

The only time I like my face is when I recognize it in the likeness left behind in busts, statues and wall paintings. In reconstructions of mummies that have my skin, hair, eyes and nose. Things that are viewed as ugly now and erased through straighteners, bleaching creams and surgeries so we can look more like the foreigners that invaded us, whether they came from Western Europe or Western Asia.

I may look like them, but I'll never know what they truly sounded like, what they did on day-to-day basis, how they worshipped our native gods, what songs they sang or what they called their grandparents.

So many of us are stuck speaking someone else's language, now matter how nativised that dialect has become, and practicing their religion, even revering the very people that broke in and destroyed everything in their wake to impose their version of everything as 'saviours'.

I wish we were taught our native languages in school, that they were never demonized, and punished into dying. That there were huge movements to preserve what we still have that's uniquely ours, but the more time passes, the less people care. All we have left are names of historical figures, gods and the odd town or city that has been misheard into something else over time.

To all my siblings in lost cultures, demonized history and butchered tongues, I hope we hold on to what we have left.

#hozier #butchered tongue #unreal unearth

[dreamaruu]

Thinking about Simon’s passions, what was important to him and his feelings of displacement in Ooo. If he still had Betty I genuinely think they’d just live on. They’d embrace the weirdness together and carve out new passions. New discoveries. Establish a historical timeline or even a museum of artifacts.

But instead we see how things have turned out. Simon, the last og human as far as we know, carries the burden of old world knowledge alone (besides Marcy, but she was so young & had other a whole other world to be concerned with). 1,000 years ago he was an antiquarian dedicating his life to studying human history, uncovering artifacts, writing novels on the occult and theoretical magic.

Fast forward to now, the biggest thing that used to give him purpose to life ? No one cares. As far as tracking history goes I’m not entirely sure the majority of Ooo citizens even know about the Mushroom War, let alone care. In AT the closest we see to documenting society is Turtle Princesses library and the Natural History Museum, but thats more of a playground than anything. The Ooo society loves magic artifacts, secret tomes and forbidden knowledge but as far as collection and study goes it just. Doesn’t really exist the way Simon remembers it. And given how he is treated in the seconded ep of Fionna & Cake, he truly is barely a novelty to them. Instead of ancient antiquities he would have sought to study, they have him explaining the use of simple technology like landline phones.

It really is no wonder how time has passed and he still feels so isolated.

#i could go on about this for ages I don’t even think I articulated my thoughts enough on this #fionna and cake #simon petrikov #adventure time #at spoilers #GET THIS MAN HIS WIFE BACK AND A MUSEUM P L S

[marimayscarlett]

Dive into a world of gothic allure as an elderly vampire lord sweeps you off your feet to his New York penthouse. 🧛🦇🥀

Explore the captivating fantasy of being his object of obsession. 😩 The vampire lord, with his smoldering gaze and commanding presence, becomes fixated on you.

With his silver hair and timeless elegance, he will mesmerise you with his refined manners and poetic words. 📜

🌃 As the nights grow longer and the passion intensifies 🔥 , you delve deeper into the secrets of his world, discovering the dark history that binds you together. Will you succumb to the seductive power of the vampire lord, or will you find the strength to resist his alluring embrace? 👀

Ja ok doch wem wollen wir etwas vormachen? Was für ein Widerstand, bitte?! Richard kann mit uns machen, was er will.

(Warning: shamelessly catering to my romantic vampire needs here, self insert scribblings)

Thank you dearest Näd for this and your unwavering and equally obsessed support in our little fantasy crossover here (grüß mir deinen Werwolf-Mann) 🤍🤍🤍

The saga of the charming older vampire lord continues... for more context, here is his potential backstory, an attempt for the lore behind his vampire existence as a part one so to speak.

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

How would we meet?

A large exhibition hall in a historic museum, shortly before the museum's closing. The sun has already set on this winter day, and the moonlight illuminates the dust dancing through the air. A young woman, her reddish-brown hair tightly pulled back into a bun, with bangs falling across her face, leans over a desk, the sleeves of her loose shirt rolled up.

She is completely engrossed in her work, transcribing the text from an old book into her notebook, consulting various entries in her dictionary, and carefully turning the centuries-old pages. She barely hears the slow footsteps approaching and only looks up from her work when the person stands before her desk.

Her gaze is caught by gray eyes under striking eyebrows. The man before her is impeccably dressed, his long gray hair gathered in an elegant braid. Her breath catches briefly—why, she's not exactly sure.

"Good evening. You must be Maria, the one in charge of the exhibition on medieval manuscripts.."

"Yes, that's me. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr..."

"Kruspe. But please, just call me Richard. I must say, the way you handle these artifacts with such care and reverence is truly admirable."

"Ah, this name rings a bell. So I guess you're the one who lent this beautiful manuscript to the museum? I just believe each piece has a story to tell, and it's our duty to ensure they're heard."

"Quite poetic, Maria. I couldn't agree more. Your passion for art is evident."

"Well, it's hard not to be passionate when surrounded by such beauty and history."

"Your enthusiasm for this topic seems to be quite strong. It's quite... captivating to see."

"Oh, thank you...That's very kind of you to say."

"It's merely an observation. Anyway, I won't take up any more of your time. I'll leave you to your work."

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Richard. If you have any questions about the exhibition, feel free to ask."

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

How the obsession evolves:

Richard finds himself lingering around the museum more often, drawn to Maria's presence. He battles with his desires, knowing the consequences of succumbing to his vampiric instincts - as it already demanded a loved one of his as a victim over a century ago.

Maria notices Richard's frequent visits and begins to feel a mixture of curiosity and unease. Despite his polite demeanor, there's something unsettling about his gaze.

One restless night, Richard's longing for her reaches a tipping point. He stands outside her home, conflicted yet unable to resist the pull any longer. With a heavy heart and trembling hands, he makes a decision that will change both their lives forever, and takes her while she sleeps with him to his New York penthouse, determined to not let her go.

Maria is faced with the task of coming to terms with her new life situation - her new home, a modern golden cage, with a man who anticipates her every wish, who tries to make her life as comfortable as possible, yet... remains silent. He barely speaks to her, and inside him, the conflict between obsession and guilt simmers. It's as if he's denying himself access to his greatest longing. At night, she hears him restlessly pacing on the rooftop, and even though she tries to initiate a conversation, gently understanding his melancholy, she only meets with a few polite words and sad eyes - as if he's punishing her for his decision.

Richard's wrestles with the fear of repeating past tragedies, haunted by memories of the girl he loved and lost to his own monstrous nature. But one night, he gathers his courage: he reveals his dark nature to her, shares with her his past - and contrary to the expected rejection, he encounters understanding and deep emotions.

#rammstein #emigrate #richard kruspe #ask #tiny fanfic-rambling i guess #yes i know this is kind of like a reader insert. and by that i mean ME #vampire #vampire aesthetic

[wasabidottie]

the museum (Jschlatt)

A/n: sry this one is kinda rushed, I'm running out of ideas :o. so pls send requests :) i would love to write them

Schlatt had reluctantly agreed to visit the museum, though it was clear from the moment he stepped through the entrance that he'd rather be doing just about anything else. His eyes swept over the various exhibits with a lackluster interest, and he found himself growing increasingly bored.

He stopped in front of one particular exhibit, not because it caught his fancy, but because it provided a convenient excuse to rest his tired legs. As he stared blankly at the display, lost in his thoughts, a voice broke through his reverie.

"Oh, look at this! It's absolutely fascinating!"

Schlatt turned to find you standing beside him, your eyes wide with excitement as you peered at the exhibit. Your enthusiasm was palpable, and Schlatt couldn't help but be drawn in by your energy.

"Uh, yeah, fascinating," he mumbled, though his words were tinged with sarcasm.

But you didn't seem to notice. Instead, you launched into an animated explanation of the exhibit, your gestures and tone portraying your genuine interest. You spoke about the historical significance of the artifacts on display, the cultural context, and the stories behind each piece.

Schlatt found himself listening, not because he cared about the exhibit, but because he was captivated by the way you spoke. Your passion was infectious, and it was impossible not to get caught up in your excitement.

As you moved on to the next exhibit, Schlatt followed, his boredom forgotten. He watched as you examined each display with a keen eye, your commentary bringing the history to life. You pointed out details that he would have never noticed on his own, and suddenly, the museum didn't seem so dull anymore.

Time flew by as you explored the museum together, and Schlatt found himself genuinely enjoying the experience. He was no longer focused on his desire to leave but on the joy of sharing this unexpected adventure with you.

By the time you reached the end of the museum tour, Schlatt was not only grateful for your company but also for the newfound appreciation you had given him for the exhibits. As you stood at the exit, saying your goodbyes, he couldn't help but smile.

"Thanks for making this trip worth it," he admitted.

You grinned, your eyes sparkling. "Anytime, Schlatt. Museums are much more fun when you have someone to share them with."

And as you walked out of the museum together, Schlatt realized that sometimes the most unexpected moments and people could turn a mundane experience into something truly special.

#chuckle sammy #jschlatt x reader #schlatt #jschlatt x you #schlatt x reader #jschlatt #schlatt x you #chuckle sandwich x reader

[sincerely-sofie]

Would Kip and his posse come across the ruins of a Human bunker during their expeditions? I imagine that it would both be incredible to find and also terrifying depending on how the humans inside died out.

It would be a major archaeological discovery— from the perspective of pokemon, humans were elusive beings that weren’t something you’d spot every day, but you could still catch a glimpse of them every now and then… until one day they realized that no one had seen a human in years. It’s a huge source of debate amongst pokemon scholars— what happened to the humans? Where did they go? Why?

After pivoting careers, Kip has, on multiple occasions, tried to pose the “theory” that humans aren’t extinct but are actually living in a network of underground bunkers, but didn’t have any materials to support his theory beyond the unfounded testimony of his old exploration team partner with no academic background. The second an empty human bunker is unearthed, the archaeological scene erupts into shock— and the fact that it seems like the humans inside died within the last 50 years ago is even more surprising.

Kip spearheads the documentation process after the initial discovery of the bunker, and he’s able to figure out the purposes of rooms that no one else can make sense of (thank you, Twig!)— he tells the archaeologist’s guild that he noticed this room has very high ceilings that are covered in metal pieces that would rain water down and glass cylinders that would light up to simulate sunlight— so this was a tree farm, and was likely used to provide food and purify air.

At one point, Twig would be stumped by his questions about the things that they find in the bunker. The remains that are uncovered raise more questions than answers. There’s too many femurs in one area for the number of skulls in the room. In more than one case, there’s marks on the bones that don’t make sense for the story they’ve been theorizing— the humans died out because their underground gardens failed and they starved to death. A recurring question amongst scholars is why the humans didn’t leave the bunker in search of food. No one is able to figure out why.

It eventually occurs to Twig that the network humans used to communicate across bunkers historically lost contact with Bunker 1801-D around this era, and that the second-to-last message the network received was a distress signal. A fungus in the greenhouses had spread faster than they could contain it. Their crops rotted and made the soil unusable. Their exit doors had failed a few years back and they couldn’t get out. They needed help. The last message to ever come from 1801-D ran for 117 hours before the other bunkers disconnected it from the network.

That last call— made by a crying, frantic soul who said he was the last member of the bunker, that there was nothing left, that he was hungry, that he didn’t want to die alone with the memory of what was done— was answered by every bunker in the network. It didn't matter that he only spoke French and couldn't understand the bunkers who spoke something else— people banded together to keep him company. Those who he couldn't understand sang to him. Sometimes he'd sing back. It became more and more rare as time went on, as did his responses to conversation, but the line didn't go truly silent until 112 hours after it was opened.

The network was silent across its entirety for five hours more afterward, an informal vigil for the poor man they couldn't give anything more than their voices as he was wasting away, before Bunker 1801-D was permanently disconnected from the network— the closest thing to a burial that they could give those who had died. That final call haunts humanity to the point that the phrase “waiting 117 hours” is a euphemism used to describe the way that one may feel responsible for a tragedy despite their inability to prevent it.

Twig takes a trip to pay Kip a visit outside the ruins as people mill about, recovering artifacts and discussing theories. She sees bones that had been picked clean instead of charred black. She relays the story of 1801-D to Kip.

The five hour vigil is resumed, for a few quiet, sorrowful minutes, years after it was made, and they wait 117 hours together.

#it's only after she mourns 1801-D with Kip that Twig truly accepts that her bunker's ultimate fate wasn't her fault #'117 hours' she reminds herself. #'117 hours.' #'you were only a child and yet you act like you could have done anything more than wait 117 hours.' #it feels awful to take comfort in a phrase that exists only because of a tragedy akin to the Donner Party or Jamestown Starving time #but that tragedy helps her heal from her own. #the present is a gift au #pmd2 partner #pokémon mystery dungeon #pokemon mystery dungeon #pmd explorers #pmd sky #pmd eos #pmd2 #pmd #sofie answers asks

[notapaladin]

I was inspired by an old "your OCs as companions" meme template I found and decided to combine it with an official-encyclopedia-style blurb. Highly recommend it tbh.

(Font: Liberation Sans 9 pt)

Text below the readmore:

Sidebar

SPECIES: Human

HOMEWORLD: Dromund Kaas

AGE: 22

HOBBIES: Historical research, gardening, archaeology

PREFERRED WEAPONS: Matched set of single-blade sabers with ornate golden details; they are family heirlooms given to her by her father upon her acceptance to the Sith Academy on Korriban YAELLIA IVROS

A BRAVE AND HONORABLE SITH WARRIOR, Lady Yaellia – just Yaellia, to her friends – is the only child and heir of the noble Imperial House Ivros, which was founded by a freed slave and therefore has some...unorthodox views of Imperial policy. The family history which was instilled in Yaellia from a young age granted her a sense of cooperation and fairness unheard of in many other members of the Sith hierarchy. Unfortunately, this has not made her or her family popular among their peers. House Ivros is under constant threat from its many enemies, and before Yaellia was ten years old she’d already survived numerous attempts on her life.

When Yaellia was accepted into the Korriban Academy, she became determined to uplift her family at any cost, barring the sacrifice of her principles. Though these principles successfully prevented the poisoning of her entire dorm suite by a rival class, they also nearly got her Force-choked to death by one of her teachers; she was only saved by the timely intervention of Lord Alanais Venditor, and has looked up to him ever since. Though he wanted to mentor her, Darth Baras made her an offer she couldn’t refuse.

Being chosen as Darth Baras’s apprentice was the highest honor she or her family could have ever hoped for. Even though she loathes him personally, her personal opinions don’t matter next to her family’s status and safety. Accordingly, she has set out aboard the ship he gave her, a Fury-class Interceptor she has dubbed Zhasanai’s Grace, to do as little of his dark bidding as she can get away with. Rumors of her involvement with the Revanite cult remain unsubstantiated.

Likes: Honor, mercy, preserving historical sites, loyalty, animals Dislikes: Cruelty, collateral damage, dishonesty, eye contact

AS A COMPANION

Selection lines:

“My sabers are yours.”

“Can I help you?”

“Leave it to me.”

“It is an honor to fight by your side.”

Battle lines:

“I am your end!”

“For the Empire!”

“Come, face me!”

Exiting battle:

“I didn’t even break a sweat.”

“What a shame. What a waste.”

“They died well.”

“Where’s our next target?”

KO’ed/Low health:

“A little help?!”

“Ah...I’ve miscalculated...”

“Can’t...breathe...!”

“I don’t like bleeding my own blood.”

Resurrected:

“That was a fluke.”

“Time to reenter the fray!”

“One day I will die, but not this day. Thanks to you.”

Misc. click lines:

“Are you quite alright?”

“Remind me to catch up on my reading.”

(on Dromund Kaas or other wet planets) “Ahh, the scent of home!...lake water and rotting vegetation. Lovely.”

“The Empire cannot rise to greatness on the backs of slaves.”

“Oh! Did I tell you about the holocron I found the other day?”

“Take a holo, it lasts longer.”

Gifts:

Cultural Artifacts, Imperial Memorabilia [favorite]: “This is wonderful! Thank you, I’ll treasure it.”

Courting, Luxury, Delicacy [love]: “Oh, you’re terribly kind to think of me.”

Military Gear, Weapon, Republic Memorabilia [like]: “Thank you.”

Underworld Good, Technology, Maintenance [indifferent]: “...I...thank you. Truly.”

#swtor #yaellia #sith #paladin writes stuff

[blueiskewl]

Medieval Curse Tablet Summoning Satan Discovered in Germany

In Germany, archaeologists have found a rolled-up piece of lead that they believe might be a medieval “curse tablet” calling upon “Beelzebub,” also known as Satan.

At first sight, the researchers believed the “unremarkable piece of metal” was just discarded material. This conclusion was drawn because the item was discovered at the base of a latrine at a construction site in Rostock, a city in northern Germany, as stated in a translated document.

Artifact containing a curse summoning Satan and evil spirits

Nevertheless, when they unfolded it, archaeologists discovered that the 15th-century artifact bore a mysterious message inscribed in Gothic minuscule, which was barely discernible without close inspection. The message read, “sathanas taleke belzebuk hinrik berith.”

The researchers interpreted the text as a curse aimed at a woman named Taleke and a man named Hinrik (Heinrich). The curse invoked Beelzebub (another name for Satan) and Berith (a demonic spirit). Without a close examination, the mysterious message would not have been identified.

Even though the researchers may never uncover the identities of Taleke and Heinrich, they have suggested possible reasons for the animosity.

In their statement, the researchers pondered whether someone wanted to disrupt Taleke and Heinrich’s connection or if this was driven by rejected love and jealousy, with someone trying to interfere.

Similar curse tablets discovered from Greek and Roman sites

The archaeologists emphasized the uniqueness of their discovery. Jörg Ansorge, an archaeologist from the University of Greifswald in Germany leading the excavation, highlighted this point.

He stated that this finding is exceptional, especially considering that similar ‘curse tablets‘ are well-documented from ancient times in the Greek and Roman regions spanning from 800 B.C. to A.D. 600.

Ansorge provided examples to illustrate the historical context. He mentioned a 1,500-year-old lead tablet discovered in what is now Israel, inscribed in Greek, invoking demons to harm a rival dancer.

Additionally, he referred to 2,400-year-old tablets found in Greece that sought the intervention of underworld gods to target several tavern keepers. Ansorge remarked, “Our discovery, on the other hand, can be dated to the 15th century.” “This is truly a very special find.”

The researchers weren’t taken aback to locate the artifact in a latrine. They explained that curse tablets were strategically placed in obscure locations, like the bottom of latrines, intentionally making them hard or even impossible to find. This ensured that those who were cursed couldn’t easily uncover the tablets.

Love Magic in Ancient Greece and Rome

The practice of magic with spells, charms, erotic dolls was widespread in ancient Greece and Rome. Although it was discouraged and sometimes even punished in antiquity, it thrived all the same. Authorities publicly condemned it but tended to ignore its powerful hold.

By Nisha Zahid.

#Medieval Curse Tablet Summoning Satan Discovered in Germany #Rostock #Beelzebub #Berith #Satan #satanism #black magic #ancient artifacts #archeology #archeolgst #history #history news #ancient history #ancient culture #ancient civilizations #middle ages

[thatpodcastkid]

Magnus Archives Relisten 3, MAG 3 Across The Street

Part 3 of my Magnus Archives Relisten, featuring the world's worst dining room table and creepiest next door neighbor! Spoilers ahead

When I said creepiest neighbor, did you think of Amy or Graham?

Facts: Statement of Amy Patel, regarding the "alleged" disappearance of Graham Folger. Statement given July 1, 2007.

Statement Notes: First thing I noticed was how Amy and Graham are not actually "college age." I see a lot of art and people portray them as 20-somethings, but Amy's at least 30 and Graham is ten years older than her. Just kind of interesting how that happens sometimes with characters we can't see.

I also forgot from my first listen that Amy wasn't the one who revealed "keep watching," but Jon. Given that Amy never sees it and Graham fully denies writing in notebooks at all (and doesn't seem conscious of the fact that he eats one at least once), I've started theorizing that he doesn't actually know he's writing. It's a compulsion inspired by whatever entity or force is plaguing him.

Three episodes in the row, substance use is emphasized. Amy says her choices were to take night classes or become an alcoholic, and Graham does essentially nothing but chain smoke all day. I don't really know how this ties to the broader ideas of the show except for the fact that Annabelle Cane/ The Web have been manipulating things from the start, and they historically use chemical dependency to encourage that.

Character Notes: I keep wondering how Sasha found Graham's notebook. Was it in Artifact Storage? Did she go dumpster diving? Were she and Martin trekking through the local dump?

I also never realized that Jon was the first person to use the term "Not!Graham." I always thought it was a fan made term for Not!Sasha, but it's pretty cool how Jonny could think of such an effective term.

Entity Alignment: Such an incredible balance between the Eye and Stranger in this ep. Amy's "people watching hobby" definitely makes her Eye aligned, and I wouldn't be surprised if she became an Eye entity during the apocalypse. But what's really interesting is Graham's paranoia. It's such classic Eye manipulation. He's terrified, he can't stop looking out windows and locking doors and checking around corners because he has the irrational fear that he's being watched. But the tragedy is, even if his fear is irrational, he's right. Something and someone are watching him, something is trying to hurt him. There's such a season two Jon parallel; his fear is irrational and harmful, even though he technically has every reason to be afraid.

Jonny also really works in the uncanny valley vein of the Stranger here. Amy can't tell what part of the thing she sees is the hand, in terms of color she can only say that it's some kind of gray, unsure what parts are the thing and what are the piping. Classic horror stuff, but very difficult to pull off using description only.

The truly genius thing the Stranger does is, when allowing someone to know they've replaced a victim, they only ever choose acquaintances. Not friends, not strangers, just acquaintances. This is because, if the chose a friend, it would be obvious every time they see the replacement that they were freaking out. If they chose a stranger, they might just confuse the person. By choosing an acquaintance, like Amy or Melanie, they make it so they can know something's wrong, but other people can brush them off as misremembering. There's a bit of Spiral in that, making someone doubt their reality, which is why the Table comes in to play in this episode.

#magnus archives #podcasts #rusty quill #jonny sims #media analysis #the magnus archives relisten #tma #tma relisten #analysis #audio drama #jonathan sims #The Stranger #The Eye #The Spiral #graham folger #amy patel #Not!Graham #not!sasha #not!them #horror #horror podcasts #martin blackwood #sasha james #the web #annabelle cane #the magnus archives #melanie king #Mag 3 #Across The Street

[dungeonmalcontent]

Captured by a dragon and forced to live as a slave in their hoard for all eternity? At least make it interesting.

You have knowledge of the mortal realm the dragon doesn't, particularly recent events and historical context. Convince the dragon much of their hoard makes little sense together because of missing pieces of history and limited knowledge of the wider world. Offer to curate the hoard for them to make it truly impressive. Over the next 100 years of curation, repatriate small sections of the "useless" and "mismatched" hoard bits to their cultures of origin. Slowly establish the hoard as an immaculately curated museum and historical site. Organize expansions and donations to the hoard from exotic cultures that wish to display their history in "the most prestigious museum in the world" so that the dragon can actually see its hoard grow. Have other humanoids enslaved in the hoard be brainwashed into becoming workers at the museum that run tours and catalogue the hoard and new exhibits. Open a wing on dragon history and biology. Organize an adventuring party to slay your dragons rival to have the rival's bones and scales on display in the dragon wing of the museum/hoard. If anyone tries to steal from the hoard, the dragon gets some exercise and the thieves never get heard from again... Or get hired as security after being mentally modified. Get the dragon to fuck you. Become co-owner of the hoard. Retire.

Turn a negative into a positive. You now have a successful work history, a powerful life partner that thinks highly of you, retirement funds, powerful magical artifacts at your disposal, and the respect of humanoids and the fear of other dragons.

#d&d #dnd #dungeons and dragons #5e #ttrpg #fantasy #writing #d&d meme #d&d shitpost #not a bad life story and goal for a bbeg if you think about it #dragon #dragons