back at it again in Cairo

Warmth aka warm me up inside
AO3 | Fanfiction

A/N: Art-fic exchange with @patternedclouds. In return for this pretty af piece, here’s a Pharmercy blanket fic as requested. lol

Summary: Fareeha and Angela chase a target to an abandoned monastery in the Kathmandu countryside. They are forced to stay there overnight due to Fareeha’s injury and heavy snowfall, but there is no heater. Just one sleeping bag.

Borrowed their headcanon for Mercy’s cybernetic spine.

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Arms clamped around Pharah’s middle as she kicked the motorcycle engine up a notch, flying down the empty dirt road in pursuit of their target. Her senses were sharpened to a fine edge, adrenaline pumping through her veins; there was nothing on her mind but the black figure ahead, and his datapad of intel crucial to Overwatch’s war against Talon.

A small squad had been dispatched to Kathmandu on a covert mission to obtain this valuable info, spending weeks just to track the Talon agent down, only to have their carefully-laid plans get blown clear into the sky. Literally. Just as they closed in on the agent’s city hideout, the small rundown house was blown apart by charges on its inner walls. The blast downed a few civilians unfortunate enough to be standing within range, and Zenyatta promptly went to their aid while Genji sought to stop the flames engulfing the house from spreading farther. Pharah barely had time to ponder destroyed gas pipes when Mercy pointed out their target, climbing onto a bike farther down the street. Naturally, Pharah sprinted back to her own rented bike as well, pausing just long enough for Mercy to clamber on behind her, and began the chase. They zipped through the winding city streets, before leaving concrete behind when they entered the countryside.

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Who’s the Hot Blond? Part I

Originally posted by wgegemoni

Word Count:  1,514

Warnings:  None

Author’s Note:  Oh my lord… so @vintagevalentinexx and I were talking and we realized that there’s not a lot of Benji Dunn fic to be had. Particularly not a lot of reader insert. So I decided that now’s as good a time as ever to throw my two cents into the pot.

This is my first piece that I’m posting here on this blog! So that’s exciting.

This is going to be a series, so sit tight. There’s more. Knowing me, this is probably going to get a little more maturely themed in later installments. In the mean time: please enjoy!

More parts can be found here


“Dammit, Ethan, Bangkok? Really?” you griped as you shut the door to the small studio apartment behind you, clicking the lock closed. “It’s gotta be a hundred goddamn degrees out there…”

“It’s 104,” Ethan quipped. “‘Sa matter? Can’t handle a little heat? I thought you wanted a vacation.”

“Yeah, I had somewhere a little less hot in mind,” you responded, looking at the small group of people huddled around the square dining table. Luther you knew from your brief stint in Qatar last February, but the other two you weren’t familiar with: a woman with beautiful, long, dark hair and a slim man sitting at a laptop, sweating like nothing else.

“Who’s the hot blond?” you asked, nodding at the group.

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The Winter Soldier (part 3/4)

A/N: Hey guys!!! It’s been so long since I uploaded this series so I decided to make it slightly longer. Well, it’s not as long as the previous one but this one is pretty long haha😅Anyways, enjoy!!

Word Count: 3,108

Part one//Part two//Part three//Part four//Epilogue


You opened your eyes, as you heard Steve grunting, pushing a large rock away. Squinting your eyes, you tried to clear your vision.

“Are you okay?” You asked as Steve coughed from all the dust.

He nodded as he helped you up from the ground first before turning back and picking an unconscious Natasha. “Let’s get out of here.”

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Aminah

Synopsis: Green is not a color that becomes Angela Ziegler.

Pairing: Pharmercy / Rocket Angel (Fareeha “Pharah” Amari/Angela “Mercy” Ziegler)

She is gorgeous, jet hair flowing past her shoulders in lustrous waves that shine even in the low light of this smoky pub Lena’s dragged them to. She walks toward them, hips swaying, her endless legs showcased by her short black pencil skirt and sky-high Louboutins Angela would snap her ankles in if she attempted to wear them. The flash of red sole Angela glimpses every time she takes a step matches the crimson of the sleeveless blouse that reveals the swell of generous breasts. Her eyes, brown like melted chocolate, or a latte, or some other food-related metaphor meant to convey their richness and depth, are framed by impossibly long lashes — Angela fears they are 100 percent genuine. Her face is perfectly symmetrical, lacking any blemishes; and her full lips are rouged the kind of red that scream of sex. She seems very familiar. Angela has the niggling feeling that she’s seen her somewhere before. And she is looking at Fareeha in a way that Angela knows too well.

It is, after all, the same way she looks at Fareeha.

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“Unexpected romance” Ahkmenrah fanfic Part 11/15

AN: Hello lovely people of tumblr! First of all, I would like to apologies for not writing for almost a whole week. Yeah it has been a really long but but I have been extremely busy + Eurovision has sort of been taking over my life, because love love peace peace. Anyways, I really hope you will like this chapter. I have worked really hard on it, for like two days.

Word count: 996

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Ahead of you as a really long night of passion, desire and of course love. How else would you describe the first night after five days without your boyfriend? He had his arms wrapped around you, holding you tight against his broad chest. You placed a soft little kiss on his nose with a bright smile stretched across your face. You then wrapped your arms around his neck and allowed him to kiss you softly. Of course you kissed back lovingly with passion, clinging yourself onto his neck and hold. The kiss was slowly becoming more heated and heated. His strong arm was slowly making his way to your waist, giving it a little squeeze.

~ ~ ~ ~

Since the both of you were in the land of your dreams for the next few days you have decided to treat yourself really well. But of course it was still a bit complicated since Ahkmenrah was still a mummy during the day. You would keep his fragile body in a room you had no desire to use during the day. You needed a room of that sort, since even tho you had came in contact with mummies before and you had done some smaller researches on his, he was your boyfriend now. Sort of awkward and depressing to watch a corpse of a twenty four year old man wrapped in dusty and sandy sheets.

And since it was winter coming, that had its perks. The sun was going down around five pm and the museums would still work. For the four days of your stay in Cairo you had visited every single museum you could possibly find. One of the most dashing and wonderful was of course the famous Cairo Museum. With a shit tone of negotiations and suffering you had managed to agree the director of the museum to allow you to do a little research on Tutankhamen’s belongings. And of course, Ahkmenrah was there to help. Assisting your every step and helping you translate some of the scripts and writings on his chair and bed.

Ahkmenrah and you would usually arrive at the hotel apartment around midnight. Despite the fact you would always be exhausted you still did your best to stay awake as long as you could to spend some time with your boyfriend. He would even cook some traditional Egyptian meals, that would be only for you to eat … since he did not had any intestine. But one fun fact, Ahkmenrah was one of those rare people from his period, that had his heart still inside. Maybe that is the reason he is still so loving, caring and the most romantic.

~  ~ ~ ~

On the final day of your journey you have received pleasant news; all of the requested belongings of the queen Nefertari have been approved for transferring to the Museum of national history in New York. All that was left to do was singing the paperwork and assist the museum with packing. Whilst Ahkmenrah was resting in his dead form you’ve decided to pack all the stuff you bought with yourself to Egypt. With your very organised list you have managed to pack everything  within several minutes. Once getting ready and leaving a small note for Ahkmenrah you left the hotel and made your way towards the museum. In which you were welcomed warmly by all of the stuff to who you have kindly helped with packing all of the loving and priceless artefacts, it was still hard to believe you had actually managed to accomplish this.

It was a big difficult to achieve but you had packed your boyfriends body in the same way you had packed new parts of the Egyptian exhibit. And then calmly with extreme content you  flew back to New York.

~ ~

With the help of Amy, Larry and dr. McPhee you had managed to reorganise and settle the new look of the Egyptian exhibit well. Off course with Ahkmenrah at his rightful and reserved place. As his fragile body was gently placed back inside the sarcophagus you felt extremely happy and grateful. He is finally back.

You’ve settled yourself on the stone in front of his coffin with a content smile. At this position in front of him, for some reason work felt way better and easier. And it felt extremely good to be back to your work despite the fact you were already missing Cairo, hardcore. Your work started off with making a record with new artefacts for the museum’s inventory. In your file you have placed several pictures and your notes you were working on before the trip and those you made in the museum.

Several minutes later, that familiar feeling came once again. The tablet began to glow with Konsu’s light. And the top of the golden sarcophagus began to move a little lower with that loving half linen covered face peeked out. Once seeing him wake up you placed your paperwork on the side and stood up to help him out, holding his hands gently as he stood up. With a soft smile you began unwrapping his head and his arms. Then you gently worked on his chest making sure his clothing doesn’t get messed up. “Even though it has been a day I really have missed you.” You said with a soft giggle before looking up at him. Slowly getting on your knees, you finished removing the sheets of his hips and legs. Revealing all the glory.

“I have missed you too my princess” He said before taking all of the linen and placing it back into his sarcophagus. He then turned around and wrapped his strong arms around your waist. His actions always made you giggle, always. So you kissed his lips in a loving motion, placing your right hand on his cheek. As he was already holding your waist already he span your around whilst giving your lips a little kiss in return.

Operation OZ

Chapter Three

Read it HERE on AO3

Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / More SamWELL


“Motherfucker!” Derek cries, holding his nose. Dex at least has the good grace to look sheepish, though it’s only a subtitle to his pissed expression. “What the fuck was that for?”

“I’m not used to other people touching me.” Dex says, and it sounds like half an apology, which Derek figures is all he’s going to get. “I forgot I wasn’t back in– back home.” Dex wrinkles his nose in a way that lets Derek know that that’s not at all what he wants to say, which makes him curious.

“Where the hell did they even keep you?” he asks, getting up off of the floor. His nose isn’t broken, though he makes a mental note that Dex has a killer right hook. He wasn’t one of those defenseless Q types, then. “It definitely wasn’t at the HAUS; I’d’ve seen you before now, if so.”

“Maine.” Dex says, rolling his shoulders and settling back into his seat, seemingly more calm. “Like, really fucking remote Maine. Cabin in the woods type of deal, except with really good wifi. It wasn’t too bad.”

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@obclus

Eriadon had stayed silent on the trip home, saving their strength to aid in healing the students that had been injured. It was an unfamiliar experience, giving away so much of himself to people he’d only met months ago. Aches of injustice that had long since dulled flared up with sharp anger with each injury he tended to, as though they’d peeled back a layer of skin with each person they deemed worthy of a fragment of their essence. Finally, Eriadon could take it no longer. He had to say something, if only to Adalinda in the privacy of their room.

“Clan Akkaba,” Eriadon murmured, flickering in and out of view in time to the pounding of their heart, “Apocalypse,” the name upon his tongue opened the floodgates, rage pulsing his atoms apart, even as his vision began to blur with incorporeal tears. He had read about Cairo. At least one hospital had been totaled during the attack. They’d wondered time and again if any of the patients found among the rubble had been mutants–and if it even mattered to the likes of En Sabah Nur.  He wasn’t holding his breath, having long since learned to expect the agony of drowning. Ghosts didn’t need to breathe underwater to lure the unsuspecting into the depths.

“We have to kill them, Adalinda,” though Eriadon’s voice remained soft and measured, they made no effort to stifle the fury that festered in their throat, dripping over every word, “all of them. They cannot be reasoned with. Apocalypse is a false prophet, and his kind still linger. Tumor’s been removed but tiny cells still grow. We cleanse them like they want to cleanse us.” There was no room for childish idealism where these people were concerned. The lightest display of vulnerability toward those who wished them dead was to slap a flashing target upon a hidden weakness. Not again. Not naked and squirming beneath the bathwater, struggling for the surface as the light faded to nothing. This time, he’d be the water: still but deadly, depths uncertain.

“Xavier won’t want us to kill them,” Eriadon continued thoughtfully, “might even know I’m thinking of it now. Should we wait?”

A Warren Worthington Prompt: “I look in the mirror and I don’t see myself staring back at me anymore.” & “This is new to me. All of this. I’m in love with you and I am terrified.”

Originally posted by xmendaily

    (Y/N) was one of the strongest mutants around the school. She had such powers and such mental strength, that everyone admired her and some professors even used her as an example for the newcomers. She and Jean were best friends and (Y/N) tried to help her control her powers but also understand them even more. Professor Xavier had taken them both under his wing more like daughters than students. She loved being in the school, everything was perfect and she was with people that cared about her and vice versa.
    Until En Sabah Nur arose. Then everything changed. The school was destroyed. One of her best friends Alex was gone. And Professor was taken away. It wasn’t a lie that she struggled to believe what happened and how this could possibly be the end of the world as they knew. But she had to stay strong and collected for the others. Mystique had taken a liking on her since the beginning, cause she reminded her of herself. The two women were in lead of their small team and they were trying to locate Charles.
    After they arrived to Cairo and the battle started (Y/N) found herself fighting a young blond boy that resembled an Angel although he was far from that. She disliked him from the first glimpse. “Come on sweetheart. For how long are you going to fight? It’s obvious that I am stronger and better than you. Just give up.” The boy said cockily as he managed to dodge a supersonic hit (Y/N) sent to him. “Oh you think, so my sweet Angel?” (Y/N) said on a sweet tone, throwing herself harder to the fight as she rose vines from the ground and sent a wind blast at him at the same time. He managed to resist the blast with his metal wings and he quickly flew behind her. “I wouldn’t mind you joining us, though. You seem as a rather good piece to miss.” He whispered to her ear making her flustered and flew away laughing. “I’ll so you something hard to miss!” she spat as she levitated unleashing more and more of her power. The boy froze on his place amazed and terrified and the same time. His opponent was now on air, her eyes were white and she glowed on a wonderful colorful light. He didn’t even see the blast that came right on his face hitting him and making him to hit the ground hard. Her smirk and a playful glimmer on her eyes were the last things he saw before he lost his senses.

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Late Night Call (Sam Drake X Reader)

(Symbolism Prompt #19)

Thornapple: I Dreamed of You

(Purple) Pansy: You Occupy My Thoughts

(Pink) Camellia: I Long For Your Touch

Heart: Love, Passion, Attraction, or Unity

Circle: Never-ending, Completeness, or Coming Together


           You don’t know how but you were running through an open market as a wave of déjà vu washed over you. You had seen this market before but your mind was too clouded to work it all out. Then the swaying of brightly colored silks, the throngs of people haggling with shopkeepers, and the boisterous din of a thriving marketplace all came together and violently jogged your memory. You were in Cairo; more specifically you were currently running through the Khan el-Khalili but that was impossible. It hit you suddenly, nothing had changed and everything was exactly as you remembered but you realized that you hadn’t been to Cairo in six years. Either you had made another trip to Cairo, with no recollection of the event, or you were vividly hallucinating.

           The latter was the more likely option so you struggled against the haze in your mind trying to remember what happened next. As you ran you looked around the marketplace and noticed several men who appeared out of place; they were dressed in dark colors as they were slinking around the market without discretion obviously searching for someone. No! No, this couldn’t be happening… but if it were truly happening then you should have been hearing the sound of bells indicating that it was noon. Almost on cue, the bells went off but why was that so important? Your feet were pounding against the ancient stone floors as you rounded another corner lined with shops but this time you noticed and large crowd gathering at the end. There was a lot of shouting and just ahead of you, you could make out the sight of a group of men fighting amongst themselves.

           Your vision centered on a familiar figure and your heart nearly stopped; in the middle of the group of men trading blows was Sam. Then it was as if the floodgates had opened and it suddenly all came back to you; six years ago in Cairo you were with Sam on a job but somehow you were experiencing it again. You and Sam had caught wind of a priceless artifact that was currently in the hands of a notorious black market operation. Which at the time didn’t seem like that big of a problem for a couple of thieves like yourselves. However, you were both very young and not completely immune to overestimating your skills and underestimating the strength of your enemies. The group that you were trying to lift the artifact from had two hideouts in the Khan el-Khalili; you took the first hideout and Sam took the other and you had promised him that you would meet him in the center of the market by noon.

           That’s why you had been sprinting through the marketplace and why you panicked when the clock struck noon; you had the artifact but you were behind schedule. All you needed to do was get to Sam and help him before the thugs called for backup and then it was just a matter of making your getaway. You two had done it before and you could certainly do it again but as you went to make a move to get close to Sam you felt something latching on to your arm. You looked to your right and found one of the shopkeeper’s trying to get your attention pulling you in closer; his grip was impossibly strong but you pulled away. Your relief was short-lived as another shopkeeper grabbed your arm trying to capture your attention and you were desperately trying to pull away. You turned toward Sam’s direction and noticed that a large group of people had formed in front of you; casually trying to make their way through the market. What was going on?

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Here’s another of my man crushes from history: Der Wustenfuchs! Ze Desert Fox! Leader of the Gespenterdivision! Erwin Eugene Johannes Rommel! Perhaps the most brilliant general of WWII, Mr. Rommel started his military career at the behest of his father, Erwin Rommel, Sr. He served in WWI, where he quickly distinguished himself in Romania and Italy. Starting as a platoon commander, he  eventual rose to division commander, and was awarded the Iron Cross near the end of the War. After the war, he became a military instructor for the Hitler Jugend. He, like Guderian, were convinced of the potential of armoured warfare, and he studied on it furiously during the interwar period. When WWII started, he was able to convince Hitler, (a good friend of his at first), to give him command of the 7th armoured division. During Fall Gelb, (the invasion of France and the Low countries), his division punched through enemy lines, and so deep into enemy territory, that High Command frequently lost and regained radio contact with them, (thus they were nicknamed the Gespenterdivision; Ghost Division). Rommel’s successful drive through France, (which he endearingly called a lightning Tour de France), was a huge factor in their swift capitulation. As the Italians were faltering in North Africa, Hitler decided to send Rommel to aid them„ with a small force named the Panzer Afrika Corps. Quickly assessing the situation, Rommel decided to disobey orders to hold ground in front of Tripoli and attacked, pushing the unprepared British into disarray.

He was eventually stopped at the fort of Tobruk, and was forced to fall back. However, he renewed his offensive a few months later, and came within 200 miles of Cairo, before being stopped, and eventually pushed back at the second battle of El Alamein, (darn Montgomery). However, he continued to show his brilliance in his masterful retreat, (once again defying orders, this time the infamous ‘Victory or Death’ decree). This was when his disillusionment of Hitler began. After a brief assignment in Northern Italy, he was transferred to the Atlantic Seaboard overseeing the Atlantic Wall, (the deadliest of which were at Normandy. He was convinced the Allies would attack at Normandy, but voiced that it did not really matter. It is because of his brilliance that breaking out of Normandy took so long. Eventually, he was caught up in the Valkyrie plot to kill Hitler, though he was against the plan, (he feared it would make him a martyr, and instead advocated for placing him on trial). However, his, (mostly alleged), involvement attracted the Gestapo, who came with an ultimatum: commit suicide, and you’ll be buried as a hero, with your family being guaranteed safety, or go on trial, with no such guarantee. He valiantly chose the first. He was an admired commander on both sides, especially for his chivalry. He constantly ignored orders to kill POWs and jews. He treated all of his prisoners extremely well, and he fought valiantly, (ALWAYS leading from the front). Overall, Rommel was a bad-a and deserves more credit then he gets.

PS. Though I tagged this as Nazi, Rommel was never involved in the party, (one of the few high commanders who weren’t). In fact, he despised most of their ideals, (knowing nothing of the Holocaust), but was wiled, like many others, by Hitler’s brilliant charisma. Just a reminder from your friendly neighborhood Rommel fanatic.

we meet again.

@ierotero

It’d been much too long since she’d last visited the earth for any reason, a good hundred or so years. she’s not in England, she’s in Cairo, in a mansion it looked like. Athena was slowly opening the door that belonged to her son, Dio.

Entering she shuts the door behind her and stares at his back silently, unsure on how to speak to him. She’d never spoken or allowed him to see her before, she was often in the skies above, watching over him.

“Dio.” She attempts, her voice works! then… she could perhaps hold him. She felt something in her chest thud, ah just the memory of her heart, a memory she wished was happening now. Whenever she saw her beloved miracle boy, she’d always be overjoyed.

“Dio…!” She yells now, arms opening as she jumps up and down to get his attention. “Look!”

anonymous asked:

How do you go from roman wall paintings to "primitive looking" early and high medieval paintings and crude depictions of forms? Was the skill lost? Was it a concious choice?

Hi there anon, sorry this took so long to answer. I wanted to give you a thoughtful response.

There was certainly a lot of talent in ancient Greek and Roman art–understatement of the century, I know, please bear with me, ancient art is not my area of expertise nor my passion (my poor Italian archaeology professor, she tried). The Greek classical canon demonstrates an understanding of human anatomy that is still breath taking today. And although I am not as fond of Roman art, I do adore the Roman mosaics. Particularly from Pompeii!

I’m going to have to disagree with your (presumed) views on medieval art, but I will attempt to thoughtfully articulate an answer to your question (I am also enormously fond of medieval art, so feel free to take this with a grain of salt). In a technical sense, I agree with you, I can look at, say, the Bayeux tapestry and scratch my head and wonder where the artist(s) got their understanding of human proportions and perspectives. 

But medieval art, well, to imply that it was “a Dark Age” really isn’t truthful. Yes, many technical skills and knowledge were “lost”, if you will. But the Islamic World was flourishing just outside of Europe, and often interacting with Europe! Ibn al-Haytham had discovered the camera obscura in 10th century Cairo, and his understanding of light fundamentally altered both the fields of science and art. In fact, many discoveries were being made! Europe didn’t exist in a vacuum, it never has. Monks were hard at work transcribing documents and salvaging classical studies; Vikings pillaged the British Isles and brought with them their own cultures and art, and brought new ones back home. The “rediscovery” of Greco-Roman cultures in the Renaissance era was a phenomenal event in human history (an understatement, AGAIN), but, well, there is a certain disregard for pre-Renaissance art and culture, thanks to some humanist scholars. Let me borrow a quote from my ancient art history textbook: 

“Historians once referred to the thousand years (roughly 400 to 1400) between the dying Roman Empire’s adoption of Christianity as its official religion and the rebirth (Renaissance) of interest in classical antiquity as the Dark Ages. Scholars and laypersons alike thought this long ‘interval’–between the ancient and what was perceived as the beginning of the modern European world–was rough and uncivilized, and crude and primitive artistically. They viewed these centuries–dubbed the Middle Ages–as simply a blank between (in the middle of) two great civilizations. This negative assessment, a legacy of the humanist scholars of Renaissance Italy, persists today in the retention of the noun Middle Ages and the adjective medieval to describe this period and its art. The force of tradition dictates that we continue to use those terms, even though modern scholars long ago ceased to see the art of medieval Europe as unsophisticated or inferior.” Gardner’s Art Through the Ages: Twelfth Edition, Volume I, Fred S. Kleiner and Christin J. Mamiya, p. 421.

Let’s take illuminated manuscripts, for example. One of my most favorite forms of art. For the heck of it, let’s use a well-known example, like a folio from the Book of Kells. 

I could wax poetic about the dedication and love that went into illuminated manuscripts (or the way entire communities joined together over centuries to construct massive Gothic cathedrals, which were also looked down upon by Renaissance scholars) but I’ll give you this, more relevant quote, instead: Giraldus Cambrenis, a priest visiting Ireland in 1185, when (most likely) referencing the Book of Kells (or a similar illuminated manuscript): “Fine craftmanship is all about you, but you might not notice it. Look more keenly at it and you…will make out intricacies, so delicate and subtle, so exact and compact, so full of knots and links, with colors so fresh and vivid, that you might say that all this was the work of an angel, and not of a man. For my part, the oftener I see the book, the more carefully I study it, the more I am lost in ever fresh amazement, and I see more and more wonders in the book.” Keep in mind, now, that the text alone could have been compiled by two to three different scholars; the inks and dyes imported from miles away; and, while I am not an expert on creating vellum, I imagine turning calfskin into fine, readable paper is no mean feat. An art in and of itself.

Now, this is one of the most beloved and well-known examples of Western art from this period, to be fair. 

So, maybe, a less common example, but one very near and dear to my heart: the icons of Andrei Rublev. Let’s talk about Rublev’s Holy Trinity (dated 1410, starting to get closer to the Renaissance era, but Russia was very isolated from the West at this point; but as it has similar artistic values to the medieval era, I think it makes a good case):

If you and I were to criticize this from a technical viewpoint, what might we say? The heads look unnaturally small, to me, compared to their long bodies. Their feet and hands look very flat; the entire image looks very flat. It is difficult to discern their forms under their billowy robes. We assume they are sitting. The features, to me at least, are a little difficult to distinguish. 

But, that is also not the point of an icon. This sort of icon was meant to be a window into heaven; “writing an image of the divine” is how the process was described; believed to lend protection and perhaps even healing; meant to educate a largely illiterate population with beautiful, Biblically significant scenes. The rich symbolism, the delicate gold coloring; the way so few icons were ever signed by the artist because they were all meant to be equally good, equally pure, equally holy. They were an act of love and work, not necessarily artistic pleasure (now, maybe that was a conscious choice to deviate from the Greco-Roman canons; but the Russian schools, which were beginning to grow apart from the Byzantine schools, doubtfully had access to those resources, anyway.) Alright, I’m going to cut myself off before I spend the rest of my Saturday night sniffling about how important icons are to me. I guess what I am trying to say, is an artwork can still be significant without utilizing the sort of skill sets we associate with ancient Greece and Rome. It can still serve an important purpose. 

I do stand by the belief that medieval art was not lesser, merely different. And I don’t think that the budding cities of Western Europe had quite the resources that the great cities of Greece and Rome did, either, not for many years. 

As for a conscious choice to make the stylistic differences that gave us some really strangely drawn Christchilds, well, I’m afraid I don’t know enough to say and I don’t want to overstep my boundaries of knowledge. Certain schools and monks tended to resemble each other and learn from each other, we can compare and contrast those. But I’ll leave it to medieval and Renaissance scholars as to just how independent these artistic choices were. 

Well, I hope that answered your question a little bit. I apologize if I was unclear or a bit sporadic, it is rather late here. 

anonymous asked:

Is there any chance of an excerpt for Haven?

                Uryuu ran a frustrated hand through his hair as he flipped through another book on hydraulics.  He understood the mechanics of it – his intelligence was nothing to scoff at, thank you very much – but how would they apply this to a city in Hueco Mundo?  Even if Ichigo figured out how to transport a continuous water supply between two plains of existence, they’d still have to lay down the framework for an open-channel flow, which brought him back to the issue of plumbing.  Toilets, sinks, freaking bathtubs and shower stalls; where the hell would they drain the waste anyway?  It wasn’t as if that damn desert had a ready-made sewer system!

                The Shinigami had it easy; they had a ready-made city since the beginning of time.  Building an organization inside it was much easier than starting from scratch.  You had to admire the Mayans and Incans and all those other civilizations for succeeding.

                Ugh.  Uryuu wished he could be at Chad’s working on the blueprints – architectural design was one of his areas of expertise, not this – but it was nine at night and they’d just had a sleepover yesterday, so he was now forced to read up on Making a City For Dummies in his room.

                Honestly, Orihime was better at this, which was probably why Ichigo had had the foresight to assign the main chunk of this work to her.  She had the imagination and broadmindedness to think of a way around these problems.  Uryuu was too… straightforwardly logical.

                He looked back at a sketch of an energy grade line and a hydraulic grade line.  Would they seriously have to put this stuff down?

               He scowled and flipped that book shut and reached for a different one.  He needed something simpler.

               Hmm, turbines took energy from moving water, so if they could get a water system set up, would that mean that they wouldn’t have to depend on Kidou seals forever?  But wouldn’t the seals be easier to set up?  Of course, the downside to that would be the not-so-minor problem of the seals failing and ultimately – instantaneously – shutting down the entire city.  No seals, no electricity; it was as simple as that.

               He paused when his father’s reiryoku brushed against his own, and he was already looking at the half-open door of his bedroom by the time Ryuuken appeared in the doorway, cool eyes taking in the various books and notes scattered across the floor.

               “…School project?”  Ryuuken enquired in a neutral voice.

               Uryuu mentally thanked his father for giving him a good excuse.  “Yes, a research project on the possibilities and methods of creating a habitable city in the desert.”

               Ryuuken arched an eyebrow.  “In the desert?  Most civilizations located even near a desert would not be this complicated.”

               “But it could be?”  Uryuu pressed, because his father was a genius in his own right.  “Water would always be the main problem, wouldn’t it?  And how would we get rid of the waste anyway?”

               Ryuuken was definitely giving him a strange look now, and belatedly, Uryuu realized that he hadn’t become this… familiar with his father until halfway through the war.  At this age, he had still been cold and standoffish towards Ryuuken, and his behaviour right now probably seemed like a one-eighty degree turnaround.

               But Uryuu wasn’t going to go back to brushing Ryuuken off and all but ignoring the man again.  To this day, he still readily maintained the fact that Ryuuken would never be voted Father of the Year, ever, but he was also the only father Uryuu had, and he did love the man in the end.  Besides, when it came down to it, Ryuuken had always pulled through for him, seeing to his and his friends’ injuries, and even stepping in during the latter years of the war despite not wanting to become involved with any Shinigami business.

               Once or twice, after the war, Uryuu had even found ‘Otou-san’ at the tip of his tongue, but he had always become inexplicably embarrassed and had ended up swallowing it down instead.

               In the end, the only time he’d said it had been over Ryuuken’s dead body, and a fat lot of good that had done anyone.

               “Liquid waste is purified and sent back into a river or straight into the ocean,” Ryuuken spoke up again, and Uryuu snapped back into the present.  His father was as unreadable as ever.  “Solid waste is dried and burned.  All waste is drained away through a sewer system, which most houses, apartments, shopping districts, and so on are connected to.”  He paused.  “Perhaps researching the creation of the metropolitan area of Cairo would be useful.”

               Uryuu stared for a moment before thunking his head against the hardcover book he was holding.  Now he just felt stupid.

               “Thanks,” He muttered, scrubbing a tired hand over his face, and almost dislodging his glasses in the process.  He wondered if he could foist the Cairo research off on Ichigo.  Even though he did really well on the subject (and every other subject) at school, he had never had much interest in history either, unless it was Quincy history.

               He glanced up in time to catch another odd, almost concerned look pass over Ryuuken’s face, but before he could decide whether or not he should do some damage control, his phone buzzed with an incoming call from Ichigo.

               Speak of the devil.

               “Yeah?”  He picked up, sending a faintly apologetic look at Ryuuken before he could catch himself.

               “You busy?”  Ichigo sounded about as stressed out as Uryuu felt.

               “Aren’t we always?”  Uryuu returned dryly.  “But I suppose I can make some time for you.  This better be good.”

               “I’m honoured,” Ichigo snorted.  “Hollow sighting outside of town down south.  Hime sensed them, and she and Chad are already there.  They said there are at least a dozen or so, all heading for Karakura.  Feel like stretching your legs?”

               “Do you even have to ask?”  Uryuu was already on his feet, grabbing his coat from the back of his chair.  He hadn’t taken out his Quincy bow since he had gotten back, just in case Ryuuken ever saw him with the newest version of it.  At the rate things had been going, Uryuu had thought he would have to wait at least another few weeks before they could make a trip to Hueco Mundo to kill something.  “I’m on my way.”

               “I’ll meet you at the edge of town.”

               Uryuu hung up, shrugging on his jacket as he turned to his father still leaning against the doorway.  “I’m going out for a bit.  Ichigo’s gotten himself into some trouble.  I’ll be back in half an hour, an hour tops.”

               Ryuuken sighed almost imperceptibly as if he knew his son was lying but stepped aside anyway, still watching Uryuu like he could unravel all the mysteries of the universe if he stared long enough.

               Uryuu smirked sardonically to himself as he flew down the hall.  Good luck with that.  Not even Ryuuken would be able to guess what had happened to his son until they told him.

10

This is #HistoricalSerial Episode 11: The End

One (historical) story told week by week. Told by me, the author of this manuscript.

To read #HistoricalSerial from the beginning, click me.

Last week on #HistoricalSerial, Gillion finally managed to admit to the whole bigamy thing, although it didn’t go quite as planned. Seeing as this is the last installment, are we all hastening towards a happy ending? Not quite…

Marie and Gracienne didn’t give Gillion much choice—they simply up and left him for the Abbey of Olive. They seemed super happy together in their new life as nuns.

However, apparently life in a nunnery was not exactly healthful, as in less than a year both Gracienne and Marie died within days of each other. After all that, they die? Really? Really. But the story isn’t quite over.

Meanwhile, the sultan had called Gillion back to save Cairo. Again. Gillion had been moping around dealing with his abandonment issues, what with losing two wives and all. He probably wasn’t too displeased to be called back into service (well at least someone wanted him!)

Gillion traveled back to the East, taking with him his younger twin son, Gerard, and leaving the eldest son, Jean, in charge of the family lands. For Gillion, it was good to be back in the saddle again (literally).

In the end, Gillion heroically fought by the side of the sultan once more, only to get mortally wounded in a furious battle. His last wish was to be reunited with his two wives in Europe. Gerard took a warm leave from the Sultan, carrying his father’s heart with him back to Hainaut.

There, a fine triple tomb holds the celebrated remains of Gillion, Marie, and Gracienne, united for all time. And this brings us back to that mysterious triple tomb that sparked the idea to write this whole story down. As an author, I have to admit that the final line to a story like this usually involves “And they lived happily ever after” rather than a cop-out where everyone conveniently dies, but in this case, perhaps there is a happy ending after all, since now Gillion, Marie, and Gracienne will spend eternity together and will be remembered forever.

_____

And so concludes our attempt to tell a medieval romance week by week in the style of @serialpodcast

The Getty owns a beautifully illustrated copy of this story from which we’ve been pulling images. If you’d like to further explore the tale and delve into the illuminations, check out @gettypubs The Adventures of Gillion de Trazegnies: Chivalry and Romance in the Medieval East by Elizabeth Morrison and Zrinka Stahuljak.

maerikishtar.tumblr.com
Negative Side-Effects ~Starter for maerikishtar~

Jonouchi popped an aspirin into his mouth and swallowed as he walked into the Cairo airport. He couldn’t believe he had to come all the way out to Egypt to get help for his condition. 

Yet again, destiny called him back to this country. 

He lugged his suitcase behind him and luckily managed to get past security without any issues. He had made a call to Ishizu a few days beforehand and she helped cover his plane fare due to the severity of the situation. He pulled out his phone and looked down at the text he had received from her earlier that gave the address to her residence. God, he hoped he didn’t screw up hailing a taxi. 

Some odd minutes later, he stepped out in front of the house with his suitcase behind him. The aspirin began to kick in but even the strongest pain reliever was only able to dull the constant migraines he got now. 

He grit his teeth, trying not to let the pain show on his face as he raised his hand to knock on the door. After a few seconds, he heard the clacking of locks before the the door was pulled open. 

Side Effects of Marriage Include (pt 1)

If I had to describe this, it’s canon diversion that looks a lot like a Mr and Mrs Smith AU. Initially written for Shoot Week but obviously I didn’t finish it in time, and here it is still unfinished because it sort of grew a little more than the one shot I planned and I’m impatient.

Summary: What if Root and Shaw had met earlier than they would have when they had every reason to hide who they really are from each other?

“How’s the wife?”

Shaw growls. “Probably on some yacht playing with her new toy.”

She really doesn’t want to think about it. Right now, she wants to focus on her work; that’s the most important thing, not her cheating wife.

It’s a sham of a marriage anyway. The only reason she is still in it is that her boss likes it as her cover.

“You’re not going to do anything about it?”

“Marriage counseling,” she replies nonchalantly, picking up the file next to him.

“Whoa, that’s unexpected. But good for you, Sam,” Cole says, clearly impressed. “I mean, not many people could admit that they have problems, let alone seek help for it.”

If only he knew that it was sanctioned by the ISA. He thinks it’s all legitimate, and Shaw never cared to correct him. It’s how she knows that her marriage is plausible; if the person closest to her can’t tell, no one else should be able to.

“Enough about that,” she says, flipping the file in her hand open. “Tell me about the new number.”

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