#Fine Faceted Beads

[thegemjournal]

TOP 5 TRUSTED SOURCES FOR FACETED GEMSTONE BEADS

​Are you a jewelry maker looking for high-quality faceted gemstone beads to incorporate into your designs? Look no further! We have compiled a list of the top 5 trusted sources for faceted gemstone beads. From online retailers to local gemstone suppliers, these sources are known for their wide selection, excellent customer service, and exceptional quality of faceted gemstone beads. So whether you're creating a dazzling necklace or a stunning pair of earrings, these trusted sources will provide you with the perfect faceted gemstone beads for your next project.

[fiftysevenacademics]

Wake up babe a new open access review about Ice Age fashion just dropped.

Paleolithic eyed needles and the evolution of dress (Science Advances 28 June 2024)

This article uses the spread of bone awls and needles to trace the evolution of clothing from simple, minimally protective coverings to finely tailored, insulating garments across the geography of the Last Glacial Maximum. Not surprisingly, needle use is associated with cold climates and the need for warm, fitted clothing. But the wide variation in needle size, including very small ones for fine, delicate work, along with frequent discovery of shell and bone beads showing use wear consistent with rubbing against clothing, shows the evolution of clothing into dress. Bodily adornment transitioned to clothing to mark identity and status.

Fig. 4. Puncture marks consistent with leather hole punching on a bone fragment at Canyars, Catalonia, dated to 39,600 cal B.P. Scale bars, 1 cm. Photos: L. Doyon, F. d’Errico.

Fig. 5. Morphological variation in the size and shape of Late Pleistocene eyed needles. Scale bar, 1 cm. Modified from d’Errico et al.

Fig. 2. Nassarius kraussianu shell beads from Blombos Cave Still Bay layers, southern Africa, dated to approximately 73,000 to 70,000 years ago. Arrows indicate use-wear facets. Photos: F. d’Errico [modified after d’Errico et al.]

[multi-fan-dom-madness]

Restrained (Hunter x f!reader drabble)

Summary: Hunter finds himself tied up and at your mercy.

Warnings: fully filth y'all so minors begone; bondage, restraints, blindfolding, sensory play, oral (f receiving)

Word Count: 478

A/N: shout out to Free for the impromptu mini-event. enjoy, babes

You'll never tire of seeing him like this.

The usually composed and stoic facade of the sergeant crumbles at your touch in an instant. His chest heaves with labored breaths, equal parts exertion and exhilaration, his toned arms bulging where he strains against the cuffs binding him to the bed. Ghosting your fingertips delicately up his thigh, tracing the skeletal tattoo, you delight in the deep, rumbling groan the action earns you.

"P-Please, mesh’la," he grits out, "don't be a tease."

"Oh but it's so much more fun when I am," you purr. To punctuate your point, you rake your nails down his flexed abs. The muscles jerk and twitch under your touch, and he squirms, whining.

You've been here before, Hunter restrained and you in charge, but this is the first time he's been willing to remove another facet of control. His bandana sits wrapped like a pretty bow around his eyes. Every new touch, every new sensation, makes him flinch first and moan second. You know from experience how little vision the makeshift blindfold allows; his other senses are working overtime, oversensitive.

Flattening your hands, you smooth over his hips. You shift on the bed until your mouth hovers above his leaking cock. You exhale a warm puff of breath, then flick your tongue out, catching a drop of pre-cum where it beads at the tip.

Hunter's hips jerk and the cuffs snap taut. "K-Kriff, yes."

Letting out a breathy laugh, you repeat the action, earning another stutter of hips up toward your face, and a heady whine.

"You're being so good for me," you murmur, lips barely skimming the velvet sponge of his tip.

"A-Always," he pants, "always for you, mesh’la."

You hum. "I think you deserve a reward."

Above you, he nods his head frantically, another whine tumbling from his lips. You pause to study him for a moment, relishing in the electric feel of control in your core; his skin is dewed with a fine sheen of sweat, a flush high on his cheeks, his lips parted and so fucking pink. A gush of arousal slicks your already sopping folds.

In that moment, you decide his reward.

"Mesh’la, what--"

Confused words are cut off as you nimbly clamber up his body and cant your hips down toward his wet and waiting mouth. He moans like a kriffing holoporn star and cranes his neck to kiss your cunt, his tongue licking a stripe up your folds and circling your clit. With a sigh, you settle your knees further out and lower to properly sit on his face.

"Fuck, thank you," he mumbles into you, and then the only sounds from him are feral groans and needy whines as he suckles, licks, and worships you to orgasm, the first of many for you both tonight.

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[pwlanier]

Large and Rare Non-nacreous Melo Pearls, Melo melo volutidae, Saltwaters near Vietnam.

Weighing approximately 25.50 carats to 36.29 carats. One polished.

Relatively unknown in the West, even George Kunz's compendium of 1908, The Book of The Pearl, had no references to the rare orange pearl offered here. So few have been found, it is no wonder. The Melo melo is the marine snail that produces orange pearls the color of a ripe papaya. The snail generates a pearl-like substance to enclose foreign bodies, or irritants, entering its shell. Both orange and pink pearls (from the conch, Strombus gigas) are "non-nacreous", meaning they do not have a layer of calcium carbonate on their outer surface as white pearls do. Instead, they display a fiery, porcelain-like surface, giving them a unique beauty not possessed by other varieties of pearls. A relative of the conch, the Melo melo volutidae is also a gastropod. It is found in the waters of picturesque Halong Bay (meaning Bay of Dragons), along the northern coast of Vietnam.

Several thousand Melo volutes would have to be harvested for a single pearl to be found, particularly a fine quality pearl of any significant size. As the Melo volute is found in such deep waters almost 15 hours from the shoreline, although edible, it was not typically fished for food.

The Vietnamese Emperors valued the pearl highly and sent ships to search for the Melo shell. In the Pacific, the shell is regarded a sacred object by Buddhists, appearing in much religious imagery. The pearl was an expression of perfection in Buddhist thought as it requires no enhancement or alteration by man when it emerges from its shell, unlike gemstones which require faceting by man to reveal their beauty. The Chinese, Japanese and the Vietnamese all believed that pearls were created in heaven from droplets that fell from the Dragon in the sky. These droplets descended from heaven into open shells in the water. Moonbeams nourished the dragon droplets and these grew into pearls. It is no wonder that the Melo pearl has held a fascination in the East for centuries (Zucker, 1999).

The pearl was one of the eight precious emblems of the Buddha. As a sacred object, these pearls were never drilled or strung as beads. Instead they were used as objects of devotion. The "fiery pearl"— a pearl with a flaming tail and the Dragon are both ubiquitous in Vietnamese decorative arts, found in ceramics, textiles and painting. The Dragon, symbolizing the Emperor, is seen pursuing the pearl. The Emperors surrounded themselves with dragon and "flaming pearl" motifs in their art and even on their Imperial robes. One can now surmise that this was not just a metaphor but an illustration of the wonderful flame-like structure within the porcelain surface of the Melo pearl

The present example is an undrillled, non-nacreous, spherical pearl: its vivid orange color, porcelain finish and excellent luster—as well as its large size—make this one of the world's rarest gems.

Courtesy Alain Truong

[dollsahoy]

My Other Crochet Aunt

Several times I have brought up the very precise and finely-crocheted four dresses my one Aunt-Who-Crocheted made for me when I was very young--way too young to appreciate the skill and time, and I was also not a good audience for the very traditional style of those dresses. I do still have one, and I am happy to have it.

My other Aunt-Who-Crocheted was much more prolific and, frankly, gaudy in her approach. She'd usually start with a rubber band and some crochet thread in colors she liked, and maybe a bag of cheap plastic craft store beads (faceted beads, transparent faceted rondelles, tri beads) and just start crocheting. Lots of skill and fun but no plan and no worried about if the result would be in any way like actual clothes.

When I was little, I loved the piles of doll clothes she made for me (and all my cousins got them, too.) When I got older, I started thinking they were just too unrealistic. I put them away, eventually to sort out my favorites and give the rest away. I understand this could be seen as disrespectful; it's in the past, it's done.

I have not taken many photos of dolls wearing things made by this Aunt, but under the cut are some I've been ale to find (there aren't a lot, but pictures are big)

This originally had a little tab on the chest with two clear faceted beads on it, which I carefully removed at some point

This skirt originally has a bib top on it, which I removed when, I believe, I had to replace the deteriorated rubber band (I threaded in either elastic thread or lightweight elastic cord)

I do have several more dresses made by that Aunt, but I don't know if I've ever photographed them--it took a while to find even those above, and I realized that there are multiple pictures of different dolls wearing most of them (especially the white dress)

[rom-e-o]

At some point, maybe when Connie starts her job at S&C Financials, Bess gifts Connie an antique abacus she managed to find stashed away in a store. "I know you obviously don't have a use for it nowadays, but I thought it might look nice on your desk or shelf or whatever you get to have there. Be a cool conversation piece."

AWWW BESSSS. <3

Okay, I can't resist - here we go!

Perfect Addition

"So ... where is your desk?"

"Right near the front door - I'll show you!"

Constance DoGoode beamed as she escorted Elizabeth "Bess" Sullivan from the bottom-floor lobby of S&C Financials. The business was housed in a longstanding building with large windows and historic bones that made it quite the eye-catching monument compared to the other brutalist cinderblocks that lined the street.

As she pushed in the front door to the office building, they made their way past the other offices and up to the historic staircase. There, a short jaunt up the stairs, they passed by the panoramic glass windows that reveal the inner working of three offices. The three similar, yet subtly different, offices of the business' three owners. All three were filled with large bookcases of ledgers and dossiers, as well as masculine mahogany desks that looks heft enough to each anchor a small ship. Yet, the knickknacks and personal touches within all three spaces conveyed the sentiment that three very different people occupied the offices - and yet all three of them, at this moment, were absent.

There, just a step away from the front door and affronting a small waiting area, was a smaller desk equipped with a desktop and add-on monitor for address screen space. It was a simple set-up, but all she needed for her largely secretarial tasks.

Other than a computer, monitor, mouse and keyboard, a steel placard was the only other item that decorated her desk. Engraved in the metal were the words:

Constance DoGoode Clerk and Accounts Specialist

"Fancy!" Bess said, giving her friend's shoulder an excited squeeze.

"It was very nice of them to do." She sounded humbled, yet very pleased, by the item.

"How was your first day?" Bess pressed eagerly. "All go well?"

"I think so," she said with a hopeful smile, tucking one of the unruly curly-qs that framed her face behind her ear. It immediately sprang back into place. "They're wrapping up a meeting now. I'm waiting to see them out."

"Ah, perfect," Bess said with a clap of the hands. "Well, in that case, I have something for you, while we have a moment."

Constance blinked as she watched her friend gingerly lower her shoulder bag onto the floor, as if something delicate was inside. After tugging the flap up, she reached inside and procured a rectangular option wrapped in petal-pink tissue and tied with a satin ribbon.

"Here," Bess said, shyly nudging it forward, "An, um, office-warming present."

She laughed, then shut her eyes against her own joke. "That ... makes it sound like I got you coal or something, doesn't it? It's not coal. I promise. It's better. I hope."

Taking the gift, Constance pulled the ribbon free and slowly unwrapped the tissue paper. Inside the tissue was a glorious, hand-painted abacus. It was sturdy in her hands, made from heavy wood and faceted-brass.

"I know you obviously don't have a use for it nowadays, but I thought it might look nice on your desk or shelf or whatever you get to have here," Bess explained, watching her friend's face for a reaction. "Be a cool conversation piece, you know?"

Constance stared at the antique tenderly. As she cradled the device in one hand, her other moved to skim her fingers over the wooden beads. She dared to move one, nudging it up so it made a satisfying 'clack' against the other. Her face lit up.

"Oh, Bess. This is a real antique. It's so heavy, and so finely crafted."

"I-If it's too cumbersome to display, I totally understand."

"Absolutely not!" Connie was quick to reply. "In fact, I'm beyond honored. I love it! Oh, Bess, thank you so much!"

Sincerity glittered in her blue eyes, and she surged forward to pull her best friend into a tight hug, careful to not damage the gift while doing so.

Bess returned the embrace happily, relieved to see her friend enjoyed her gift as much as she hoped she would. "Aw, you're welcome. You really like it?"

"I do! Where did you find this?"

"Thrifting, of course," she said with a laugh, "Poor thing was lodged in the back of some dusty bookcase, just begging for a better home. It's in pretty good shape."

"She is!"

"'She?'"

"In fact, she'll be the perfect inaugural decoration. Here."

She turned toward her desk and, with a ceremonial sweep of the arms, bestowed the abacus on the corner of the desk, right behind the computer monitor. It was easily visible from the front door, meaning every visitor that came in would see if when being greeted by her.

After taking a step back to examine the angle and make sure the presentation was befitting of her gift, she turned to Bess with a triumphant smile. "See? The perfect addition! I already feel more at home."

As the girls shared one last hug, the door to the office's meeting room clicked open. Out of the room filed three gentlemen, all stressed smartly in finely-cut suits. They chatted amicably as they walked, exchanging remarks and light chuckles as they went. Two of the men were practically walking shadows of the other, while the other was a redheaded gentleman about a decade younger than the other two, but just as poised.

They made their way to the front area naturally, coming across the two ladies.

"Ah, hello!" Bob Cratchit, the youngest of the three owners said with a polite tip of the head.

Ebenezar Charles Scrooge, half of London's most esteemed philanthropy duo, bore a pleased but surprised expression. He nodded to Constance first, then more keenly to Bess, hands clasped behind his back. The posture made him look even more tall and proud, which was quite the achievement. That, combined with his slightly longer hair, gave him a more roguish air than his brother. "Why, hello there. This is quite the surprise! I hope we didn't hold you ladies up."

Constance observed Bess shift on her feet at the sight of him, her hands going behind her back as well.

Ebenezer Samuel Scrooge, the other twin, clasped his hands at his waist and bowed gently to the two women. "Apologies for the delay. I hope you weren't waiting long."

"Not at all," she said, then looked to Bess with a grin, "I was just showing Bess around. Look, she was kind enough to bring me a gift for my desk as well! Isn't it marvelous - quite on theme, I think!"

"C-Connie..."

"That's quite a kind gesture," Ebenezar agreed, a softness touching his voice. "A thrifted treasure, yes?"

The raven-haired woman smirked. "How did you know?"

"I just had an inkling," he said, playfully squinting his eyes at her.

"Are you saying I'm predictable, good sir?"

"Perish the thought."

While his brother chatted amicably with Bess, Ebenezer redirected his gaze to Constance. "I'm so glad to see you're settling in. Truly. You did very well today, in case nobody mentioned it."

"Thank you, sir."

"Tell me, do you have any questions after your first day?"

"Oh, I'm sure I'll have plenty down the line," she said in good humor, "But ... none right now. I just ... I am very excited to have this opportunity, Mr. Scrooge."

"Ebenezer, please. No 'sir' either. It is not necessary."

"Very well, E-Ebenzer. I truly can't thank you enough for this chance."

The depth of her gratitude was easy to hear in her voice, and see on her lovely face. Cheeks turning a slight shade of pink, he put on his most gentlemanly smile. "Of course. Any questions, I am happy to answer at any time."

"I appreciate it. I do hope I'll be a helpful member of the team."

"I have complete faith that you'll do amazingly well," Ebenezer said fondly. "I think you'll be the perfect addition to the team."

That was fun~

[heilith]

Coral and Crystal

My second piece for Scribbles and Drabbles 2023. For the first time in the history of this blog, Maglor, for your entertainment.

The lovely necklace by lferion as a prompt. Hope you have fun.

Tw: blood, possibly depression. But it's gonna be fine. :)

@fall-for-tolkien

Coral and Crystal

His songs followed his grief on the final road to oblivion. It was now impossible to remember the day when the last drop of regret had trickled out of him, leaving his mind and soul empty like a cracked vial. He welcomed that loss with relief. He was still foolish enough to believe he had nothing else to be robbed of.

And then all those melodies, and laments, everything to the simplest lonely notes fell silent, too, with the silence only the dead had mastered to such a degree of perfection. 

His hands were weak and pale now, with neither a sword nor a harp to give them work. 

Maglor pushed himself up from the damp rock with difficulty. Crystals of salt sank their teeth into his palm at the effort, drawing a fair amount of his blood as a payment for hospitality. 

The merfolk, who up to the moment were cluttering around him like a king’s court, galumphed from their spots as they would always do whenever he chose to move on. Their beautiful mouths were folding into grimaces of annoyance and letting out low animalistic growls. 

He’d stopped resenting their presence long ago, eerie as they were with their half-human appearance and disturbingly inhuman ways. He would have, had their sentience lived up to the jealousy they were putting into adorning and grooming themselves. Yet under the disguise of the crimson coral beads, hugging their necks in numerous layers, and the hair combs of polished bone, which never seemed to be out of their restless hands, they remained nothing but beasts, and the most indifferent and dangerous kind of them.

And then again…Indifference was a blessing to him. 

And his fears died before his grief had. 

But they were restless today…

The youngest of the creatures jerked up his head, his nostrils widening. In one awkward motion it propped itself up and shuffled towards the seat their Elven companion had stood up from moments ago. The sudden splash of interest appeared contagious - the herd was drawing closer to the rock, their grunts became aggressive.

The youngster snarled with triumph, reaching out for the traces of blood, red against the gray of the stone.

The air between his clutching fingers thickened. 

The stains lost their liquid gloss and shrank to odd bead-like shapes. It didn’t take Maglor long to realize that was what they’d become – a scattering of crimson coral beads. The trophies soon to join the countless rows of their kind over someone’s slimy neck.

That was the destiny he had reduced himself to. 

Anger woke him up. He shuddered in revulsion, for once not focused on himself.  

Slowly he closed his fist to make sure there was enough of his blood on the pebbles under his feet to afford him a slow escape.   For the first time in thousands of days he’d walked the shores of Arda the waves were roaring behind him.

“Do you like it?” 

“Yes,” he said earnestly, yet again scolding himself for his helplessness at the sight of your smile. Words were fleeing him when he needed them the most. 

“You’re not looking.” 

“I am.” 

He was looking. At the way your hair was falling over your eyes again and again, no matter how many times you removed it. At the way sun dapples were dancing on your cheek, when you tilted your head, as if your inner light was breaking through your hroa wilfully, hungry for freedom. At the tiny twist your lips would always make, when his name was ready to slip off them. He delighted in the sound of it echoing through him before any sound was born at all.  

“Maglor…”

He forced himself to lend an eye to the item that have captured your attention in this weird tiny shop.

“Coral,” the statement came out crispier than he had hoped he could manage it.  

“And crystals,” you stroked the facets of the yellowish bead between two solid drops of blood, “Like sundrops, aren’t they? Screaming “summer, here I come”.”

He couldn’t bear to disappoint you. 

…The day was unbearably golden. The soft light of early June, about as tender as the touch of your hand, was seeping in through his skin unbidden. The benches at the beach could easily accommodate a bigger company than the two of you, but you still chose to curl up under the drape of his arm, the warmth of your body a welcome protection against the chilly breeze from the sea.  

It felt almost wrong to be blessed like this. 

All he needed was not to remember about the string of haunting memories, resting where your collarbones met. 

“They say you never really know the history behind old things,” you spoke suddenly, “They say they can bring you bad luck.” 

The needle of regret moved just a little bit deeper into his heart. He should have known better than to think it had rusted for good. 

“Perhaps, you’d better part with them before they do.” 

You laughed and nuzzled into his chest, so that your voice was muffled when you teased him gently:

“Don’t you trust me to handle a little family curse?” 

You did wear the necklace well. It looked at home on you, the anger of raw blood tamed by the careless sunlight. 

You made it easy to let it all go. 

“I do,” lied he quietly. 

But I’ll follow my brothers before I make you. 

[sweetmage]

WIP WMonday

I always forget to post a WIP on Wednesday, so how about now?

I bring you ✨️Gale Angst!!✨️

This is part of a yet unfinished Rhidyl/Gale longfic I've been chipping away at for a while. This chapter deals with the degradation and hopelessness Gale feels from having to feed the orb and his feelings of being a burden on those who care for him. Takes place in act 1 the evening after the third artifact fails to sate him.

WIP under the cut!

"If it's hungry," Rhidyl reached behind his neck, fiddling with the clasp of his precious pendant until it came undone, "then feed it. If one won't suffice then maybe two will do it." He presented the pendant to Gale, chain looped loosely around his fingers, it's prismatic gem dangling to lure his gaze.

Temptation stirred beneath Gale's skin, the throbbing in his chest bringing sweat to his palms. "I couldn't," he said, though he knew the lie was evident.

Rhidyl closed the gap between them, pushing the pendant into Gale's reluctant hands. "You can."

"Might I remind you that these sorts of offerings have diminishing returns? Desperate as I am, I can't sponge the last life from your valuable possessions for a mere temporary—and might I add, not guaranteed— bit respite."

But Rhidyl looked at him without doubt or uncertainty, even when Gale tried to press the pendant back into his hands. "Are you in any position to turn it down?"

The answer was obvious, especially when the hunger panged so strong that he nearly doubled over.

No. He wasn't.

"I've never seen you without this around your neck," Gale muttered, turning it over in his hands. "What is this to you?"

"Something I snatched from a neck less deserving. I won't lose sleep over it."

Gale stared into the glinting, shifting facets of the jewel as they caught the torchlight. "Be as flippant as you want, I know there's more to that story. Why do you carry it if not for sentimental value?"

"Because it's pretty and I like pretty things," Rhidyl answered with a shrug. "There is, of course, a practical aspect in it's cloaking capabilities, but I've hardly any need for that now. That's not sentimental, that's pragmatic. And so is this. Eat up."

Rhidyl always dripped lies and half-truths like beads from a cut string and this was surely no exception. Whatever Gale held in his hands was clearly not surface made nor a mere trinket.

The chain's silver was worked too finely and it's pendant too elegant for any simple bauble. When held close to his eye he could make out small, intricate Drowic inscriptions winding in spirals around the beveled edges.

But why, then, was Rhidyl so keen to part with it? This could not have been offered lightly and the right choice would be, of course, to decline. Yet the desperate hunger in him could not—would not—wait.

"Could you at least... turn away?" Gale asked, voice low and tinged with shame.

"If you'd prefer." Rhidyl obliged, turning his back and crossing his arms. "Nothing I've not seen before, though."

"That may be," Gale muttered, turning his attention back to the jewel. "But that doesn't mean I'm particularly fond of displaying the uglier sides of myself."

Rhidyl only shrugged again, a barely there twitch of his shoulders.

Clutching to what little dignity remained, Gale brought the pendant to his chest and pressed it to the searing flesh until it sunk into him and was greedily swallowed by the orb. There was a brief flash of heat and light, followed by the rush of energy that flooded his veins. His muscles spasmed and his fingers twitched, his vision briefly clouded, but as soon as the sensation hit him it passed.

The pain lingered, however. The ache in his bones, the sharp stabs in his joints, they were all still there. But the pendant was no more.

He stared down at his empty hand until his vision blurred. He couldn't help the bitterness that rose up, the despair and the shame. He blinked and his clouded vision coalesced into long held tears that fell into his open palm.

[wildbeautifuldamned]

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[ephemeralove]

blood on the whetstone

Rusalka reminds her of what she can never cease to be.

When she was little, she had wanted a mother... though not specifically a mother, per se. She had wanted a family, a friend, a companion, a confidant -- she had wanted someone, anyone, who when they reached out their hand would not strike her down, but pull her back up. She had wanted to be loved.

By the time she arrives in Rusalka, Katarina has been slotted into the place where she belongs. Like one piece out of many to fashion a weapon, she is pointed twice over: first by the church towards the terrible unknown, and second by their guide Keranes. She presents them neither crimes nor comfort -- only familiar faces with which to bloody their hands. They number fourteen, a perfect mirror, and by their sacrifice they might dismantle this illusory village and cut the evil from its heart. Yet look as she might, all Katarina sees are the faces of those who have been loved.

Then one rainy day there came a woman robed in lovely colors-- a lady, not a mother -- who extended her hand. Not that Reese had known what to do with it. She shrank away as violets do, staring, quivering, scared. At that, the woman had laughed. It was a beautiful sound; no one had ever laughed for her before; and so she could not hear how still no one ever had. My name is Eremiyah, the woman had said, and that would be the first and only time Reese called her by name alone. Eremiyah, she had repeated, and there were stars in her eyes.

And there are stars in her eyes, brilliant, blue, and bright. The confusion of why Kris is here is rarely ever comparable to the joy of the simple fact of it. Her hand hovers by his elbow, but when he speaks, she knows: he is not her Kris. Perhaps he is not even Kris at all. Keranes' words echo in the back of her skull, a death knell that calls for half his number, but in her selfishness she does not want to give him up, not even if he is false. She worries that this will be their undoing, and worries more that she might regret not following him when he pulls away.

Her chin, poised between thumb and forefinger; the first hand to hold and not to hurt. "You'll do as I say. Won't you, Reese?" Pressure placed lightly at the point of bone. She could break away, if she wanted to, but then she would disappoint her. Clarisse would scoff, and Roro would laugh in the way she'd learned she didn't like. Blood smears on the fine edge of a blade Reese hesitates to hold, beading against the soft flesh of her palm, and Lady Eremiyah smiles the smile she would do anything for. "After all, your life exists for mine."

The sun has only just kissed its zenith in the sky when she looks down upon a young man's corpse. The first attempt on his life comes from the very man who had loved him into this place; the first to claim it from a girl whose mercy is to usher him away once more. It is through their first incendiary actions that Rusalka's soil turns copper and foul, though she cannot find it in herself to blame them. If not them, then someone else would have broken this tepid peace. Someone else would have hated her for the blood they spilled, faulted her for the crimes she learned because of them. Rusalka is not so different from Knorda.

Knorda was only ever beautiful when it was silent. Reese had never loved it, but she had liked it most when the night swept away the day and all its angels went to sleep, so that finally she could scrabble through the garbage for a bite to eat, and finally she could have a moment of rest until morning's first unfriendly heel found her ribs again. They were what Lady Eremiyah taught her not to be -- no, she was a weapon of a different kind. Her timidity, her soft-spoken manner, every facet of who she was refashioned into a tool until she could no longer trust herself. ...until she learned that earnestness was the best way to slip a knife between the ribs.

On their second morning, she is minded of Altea Castle -- not before her departure, but after her return. The once-and-no-longer tactician wears all the mistrust and suspicion with the familiarity of one who would be uncomfortable without it, instead standing at a lonesome edge in contemplation of her worry. Such mundane things as were her joy before (Had he eaten enough? Slept enough? He wasn't hiding any injuries, was he?) are vanished in the moment; are her sorrow now. And for good reason: Kris never comes back.

She killed because she was told to, because that was what she was made to be, and because-- she knew well this was the truth-- she had never chosen for herself to be better. In the end, she still never chose for herself, but for a bright blue star. He was the first to offer his hand and let her be; without carving her, without remaking her, she was enough for him the way she was. And he had laughed for her, once. It was a beautiful sound; no one had ever laughed for her before; and so she could finally hear how wonderful it was to be loved.

The path out of Rusalka they cut for themselves (she is not alone in her mourning, in her worry and sorrow) ends with a body. He lays in the dirt like some half forgotten thing, like his corpse is a pedestal to triumph, and Katarina hates it. Loathes it. Herself most of all for the fact that she will continue regardless of if he is true and real, because death is absolution for a sinner, and the things (the person) he loves remain behind.

The path into what she supposed was her home was as dark as she remembered, for she and they had lived there, and it was never a place meant for lovable things. But there was something worth saving now, though he would live on without her, and though he did not need to be saved. Yet he was the choice she made, and so she led them, light into the darkness.

One final act of defiance, the metaphorical guillotine at her throat--

--the metaphorical guillotine at his throat, the weapon he once polished now having bled him dry--

--the weapon she once polished now having bled her dry, and Katarina leaves her body in the dirt, blood sticky beneath her hands--

--and Katarina leaves his body in the dirt, wildflowers mournful beneath his hands, and it terrifies her that she has no answer for the question heavy at the back of her mind.

Am I... different than I was back then?

They return to Rusalka; light ebbs into darkness ebbs into light. She considers in frenetic, wounded, resentful cycles all manner of things: Who was it? Did they think he was real? Why did they choose him? Was his blood so easy to spill? They make a torrent, a maelstrom, gnashing the kindness she wants to be between the fangs of heartache. And Keranes asked this of them, did she not? She had set them upon their hearts and by this upon each other, a tepid why offered without so much as a how -- and they all had been so happy to oblige.

...In the end, she does not kill because she chooses not to, even if choice has been a hard thing to learn.

(The blade remains sharp, for the past can never be unmade. It is part of her, and she is Katarina: a lady's broken blade, the king's knife, and the sum of the love she has been given & the blood on the whetstone.)

[distilled-prose]

6/14/24 LinkedIn - from Rui Galopim de Carvalho

Gem quality emeralds are known to typically display internal characteristics, such as those known in gemmology as fluid inclusions and fissures, sometimes in such a quantity that it may compromise the stone's "crystalline" transparency, making polishing as bead, as cabochon or carving as an adequate options in fashioning. Colombian emeralds, such as those produced in the 16th and 17th century, were often carved with artistic or devotional motifs, in both low and high clarity rough material. This ca. 1635 green box (4 x 5 cm) made in Mughal India using gold sheet, set with faceted diamond in gold kundan, with an enamelled base, is set with 103 matched Colombian emeralds carved in shallow relief to depict cypress trees within borders of repeated stylized leaves, is a fine example of this fashioning solution. At the highest levels of the Mughal courts, a considerable number of carved emeralds were commissioned and this is believed to be one of those cases. Photos © Khalili Collections

can you believe it!? fantastic!!!

[thegemjournal]

WHAT ARE THE BENEFITS OF USING FACETED GEMSTONE BEADS IN JEWELRY MAKING?

Faceted gemstone beads are a popular choice among jewelry makers for their unique and eye-catching appearance. These beads are cut and polished in a way that creates multiple flat surfaces, also known as facets, that reflect and refract light, giving the gemstones a dazzling sparkle. This makes them an excellent choice for adding a touch of elegance and glamour to any piece of jewelry. But the benefits of using faceted gemstone beads go beyond just their aesthetic appeal. In this blog post, we will explore the various advantages of incorporating these beautiful beads into your jewelry making projects. From their durability to their versatility, there are many reasons why faceted gemstone beads have become a staple in the world of jewelry making. So let's dive in and discover what makes these beads so special and why you should consider using them in your next jewelry creation.

ELEVATING AESTHETIC APPEAL WITH EVERY FACET

One of the most immediate benefits of incorporating faceted gemstone beads into your jewelry creations is the remarkable elevation in aesthetic appeal they provide. The intricate cutting and polishing process these beads undergo result in numerous flat surfaces that catch and play with light in mesmerizing ways. For instance, faceted ruby beads can imbue a piece with a deep, radiant glow, turning a simple bracelet into a statement piece. Similarly, faceted emerald beads can add a touch of lush, vibrant green, offering a luxurious and fresh look. The angular precision of faceting not only enhances the inherent beauty of the gemstones but also adds a dimensional depth that flat or smooth round beads simply cannot achieve. You can check here the difference between faceted beads and smooth beads for better understanding.

This unique characteristic of faceted gemstone beads ensures that even the simplest jewelry designs stand out, catching the eye and captivating the imagination with every turn. The ability to transform light into a spectrum of color and brilliance makes faceted gemstone beads an invaluable asset for anyone looking to elevate the aesthetic appeal of their jewelry creations.

VERSATILITY IN DESIGN POSSIBILITIES

Faceted gemstone beads bring an unparalleled versatility to jewelry design, allowing creators to explore a myriad of styles, from the classic elegance of traditional pieces to the boldness of modern aesthetics. The variety of cuts, including micro faceted beads, introduces a level of precision and detail that can cater to intricate designs demanding subtlety and finesse. The faceted rondelle shape beads, in particular, offer a sleek and sophisticated option, ideal for creating layered beads necklace or charm bracelets that require beads of uniform shape but varied color. This versatility extends to the use of these wholesale gemstone beads across different types of jewelry, such as gemstone earrings, gemstone rings, necklaces, and bracelets, enabling designers to mix and match for cohesive collections or standout pieces.

The adaptability of faceted gemstone beads ensures that they can be seamlessly incorporated into both high-end, luxurious creations and more casual, everyday wear items. This broadens the creative horizon, encouraging designers to experiment with combinations of texture, color, and form. Ultimately, the versatility of faceted gemstone beads opens up a world of design possibilities, inviting jewelry makers to push the boundaries of their creativity.

THE ALLURE OF UNIQUENESS AND EXCLUSIVITY

In the world of jewelry, the quest for pieces that reflect a sense of individuality and uniqueness is unending. Faceted gemstone beads cater to this desire, offering an exclusivity that mass-produced jewelry simply cannot match. Each bead, with its distinct cut and inherent characteristics, brings a unique story to the table. This is particularly evident in handcrafted jewelry, where the natural variations in color, size, and shape of faceted gemstone beads mean that no two pieces are exactly alike. For collectors and fashion enthusiasts alike, this adds an irresistible allure to jewelry pieces, making them not just accessories but personal statements. The meticulous process of faceting also ensures that each bead maximizes the gemstone's natural beauty, making every piece feel bespoke and luxurious. This exclusivity is especially appealing to those who prize individual expression in their style, making faceted gemstone bead jewelry a sought-after addition to any collection. In essence, the uniqueness and exclusivity offered by these stone beads transform simple jewelry pieces into treasured keepsakes that reflect the wearer's personal taste and style.

ENHANCING DURABILITY THROUGH CRAFTSMANSHIP

The process of creating faceted gemstone beads is not just an art; it's a meticulous craft that significantly contributes to the durability of jewelry pieces. The faceting process involves precise cutting and polishing, which not only reveals the beauty of the gemstone but also enhances its structural integrity. Gemstones are naturally hard materials, but when they are expertly faceted, they are shaped in a way that reduces the likelihood of chipping and breakage. This means that jewelry made with faceted gemstone beads can withstand the wear and tear of daily use better than those with untreated stones.

Additionally, the facets themselves are designed in a manner that distributes stress across the bead's surface, making them less prone to cracking. The careful selection of high-quality loose gemstones and the expertise of skilled artisans in faceting contribute to creating beads that offer both aesthetic appeal and long-lasting durability. Jewelry makers who choose faceted gemstone beads are thus investing in the longevity of their creations, ensuring that their beauty endures as much as their structural soundness.

THE PSYCHOLOGICAL IMPACT OF WEARING FACETED GEMSTONES

Beyond their undeniable beauty and versatility, faceted gemstone beads carry profound psychological effects for those who wear them. The meticulous craftsmanship and radiant glow of these faceted gemstones can significantly influence emotions and mindset. Many people believe in the healing properties of these natural gemstones, attributing to them the power to affect mood, energy levels, and overall well-being.

For instance, the vibrant sparkle of faceted amethyst beads may instill a sense of calm and clarity, aiding in stress relief and promoting mental balance. Similarly, beautifully faceted citrine beads, gleaming with the sun's warmth, are often associated with joy, encouraging a more optimistic outlook on life. Wearing jewelry adorned with these carefully crafted gems can serve as a personal talisman, offering not just a visual delight but also a psychological boost. The act of choosing a piece featuring a specific gemstone for its perceived benefits underscores the intimate connection between the wearer and their jewelry, making the experience uniquely personal and profoundly impactful. This deep emotional engagement adds another layer of value to faceted gemstone beads, making them not just a choice for adornment but also a means for emotional and psychological enrichment.

FACETED GEMSTONE BEADS AS A SUSTAINABLE CHOICE

Choosing faceted gemstone beads for jewelry making not only elevates the aesthetic and emotional value of a piece but also aligns with a growing commitment to sustainability. The process of sourcing gemstone beads often adheres to ethical mining practices, ensuring minimal environmental impact and fair labor conditions. Additionally, the durability of faceted gemstones promotes longevity in jewelry pieces, reducing the need for frequent replacements and, consequently, diminishing waste. Many gemstone beads are obtained from small-scale mining operations that prioritize the preservation of local ecosystems and communities.

This sustainable approach extends to the artisans who meticulously cut and polish each bead, often using traditional techniques passed down through generations, thus supporting cultural heritage and reducing the carbon footprint associated with mass production. By choosing faceted gemstone beads, designers and consumers participate in a cycle of responsible consumption and production, contributing to a more sustainable future in the fashion and jewelry industry. This choice reflects a conscious decision to embrace beauty and craftsmanship without compromising the well-being of our planet.

CONCLUSION: THE TIMELESS CHARM OF FACETED GEMSTONE BEADS

In wrapping up our exploration of faceted gemstone beads, it's clear that their appeal goes far beyond mere aesthetics. These gems offer a unique combination of beauty, versatility, and durability that is unmatched in the jewelry-making world.

The journey through the multifaceted benefits of these beads hopefully inspires you to embrace their potential in your next jewelry project, elevating your work to new heights of elegance and expression.

[fuckyeahfightlock]

Advent Ficlets 2022, Day 1

'tis the Season

It was nearly eight o’clock by the time Sherlock had pronounced his frenzy of holiday decorating, “Finished!,” and then they spent another three-quarters of an hour putting away empty boxes and wrappings, sweeping fallen pine needles from beneath the twin trees--one by each window on the Baker Street side--folding tissue paper into which breakables would later be replaced for another year’s storage in the second bedroom, and pouring the last of the Spanish red they’d had with their takeaway supper into stemless wine glasses, then pouring themselves into their armchairs, face to face, sharing a single footstool.

“Well, I’m exhausted,” John smiled, gazing around the now glinting and glimmering flat. “Can’t imagine how you’re feeling. You did the lion’s share.”

“You’re a capable assistant,” Sherlock replied, “And I find it invigorating.”

“Cheers to. . .” John gestured with the third-full glass in his right hand. “All of this. Absolutely stunning.”

Sherlock raised his glass, lowered his eyes demurely. They sipped and sighed and surveyed their handiwork. The trees, of course: this year dressed in shades John thought of as blueish deep green and arterial-blood red, which Sherlock had identified--and swatched on a poster-sized “inspiration board”--as dark peacock teal and muted dark cherry, on baubles, strings of beads like faceted jewels, and exuberant sprays of fine ribbon, wearing their usual twinkle of off-white fairy lights. A mantelscape of balsam boughs, flickering faux candles, and custom ribbon in a plaid that incorporated Sherlock’s chosen colours (”How much does it cost to have that made, anyway?” “I charged it to the Crown via my brother.” “Wow, that much.”). Deep red, fresh roses beginning to open their petals, in tall slender vases on the side tables. Wreathes on the doors, a swag of pine and jewels in the arch between kitchen and sitting room, even a coordinated set of small throw rugs here and there over their usual laminate and the red rug, which Sherlock would not abide clashing with his decor for an entire month.

John’s gaze came to rest on the new-to-him but clearly quite ancient, probably antique, lace-and-linen tablecloth Sherlock had placed on the big table in the sitting room they used as their shared desk. It reminded him of something, and he hummed at the memory, half-grinning.

“Did I tell you I saw a wedding party getting poured on with rain yesterday? Outside the church around the way.” He pointed vaguely. “Bride, groom, all the girls there in matching shoes, holding their flowers. The gents were trying to keep everyone covered with umbrellas.”

Sherlock indicated he was listening with a light, ah, and a nod.

“I felt sorry for them, but they were all smiling.”

“Quite the done thing, at weddings--smiling,” Sherlock said. “Or so I’m told.”

“Anyway, I hope their party was nice. The breakfast. The disco.” John shrugged. “The tablecloth reminded me. Of the wedding dress.”

Sherlock nodded again, then lightly muttered, “The disco,” the air-quotes implicit in his tone though he did not actually make them. “Such a fuss.”

“You like a party, though,” John replied.

“I like my party.”

“Well if we ever get married, no disco,” John acceded with a grin. “Cocktails and appetizers and everyone out the door.”

“As it should be.”

After briefly stretching himself in his chair, John drained the final sip of the wine in his glass and got to his feet. He extended one hand to Sherlock, who readily slipped his own palm against John’s. “To bed, I think.”

As they undressed on opposite sides of the bedroom, turned back the bedclothes, and eased into bed, they were quiet, and only when both lamps had been turned off and they were arranging themselves close, warming each other while the sheets were still cold, did Sherlock speak. Low and quiet, he wondered, “If we get married?”

John’s heart thrilled and the darkness encouraged him to be unguarded; it was easier when Sherlock could not slit his eyes at him disbelievingly, nor crumple his nosebridge in feigned confusion, nor--perhaps most heartrending of all--soften his brow upward, widening his eyes in dismay or uncertainty. “Well. Two years together.”

As if that offered explanation, justification, or a definitive answer to an incomplete question, John left it at that. He found Sherlock’s wrist and caressed it, then cradled his hand and stroked the backs of Sherlock’s knuckles with his thumb.

“In fact,” Sherlock said, still quiet, but in his matter-of-fact, data-sharing tone, “I read recently that the Christmas season is now next most popular after June and October for weddings. Based on the most recent years’ surveys.”

John smiled to himself in the dark. “That’s interesting,” he said. “I’d not heard that.”

“It needn’t be extravagant. I think so long as it’s meaningful to the people involved, an intimate celebration is perfectly acceptable.”

“For a wedding?”

“Yes, for a wedding.”

John was quiet a moment; Sherlock squeezed his hand.

“I just want to be sure we’re on the same page, Sherlock. Or at least reading from the same book.” He cleared his throat. “Are you talking about--?”

“Our wedding.”

“Oh, OK.” John nodded, and he could hear his hair being disarranged against the pillowslip. “Yes then, same page. I agree, meaningful and intimate are both perfectly lovely things for a wedding.”

“Our wedding.”

“Yes, for our wedding.”

Sherlock loosed his hand from John’s gentle grip and laid it along John’s jaw, kissed him resolutely. They smiled into it, near-laughed, kissed again, kissed until the bed was warmed.

[therealmadblonde]

Forest Shades

Thought to be the ghosts of trees that lived to be ancient, forest shades are only found in old-growth stands. Most people who see them have no idea what they are; they assume that they are a fleeting glimmer, a trick of the light somehow reflected onto dark trunks, branches, and leaves. Forest Shades can only be perceived by humans as light, colour, and movement, though it is believed that many animals recognise them as beings on additional levels.

Forest Shades have mastered the art of camouflage: in an evergreen forest, the Shades will always be green, albeit a brighter, more vivid green than any leaf or needle. In deciduous forests, Shades may be the green of spring leaves, the yellow of aspens, or red of autumn maples. In winter, they mimic the clear, nearly-blue brightness of ice or blinding white light of snow. However, no matter how colourful the local fauna is, Shades do not appear in ways that they might mistaken for birds or insects.

You may never be sure if you have seen a Forest Shade. They are incredibly shy and impossibly fast, usually gone before the human mind can register the image. But if it stays with you-- if you are walking quietly through an old wood and stop in your tracks, somehow knowing you've seen more than a flash of sunlight through the trees-- you may have glimpsed a Forest Shade. They do not have a set form; they may be streaks, or starbursts, or even ripples as if reflected off of water. But they are always brighter than anything around them and they delight in dazzling the eye.

Forest Shades seem to be simple creatures, with little thought beyond enjoying the dance of sun and wind. Perhaps the tree spirits, having been stationary for so long, are enjoying the ability to move swiftly and freely. They are diurnal and easily startled, but also quite curious and playful. If you are patient and have the privilege of access to an old-growth forest, it is even possible to attract them. Faceted glass beads in green, amber, and red, and shards of mirror hung from branches or tied to tree trunks have been known to catch their attention and keep Forest Shades at play long enough--if you are very careful not to startle them--that they can be observed by humans. Do NOT string the beads with fine strings like fishing wire or you may harm local birds or animals. And NEVER bring your dog with you if you want to see a Forest Shade.

#build a beast

[huanglaoshu]

More about Jeeves's habit of giving excessive detail when narrating events.

"Have you ever [canvassed electors] before?" "Once or twice, sir, before I entered your employment." "What were your methods?" "I outlined as briefly as possible the main facets of my argument, bade my auditors goodbye, and withdrew." "No preliminaries?" "Sir?" "You didn't make a speech of any sort before getting down to brass tacks? No mention of Burke or Shakespeare or the poet Burns?" "No, sir. It might have caused exasperation." I disagreed with him.... There is probably nothing a voter enjoys more than hearing the latest about Burke and his On the Sublime and Beautiful, and here he was, deliberately chucking away the advantages his learning gave him.

-- Jeeves and the Tie That Binds, chapter 8

So I'm going to go with, Jeeves is well aware that his habit of including too much detail annoys people, and thus was deliberately riling up Stoker in Thank You, Jeeves.

He reads a little autistic to me, honestly. Caring about little details and memorizing stuff. He also has a flat affect.

Here Bertie has explained that Aunt Dahlia has pinched a silver porringer, and she says it's from the time of Charles the Second by some Dutchman, and then:

"Then I think I know the porringer to which you allude, sir," said Jeeves, his face lighting up as much as it ever lights up, he for reasons of his own preferring at all times to preserve the impassivity of a waxwork at Madame Tussaud's. "It was featured in a Sotheby's catalog at which I happened to be glancing not long ago. Would it," he asked the ancestor, "be a silver-gilt porringer on circular molded foot, the lower part chased with acanthus foliage, with beaded scroll handles, the cover surmounted by a foliage on a rosette of swirling acanthus leaves, the stand of tazza form on circular detachable feet with acanthus border joined to a multifoil plate, the palin top with upcurved rim?"

-- Jeeves and the Tie That Binds, chapter 15

Jeeves also remembers the maker's name and the price.

Then there's a conversation with just him and Bertie, which starts with:

"You wish a complete report?" "That's right. Omit no detail, however slight." ... "...and Mrs. McCorkadale rose to speak. She was wearing a smart coat in fine quality repp over a long-sleeved frock of figured marocain pleated at the sides and finished at the neck with--" "Skip all that, Jeeves." "I am sorry, sir. I thought you wished every detail, however slight." "Only when they're -- what's the word?" "Pertinent, sir?" "That's right. Take the McCorkadale's outer crust as read. How was her speech?" ... "If I might consult my notes for a moment. Ah, yes. Mr. Winship's opening words were, 'Ladies and gentlemen, I come before you a changed man.' A voice: 'That's good news.' A second voice: 'Shut up, you bleeder.' A third voice..." "I think we might pass lightly over the voices, Jeeves." "Very good, sir. Mr. Winship then said..."

-- Jeeves and the Tie That Binds, chapter 16

Bertie guides the recitation quite well and never gets annoyed with the extra details. He's just like, "yeah, skip that bit," and moves right along.

[misscammiedawn]

15, 20, 26

I'd say 16 but I know the answer to that one :P

Answers for this ask meme

15: Do you prefer to be behind the camera or in front of it?

As well you know, lass, when I am in a mood(tm) I find myself treating the camera's eye as a spotlight and when I am caged by a spotlight I am forced to perform. A Fae curse that I carry with pride, though it can be quite the burden. Alas I have never modeled for a professional before. That is something I do so desire, the ability to witness my beauty through the eyes of one who is capable of coaxing it from any subject. Behind the lens, though, it matters not which mood I am in. It was my first and purest artistic passion. Though I am an event photographer, not a portrait photographer. I do consider myself mildly talented, however. Here is a gathering of some of my portfolio:

20: What is your greatest weakness; your greatest strength?

My greatest weakness is a lack of stable foundation in all things that pairs with a lack of commitment. I'm terrifyingly apathetic about many things and often find myself performing passion as a means of connecting with other people. Witnessing how many things I simply dropped out of my life when people who used to mean the world to me stopped being in my life is haunting. I fear I need both incentive and external validation in order to strive. Tabletop Roleplay, Music theory and composition, audio editing, Flash animation, Python programming, movie analysis, cosplay construction, bead work, tailoring, model making and video editing are all skills I no longer possess because I turned my back on everything that made them up when the relationships that drew them out of me died. I imagine much of my managerial prowess left when I stopped running movie theatres, too. My greatest strength is likely my adaptiveness and resilience. I find myself to be quite adept at picking up new habits and falling in to new concepts and ideals. It makes me remarkably good when it comes to hypnosis on every side of a dynamic. As long as I remain on top of myself and maintain personal responsibility, it is the greatest boon to me and I do tend to remain keyed in when I have the power to be as such.

26: Are you happy with the person you’ve become?

A difficult question. I am satisfied with who I am today. I am comfortable and with that comfort I am stabilizing. There is much work yet to be done with my mental health struggles, of which I am still within the first of a many-year process to master, and my transition, which I am in my final year of actively working on before inertia and medication management will handle the rest. Truth is, there is a facet of me stuck in the past who thinks we have regressed since the days we owned a house, run a business, mentored people and had a marriage and a place within a small little art studio. There is also an insatiable yearning within me that claims we need to do and be more. Make more hypnosis content, teach more classes, be more active and well regarded within the community. To be caught between the winds of change means we'll never feel truly happy with ourselves, but we can appreciate we're improving. Day by day. That means something. I used to celebrate only thinking of self-harm once or twice a week. We're getting to once or twice a month now. That has to mean something.

and of course...

16: Simple but extremely complex. Favorite band?

These fine gentlemen and a dearly missed poet with a drumkit of whom I miss dearly...