#crackled quartz

[strawbexie]

Daily Tarot Reading 🤍✨

If you needed a sign, this is it. Take a deep breath, think about what you desire, trust your intuition…Now choose whichever chooses you. 🌀

Card One - Crackle Quartz - Counteracts negative energy. Excellent amulet to avoid negative energy. It is also useful for regaining positive emotions and energy.

Card Two - Clear Quartz - Power stone that harmonizes and balances. It augments energy by absorbing, amplifying, and balancing, storing, retrieving, focusing, transmitting and channelling universal energy and is excellent for unblocking it.

Card Three - Libyan Desert Glass - Accelerate the processes of renewal and healing in the body. Enhance creative energy flow and repel negative fearful emotions that weaken.

Cards have been revealed in next post.

[lonniemachin]

JEWELRY RAFFLE FOR PALESTINIAN RELIEF

A local artisan was kind enough to provide me with 8 pieces of authentic crystal jewelry to offer for donation funds — as I am unsure how to go about doing an auction, I’ve decided to open a raffle supporting three different campaigns for Palestinian families looking to evacuate Gaza or in need of survival aid while in Gaza.

These families are:

Ahmed and Maram’s family (in Euro)

Mohammed Shamia’s family (in Swedish kroner)

Marah Atallah’s family (in USD)

All families are 100% legitimate — I have been in contact with Maram and Ahmed for months, who have provided me multiple pictures, videos, and recordings of their situation. They have been featured in a video by YouTuber Ro Ramdin and have been vetted by @/el-shab-hussein. I am also in consistent contact with their beneficiary through a group chat who updates us on the movement of all money.

Mohammed’s family has multiple pictures and videos of their situation on family member Ahmad’s Twitter/X account proving their legitimacy. I have personally communicated with Ahmad and his history online stretches back far before 10/7. His campaign has been SEVERELY stagnant, often going 20+ days before receiving a donation. He is trying to raise enough to evacuate his sister and her two children.

I personally connected Marah to the one managing her campaign, who is a friend of mine. Marah is also friends in-person with other verified families over on Twitter/X, where she posts pictures and videos of she and her family’s situation. They use all money raised to survive displacement in Gaza and to save up enough to register for evacuation when the time is right. Marah’s campaign has been shared by @/90-ghost.

Donate the amount equivalent to the value of the piece to any one of these campaigns, DM me proof of your donation, and tell me which piece you are interested in (send the number and letter listed next to the description of the piece). I will enter your name into a raffle for the piece you would like. One donation = one entry. At the end of the raffle, I will randomly choose one recipient per piece, contact said recipient for details, and mail the piece to you.

From left to right: A pair of Rutilated Quartz earrings valued $20 (E1), a pair of Kunzite earrings valued $18 (E2), and a pair of multi tourmaline earrings valued $20 (E3).

From left to right: A labradorite, aura quartz, clear aura crackle quartz, and sea sediment jasper bracelet valued $30 (B1), and a chrysocolla, morganite, phosphosiderite, and yellow opal bracelet valued $30 (B2).

From left to right: A clear quartz necklace valued $30 (N1), a red tiger’s eye necklace valued $30 (N2), and a flower agate, rose quartz, lepidolite, strawberry quartz, and clear quartz necklace valued $32 (N3).

If you can’t participate, that’s okay! Please share this post so that others may see and enter to win some beautiful jewelry for the most important cause — saving lives.

Raffle lasts until 09/09/2024. That’s one month to enter!

[nerdanel01]

Death

Emmrich Volkarin/F!Rook 1.5k+ wc | SFW Possibly as a result of the massive breach in the Veil to the south, the Necropolis is more dangerous than ever. When Agnes is wounded while on patrol, Emmrich is forced to take drastic measures to protect her. EXCERPT: Impossible not to feel it, then. Emmrich’s magic, coursing through her body. Emmrich’s hands, firm on her chest, pushing her spirit back into her flesh before it got too far away—pushing air into her lungs, pushing life back into her veins. 

Agnes tried to speak, but her throat was so dry she had to swallow and try again. “Was I dead?”

9:42 Dragon

High heat of summer in the west, the rashvine-in-snow just beginning to bloom—ladybugs and fireflies seeking refuge from the sun in the cool pockets of the flower’s petals. Agnes, plenty cool herself, her skirt soaked through with mud to her waist, sang an invented song under her breath, her tiny hands sculpting the mud around her into taller and taller spires. Maman towering above her, driving into the fertile earth the wooden stakes she had sharpened herself, gently girding the dahlias against them for support. Young, loved, and protected. Still wrapped in the romantic fiction mother had woven to shield her from an uglier truth: that her father had loved her mother; that he was a kind and gentle man, employed in the stable of a neighboring estate. 

“Ma chère,” her mother called her. Agnes looked up. But the noontide sun was directly overhead, silhouetting her mother’s sunhat, obscuring her face in shadow. “You are being called.”

Agnes only felt it when her mother called attention to it: a strange nagging, an unwelcome plucking feeling in the center of her chest. 

“Agnes! Agnes Gallatus!”

Who was shouting after her so rudely, when she was having such fun with her Maman? A childish, resentful pucker on her face, she cast her eyes downwards in the direction of the voice. The mud beneath her had vanished, and Agnes found she was hovering above a narrow, vaulted chamber, flanked on either side by high columns of quartz, carved in the image of skeletons holding the roof aloft. A figure was hunched over on the stone tile below her, a tempest of powerful magic crackling in the air around them. 

‘Emmrich…?’

The moment Agnes recognized him, the plucking feeling in her chest swelled and snapped.

Someone’s hands pressed too firm against her chest. 

Violent gasp of breath. 

Agnes wrenched herself upright, heaving, fighting the oxygen-starved ache in her muscles. Blinking the darkness from her vision, her eyes rolled wildly around the room as she fought for air. When her heart began to beat anew, pounding madly, the last ebb of adrenaline washed over and through her. Something was terribly, terribly wrong—

“Agnes, thank the Maker! No, dear, don’t fight it, relax, lie back down…”

Emmrich’s hand was firm on her shoulder, supporting her as she lowered herself back onto the cold Necropolis floor. His other hand bunched his leather overcoat behind her head, a makeshift cushion to pillow it against the tile. 

But Agnes could not relax. Pain wracked every inch of her body, and she could not shake an overwhelming sense of impending danger and doom. Emmrich’s words were reassuring, but his tone was anything but—she was not sure she had ever heard him sound so uncertain, or so frightened. He looked absolutely wretched, perspiration dripping down his face, his expression lined with grief and determination in equal measure. A phosphorescent flame was fading fast from his eyes, but Agnes caught it, nevertheless.

‘Oh.’

Impossible not to feel it, then. Emmrich’s magic, coursing through her body. Emmrich’s hands, firm on her chest, pushing her spirit back into her flesh before it got too far away—pushing air into her lungs, pushing life back into her veins. 

Agnes tried to speak, but her throat was so dry she had to swallow and try again. “Was I dead?” The words came out as a hoarse, thin rattle. An almost spiritual look of relief washed over Emmrich’s face when he heard her voice.

“You are alive now. That is all that matters. Keep breathing, you should begin to feel better in just a few minutes…”

Alive now. Implying quite strongly there had been a period—Agnes could not say how long—that she had not been alive. She struggled through the fog of pain to recall what exactly had happened.

The ride down into the Necropolis in the morning… she remembered that. That was how every day started, now, after all. No more weeks-long research expeditions among the crypts and tombs. Ever since the Breach had opened in the south months ago, the disturbances within the Necropolis had grown too frequent and too great for such a risk. All of the Watchers were now deployed in shifts, with the express and sole purpose of policing the halls. There had always been a risk of encountering demons in the Necropolis, but lately, the peril had multiplied.

And then, it all came back to her in flashes: the pride demon they had found prowling among the tableaus of the dead, and the fight that ensued. The demon’s lightning that had shattered her barrier and struck her square in the chest, stopping her heart. The world growing dark, the demon’s fist raised to strike her down for good. Emmrich’s shout, the glow of his eyes, the crackle of magic tingling in the air as he seized possession of his thrall.

The forceful push of Alfred’s bony hands, flinging her down and out of the way of the pride demon’s strike.

‘Oh, no.’

“Emmrich… I’m so, so sorry.”

Emmrich looked at her quizzically. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Agnes.”

“But Alfred…”

She turned her eyes pointedly to the pile of splintered bone and dust just a few feet away: all that remained of the thrall after the pride demon had struck it down, his pitiful, characteristic wailing silenced forever.

“...you had been working on him for years. Emmrich, you must be devastated.”

Emmrich’s face tightened, eyes narrowing, brows knitting together. The muscle in the corner of his jaw gave a little jump. “You cannot be serious,” he said, shaking his head. His gaze had never left her face; he had not so much as glanced at Alfred’s paltry, decimated remains. In fact he looked concerned, as though he was suddenly doubting how thoroughly he had reanimated her, for her to think such an absurd thought. “Agnes, Alfred was a project. A beloved project, to be sure, but a project nonetheless. I can begin again. Begin better, this time.”

Then Emmrich leaned over her, lifting his hands to frame her face. His palms were so warm against her skin, his thumb so gentle as it traced the plains of her cheekbones… his gaze so impossibly tender and wounded. 

“But you… if I lose you, I cannot get you back.” 

There was a terrible crack in his voice, as though he was close to tears. Agnes did not know if she wanted more to embrace him, or to sink through the floor and disappear entirely. She was so moved at how deeply he cared. She was so mortified at how her incompetence (she should have seen the lightning coming, should have reinforced her barrier before it hit) had caused him such pain and fear.

An unsteady exhale shook him. The glow had left Emmrich’s eyes entirely, now, and they were wholly brown, wholly warm, wholly honest with her.

“You are more precious to me than any experiment.” He spoke in a low whisper, as if he was afraid that if he spoke at a greater volume, he would not be able to hold himself together. “I would not trade you for one hundred, one thousand Alfreds.”

And then, Agnes saw it: how much it had taken out of him to restore her; the way it had aged him. For in all the time she had known him, Emmrich’s hair had always been dark: now, it was streaked through with white and grey—not entirely salt and pepper, yet, but markedly lighter than it had been.

He must have noticed she was staring at him. “What is it?”

‘You nearly killed yourself trying to save me.’ “You’ve lost a bit of color.”

“Oh,” Emmrich said, indifferently, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. “Have I?”

“It looks good,” Agnes told him, forcing a thin smile. “Elegant. Distinguished.”

Emmrich laughed low in disbelief. “You flatter me. I look more like an old man than ever, now, I am sure.” He lifted his other hand from her face and stretched, joints cracking as he did so; Agnes repressed the urge to catch it, to hold it fast against her face. “I certainly feel like an old man after that effort. Agnes, I dearly want to get you back to the other Watchers as soon as possible—you should visit the infirmary, just to be safe—but, forgive me, I need to rest first, just for a moment.”

Slowly, wincing as he did so, Emmrich lowered himself to the filthy floor next to her, a little cloud of dust kicking up when the back of his head came to rest at last on the tile. Emmrich was not quite as draconian in his need for order as Agnes, but he liked to keep things clean; he must have been truly exhausted, then, if he felt the need to lie down in the dirt to recover his strength. His eyes slipped closed, and his breathing slowed. Agnes thought he might drift off to sleep.

“Thank you,” she said, interrupting him before he could. “For saving my life.”

Emmrich’s upper lip gave a small twitch, then his bottom lip began to tremble. Even with his eyes closed, he looked so terribly upset. Without opening them to look at her, his hand quested across the dusty tile floor until it found her own, and closed tightly around it.

“For a moment,” he confessed, “you were entirely beyond my grasp, beyond my ability to reach. I was not sure I would be able to bring you back to me. You have no idea…” his voice trailed off and he squeezed her hand. “How good it feels, now. How reassuring. To feel you, to hear you, warm and breathing next to me.”

At that, Agnes was thankful Emmrich’s eyes were closed. She could not control the emotions raging across her face; could not imagine how deeply they betrayed her, with all Emmrich’s words pirouetting through her head. How he had called her precious, held her face, was still holding her hand. This sweetness, this intimacy–she had always longed for it. Still longed for it. But each breath she took still felt like knives cutting into her lungs; a reminder with each inhale of how close they had come to losing one another for good. 

How lucky she was! To have Emmrich’s love in any capacity. For if there had been any lingering doubt in her mind that he did, indeed, love her, it was now banished. That he did not, perhaps, love her in the way that she truly desired, did not make her cherish that love any less. 

And all she wanted to do, more than hold his hand or touch his face in return, was reassure him. To remain warm, alive, and breathing beside him, for as long as she possibly could. 

“It’s alright now, Emmrich,” Agnes said, and squeezed his hand back. “Rest as long as you need. I’ll keep watch until you’re ready."

[thewillowoaklady]

The listings are live!

This is available on Ebay, Etsy, and Facebook Marketplace.

Here's the description for it.

A unique handmade sea themed suncatcher windchime. 

Suncatchers and windchimes are a personal favorite and I wanted to make some. This one is vibrant and fun. It's perfect for anyone who loves ocean themes. The sun catches the glass, shiny wire, and gems perfectly. The wooden pieces at the bottom make a gentle sound in the wind. It's large enough to hang in almost any window or porch. 

Product Details-

Total length while hanging- approximately 36 inches

Total width of the hanging stick- approximately 18.5 inches

String length (longest)- approximately 26 inches

Weight- Approximately 1.5 pounds

Number of strings- 9

Time spent crafting- approximately 24 hours over the span of a week.

Materials- 

1 maple branch fallen naturally from a local maple tree. 

Rope for hanging.

Burlap net ribbon.

Silver plated sea green copper wire.

Various metal jump rings.

Crimp beads 

9 polished agate slices wrapped in the wire. 

1 colored agate slice. 

4 hand polished natural quartz spires wrapped in wire. 

Small conch shells

Blue dyed quartzite, blue dyed quartz, multi colored jasper, green aventurine, rose quartz, citrine, lapis, red agate, and  turquoise gem chips.

Turquoise colored stone starfish and sand dollar beads.

Red dyed bamboo coral beads.

Fluorocarbon nylon clear fishing line

9 mini glass bottles wrapped in wire, filled with sparkling mica rich native sand. 

Colorful glass fish beads.

Colorful frosted glass beads. 

Colorful crackle glass beads. 

4 hand carved sea creatures made from reclaimed wood and painted with glitter infused blue paint.

[survivalist-anon]

Log 22: Tools of the Trade

While the others were being prepared for their battle against El Nino; Wick, Moors and Tulio were headed back to Gus' bunker for extra help.

Driving out into the desert range, it was a race against time, the team weren't sure what was to happen, but they had to react quickly.

For it could already be too late.

"Gus should have some idea how to break into the place. Based on my readings, the facility is six stories deep. Something tells me it ain't for the public either, also.....they mentioned something about this "El Nino" guy, something tells me he's the main attraction to whomever is behind all this", Moors explained.

"Wait, I thought El Nino's fights were at South Point, how the hell could he not be for the public? I see his ads all the time.", Tulio asked as he was looking around the back of the truck, wondering why would they need so much tech.

Wick had been formulating what...or ...who El'Nino was. He was nearly unconscious when he had heard of this name, but he had heard it being muttered by the mystery buyer. "There's a likely chance it's an actor. One for the public, one for the intended audience.".

Tulio was putting two and two together, "oooooh like some illegal fighting ring? Oh that makes sense, back in Mexico city a few years back, Lucha Libre was banned for some time, it when underground and became an illegal fighting competition. Then after it had gotten popular again, it wasn't banned anymore.".

"hmmm ....I'm not sure if it's like that, but it's definitely underground.", Moors stops the truck at the same abandoned gas pump, rolled down his window to clown. "Gus! You there buddy?".

The intercom turned on with a sputtering crackle, "Welcome back to Gassy Gus's Gas Pump! I'll be right there!", as the intercom turned off, Gus happily hobbled out of the men's room this time. "Well by Orson Welles! Moors you're back! How'd it go?", giving gleeful bangs on the sides of truck. "Eh funny, you got enough gas?".

"Gus! We need some of your.... experience....you still have that drilling equipment?", Moors asked with a sly grin.

Gus' face stretched into a manic smile, "OOOH BOY HOWDY I DO, where too.", Moors in the past has employed Gus for a verity of covert excavation projects, considering one of the best types of jobs Gus had in his youth was a coal miner and a non-certified geologist. "Oooooh I can smell the iron rich, quartz deposits already.", rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

"Now Gus, we need the big guns. We have no idea what could be down in this place. I recon it's security is in-between government level and that Security Containm-", Gus sticks his hand out.

"Say no more! Now let me gather the gear and get coordinates and pinpoint the best spot!", Moors was more then welcome to oblige to giving Gus some of the information from last night.

Wick, getting understandably impatient, decided to go up to the front seat and talk to Gus himself, "Excuse me G-", Wick peered out from Moors' side, as he showed his face Gus pointed at him in surprise.

"Gah! Moors I didn't know you knew the Grey from Sector 17-M! It's a pleasure to finally welcome you to Earth great ones!", Gus bowed in a Y stance.

Moors wasn't too surprised about this and turned to Wick, expressionless and confused. "Ugh oh yeah I never told you Gus is a "Intergalactic Enthusiast", he loves anything from ugh...outer space...he thinks your this thing.", he takes out one of his car key charms and shows a little iconic black eyed, green alien.

Wick, looking at the charm with absolute apathy, "....he thinks I'm a Xenos?", he looks to Moors giving an awkward smile.

"yeah, just please go with it.", continuing the smile.

"Fine, Gus we genuinely need to hasten this mission. There is not just our comrades, but another civilian likely involved. We need to be careful and swift, for this could spell disaster for her.", Wick looked at him sternly.

Gus looked back at Wick, "...her?", and gave a hard salute, "Than I shall help rescue your mate too!", Moors was doing everything in his power to hold back the laughter while Wick had shown some semblance of color to his usually pale complexion with a flooded blush for the first time in his life.

"Well no time to waste! Come on down to my secret abode!", he ran back into the men's room, activating a secret underground ramp to his own abandoned government bunker.

"Hehehe, you're all going to love this.", Moors chuckled.

Tulio, who has been watching this from the back of the truck, was astounding. "Wick? You're an alien? I thought you did like...body mods or something.", he asked gingerly, only realizing the insane reality of this situation.

"..... we're from 'outspace', but we're not 'aliens'... we're just as human as you are.", Wick answered begrudgingly.

Tulio for the first time actually took a good hard look at Wick and Moors, contemplating what Wick has said, "well....you guys seem alot more of something else. Most people don't look like you guys.", he hesitantly spoke.

Those words stuck with the two marines, Tulio was not wrong to say what he said, his observation wasn't inaccurate either. Giving in considering that Sleen had at some point called the others 'Steers', and all the stares from strangers where ever they went. It was clear as Astartes, they were much more then men, they were something else alongside that 'man', something mortals on Earth do not consider normal to their standards.

Whether it is something to marvel, or something to exploit....is completely dependent on the situation.

Slowly driving down the ramp, lights started to illuminate the runway, showing a set of dusty, unused military jeeps.

As they parked the car, Tulio and Wick stepped out from the back truck.

"Hold it!", Gus croaked. He took out a lead pipe with wires and a light attached to it, waved around Tulio and Wick. "Hmmm.....gramifier is not picking anything up. Good.", he than takes out a gypsum rod. Waving it around. "Vibes check out". Gives a stern look at both, then a bright smile. "Welcome, to Casa de Gus! Where the finest of equipment can be hehe, redistributed for any intergalactic purposes!".

Tulio was a bit stunned at all of this, "ay... gringo loco.". He quietly grumbled to himself.

The four walked down to a large hanger full of hi tech government issued weaponry, vehicles, Gus's collection of space memorabilia, one rocket booster that had been unceremoniously removed from a crash site, and a small living space for Gus.

"Bruh, you call this a bunker?! This is like, a secret lair or something. Are you like...an ex-fed or something?", Tulio looked around in amazement.

Moors was browsing for anything new Gus could have taken in the recent decade, "hmmm ...Gus, where did you get this?", pointing at a very suspicious container with a familiar label that was commonly found on much of Fort Dorn's stolen vehicles.

Gus jingled his way to Moors, "hmmm....oh yes, got this baby back in '09, those secret organization guys again....they were chasing the running headlights I told you 'bout. You know...the ones with legs.", Gus was referring to the rumors of unknown creature with what people have claimed is one large luminous eye, mimicking a car headlight. Obviously, Moors didn't believe in such creatures.

"oh...you do realize they probably want this thing back right?", Moors warns him.

"...hmmm...nah I'll keep it, anyway! Here's what y'all need!", Gus leads the trio to a large shelf of items, "I hope y'all brought your armor too. Some of these additions will be perfect! Drills, disrupter signals, the ever important rubber duck and this!", Gus picks up what looks like a small speaker, "I call it, the "Siren", play this lil'beaut and it will blast someone's ear drums.".

Wick was examining some of the items, most of which were stolen from the Government, others likely from experimental labs, "....we will likely only need to break in...have heavy cover and a distraction....Tulio, you will be on integral part of this mission.", he turned to Tulio with confidence.

Tulio, although way in over his head in this situation, was more than happy to assist. "You can count on me homes.", he says with a grin.

"well, I'm not certain if I'll need.my armor, speaking of which where's your armor Wick? I doubt you took a flight here....", Moors asked.

Wick had nearly forgotten about his armor, he had left it at the Air Force hanger near the city. "....oh...Moors, thanks for reminding me.....how about we also get these bottom feeders in a....predicament with the government?", he looked at Moors.

"I mean we can, but I'm certain they'll track us down.", Moors responded.

Gus chuckled a little, "nah, I have the tools of the trade, I know a few whistle blowers who will do a fine job at diverting attention away from y'all."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the underground holding facility, the others were contemplating their escape. Meanwhile, Sten was pawing this "Big Joe", for more information.

"Big Joe, I am curious as to how long have you been here....it must have been for some time I assume?", although there was no point in looking up at the ceiling of his cell, it was better than activating the bars.

"yeah, I've been for a bit. Funny enough, this is the second time I've been trapped here....the first place really bummed me out.", Joe's cadence was more casual than most of the other Astartes. His diction even felt like it was loosened.

Tilting his head, he wondered what was he referring to, "....was it another government facility?", he didn't know if this Joe was another psyker like him. So he did not want to force himself into his mind.

"Yeah, but this place was WAY more lock tight. Imagine being treated like an animal that can talk or something....they did some weird tests. At first I didn't understand what they were saying, than they thought me to speak their dialect of Gothic, then English....that's where things got interesting....there so many interviews and questions.... medical examinations.....then....they started to send these orange cladded fellows with weapons.... obviously I killed them...it's not like I was going to let them get the upper hand....than....I met one of their scientists....what a doll......miss her a lot really...", Joe reminisced on that thought for a while. "...we sort of began meeting secretly...til they cought us. I never her saw again after that ....but it's weird because I could tell she was still there! She was still in that place, but something about her biological began to change, I could smell it. Lucky for me the place wasn't completely airtight. It was all that kept me going for a little....than.... something happened...", he stopped for a few seconds.

It was clear to Sten something about Joe's story felt empty, it seems Joe hadn't disclosed one important detail. "...What Chapter do you belong to, Joe?".

There was a pregnant pause, something that Sten had become wary of.

".......why.", Joe replied dryly.

"You should be comfortable with tell us....", while Sten remarked, he had felt that there was something he could do to find out for himself, specifically on his belt.

His belt buckle was a wide, military standard, silver colored buckle. He quietly took it off to shine it as much as he could, the reflection wasn't perfect, but it would suffice.

He stuck the buckle at an angle that Joe wouldn't notice, he could see that Joe wasn't wearing any armor, he had his back turned facing a mirror, his back not only had scars from previous fights in the facility, but also telltale signs of medical experimentation. Joe hadn't noticed the small mirror in the corner of cell peaking.

Unfortunately, someone else had. On the other side of the holding blocks, a security room was watching the Marines in the holding cell.

The security guard lazily sees Sten holding something. "Oh geez, I'm gonna have to take that from him aren't I...", he lumbered out of his seat and headed straight to the cells.

"Hey! You there! Whats you got there!?", the security guard casually pointed his gun at Sten, he knew that conventional bullets wouldn't actually hurt these guys. It was comparable to rubber bullets.

Joe had turned around out of curiosity, Sten could see Joe's face for the first time.

He had a large scar across his neck, as if something big had attempted to bite down. Dark brown hair, closer to black than it was brown. And crimson red eyes.

"Hmm...", Sten drank in as much of the visage as possible.

"HEY! Beardo! Quit that!", the guard took out a cattle prod and stuck right into Sten's arm.

A strong shock flowed through his shoulders, "RRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!", what sounded like a roar reverberated.

The chaos Marines on the opposite side aroused with excitement. Hollering and growling.

"Sten! What's happening?!", Cahrilo shout, "HEY knock it off!".

The guard has held his position and completely ignored them. Suddenly, Joe reached out, grabbed the guard by the arm.... crushing his forearm in the process. Lifted him to the bars.

Electrocuting him as Joe pulled the guard into the bars.

The screams echoed, the chaos Marines cheering.

The cattle prod had fell on the floor, thinking quickly, Sten recovered what he had left of the shock to quickly get the prod.

Hiding it in his pants.

Joe dropped the guard's corpse, and went on with what he was doing. "You better behave now bud. Or you'll end up like you friend over there.", referring to Bilhard.

Sten quickly got up.

As the foot steps of the other guards come in, pointing their guns at the Marines. One of the guards, likely a mercenary, looked out at the partly chared corpse. "Uuugh, looks like Quincy finally got cocky. Clean it up before the boss gets here. Alright which one of you guys did it?"

The lack of empathy for his fallen comrade was a surprise to the others, he had acted like as if this was a regular occurrence.

"come on guys .....be honest or I'm checking the cameras....and the "buzzer" is in the camera room....yah honestly want to shock you guys or be good boys and say what happened...", the guard instructed callously. "I'm not mad, but my boss will be."

Sten had looked over his shoulder, hoping the guards hadn't seen him steal the prod.

"Ugh it was me Frank.", Joe loomed over the guard in the cell above. "My buddy down here wanted to shake hands, I was about to than the guard just came over.... probably jumped the gun....it self defense on my comrade's behalf.", Joe gave an innocent grin.

The guard looked over at the corpse, than to Sten. "Hmf...fine I'll bite.....I don't want no funny business you hears?", he turned away and helped the other guards clean up the body.

The others were stunned, Toke looked at them drag the body to the other side of the room.

"Which one of you sick bastards wants him?", he banged on one of the cells.

The chaos Marines all began to fight over who got the corpse. Gnashing and attempting to claw at the corpse. No matter how pointless it was.

"YOUR COMRADE JUST DIED. You're just going to feed his body to the corrupted lot?", Toke protested to the guard.

The guard looked back at Toke, "Look, it's not we actually want to be here....yous honestly think we would have taken this shit job for shit pay? Naw, it's too much money to pass up....", he looked to one of the Black Legion Marines, since that one hadn't begged for his food he could have the corpse. As the guard used a code to heavily magnetize the chains on the marine's legs and wrists, more signifying to simply step back for the sake of animalistic obedience, he dragged his coworker's body to the middle, closed the cell behind him and watched as the chaos marine viciously tore into the chest of the corpses, stuffing chunks into his face, chest and pauldron.

".....yet it always feels like it ain't enough money in the world to get someone for tolerate this...."

End of log 22

@kit-williams @barn-anon @egrets-not-regrets @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @walking-natural-disaster @starfrost740 @squishyowl @sleepyfan-blog @lawnchair86

[wispstalk]

wip wednesday

been tagged in a few of these so here's a snippet i wrote last night. Gil's College of Winterhold story is pretty much an outline at this point but every so often I accidentally spit out some prose that I'm fairly sure will make it to the finished product tagging: @throughtrialbyfire @dirty-bosmer @yansurnummu @avantegarda @jiubilant @ehlnofay

text below the cut

The night before the carriage team is set to leave, Gil is drunk and wandering, contemplating the broken husks of houses and the towering presence at the far end of town. It’s a clear night, it has just finished snowing, the moon is full, the land around him glows like polished quartz. Bands of green light snap through the sky and the air hisses at their passing, as if whipped.

Just to the left of that fuck-ugly fortress, there is an archway, and a path that leads down to the rocky shore. He picks his way down with his staff. The Sea of Ghosts is calm, an endless expanse of glittering wave crests. The mountains hem him in at his back.

Now he has crossed Skyrim from one end to the other and it occurs to him how massive it is. The city isle in Cyrodiil is collared by its walls, cramped and reeking, new structures built ramshackle in between the old. Summerset is a wave-locked prison, each of his countrymen turnkey and prisoner alike. His sister’s modest manse in the humid shade of Southpoint. Everywhere he goes he is enclosed. A long tunnel, a tomb. He is not frightened of tombs, but he is unsettled by this enormous crackling sky.

He’s drunk as a lord, he knows, being self-indulgent. Dagur makes a damn fine mead. The publican was proud to show off his operation— probably hasn’t had an interested patron in years— and poured off some of his private reserve just for Gil. Flavored with Druadach juniper and dried orange blossoms shipped up from Cyrodiil. Good and dry and mellow.

He knocks back the last swallow. Thinks about dashing the empty jug against the rocks; that would be nice and symbolic. But he’s not very good at throwing, and he hates the sound of shattering. Besides, if he brings it back intact, Dagur might just fill it for him again.

He wakes with an outstanding hangover. One for the records. The sun is well up and— as Dagur informs him when he goes to settle up for the empty room he crashed in— the caravan has gone south with it.

[dustedmagazine]

Jandek — Vision of Jewels (Corwood Industries)

There is something mystically earthy about Jandek. At its best, there is something dichotomously familiar, a yearned-for, half-buried thing nearly recognizable underneath aggregates of sounds never quite as disorderly as they might appear. Despite a long-term low-fi aesthetic, the Corwood rep’s studio albums always sounded pretty damn good, but the recent ones sound fantastic, including this one, released at the end of 2023. It sounds like a band effort, though, as might be expected, no credits are given. What is certain is that the Jandek groove is there throughout the four lengthy pieces comprising Vision of Jewels, that slow, deep but elastic groove integral to so much of what the rep’s been laying down for 45 years.

It seems as if the whole thing has been channeled through a strategically dirtied lens through which the more mysterious elements of early 1970s Faust take misty shape, a portrait dotted with the specks and spots connoting the carefully chosen debris of intersecting musical histories. The opening percussion coaxing the appropriately named “Viewing the Realm” into its fractured but somehow unified existence crackles with that Werner “Zappi” Diermaier electricity, timbral jitter with the calm of rumbling drone just beneath, nodding toward many musics but beholden to none. Gritty strings and skronky saxophone pave the way for bluesy syncopated guitar seasonings. They haunt the spaces either side of the rock-solid bass-and-drums center as it evolves along its collectively improvised path. How wonderful to be able to dig deep into sonic synchronicities, like the major chord fully emerging at 10:21 but flowering from a gutbucket-soaked lead-in and dissolving in similar fashion. Another and equally fragrant groove spring-loads the album opener, “White Quartz”’s first moments. It’s all calm, no matter how many heaps of sonic objects and oceanic swells entrap fragmented melodies without ever quite overtaking them. Amidst the rhythmic steadiness in constant juxtaposition with its shambling melodic counterparts, moments of astonishing beauty glisten and radiate, like the ethereal left-channel harp, possibly sampled, crowning the first gestures of “Star Specks.” As if by some organic process of development, those golden bits and bobs coalesce and fan out, eventually taking over the texture nearly enough to eclipse the all-pervasive groove in layers of delayed distortion. Is that thin percussive sound center stage some kind of dulcimer?

And there it is, shining right out of that spectacular center, that jewel at the heart of whatever it is that makes each Jandek album, no matter what the instrumentation, part of a singularly fascinating whole. Yes, it would be tempting to posit that the European jewel of the Corwood rep’s early days has found its larger context on this new album, but that’s only a part of the story. Jandek is a space for development that never falls into line. Was that really a major chord? It might not have needed to be, and maybe it’s only a point of reference to those desiring one. The Rep’s work opens possibilities rather than defining them. We are given the vision of the jewels rather than the jewels themselves, as the vision of a teenage daughter at a certain time of day opened Ready for the House all those years ago. Each note, chord and phrase on a Jandek album speaks to the joy of its creation. They bristle with energy of all sorts, emotion and affect in juxtapositions similar to the timbral histories they contain. Beyond all points of reference is the feeling. The character in the rep’s book, The Rays of Light that did Not Illumine, wants to feel, and like his music, the substance of what is felt becomes subservient to the experience, which remains fresh and vital.

Marc Medwin

[gingerteaonthetardis]

autumnal writing prompt:

fallen leaves but it has to take place inside the TARDIS. any doctor + companion and/or pairing

hiiiii thank you for your prompt and for your patience <3 tbh, i loved this concept and i spent a fair bit of time on the execution, trying to get the vibe close to what i was seeing in my head. not sure if i succeeded. but i hope you enjoy it anyway!

i went with the tenth doctor for this one, set post-runaway bride, reflecting on the loss of rose.

to read on ao3, click here!

-

When the time came, he let the TARDIS guide him there.

He never knew where it had been or would be. He never knew what it would be like either. That was part of the Solarium's charm: it was a place which could only be found when it wasn't sought. Its unpredictability made it what it was.

And it had been a night for unpredictability. But he'd delivered the bride safely home. Snow still sugared the shoulders of his suit when the halls began changing.

"I'm not ready," he felt himself say. The words echoed hollowly ahead of him, down funny sharp turns and looping passages. He was raw and exposed and though he was very alone, he didn't feel alone—he felt stifled by memories, ghosts crowding the edges of his vision.

He needed time. He needed more of it, reams of it, an endless fountain of it. He needed all the time there was, and more—because that's what it would take.

But he followed the lights anyway. What else could he do?

Down corridors and stairwells, he let the ship lead him. Up a spiral staircase. Behind a false wall. The TARDIS was rarely consistent, but she was kind: she let him take the long way 'round.

When the arched doorway finally presented itself, the weak light was already filtering out through the cracks. Dry, brown leaves skittered and hushed as he put his palm to the creaky wooden door and pushed.

Autumn.

Inside the Solarium, it was autumn.

Outside, too. The atmosphere beyond the high, domed glass and iron lattice work appeared blue—a pale, eggshell blue, verging on grey. Clouds melded seamlessly with sky. The chill of it was almost a visible thing.

Within the Solarium, everything was in its proper place: the sundial, made now of stone, though in the past it had been many things—wood, then ceramic, then glass, then gleaming quartz; the pond where nothing lived and nothing grew, but the water itself danced. The ivy still crept perpetually up the lattices.

And in the center of the room, the tree still stood.

The tree in the Solarium belonged to no particular genus, had no particular name, though he'd searched the TARDIS library to find one. The bark of its massive trunk was smooth and unobtrusive, marred only by the occasional scar of some long distant, unknown trauma. It never fruited, though he'd seen it in every season. Its leaves often changed shape or grew irregularly, patchy and strange.

And at present, it was an explosion of colour.

The Doctor said nothing.

Gold, gold. So many golden leaves hung from those broad branches. Shades varied from the palest sunrise to a hue so rich and dark as to be nearly orange. In some spots, clusters of browning, dead leaves hung, poised to fall.

His eyes avoided those patches, drawn instead to where the vibrant colour was thickest. It was the gold of hair, of puddled sunlight, of a young sun. In spite of himself, he began crossing the tiled floor.

The loose laces of his plimsolls disturbed the occasional fallen leaf, a crackling announcement of his presence. But he still approached slow, like he would meet a wild animal. He stepped cautiously over where thick roots had broken through the floor.

It was only when his hand began to lift, fingers extended, that he paused.

"I'm not ready," he whispered, scarcely a moment before a vibrant daisy-heart-yellow leaf broke free and fell—right into his waiting hand.

     "I'll never get used to this. Never. Different ground beneath my feet," and she's jumping, bouncing on her heels, and she's smiling, and it’s lovely, "different sky… What's that smell?"

     "Apple grass," he tells her, eager to share everything he knows.

     "Apple grass… It's beautiful. Oh, I love this. Can I just say, travelling with you, I love—"

"No."

The Doctor's hand spasmed, and the leaf fell, taking with it the scent of a different world. Apple grass. Such a crisp, fresh smell. He could never smell it again without thinking of her.

His throat felt tight. He wasn't ready.

Yet how many times had he stood just like this and let the memories wash over him?

Often they were green—hopeful springtimes of gentle past, a balm when he needed it most. Reminders of the goodness which existed in pockets of the universe, waiting to be discovered.

Sometimes, they came frost-fanged and bitter, serrated edges cutting him to the bone. Regret was grey. Steel grey.

All his companions had bloomed and withered here, on these unreal branches.

But this—the season the tree offered him was too cool and serene for what he felt. This… gentle giving-way. There was a storm inside him.

She had not passed gracefully into another season; she had been torn from his world, and her world, and the TARDIS, and him. How could that be beautiful?

How could that be golden?

He moved in a rush, grasping suddenly at the nearest withered clutch of leaves. He was only just tall enough to reach, and when he closed his fist, he came away with—

     Pleading. "Help her."

     But he isn't moved. "Everything has its time," he says, "and everything dies."

—and,

     "No." Sarah Jane stands firm. Sure in herself. "The universe has to move forward. Pain and loss, they define us as much as happiness or love. Whether it's a world, or a relationship," and the guilt cuts him open as he thinks of her, the leaves on her tree; then he thinks of Rose. "Everything has its time—"

—and,

     "Why don't you ever just say what you mean?"

     "Rose—"

     "It's always talking with you, but you never…" She shakes her head, hair catching the light of the console. He wants to hold her so badly he can barely speak. "Just tell me this, Doctor: you and me, is it ever gonna change? Will we ever…?" She drifts off, uncertain.

     "Everything changes." It's not really an answer, but it's the best he can do. "I promise."

—and in a blink, his fist closed. The brittle memories crushed to dust in his hand.

They were still there, of course: in him, in the TARDIS herself, and they always would be. They would grow anew, changing shape over time. Even at the topmost parts of the tree, people who were long gone lived forever: his granddaughter, with her untameable smile; an old historian who loved cocoa and cake and driving him spare; a young boy who was so brave, and so clever, and so very foolish; an Edwardian adventuress who followed him into madness.

The companions of his many lives.

They crowded their way up into the highest branches. One day, Rose would live among them, a golden crown to this ancient tree.

But even that knowledge held no comfort.

"No more," he said, "please."

Around him, the room gave a faint, irritated huff—like a creaky groan and a hum at once. And from somewhere else, a wind stirred. Focused and strong. Pay attention, it seemed to say, or else did say, in its own language.

A leaf the colour of liquid gold wriggled and broke loose, and he knew better than to run from it. All he could manage was to stand his ground as it smacked, with unusual force, into his chest.

The image burst over him.

     "Anything else?"

     "Why don't you ask her yourself?"

     He sees where the woman—the bride—is looking. Over his shoulder. His gaze follows her, and he feels all the air leave his lungs. There is an infinite space between one heartsbeat and the next. But it’s real. It’s really her. No hologram or vision or ghost. No memory.

     In the darkness, a light. Blonde hair glinting, her eyes holding his. And then he's running. Running flat out.

     She's all he can see.

     The feeling inside him is like nothing else. Like being reborn.

     Her smile crosses the distance, gilded and lovely, meeting him before his arms can reach her. But even before his touch lands, he knows he’s already home.

The Doctor blinked. A hand rose to wipe down his own face, smearing the tears he hadn't felt fall. His from another time.

His feet stumbled forward, and he caught himself against the tree's giant trunk.

"Not a memory," he whispered to the silence, in all its enormity, its electric potential. "Not yet."

Prescience, passed down to him by the brush of a leaf. This had never happened before.

But then, there had never been anybody like Rose before, had there? She'd left her mark on the TARDIS, on the vortex itself, every bit as much as she'd left her mark on him.

The pads of his fingers felt out a scar in the wood. One he hadn't seen before. It had an odd shape to it, an asymmetry that reminded him a little of an animal in profile: a jagged protrusion, and the swell of a haunch.

Something with its nose to the sky.

He traced it twice before he understood. The muzzle. The howling. His chest felt weightless, for a moment. Uncompressed by longing and grief, his hearts beat freely.

The Doctor, with his hand to the wolf, wheezed out a shocked laugh as he suddenly remembered that these leaves were also the colour of flame. Of timeless, endless burning, searing and rewriting.

     "I bring life."

From its bark and its branches, from its roots and its high crown, the tree seemed to shiver out a very long sigh as he finally grasped its message. Everything has its time, it breathed. Its hope was golden.

The shades of it all swirled together and tangle, an infinite vortex, laden and dripping with life still to come, and it was beautiful.

The Doctor smiled, removed his hand, and turned from the tree.

Her time—and his—and theirs—was not yet over.

There was more to be done. And he was ready.

[madphantom]

Ding ding ding, new Sarah snippet

The night I met Sarah we had both stalked the streets alone. It had snowed, but she had worn a blue dress - that was the first thing I saw of her, that pale blue silk fluttering in the breeze like a ghost. Her skin was milky white; she did not leave the house often then. She was a walking dead girl imprisoned in an earthly body.

She wore no jewelry. She did not own any. I was taller than her, wearing my father's stolen grey suit, ill-fitting, and had my long hair in a braid.

Sarah's lips were crimson red; I later found out she had bitten her tongue and the blood on her mouth had made her kisses taste like salt water.

You and I are alike, she had whispered when we stood face to face. Too strange, too beautiful for them to understand. Queer.

I have never thought of myself as beautiful, but that night she began to worship my body. I was tall, thin, spider-fingered, like an odd crane, my nose was beak-like, my teeth bucked. The more of you there is the better, she had whispered. You have to fill out the space in the universe with beautiful things. And I worshiped her too, the dark shadows below her two-coloured eyes, the freckles on her chest, her dimples, the curve of her belly…she was not dainty, but I repeated her words right back at her. The more of you there is the better.

For two weeks we did not have names. Anonymous beauties, we met up in the darkness, worshiped each other's imperfections like young gods and made love in the snow until the ice stung and burned into our flesh. We became our own religion, our own deity and its priests. Afterwards, we rubbed each other's blue-white skin warm and whispered it over and over. I adore you.

I woke up with my arm wrapped around her naked shoulder.

Something pale red glowed in the window. At first I thought it was a distant fire. Then my vision began to clear and I realized it was eyes. An animal was sitting on the windowsill. In the midnight black I saw fur that seemed to glisten like tar. Claws scraped across the wood.

When I sat up the creature bared its teeth, glinting in the moonlight. Then, with a thud, it leaped down from the windowsill onto the front roof.

I rose from my bed and crept downstairs to the front door. Quietly, quietly, I opened it with a creak and peered outside.

The two-headed white deer was standing in the field, almost glowing in the light of the moon. It seemed tense. Its eyes glinted like a predator's.

Face to face with the deer a fox was standing in front of the house, teeth bared, snarling at it. Its muscles twitched beneath the orange fur. It looked truly frightening from this perspective.

I stared at the scene in bewilderment. Eventually, one of the deer's heads sensed my gaze on it and glanced up. Our eyes met and I felt a primal terror creep up my spine.

The fox turned to glance over its shoulder and in that moment, the deer kicked it aside. The fox whined, leaped right back, but the deer had already made its way towards me.

For a moment I thought it would simply impale me on its bone white antlers, but instead it stopped and stared at me. I got lost in those eyes. They seemed to contain galaxies, rose quartzes and sunsets, multitudinous, terrifyingly beautiful, a glimpse into the mind of a god, too much, too much to comprehend…COME AND SEE it seemed to say, delight in everything you see, an ant before a man, oh you poor, puny thing. You are looking at something you will never understand.

The deer flinched when the fox bit its leg. The smaller animal was whining and crying in pain, but persistent. Its teeth glistened pale white in the moonlight. I went down on my knees with tears spraying out of my eyes, my head burning and crackling from the inside, as if it had been struck by lightning.

The deer almost seemed to smile mockingly when it shook the fox off and ran off into the night. I lay curled up on the ground and cried and cried and cried.

[tayloralisonswift]

hiiiii! i've never done anything with crystals before and i know absolutely zero about them, but i was thinking i'd like to buy a bracelet from your shop. do you have any suggestions for a beginner?

HI idk why tumblr didn't show me this ask on my phone last night, i'm sorry!

I began my crystal journey with Rose Quartz, Amethyst, and Clear Quartz! They're three staples that should be in every collection imo. Rose Quartz is the stone of unconditional love in all its forms - romantic, platonic, and self. I sell it in three kinds: x, x, x.

Amethyst is known as the master healer. Ask several people and they'll all offer different things Amethyst does, because it's so universal in that sense. For me, it brings calm amidst anxiety and helps me see through spiraling thoughts! I sell it in two kinds: x, x.

Finally, there's Clear Quartz. I sell it in Crackle Clear Quartz, but it has the same properties. Clear Quartz is a purifier. It cleanses and purifies energy, and brings clarity.

These are not only the three I started with, but also the three that I think are easiest to work with. If you're looking to work with crystals in a more spiritual way, these are what I'd suggest to start.

Love you!

[lonniemachin]

JEWELRY RAFFLE FOR PALESTINIAN SURVIVAL AID -- EXTENDED

Due to a lack of entries, a need to get this jewelry off my hands, and these 3 fundraisers' need to reach their goals ASAP, I've decided to extend my authentic crystal jewelry raffle for another month, or until I feel I have enough entries to do the raffle properly.

A local artisan was kind enough to provide me with 8 pieces of authentic crystal jewelry to offer for donation funds supporting three different campaigns for Palestinian families looking to evacuate Gaza or in need of survival aid while in Gaza.

These families are:

Ahmed and Maram’s family (in Euro)

Mohammed Shamia’s family (in Swedish kroner)

Marah Atallah’s family (in USD)

All families are 100% legitimate — I have been in contact with Maram and Ahmed for months, who have provided me multiple pictures, videos, and recordings of their situation. They have been featured in a video by YouTuber Ro Ramdin and have been vetted by @/el-shab-hussein. I am also in consistent contact with their beneficiary through a group chat who updates us on the movement of all money.

Mohammed’s family has multiple pictures and videos of their situation on family member Ahmad’s Twitter/X account proving their legitimacy. I have personally communicated with Ahmad and his history online stretches back far before 10/7. His campaign has been SEVERELY stagnant, often going 20+ days before receiving a donation. He is trying to raise enough to evacuate his sister and her two children. He has had 2 donations in 29 DAYS!

I personally connected Marah to the one managing her campaign, who is a friend of mine. Marah is also friends in-person with other verified families over on Twitter/X, where she posts pictures and videos of she and her family’s situation. They use all money raised to survive displacement in Gaza and to save up enough to register for evacuation when the time is right. Marah’s campaign has been shared by @/90-ghost.

Donate an amount of $5/€5/kr50 SEK or more in multiples of 5, DM me proof of your donation, and tell me which piece you are interested in (send the number and letter listed next to the description of the piece). I will enter your name into a raffle for the piece you would like. One donation of 5/kr50 SEK = one entry, 10/kr100 SEK = 2 entries, and so on. At the end of the raffle, I will randomly choose one recipient per piece, contact said recipient for details, and mail the piece to you.

From left to right: A pair of Rutilated Quartz earrings valued $20 (E1), a pair of Kunzite earrings valued $18 (E2), and a pair of multi tourmaline earrings valued $20 (E3).

From left to right: A labradorite, aura quartz, clear aura crackle quartz, and sea sediment jasper bracelet valued $30 (B1), and a chrysocolla, morganite, phosphosiderite, and yellow opal bracelet valued $30 (B2).

From left to right: A clear quartz necklace valued $30 (N1), a red tiger’s eye necklace valued $30 (N2), and a flower agate, rose quartz, lepidolite, strawberry quartz, and clear quartz necklace valued $32 (N3).

If you can’t participate, that’s okay! Please share this post so that others may see and enter to win some beautiful jewelry for the most important cause — saving lives.

Tagging for reach under the cut

@wayneradiotv @killy @kahin @tododeku-or-bust @wellwaterhysteria

@kibumkim @mangocheesecakes @kyra45-helping-others @7bitter @tortiefrancis 

@toiletpotato @fromjannah @omegaversereloaded @vague-humanoid @evillesbianvillain

@aristotels @komsomolka @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @heritageposts  @ot3 @brutaliakhoa

@amygdalae @ankle-beez @dykesbat @deepspaceboytoy 

@mazzikah @mahoushojoe @ana-bananya @rhubarbspring @pcktknife

@3amsnow @orange-coloredsky @ehjane @dogesterone @specialmouse

@smalldumbpigeon @sakeeeee @bhavna-does-stuff @hal-your-pal @nevermore-was-here 

@pronouncingitwang @sloppystyle @saltycharacters @cloudofdarkness @dirhwangdaseul

@boudicca @soul-hammer @mxwhore @desire-mona @batmanego

@magnus-rhymes-with-swagness @turian @determinate-negation @sylvianritual @neptunerings

[thegraceofganja]

Bling for your Bong!

Glitter Potion Bong Charms are here to add some Magic to your Favorite Bong.

Made with Semi Precious Quartz Beads to Elevate your Sesh.

Great for Spooky Season, or all year around for our Witchy Babes!

[carry-on-my-wayward-gays]

And That One is You: a Bird of Prey spinoff

Howdy! Another little drabble based on @roxie-roo 's Double Life au, Bird of Prey! Pure fluff this time I promise :D

"Come on.. We don't have too much longer left... the evening is young. Let's make the most of it."

"I've got just the idea."

Tango searches their chests. He pulls out pouches of loose redstone, shards of quartz and iron shavings. Jimmy watches, curious, as Tango tinkers over their crafting table. They don't have a lot of materials to work with, so Jimmy is surprised seeing what Tango is managing to do.

Wires are crafted with redstone and iron shavings. Quartz is used to conduct signals to their designated place and it's all encased in a wood box.

A radio. Tango's crafted a radio.

"Let's see if we can get a signal." Tango grins, placing it on top of a chest and immediately messing with the dials.

"And if we don't?" Jimmy asks.

Tango shrugs back. "Then we'll go loot chests for a jukebox and some discs."

Jimmy loves how optimistic he is. Even with so little time left, the hybrid is so positive and doing everything to make sure their last moments are ones they'll remember forever.

Then, the radio crackles to life. It's super static-y, and the speakers are weak. Jimmy thinks that if they turn it up any more than it's already at the thing would combust, but somehow it fits. It's absolutely perfect for the both of them, and just them. In their little ranch.

"There we go, now we just gotta..." Tango twists and bends the antenna, searching for something.

Jimmy waits. And waits. And-

The song is so muffled. It barely pierces the static, but there's a song.

Tango turns the dial for the volume, testing how high it'll go before it implodes... or something.

And with your admission, that you feel the same, I'll have reached the goal I'm dreaming of

Tango stretches out a hand, silently asking Jimmy to take it. To dance with him.

And Jimmy does.

Tango pulls his soulmate close. He hums lowly with the song as the two sway and spin in a small, slow circle. One hand rests comfortably on the small of Jimmy's back, the other laced with his partner's. Jimmy's other arm was looped around Tango's neck and rested comfortably on his shoulders.

Tango licks his lips nervously. "I don't want to set the world on fire, honey," He recites quietly with the song. Jimmy gazes into his eyes fondly, hanging on his every word.

"I love you too much. I just want to start a great big flame down in your heart." Tango smiles. Jimmy giggles, stopping their dance and pulling Tango in to kiss him.

Tango kisses back eagerly, and takes Jimmy by surprise by dipping him as they lose themselves in the kiss. The blond chirps in surprise, but makes no move to stop the blaze hybrid dipping him.

"I like this." Jimmy whispers. He doesn't need to, but it just feels right. "I wish it could always be like this."

Tango rests his forehead against Jimmy's and sighs. "Me too, songbird." His thumb rubs shapes into Jimmy's side where his hand supports the avian. He feels endgame sadness creeping up his throat, and he quickly swallows it in fear of spilling it where he doesn't want to. Now is not the time to mourn, but celebrate.

They'll meet again. Some day, somewhere.

"Come on, another song." He lifts Jimmy up and flicks the antenna around until it picks up something more upbeat. Jimmy's wings fluff up happily.

"Another dance?"

[calla-celtigar]

treasures of memory

a character challenge for @asongofgoldenfireandblackblood

“There, just beyond the chair. . .” Calla paused, turning her head to stare at the spot she had in mind. She put her hand in the air with an open palm.

“Pause. Behind the chair and to the left. To be level with that bookcase.” The servants promptly obeyed, softly setting the heavy chest on the ground parallel to another chest a short distance away. Calla offered them a pleasant look, and before they left the room, Prunella eagerly chattered behind them. 

“Milady, the chest looks fine there. Are you happy that it is with you?” The man beside her was one of her few captains, an older man who had seen decades at sea. He had known Calla since she could walk and visit Claw Isle’s port. He had been one of Lord Bartimos’ captains, but now he was her own.

“Yes, very much so, Edric. Thank you for bringing it with you in your latest shipment. I know that it must have created some trouble.” She turned her gaze to him as he offered her a grin.

“Not so, milady. Besides, the men always enjoy a wild night in King’s Landing.” Calla suppressed a small laugh, digging into a pouch to hand the man a small amount of gold dragons.

“Well, I still thank you and the men. Be sure to spend the coin wisely.” She smiled at him as he gave her a devious grin, bowing to her simultaneously.

“Nothing less for our lady. Be well, Lady Celtigar.” The captain swept out of the room as Calla turned her gaze to the chest, now sitting behind her desk but in front of one of her extensive bookshelves.

The chest was fine, lined with ivory-colored fabric, and decorated with plush scallops designs. The chest was made of two different kinds of wood from distant Qohor. One wood was a shade of dark red, while the other was a light tan that was nearly white in tone. The two colors made chevron patterns on the panels of the chest. It had been a wedding gift from her mother when she traveled to Westeros. Her father had found the chest some time ago, but Lady Elinor recently sent a raven asking if Calla desired the chest as her own. Calla said yes but was unsure why she had done so. She supposed that her father wanted to sell the chest for a high but worthy prize, but her lady stepmother had cautioned him against it. The chest was a relic of the past, but so was much of Calla’s chambers.

When Calla first arrived as Rhaenyra’s lady-in-waiting, she had a small room devoted to living quarters and her working space. Prunella came to share a bed with Umma tucked in an even smaller adjacent room. However, as her status had elevated, so had her apartments. The married ladies-in-waiting required more space for their children and household, but Calla did not need so many rooms. She chose the room with the most significant two spaces. One room was divided in half by two large bookcases that she stood in front of presently, a thickly-veiled partition between her living space and her work area. The living space was more extensive, but the office was comfortable for work and hosting guests. The other room was devoted to her wardrobe and Umma and Prunella's separate beds. Gone were the days of sleeping in one bed for her maids now, they had their own. Prunella complained that Umma snored in her ear during those days, but now she slept so at peace that Umma complained of Prunella’s habitual nighttime noise.

The working quarters were lined with bookshelves upon bookshelves. They were among Calla’s finest possessions, organized neatly and highly maintained. Calla’s most treasured times slowly came with her to King’s Landing, but eventually, they came in full force. However, not all shelves were filled with books. Some housed rare artifacts as well. Some included a rare bronze mirror wreathed in Valyrian script, a crackled glass candle, and a pair of red quartz Valyrian sphinxes. She used the sphinxes as bookends despite her suspicion that they had once been ritual objects. They were three of many more minor artifacts lining the room. They decorated the room beyond the hundreds of books, her highly organized desk, and two small chairs set before the desk. An ornate table carved with crab-like legs sat between the chairs, gilded in a thin layer of aging gold. It was more than a presentable space displaying Celtigar wealth but displayed the more intricate parts of Calla’s personality.

As her most intimate space, her innermost chamber room rarely saw anyone beyond Umma, Prunella, Moddey, and Calla herself. It was her equivalent of a sacred space. A large bed sat on the left side of the room, curtained by red swathes of nearly transparent silk. There had been mornings where Calla would turn her head and stare out the windows of the Tower of the Hand, peering out at the citing and the sea beyond. Prunella often swung the windows open on clear days, letting the sea breeze waft into the room. It was not the same as Claw Isle, where the wind smelled of salt and stone, but it reminded Calla of home nonetheless.

The rest of the room’s walls were covered with Valyrian tapestries. While they were not her most prized object, they were worth nearly an endless amount of coin. Many of the pieces had been handed down in the Celtigar family for generations, and she had only brought the smallest tapestries with her. Various patterns in Valyrian style decorated the tapestries, including an intricate weaving of blood-red crabs intermixed with white crabs. However, Calla’s favorite pieces showed scenes and images of the past. One displayed the coming of the three Valyrian houses to Westeros, the heads of House Targaryen with their dragons flanked by the leaders of House Velaryon and House Celtigar. Another depicted the keep at Claw Isle as it was being built, while another portrayed a nameless female dragonrider flying over an unknown land, her dragon a fearsome shade of dark purple with red-threaded eyes. An immense tapestry by far showed members of the Freehold of Valyria at war with the empire of Old Ghis. She had long debated with her House’s Maesters on which war the scene depicted. But alas, it was now lost to history.

Besides the tapestries, there was little else in the room. A small dresser sat by the far wall, candles illuminating the room in the night hours. Calla devoted the living space to the tapestries that hung and what they meant to both her family and herself.

Calla stood at the chest recently brought before her. The chest parallel to it had been one of the first things she had brought to King’s Landing five years previous. And now, next to it sat the one thing that Taena of Lys brought to Westeros. Years ago, it had been a wedding gift; perhaps it was meant to be hers. But now it sat amongst her priceless artifacts, all the treasures of memories long past.

[basilbellona]

HK Headcanon: Monomon was a decade or two away from cracking electricity.

I've seen it suggested (I genuinely cannot remember if it was by more than one person and I apologize, but I know it was at least suggested here) that Monomon is responding for creating charged lumaflies. This is likely due to 1: a tank of them being near her resting place, which indicates they might have been a more private research project. 2: They're also found in many areas througout Fog Canyon. And 3: it lines up with her science-lady perception and some chemical reactions have been observed to create electricity. (I'm not a chemist, do not use me as a reference.)

But I also favor the notion of them being a natural phenomenon that absolutely n o b o d y has any idea about.

And Monomon making it her personal mission to figure out what, why, and how these creatures are.

Part 1: Lumaflies v.s. Charged Lumaflies

According to the Hunter, "[t]hey usually drift about peacefully, but sometimes they cluster together and spit out a sharp, crackling flash that will stun and burn even large beasts like myself." It is unclear if by this he means regular lumaflies cluster together and combine their innate electrical charges or if charged lumaflies are a subspecies of lumaflies. Their differing behavior suggests the latter, but there's not many groups of lumaflies in peaceful, natural to compare them to. (The infected state of the lumaflies in the Watcher Knight's room certainly can't be considered normal circumstances.) It's a small, inconsequential mystery for the player in Hallownest’s ruins.

Part 2: Canon Use of (Charged?) Lumaflies and Associated Precautions

Assuming that lumaflies and charged lumaflies are of the same species, it makes sense that they're kept in separate glass lamps. The large chandeliers in the Watcher Knights' room have separate lamps to seemingly hold one or a few lumas as light sources, and likely to prevent a harmful shock. (The lower parts of these chandeliers seem slightly more opaque. Might be made of quartz, designed to produce a dispersed, aesthetic glow. But these parts appear to hold at least 1-3 lumaflies— unless they're flat sections of glass/quartz? Anyways,) I imagine the first crafters of luma-lamps and lumafly carers learned the hard way not to put a bunch of (agitated) ouch-flies in a jar. It might be brighter but, definitely not worth the potential danger. Thus, the separate lamps are put into practice. Can it be called inefficient if it's safe? Perhaps not, but that probably wouldn't stop the Teacher from trying to find a way to make it better.

Part 3: Integration of Electricity and Charged Lumafly Husbandry

That makes me wonder, if she d i d crack the mystery to their charge, how would that electricity be integrated into Hallownest? Slowly. It'd probably start out as a lightly tested energy system only accessible for the elite, until it becomes a safer and a widespread commodity. The bugs of Hallownest display a masterful knack for engineering. (The worst of it being in use at the Crystal Peaks and White Palace.) Pretty much all their machines (save for those in the White Palace and the Soul Sanctum key door) seem to be mechanically activated and involve switches, pulleys, and gears. The only sources of activation we see are either pressure/inertia or soul. Both require bugs to consciously put systems in place to keep it activated. Not too much though, it seems, since it’s not that hard to flip a switch or, if you're the King, to produce soul. But electricity is much more versatile. It'd replace those bulky machines and labyrinths full of gears. Plus, it's a much more powerful, versatile source of energy. (SAD for lumafly lovers like me, though.)

Though, what would this mean for the charged lumaflies? How would they be treated? Would they simply need to be kept in groups to produce charges, or must they feel threatened and stressed to do so? Do they expire faster if they don't stop shocking? Are the natural pauses between shocks their safety cooldowns? Wouldn't the stress still negatively affect them? Would groups of charged lumaflies need to be conditioned to shock in alternating patterns so they electricity keeps flowing? Would people breed stronger c. lumaflies for more charge? Would the mutant-lumaflies escape their feeble handlers, resulting in a hoarde of lightning beasts that raze Hallownest to the ground???

Hopefully, all of the above are factors the Teacher would consider.

Side Note: Volt Twisters?

And as a side note— maybe I'm underestimating the arrogance of the Soul Sanctum residents, but I cannot see a rational scholar looking at this artifical ouch-fly and going, "Mm. Yes, I should eat that to gain their power." However, there are people in real life who do that with synthesized substances so I'm likely just thinking wishfully. Just because I can't stand artificial tastes and smells doesn't mean others cannot. And bugs definitely have alcohol. They definitely have revelry. There's probably some other artifical stuff in the mix, too. And there's the whole soul-sucking business in the Sanctum, and the King himself tampered with the Void Beneanth the World. But regsrdless of whether they're natural or artificial, this makes me wonder... Is the reason why the volt twisters only show up at the Colosseum because they were kicked out for charged lumafly "drugs"? "Oh no, don't put that lethal, sense-exploding substance inside you that's not supposed to be inside you, noooo." Kinda hypocritical, given the aforementioned soul-sucking. But feasibly in character for the upper-crust madman running the place.

Maybe these guys were ahead of the game, though. If only Monomon hadn't become a Dreamer— we might have gotten a Hallownest glowing with electricity; a much more dangerous but adaptable place.

But on that note, how the heck are the music players powered? By soul? That seems to be what powers the trams, if their glowing buttons are anything to go off of. Maybe the Pale King would approve of inegrating electricity as both a sign of his kingdom’s advancement and him not having to expend himself for his cool projects anymore. (Probably his alone because only he might be able to power them, as far as we know.) It could even let them become widespread household/town items.

So, yeah. Monomon was/is smart and I think she deserves to solve a natural mystery

[katchwreck]

I broke a personal record yesterday, I managed to identify 11 different, albeit infinitesimal, raw stones which all of them contained [a] Diamond! Separately, all of them are much less than one carat, but adding them all up would probably end up with a one (if lucky: a few) carat worth of Diamond. I also found one Elbaite which is (one of) the most expensive gemstone(s) in the world, fetching up to $15.000 for one (1) carat.

They all come from the same quarry and crust, which is as deep as that place allowed me to dig. Along with the Diamonds I also found Emerald (en masse!), Blue Apetite (loads), Blue Aventurine (rather many), Kiwi Stone (rather many), Tree Agate (rather many), Amazonite (x3), Snowflake Obsidian (x5), Aquamarine (x9), Ruby (x15), Melted Aluminum (x6 or more), Sapphire (x4), Dalmatian Stone (x2), K2 Jasper (x1), Zebra Marble (x1), Labradorite (x4), Dendritic Agate (x1), Amethyst (x7), Celestine (x1), Moldavite (x3), Snakeskin Agate (x1), Tentalite (x1), Cuprite (x1), Biotite (x1), Larvikite (x3), Lapis Lazuli (x1), Aventurine (x2), Aragonite (x1), Crackle Quartz (x2), Autunite (x1), Opal (x1), Green Chalcedony (x1), and Garnet in Limestone (x1).

I found more also, but those are the ones I thought is worthy of mentioning, plus there are so many stones (from the same quarry) lying here in which I havenʼt yet got around to identify. 💫

Pictured: First four are stones containing Diamond, the last two pictures are pictures of some peculiar stones in which I added some effects to in order to illustrate it more thoroughly, and admittingly, theretill to gain your rapt attention respectively.