#it destroys the intricate world building

[infiniteglitterfall]

A Chabad synagogue in Pomona, New York, burned to the ground on April 17th, along with its three Torah scrolls.

Torah scrolls are hand-written, hand-made, and kept in elaborately decorated cases or wrappings.

Many of them have long histories; my synagogue has two, I think, that were smuggled out of villages being destroyed in pogroms or in Nazi attacks. One of them is the only remaining piece of that village on earth.

Sometimes, the Torah scroll doesn't even belong to the synagogue, but is on loan from a place like the Memorial Scrolls Trust:

There's an entire Jewish holiday just for taking them out and dancing with them: Simchat Torah, "The Joy of Torah."

In fact, that was the holiday on which Hamas's invasion took place.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by We Are Tov (@wearetov)

So it's a particular tragedy when a Torah is destroyed.

Chabad itself has a page about what goes into making just one Torah scroll:

"An authentic Torah scroll is a mind-boggling masterpiece of labor and skill. Comprising between 62 and 84 sheets of parchment -- cured, tanned, scraped and prepared according to exacting Torah law specifications -- and containing exactly 304,805 letters, the resulting handwritten scroll takes many months to complete.

"An expert pious scribe carefully inks each letter with a feather quill, under the intricate calligraphic guidelines of Ktav Ashurit (Ashurite Script). The sheets of parchment are then sewn together with sinews to form one long scroll. While most Torah scrolls stand around two feet in height and weigh 20-25 pounds, some are huge and quite heavy, while others are doll-sized and lightweight."

I learned all of this on Tumblr.

Once upon time, in people's "punch Nazis" days, I would've been able to find some mention on Tumblr of this synagogue burning.

There is none, so I'm posting about it.

And I'm going to quote Daniel Weiner, Rabbi of Temple de Hirsch Sinai in Bellevue, Washington, when his own synagogue was vandalized last November:

"It’s horrific and heartbreaking.... [Taking out your feelings about] what's going on in the Middle East by defacing a sacred space of a synagogue -- that’s the very definition of antisemitism."

I'm also posting about the Kehillat Shaarei Torah Synagogue in Toronto, whose windows were broken on Friday, April 19th, by someone who also tried to break the front door down.

And the April 15 graffiti outside a Bangor, Maine synagogue that said, "Nazi Israel 30K murdered," next to a crossed-out Star of David. The same synagogue faced pro-Hamas flyers plastered around it in November.

I was going to include all the synagogues vandalized over the past six months. But there are way too many. Several every week. Lots are swastikas.

I'll go back to just doing attacks on and near synagogues.

Someone has to talk about the 1-year-old who was stabbed outside Temple Beth Zion-Beth Israel (BZBI) synagogue, in Philadelphia, on April 13th.

The foiled terrorist attack on a Moscow synagogue on April 11th.

The man who, on April 9th, screamed at the rabbi at Moldova's Great Synagogue, "What are you doing here? How come no one has finished you off for everything you are doing to the Palestinians?" Just one week after people had vandalized a Holocaust memorial in nearby Soroka, and sprayed "Free Palestine" on it.

The Oldenburg, Germany synagogue that was firebombed on April 5th.

The Florida Las Olas Chabad Jewish Center, which on March 16 burned, but not to the ground. The Torah scrolls were safe, and no one was hurt, but the back of the building was severely damaged.

The planned-but-thwarted-on-March-7th ISIS massacre in a Moscow synagogue.

The stabbing of an Orthodox Jew in Switzerland on March 5th. (He was badly injured, but expected to survive.)

A man leaving a synagogue in Paris was beaten on March 3rd.

People set the courtyard of a synagogue in Sfax, Tunisia on fire on February 27th. Firefighters managed to put the fire out before it consumed the inside of the building.

The synagogue is no longer used; there are no Jews left in its area, and fewer than 1,000 Jews left in Tunisia overall.

(Thousands of Tunisian Jews were sent to work camps during the Holocaust. Antisemitism across the Middle East continued to increase rapidly for decades. By the 1970s, 90% of Tunisian Jews had fled to France or Israel.)

On February 18, an Orthodox Jew leaving Synagogue of Inverrary-Chabad in Lauderhill, Florida, was beaten by an attacker yelling racial slurs.

Someone deliberately chose International Holocaust Remembrance Day, January 27, to smash all the windows in the front of Sgoolai Israel Synagogue in downtown Fredericton, New Brunswick.

On December 29, Turkey arrested 32 people linked to ISIS who were planning attacks on synagogues and churches.

On December 17, a man drove a U-Haul truck up onto the sidewalk between a barrier and the front door of the Kesher Israel Congregation in Washington D.C., got out, and started yelling "Gas the Jews." He also sprayed a foul-smelling substance on two people leaving the synagogue.

December 17 also saw 400 synagogues across the United States receive bomb threats.

On December 11, a man attacked an elderly couple on their way into a synagogue in Los Angeles, screaming, "Give me your earrings, Jew!!" and beating one of them bloody with a belt. (Happily, he chased the guy down the street, and caught him when his pants fell down.)

On December 10, a 16-year-old was arrested in Vienna for planning an attack on a synagogue.

On December 8, on the first night of Hanukkah, 15 synagogues in New York State received bomb threats. And someone screamed, "Free Palestine," and fired shots outside of Temple Israel in Albany, NY. Which has a preschool that was in session.

Meanwhile, the five Jews left in Egypt were canceling public Hanukkah candle-lighting at their synagogue out of fear of reprisals. Particularly after two Israelis in Alexandria had been gunned down by terrorists on October 8. (While Israel was still fighting Hamas in Israel.)

On November 15, a terrorist group set the only synagogue in Armenia on fire.

Armenian Secret Army for the Liberation of Armenia (ASALA) has a history of working with the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine (PFLP).

(PFLP is part of Hamas's network of groups. Samidoun is their nonprofit arm - which is why Germany banned Samidoun last year, although it's still active in many other countries.

PFLP is also actively supported by the Palestinian Youth Movement (PYM), a diaspora nonprofit group, and Within Our Lifetime (WOL), an SJP spinoff in NYC.)

On November 11, halfway through Shabbat services, police asked Central Shul in Melbourne, Australia to evacuate "as a precaution" due to a "pro-Palestinian" protest that had chosen the neighboring park as its gathering place. Australia has seen some very outspoken antisemitism at protests, including the march shortly after October 7 that chanted "Gas the Jews."

Also on November 11, protesters targeted a synagogue along a march route. They sat in their cars, spraying green smoke and shouting at people leaving the synagogue. The march itself featured a record number of horrifying signs and chants.

On November 7th, Congregation Beth Tikvah in Montreal was firebombed, and the back door of the Jewish organization across the street (Federation CJA) was set on fire.

On November 4, protesters chanted "Bomb Israel," and burned an Israeli flag outside the only synagogue in Malmo, Sweden.

During October, there were 501 antisemitic acts under investigation in France in just three weeks, including groups gathering in front of synagogues shouting threats, and graffiti such as the words “killing Jews is a duty” sprayed outside a stadium.

On October 18, people firebombed a synagogue in Berlin after homes all over the neighborhood were graffitied with stars of David.

And also on October 18, hundreds of "pro-Palestine" rioters attacked the Or Zaruah Synagogue, in the Spanish enclave of Melilla in North Africa, while worshippers were inside.

Based on the video, they seem to have blocked the synagogue entrance completely, while screaming "Murderous Israel" and waving Palestinian flags. (Melilla is an autonomous zone belonging to Spain. It borders Morocco.)

On October 17, during pro-Palestinian protests, hundreds of rioters set fire to Al Hammah synagogue, an abandoned house of prayer in central Tunisia. They hammered down the building’s walls and raised a Palestinian flag on the building. Police did not intervene.

The Facebook page "Tunigate", which has around 88 thousand followers, published a video of the assault. So did "Radio Bousalem”, with 83 thousand users. The vast majority of comments on these videos welcome these acts. The building was severely damaged and almost completely razed to the ground.

On October 15, bomb threats were sent to many East Coast synagogues. Attleboro synagogue Congregation Agudas-Achim received one of the emails, which read, "The bombs will blow up in a few hours. A lot of people will die. You all deserve to die."

On October 8 -- again, while Hamas was still in Israel -- Madrid’s main synagogue was defaced with graffiti that read “Free Palestine” next to a crossed-out Star of David.

And on October 7, an assailant in Rockland, NY fired a BB gun at two women entering a synagogue. Later in the month, a banner at the Stephen Wise Free Synagogue in the area was vandalized with the words, “Fuckin kikes."

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Minecraft Part 2

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

Alien: *Observes ruined remains of once proud city Alien: What happened? Human: There was a spider and in my attempts to kill it things got out of hand. Alien: How does trying to kill a spider destroy your whole city? Human: I tried using fire. Alien: How much fire? Human: *Points to several dozen lava buckets used* Human: I want to say all the fire. ---------------------

Alien: Am I meeting you at your base? Human: Nah, I lost that one so I had to build a new one. Alien: Wait, how did you lose it? Human: Turns out piglin’s can walk through the ender portal into the above world. Alien: So? Alien: It’s not a problem if you- Alien: …….. Alien: wait, you didn’t seal off your portal room? Human: I did not. -------------------------

Alien: *walking through dying npc village* Alien: Wasn’t this place thriving last time we were here? Human: Yeah; probably fell apart when I diverted the river. Alien: You what?! Human: I didn’t like how it looked so I blocked it off and shifted it in a different direction. Alien: What gives you the right to destroy this innocent town? Human: Innocent? Human: Have you seen their trading rates? Human: Why would I pay 15 emeralds for an iron pickaxe? -----------------------

Alien: Why are you hiding? Human: I am being hunted by the deadliest creature in the game. Alien: *Intrigued* What is that? Human: *Points at looming shadow* There…. *Shadow takes shape and reveals itself to be a frog* Alien: Seriously? Frog: Ribbit. *Frog opens its mouth and shoots out to alien* *Tongue latches on to alien and eat him* Human: They never listen…… --------------------------

Alien: What the hell is this? Human: It’s my home. Alien: It’s made of dirt. Human: So? Alien: Why in the sixteen hells would you make your house out of dirt? Human: I mean, it’s everywhere. Alien: So are fraking trees! -----------------------------

Human: BEHOLD! Human: A TOWN MADE OUT OF IRON! Alien: Seems like a waste of iron. Alien: Why did you make this? Human: Because I wanted to make the golems protecting the town have an existential crisis as they ponder the question “Are we made out of the town, or is the town made out of us?” Alien: By the gods you should not be left alone with your thoughts for long. ------------------------------

Alien: *Finishes building village in middle of a lake* Alien: Finally! Alien: No mobs will be able to make it across the water to reach them! Human: Um…. Human: You do know about the underwater zombies, right? Alien: I’m sorry, the what? *Trident goes flying past head as swarms of underwater zombies emerge* -----------------------------

Alien: Why did you spend three weeks rearranging the landscape? Human: So I can go on long walks through it. Alien: That’s it? Alien: How can that possibly be worth the effort? Human: Join me and see. *Pair proceed to walk down a long intricate pathway with different color trees, rivers and waterfalls, mountain ranges and rolling hills* Alien: Damn. Alien: That was peaceful. Human: I know, right? -----------------------------

Alien: What are you doing? Human: Trading with the piglins. Alien: Why? Human: It’s fascinating watching them when you throw gold at them. Alien: Didn’t they destroy your city my swarming through the open ender portal? Human: Yes. Alien: And you’ve forgiven them for that? Human: Oh no. Human: I plan on sealing up their home area later on and then pouring buckets of lava into it from the highest places and watching them run, scream, and beg for their lives before the all-consuming flames devour their flesh. Human: But right now I find them amusing so I think I’ll pause on that plan for a day or two. Alien: ……………….. Alien: What your gods must think of you when they see such casual malice. Human: They learned long ago to leave us be. For we have learned that they topple just as easily as their temples, and their names cast to the sands of time beneath our feet.

[diazmaximoff]

Daniel's power isn't less interesting than Max's

I think telekinesis is a really fitting story element for Life is Strange 2 because, unlike Max, who’s a young adult with a somewhat clear sense of self and purpose with her own powers, Daniel is still a child figuring out what he wants to do and what he’s capable of. His power is so simple yet unpredictable in nature, so the uncertainty of his future stands out even more to the player, prompting them to guide Daniel and help him find his place in the world with his newfound abilities. Let me elaborate.

Just like a child can master a range of skills—from learning new languages to playing musical instruments, or excelling in any possible sport—Daniel’s power is ridiculously versatile and it allows him to handle various tasks and challenges in countless ways: he can attack, defend, build, destroy, bend, steer, fly things around, exert control over someone's body, manipulate his environment and even perform intricate tasks like crafting or repairing. It's a power that can adapt to many situations, much like how children can grow into any role or talent they pursue. Children are born to be jacks of all trades.

In the first game, Max’s powers symbolized her struggles with insecurity and the desire to rectify past mistakes. She wanted to correct her every error, ultimately realizing that she can't and she just has to accept them like a responsible adult. In the second game, the power is a representation of a child's untapped potential and reflects the boundless possibilities of a child’s development, showing that with the right guidance, Daniel’s potential is as vast and adaptable as his power, allowing him to become anything he sets his mind to.

I really loved the part in episode 5 where Daniel used his power to build statues with Joan in Away. It's such a bittersweet moment that showcased his creativity and potential before the chaos that was about to unfold. It got me thinking that Daniel might even dream of becoming a constructor in the future. But ultimately, his path is his to forge and he has the freedom to shape his destiny however he chooses.

[amerricanartwork]

Hi! I just wondered if you've played Hollow Knight based off how much you like Rain World. I'd be interested in any thoughts you had on it. :)

Thanks for the ask! No, I have not yet played Hollow Knight, BUT my interest in the game has been piqued! However I still have to see if the gameplay itself seems up my alley, or get invested enough in the characters that I want to discover more than I've already found out (and I have spoiled quite a lot for myself) before I actually decide to buy the game.

Regardless, from what I do know it does seem like an interesting story, albeit one far more tragic than Rain World's in my opinion. The characters I've seen are also pretty cool, both in design and personality. In fact, it was some ship fanart I found a few weeks ago that got me interested in diving deeper into the game once I realized it was where the featured characters were from, especially since one of the characters I had remembered hearing about before.

Here's a little sketch of some characters I was thinking about and whom I've been meaning to draw for a bit! Hornet because she's very Shaped™, Quirrel because from what I've seen he's quite wholesome, and Tiso because he was the first character I heard about and I think he's kinda silly!

Also, some more comparing/contrasting thoughts about the game below:

Firstly, I like how the premise of Kollow Knight involves anthropomorphic insects! It's something I never realized until recently despite being aware of HK for at least a few years, but I usually tend to take interest in stories starring non-humanoid creatures, so it's a plus! I also enjoy the more gothic/Victorian-looking magical high fantasy aesthetic, though it's pretty different from Rain World, which I'd consider far more sci-fi and specbio-esque in its aesthetic.

Now to get into themes, so far Hollow Knight seems to share Rain World's theme of lost/dead civilizations, which is also a very interesting premise to me! However, HK seems to have a greater focus on interacting with the people of its dying civilization and as such you get far more definitive knowledge about what happened to cause it to collapse. The player character seems to take on more of a classic epic hero role, because from what I've heard about the lore and endings, they end up directly influencing the fate of Hallownest, even potentially destroying or defeating the force that caused its ruin. The visuals have this very dark, cool tint overall to sell that gloomy, mournful vibe, and the structures, while presumably old, are still mostly smooth, ornate, and not super deteriorated, with these castle or manor-like appearances more similar to real-life buildings or things in other high fantasy works. Then, the orchestral music I've heard alongside all of these elements really creates this impression in me that it's aesthetic and overall concept is more akin to a high fantasy epic tale, albeit a rather tragic one.

Meanwhile, Rain World seem to have the player take more of an anthropologist role, observing and trying to piece together the story of vast remnants of its dead civilization, which seem alien and impossibly complex because so much of the history they're from has been lost to time. One of the core themes is being very small compared to these long abandoned structures, to really sell the idea that this history is so much older and more intricate than you'll ever know. The colors of Rain World are often warmer, which can be associated with old things, and the structures are far more weathered and broken down, with the only living survivors of the people who made them being the iterators, whom we only get to hear directly from two of. Combined with the focus on simulating an ecosystem, the more directly religious ideas within, the themes of natural cycles and an entire civilization evolving, changing, and ultimately disappearing over deep time, and the overall alien, sci-fi industrial designs of the architexture and strange creature designs that look like things out of "Of Rust and Humus" or some other alien speculative biology worldbuilding project make RW fit well in with that genre of fiction in my opinion.

Sorry if I seem like I kinda took a sudden shift there, but I wanted to talk about this contrast in artistic aesthetics and story genres for a moment because the "lasting impression" an art piece creates something I've recently concluded is pretty important overall in works of art, at least for mine!

But anyway, I hope these thoughts were satisfying for now! Thanks again for the ask!

[pan-problemed]

A body on the step and lies all about - i

cooper howard x angel!gn!reader

tags; slow burn, character study, cowboys, angels, religion, gender neutral reader warnings; none

masterlist | cross posted on ao3 inspired by the fallen by @geeks-universe! please check it out summary ; You are an angel, trying to help humanity build what their leaders destroyed. He is a man cursed to painful immortality, trying to survive in the world his leaders destroyed.

He thought he had squashed out all that remained of his humanity, but here you were, all gentle hands and knowing looks, throwing a wrench into the character he had so carefully constructed.

Some of the others questioned why you remained on Earth, even after Father’s creations had burnt it in fire and gamma. They had all given up hope that good may remain and therefore given up on all of them.

You knew not all of them were at fault - a single secretary could do nothing in the face of her government’s greed and hubris. She could not be blamed, could not be declared evil for someone else’s crime. 

Still, grief was something you had become intricately familiar with. Looking at the ashen remains of all Father and humanity had created, you felt nothing but grief in its rawest, most volatile form. 

But you remained. You held onto that hope, because what else were you without it? 

Few of your siblings remained on Earth, equally dedicated to protecting and nudging humanity in the right direction. You remained in contact, despite millennia-long arguments on right and wrong. 

If you asked yourself back in the 20th century whether you’d find yourself allies and almost friends with Lucifer himself, you wouldn’t have believed it. 

But here you were. Constantly tasting the acidic flavour of radiation in the air, watching as humans tore each other apart again and again and tried to undo what they had done each time.

---

Purdue had grown into a careful little town in recent years. Before, they had called it West Lafayette, and before then it was Chauncey. But now it was Purdue, named after the title stamped into cracked signs and burnt textbooks. 

They still used the old street signs - someone had taken time to repaint the little forest green rectangles and white letters. 

Fondy was a bar built in the bottom floor of an apartment building, half of the letters had fallen off with age, the original name lost to time. Some of the apartments now were used as an inn, though not many travellers ended up in Purdue when Lucas Oil and Big State were only a day’s walk south. 

And here you were, sitting at the counter as Buddy Holly’s voice buzzed from the little restored radio on the counter. Lukas Striker had recently set up in Big State, and you had provided a generous donation of songs to the bright-eyed boy. What a King was doing starting a radio show in the remnants of Indiana was beyond you, but you were happy to indulge. 

You had always liked music, after all. 

You were nursing your first drink of the night - whisky, caravanned out of Kentucky. The bitter taste was familiar on your tongue. Nothing compared to the expensive drinks Lucifer would encourage you to indulge in back in the day, alongside corny movies and drunken exchanges of stories. 

He had been on a Western kick in 2076 and some of ‘77, particularly fond of one pretty little actor named Cooper Howard. His dark hair carefully slicked back reminded you of a gang you met back in the day, though it took quite a few more drinks to pull that story out of you. 

You reckoned, if they ever made a movie about them, put some facial hair and cigarettes on Howard and he was practically the spitting image. 

The ice clinked against the stained glass as you thought back to those late nights, drinking and laughing at the humans’ entertainment. 

Before the resources grew too few, and the humans’ greed too powerful. 

The ramshackle wood doors creaked open, announcing a new customer, but you didn’t look up from the spot you were studying on the counter. It had been built out of old signs and car parts, you could see a Toyota logo. 

He sat three stools from you and ordered in a low voice, heavy with a southern accent. Speaking of Westerns, you thought to yourself. 

You cast him a brief glance. He had rough skin, most of it covered with a ragged duster and clothes stained brown. His hat was angled to shield his eyes, despite being inside, and you could see the way his hazel eyes studied the room curiously. 

You recognised his kind - mortals cursed to immortality. Skin ragged and burnt. Some had their brains melt away with the cartilage and hair, but others held onto their sanity despite. 

His gaze met yours - intelligent, calculating, suspicious - and you held it for a moment, sizing each other up. 

There was something familiar about him that tugged at your tongue, but you couldn’t puzzle it out just yet. You would keep an eye on him, then - he had a dangerous look about him. 

The radio buzzed as the music rolled over to Billie Holiday. You didn’t look away, even as his drink was passed to him. 

Finally, he downed the thing in one gulp and slammed the glass on the counter, leaning forward. “Reckon I’ve seen you before.” He mused. 

“I thought the same.” You replied evenly, taking a careful sip from your drink. 

The two of you fell silent again. You wondered what he was thinking, why he wasn’t ignoring you as you had planned to do to him. 

He gestured for another drink, and the bartender hesitated for a moment. The man sighed and retrieved a few coppers, which seemed to appease the bartender for now. 

“What brings you to Purdue?” You decided to ask, growing uncomfortable with the tense silence in the nearly empty bar. 

He hummed, leaning back in his seat and draping one arm on the counter, tilting his head to look at you. 

It clicked, then, who you were looking at. Speak of the devil (haha), the hollowed out ghost of Cooper Howard sat in that torn duster, staring you down with curiosity and bitterness in those chesnut eyes. 

“Work.” He replied simply. “You?” 

You shrugged. “I travel.” 

He paused, tilting his head a little further, and you couldn’t help but compare him to a little labrador puppy studying something new for the first time. 

The conversation largely ended there, though both of you did ocassionally hum along to the music playing from the radio. He was much more quiet than you, but the tapping of his fingers and the soft rumble of his voice didn’t escape your attention. 

You gave him a friendly smile as you left, though he ignored it. 

And you wondered. 

[brandytea]

Oblivious to the outer world, Lil Smash obsessively builds intricate constructions with blocks, then destroys them with force. Never interrupt the process. You don’t want to witness his fits of rage or worse… His mama is coming to the rescue!

[blueiscoool]

Greece Reopens the 2,400-Year-Old Palace Where Alexander the Great Was Crowned

The 2,300-year-old Palace of Aigai—the largest building in classical Greece—had been under renovation for 16 years.

On the day he was crowned king of Macedonia, Alexander the Great stood atop the intricately patterned marble floors of the Palace of Aigai. This week, the historic palace finally opened to the public after a 16-year-long restoration, report Derek Gatopoulos and Costas Kantouris of the Associated Press (AP).

At 160,000 square feet, the Palace of Aigai was classical Greece’s largest structure. Built primarily by Alexander’s father, Phillip II, in the fourth century B.C.E., it was the home of the Argead dynasty, ancient Macedonia’s ruling family. It was destroyed by the Romans in 148 B.C.E. and endured a subsequent series of lootings. Renovating and excavating this sprawling monument was a serious undertaking, costing over 20 million euros ($22 million).

The Greek government was able to maintain the “general appearance” of the site amid careful alterations to the monument’s towering marble columns, delicate mosaics and textured flooring, according to Xiaofei Xu and Chris Liakos. The palace once featured large column-lined courtyards, worship sites and expansive banquet halls, and its restoration presented a “three-dimensional jigsaw puzzle,” per the AP. Archaeologists solved it by combining stones from the structure’s ruins with replica parts to reproduce the original structures.

Archaeologist Angeliki Kottaridi started working on the renovation efforts as a university student. Overseeing the project’s progress over many years and contributing to its excavation and reconstruction, Kottardi became a leading figure in the project.

“What you discover is stones scattered in the dirt, and pieces of mosaics here and there,” Kottaridi told state television before an opening ceremony on Friday, per the AP. “Then you have to assemble things, and that’s the real joy of the researcher.”

The Palace of Aigai is located in northern Greece between what are now the towns of Palatitsia and Vergina. Its reopening builds on discoveries made in the late 1970s by Greek archaeologist Manolis Andronikos, who unearthed a cluster of royal Macedonian artifacts, including gold and silver ceremonial weapons and armor, and burials, one of which is thought to contain Phillip’s remains. The palace and its neighboring tombs are now a UNESCO World Heritage site.

Deeming it “among the most important archaeological sites in Europe,” UNESCO writes that the Palace of Aigai “represents an exceptional testimony to a significant development in European civilization, at the transition from the classical city state to the imperial structure of the Hellenistic and Roman periods.”

As the site of the first capital of the ancient kingdom of Macedonia, the Palace of Aigai signifies the onset of Alexander’s rule, which would stretch from Asia to the Middle East, and provides a crucial window into Macedonian culture.

“The importance of such monuments transcends local boundaries, becoming property of all humanity,” said Kyriakos Mitsotakis, Greece’s prime minister, at the inauguration event, per CNN. “And we as the custodians of this precious cultural heritage, we must protect it, highlight it, promote it and at the same time expand the horizons revealed by each new facet.”

By Catherine Duncan.

[historyofromanovs]

do you know where the first few of the romanovs resided before all of the palaces were built and if so, are any of them remaining? do we know what they look like?

I'm afraid very little from the earliest days of the Romanov dynasty had survived the ravages of time. By the time of Nicholas II, many early residences had already been either destroyed or replaced by the modern and elegant palaces we see today. Here's a few that survived.

The Cabin of Peter the Great May 1703

Built during the founding of the city of Saint Petersburg, the log cabin was the first St. Petersburg "palace" of Tsar Peter the Great. The small wooden house was constructed in just three days, by soldiers of the Semyonovskiy Regiment. 

At that time, the new St. Petersburg was described as "a heap of villages linked together, like some plantation in the West Indies".

The Cabin was boarded up and camouflaged during the Second World War. It was the first St. Petersburg museum to reopen in September 1944, after the end of the Siege of Leningrad. 

This cabin must have appeared as a huge downgrade after the wooden palace of Tsar Alexei!

The Wooden Palace of Tsar Alexei Romanov 1667

The recreation of an authentic mid-17th century Romanov residence was built recently in 2010. The Palace of Tsar Alexei Mikhailovich, also known as the Wooden Palace of Tsar Alexei, is a large wooden palace in Kolomenskoye, near Moscow, Russia.

The original was built in 1667 without using any fasten materials, nails or hooks. The wooden palace, famed for its fanciful, fairytale roofs, was a summer residence for Russian tsars before St. Petersburg was constructed. 

The palace was divided into male and female halves, with the Tsar and Tsarevitches towers and chambers in the male half and the Tsarina's towers in the female half. 

The palace's interior featured rich decorations, including carving, painting, gilding, and ceramic tiles, as well as rectangular and round stoves, weathercocks, and windows and porches. 

Foreigners referred to this huge maze of intricate corridors and 250 rooms, as 'an Eighth Wonder of the World'. Although basically only a summer palace, it was the favorite residence of Tsar Alexei I.

The future Empress Elizabeth Petrovna was born in the palace in 1709, and Tsar Peter the Great spent part of his youth here.

Upon the departure of the court for the swamps of St. Petersburg, the palace fell into disrepair, so that Catherine the Great refused to make it her Moscow residence. On her orders the wooden palace was demolished in 1768, but thankfully, the detailed plans of the palace had survived.

Summer Palace of Peter the Great

1714

One of the earliest imperial residences I can think of that still exists today is the modest Summer Palace of Peter the Great, which is located on an island near the Peter and Paul Fortress, the burial place of the Romanovs.

The palace was built between 1710 and 1714, a few years before the proclamation of the Russian Empire. By the time of Tsar Nicholas II's reign at the end of the 19th century, it became vacant.

During the Second World War, both the Summer Palace and Summer Gardens were badly damaged by a German bombing raid. The building was repaired, however, and the layout remains unchanged from the original.

Above: The palace as depicted in 1809. Below: The residence today.

Monplaisir Palace in Peterhof 1714-1716

There is another residence owned by Peter the Great that is still standing today. And that is the Monplaisir Palace in Peterhof.

The following painting depicts the formidable Tsar and his son and heir Tsarevich Alexei Petrovich, who has been accused of preparing to seize power, in the interior of the Monplaisir Palace. Before pronouncing sentence, Peter I gazes into his son's eyes, still hoping to discern signs of remorse.

Above: The Parade Hall of Monplaisir Palace today.

[royculkins]

the universal curse of sensitivity — igby slocumb (Final Part)

part five: let the light in

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Igby Slocumb x reader

Warnings: Drug use, underage nicotine use, neglectful parents, explicit language, adults messing around with kids when they shouldn't, and anything else that can be found in the movie Igby Goes Down

Summary: Troublesome kids will always reach to find love and acceptance, even if it means making a mess where it's unintended. They’re just kids, but the older they get, the worse their inner conflicts haunt them. They want to please, but long to be pleased. They’re dramatic and self-sabotaging, they can’t help it⸺its the universal curse of their sensitivity.

Tag List: @gaysludge @wsrizz @confusedoatmeal @b1mb0slvt @slvttyclementine @he4vens-ang3l @alexiagx @moosh-i

Authors Note: It's crazy to think this is the end, but I'm so happy with how it turned out! My inspiration for this chapter was, of course, Let the Light In by Lana Del Rey and Work Song by Hozier. I hope you enjoy it! I love y'all so much!

4.6k words

The stars that hung in the sky on the night you spent with Igby would tell the tale of true warmth and delicate feelings for the rest of their burning lives. Echoing the comforting words the two of you shared. Encapsulating every touch, hug, and graze of fingertips against skin. They’d speak of the screaming color that wrapped itself around the two of your colorless lives while trying to recount the secret language of your understanding of one another.

And even if they could remember every intricate detail of that night⸺it still wouldn’t serve justice to how powerful the night truly was for you both.

That night replayed in your heads for days later, you didn’t speak about the looming presence of his family or your secret that could destroy the last lingering connection you had to your own. Instead, you held onto each other, words of comfort falling past lips and promising potential future harmony to each other. You had fallen asleep tangled in each other's presence and promises, letting reality slip away from your grasp as you soaked in the golden moment between the two of you.

However, reality would make itself apparent again. It had to⸺Igby, and you had known that from the moment he arrived at your apartment that night. But it didn’t make this day any easier.

The cold chill that had once been present in New York had allowed the graces of a warmer day to make itself known, the sun dancing across the sky with a watchful gaze. Igby glanced at it as he walked the familiar path to your apartment; his movements were more dreadful and slow than they had previously been. A part of him cursed this day away; he once wished for a warm day in this cold city, and he hated the irony that was a warm evening in this damnest of times.

He paused when your building came into his view, his eyes trained on the very window he first saw you. The memory of your body being haloed by the sun and your teasing voice irking his soul as you purposely called him the wrong name. He found you annoying and never imagined a world where your voice would become his beacon of light and liveliness.

Letting his hazel eyes rise up to where you two had shared countless joints and stared down at the passing people below, his eyes met your figure, and he had half a mind to turn around and forget what he had to do. Or he could join you and refuse to let reality capture him and swallow him whole. He wasn’t sure⸺he just knew he didn’t want to do this.

Any thought of running was banished from his mind as you leaned against the brick railing of your roof, looking down at his body that stood across the street. You tilt your head, watching the boy stand frozen in the middle of a frenzy of moving bodies. Even at a distance, even with many people standing between you, it somehow felt like it was just the two of you as your eyes locked on one another. Sucking in a breath, Igby drifted across the street toward your apartment as if he was a moth to a flame, unable to think of anything but getting to you and enjoying the burn of your light.

Pushing open the door to the roof, his eyes take only seconds to find you. Your body is in the exact place it was the first time you had invited him up to the roof. Your legs dangling on each side of the building as you turn to look at him, a small smile growing on your face. Igby takes this moment to let this image of you burn into his memory forever, the sun grazing against your features and your smile directed only toward him. Even though he dreads his future words, your smile feels so welcoming that he begins to form one of his own. Your impact on him showing clearly as he allows the warmth of the day to finally touch his own skin without cursing it away.

Approaching you slowly, he leans his body against the space just beside you⸺just as he had the first time and every time after. You watch as he stares at the people passing below, his eyes conflicted as his mouth twitches. You knew the day would come and that he’d dread it, but you couldn’t help but feel honored that he had come to see you one last time. There was a tiny amount of fear in you that he’d just leave⸺take off, running away from his family or returning to them without saying goodbye. Yet here he stood, needing you more than anything before he made his final decision.

Igby once believed that poverty was the only thing keeping him in New York, in that ratty apartment and this cold city. Yet as he stood there, he realized that now the only reason he’d ever want to stay⸺was for you.

He realized that every moment with you was warm; every time you looked at him, he could see the golden light he had always craved. Maybe he didn’t need to go somewhere new, maybe you were enough to save and free him from the icy curse of his family. He wasn’t sure how he was going to say goodbye to you⸺or if he’d even be able to.

“You decided to go home?”

Igby’s face screwed up at the term. He hadn’t called the house where his family lived home in a long time. He couldn’t even be able to recall the last time he even referred to it as such. Tearing his gaze away from the people on the sidewalk, Igby glanced at you before picking at the scarf he still had wrapped around his neck, “Got to make sure my mother actually croaks this time around.”

You don’t respond to his crude statement, you just continue to watch him struggle internally with the war in his head. Leaning forward, you catch his eyes and place your hand over the one that pulled relentlessly at a string on his clothing, “Are you going to be okay?”

He blinks fast at the question, still unfamiliar with the affection and genuinity of your voice. Suddenly, his decision to return to his mother's side doesn’t make any sense. Why would he ever return to such a horrid situation when someone as gentle as you existed? How was he supposed to leave you behind? Maybe he didn’t have to, “We should leave.”

Your eyebrows raise at his quickened words, his eyes turning to yours pleadingly as he continued almost frantically, “You and me. We can pack our bags and leave New York. It can just be us; we won’t have to worry about anything else.”

“Igby-.” You whisper, but the boy can’t stop as the words push past his lips. His fear of being in the same room as his mother and brother only increased his reasons for fleeing⸺except now he couldn’t do it unless you joined him. Shaking his head, the brunette stumbles over his words, “My family doesn’t care about me, and yours—yours keeps you locked away in this apartment! We could just leave and go and be happy without their constant weight! We could—We could–.”

The boy worked himself up so much that he resorted to pacing before you, causing you to remove yourself from the roof's edge to grab the boy's hands and keep him in place. He stops his rambling to look at your calm eyes.

“You know I can’t do that, Igby,” You whisper softly, searching his eyes to ensure that your words don’t come off as a rejection and instead a retelling of your familial situation. Truthfully, you would love to join the boy on his adventures, yet the pull of being the perfect child for your parents was too haunting and embedded for you to leave behind.

Scoffing, the boy shakes his head, not accepting the reasoning for your words. Your name falls from his lips in an exasperated tone as he speaks again, “Can’t you see that your parents are never going to let you out of here? They’re going to keep you locked away in this prison for the rest of your life, and you’re just letting them!”

“Igby-.”

“No! They have you! They already have you here! What makes you think they won’t have you locked away for the rest of your life? You need to get out of here, even if it’s not with me! Either way, I just–I just need you to get away from here, away from them,” The boy rants with frustration rising over your current issue, the truth of his feelings about it coming to light.

Sighing lightly, you can’t help but understand his words and his fears about your parent's future plans for you. You had thought about it many times before, yet you had already decided on these thoughts long before you met Igby. Now, your only concern was making sure the boy before you would be okay and escape in ways you’ve never been able to. Bringing a hand up to hold his jaw, his hazel eyes burn as they meet yours, listening carefully to every word that leaves your mouth, “With what money, Igby? How could either one of us live a life without money? Would we just share a couch and sell drugs around the city for Russel? Is that really what you want?”

Igby shook his head and looked down at his feet. He didn’t know how he’d get the money, he just knew he wanted to be with you. Closing his eyes, the boy knew that he had to return home if he wanted to escape life as a couch-surfing drug delivery boy. Taking a deep breath, he grabs your wrist gently and looks back up at you, “I can go back to my family, get the money, and come back for you. I can come back, and we can go anywhere we want. Just the two of us.”

A part of you wants to accept his offer, but you remember every story he told about this very moment. The moment that he had enough money to be happy and alone, you knew that it would be selfish to piggyback off his escape and claim it as your own. You just can’t do it to him, so you decline his offer again, “You’re going to go to your family, see your mom away, get your money, and then you’re going to be free. Without me.”

Igby shakes his head, his eyes closing in pain as his head drops, but you’re quick to pick it back up. His eyes are misty as he looks to you again, “Please.”

Your heart aches at his pleas, but you know he needed this. He needed to find himself without looking over his shoulder for his family or carrying you, “You have to get out of this city, away from your family. You have to be free and live without anything holding you back or causing any distractions. I need you to do that. I need you to let the light in, Igby. Please, if you do anything for me, I need it to be that.”

The Slocumb boy searches your eyes for any cracks in your words, but you mean every word. It hits Igby that you’re the only person who ever wanted him to do something for himself instead of moving in a way to please someone else. Letting his fingers rub up and down your arms, he stares deeply into your eyes as he admits in a whisper, “I think you’re the only real friend I’ve ever had.”

Tears well up in your eyes as you smile at the boy, “I think you’re mine as well.”

The two of you sit silently at your confession, knowing that what the two of you felt was something much deeper than friendship, yet it didn’t mean that the hushed words weren’t true. However, Igby can’t refrain himself as his hands cup your face and his lips connect to yours softly. Warmth and comfort wash over the two of you as your bodies press against each other in a gentle action of intimacy. Pulling away slowly, your foreheads lean against one another, and the boy raises his thumbs slightly to caress your cheek. You offer him a smile, which he returns before you whisper, “I’ll be expecting a postcard.”

Laughing lightly and shaking his head at your callback to his previous words, he breathes out, “I’ll send you a whole damn plane.”

You don’t respond; you can only lift your head to place a gentle kiss on the boy's mole that sits perfectly on his cheek. His eyes close at the action, his body filling with gratitude and solace at your small yet impactful action. The two of you know that this won’t be the last time you see each other, not when the longing feeling to return home to one another was deep in your marrow. Maybe that was why Igby was able to pull his body away from yours and return to his own haunted house a few cities away, but not before leaving his scarf wrapped around the door handle of your apartment door on his way out. Something to remember him by, something to remember that escape was possible and that he’d always come back if you so much as thought of it.

It would be almost a week until you’d hear from the boy again. You’d be in your apartment, trying to return to how life was before Igby. It was proven to be a much harder task than anticipated. You had resorted to pacing the floor, chewing on your nails as you wondered and worried about the boy who ignited a fire within your soul. You could only hope that he had made it there, followed through with his plan, and escaped his life of running and hiding.

Your windows were cracked open, letting the warm breeze whisk away the smoke of your cigarette as you sat on your window seal. Flicking the ashes out the window, your eyes look curiously at the outside world. You had fallen back into the habit of people-watching as boredom filled your life at the lack of visits from a certain delivery boy.

It was the sound of ringing that pulled you from your thoughts. Stabbing your cigarette into the ashtray, you glide toward the noise and place the phone to your ear, “Hello?”

It’s silent on the other side of the phone for just a moment before a familiar voice rings out, “Hi, this is Jason Slocumb Junior.”

You can’t ignore the jump of your heart at the boy's voice that you could admit you were already missing. Furrowing your eyebrows, you smile humorously at the boy before speaking, “Your name is Jason?”

Igby hummed on the other side of the phone, glancing toward Oliver, who was watching him make his half of the calls. Smiling sarcastically to ensure that his brother didn’t know he was calling you, the boy continued without answering your question, “I just called to inform you that Mimi Slocumb won’t be answering any further invitations because she’s dead.”

The Slocumb boy waited for your response, hoping that you’d be selfish and ask for him to return to get you before fleeing. All you had to do was say the words, even just suggest it, and he’d come to you. No questions asked. No hesitation. However, you smiled to yourself and spoke warmly, “Go ahead and let the light in, Igby. I’ll be seeing you.”

The two of you sit silently for a prolonged moment, the boy relishing in your voice and promise, feeling comfort for the first time in days. Closing his eyes briefly, the boy pretends you are beside him with your beautiful smile and encouraging nods. A ghosting smile crosses his features before he hangs up the phone, not wanting his brother to know he still has you to keep promises with.

From your kitchen, you’d listen to the static sound of the dial tone before placing the phone back down with a small smile. Even though so much of you wanted him to return, you felt joyous over the fact that the boy was finally free from everything he had spent so long running from. You knew that your words were true. You would be seeing him, just not as soon as you’d hoped.

The next time you heard from Igby, it came in the form of mail.

Your tutor had entered your apartment, books and notes in hand, along with the mail the doorman had handed her when she passed. Setting up your workspace, she gives you the pile of envelopes, magazines, and newspapers, allowing you a moment to sift through them boredly. However, your attention perks as your fingertips graze the side of a single piece of thin cardboard.

GREETINGS FROM CALIFORNIA! THE GOLDEN STATE.

Looking over your shoulder, you excuse yourself from the dining room to the comfort and isolation of your room. Sitting on your bed, you place the other worthless mail beside you and cling to the most valuable object. Running your fingers over the enlarged font, you take a deep breath before flipping it over. Your heart leaped at the familiar handwriting that was scribbled on the back. At the top, your name was written clearly and sincerely, just as Igby remembered you. The only thing written on it was a new address, as well as a plane messily drawn near the bottom with a note below it.

Until I can send the real thing. -Igby

Smiling at the written promise, you bring the small piece of him you had to your chest⸺hugging what meant the most to you close to your heart. Taking a deep breath, you stand from your bed and place the postcard on your vanity where you can always see it. It becomes clear that out of every expensive piece of furniture and knick-knacks you had, this twenty-five cent piece of cardboard held the most value.

That would continue to ring true, except as the months went on, Igby would continue to write to you. His letters filled with what life in California was like; he’d write of the sun and the warmth, but he’d never admit that it didn’t compare to the warmth you had offered him. It wasn’t even close. It would beg to be written, but it would never reach the paper, the boy fearing that his confession would confirm how much distance there was between you. So, instead, he’d settle with leaving constant reminders that he’d return to get you and help you escape your parents' isolated prison. Your letters would contain what the weather was like in New York, as well as telling the boy that Russel had taken to delivering the drugs himself. The drug dealer not wanting for you to be left alone⸺he couldn’t do that to the tragic muse of his work. You’d sign off every letter with the same promise of seeing him when the time came. Eighteen was closer than it seemed. It had to be. It was a reminder you would write to him in hopes of reassuring yourself.

However, the shared fear of you and Igby would come true. Your parents would decide that letting you go at eighteen isn’t what’s for the best. They would continue to hold you hostage in the apartment, now sending in professionals to prepare you to work for your family company one day. Your once promising letters turned to ones full of misery and doubt. Igby’s remained optimistic, even going as far as offering to return to New York and bring you back to California with him. He knew you wouldn’t do it because, as he had told you on the rooftop the last time you saw each other, your parents' claws were too deep in you. They were too embedded for you to remove them without fatality. Yet, he needed you to know that his promise would always remain. He’d always hold you and the unbroken promise sacred.

Years would pass, yet Igby’s letters never slowed, and you kept every single one of them. There were occasions when the two of you would call one another, but timezones and your parents' distractions caused them to come to a predictable decline. On your twentieth birthday, you broke your own heart⸺sending him a letter of apologies and regret. You felt as though you were holding the boy back from living his life fully. It wasn’t fair of you to make him wait for you. It wasn’t fair for him to be free yet still be tied down by someone who couldn’t share that experience with him. So you offered him an out, telling him that he didn’t need to check up on you or keep your promise because your devotion to your parents had been controlling you and remained unmoving.

In return, Igby sent you the shortest letter he had ever sent to you. There was no talk about California, its weather, its glowing sun, or the new activities he had clung to within the time he received your last letter. It was just a piece of paper with three sentences scribbled on it.

My life here will never be complete until you’re here with me. I’ll wait for the rest of my life if I have to. I know I’ll be seeing you again. -Igby

These three sentences would sit with you for nearly a year. The letter would remain with you at all times, serving as a reminder that even when you’ve given up on yourself, there was someone out there who loved you enough to wait a lifetime. You’d read it once, twice, even three times a day. Letting his words ignite a bright and burning fire in your soul. Finally, on a random Wednesday evening, the fire would burn away the leash that your parents had you locked in. You had saved more than enough money on your own to live comfortably for years and enough experience to find a job elsewhere. So without warning, without so much as a notice, you walked away from your family's company, returned to the familiar apartment, packed your things, grabbed every single letter and postcard Igby had sent you, and left this life of despair behind. Not feeling an ounce of loyalty to return or shame to cower away from this moment.

After almost twenty-one years of begging and pleading for love from your parents, you finally walked away and toward the golden affection and tenderness that awaited your arrival on the other side of the country.

Igby never stopped thinking about you, wishing upon shooting stars and fallen eyelashes that you’d one day have the courage to cut the ties of your enclosure. He’d imagined on countless nights that you would call him or send him a letter that revealed that you were finally free. His mind would only ease itself to sleep if it thought of the one night you had spent together all those years ago. The night where he momentarily forgot about your shared pain and instead found light within each other. It had been the best sleep of his life⸺his body tangled against your own in a blazing flush of adoration and tranquility.

In the morning, the Slocumb boy would check his voicemail for any missed calls from you and check his mailbox for any letters. When there were none, he’d resort to continuing on with his day, his thoughts lingering around what you were doing, where you were, and if you were okay.

Reading a book you had recommended to him, Igby tried to pass the time. Eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he read. The boy's attention was broken by a knock on his front door. Pushing himself off the couch, he places the book down and approaches the door with a swiftness in his step. Without peering through the peephole, the brunette opens the door and pauses at the sight before him.

Your body stood frozen before him, your eyes scanning his before taking in every feature. He had grown since you had last seen him; his face was more mature, and his body was not as awkward against his posture. His slouch had disappeared after all these years away from his family, no longer looking over his shoulder or running from shadows that lingered for too long.

His hazel eyes held onto a stunned shine, taking in every part of you. His tongue darted between his lips as he tried to decipher if this was real or if his imagination had finally seeped into reality. You had looked different, yet exactly the same. The sun circling around your body, causing your new freedom to radiate off you in waves.

After a prolonged moment of shocked silence, you smile and breathe out, “Hi.”

That smile, your smile, and that voice, your voice. It was real, it was right here in front of him, you were right here in front of him. The warmth that California couldn’t supply Igby came rushing through him in waves of love as your eyes locked, a grin growing on the boy's face before his hands grabbed the sides of your head, pulling you into a long-awaited kiss.

The two of you smile into it, unable to stop laughs of disbelief from breaking through the moment. After all this time, after all the distance⸺this was happening.

You were real. He was real. This moment was real.

Pulling back slightly, the boys' thumbs caressed your cheeks softly, the two of you looking at one another with tear-filled eyes. Unable to say anything, he pulled your lips back to his own. This time, there was no laughter, there was no smiling. There was passion, there was gentleness, there was warmth, there was comfort, and above all else, there was love.

The two of you would continue to live your lives together in harmony. Knowing that no matter where you were, as long as you were together⸺everything would be okay. You’d grow together, you’d fight together, and you’d love together. There were times of hardship and disagreements, but never doubt when it came to each other or your relationship. In moments of weakness, you would uplift one another, and in times of remembrance of your estranged families⸺you’d remind one another how much love there was between the two of you, and there was no limit on it. Your love for each other was unconditional.

For so long, you two had been labeled as difficult. Difficult to obtain, difficult to tolerate, difficult to love. They said you two were too sensitive, too much to handle, too emotional. It was the universal curse of sensitivity. However, as time continues and your love grows stronger with Igby, it becomes clearer. You were not difficult to obtain or tolerate. And you are not difficult to love.

Igby and you now knew that your sensitivity wasn’t a curse⸺not when it led to this. This happiness, this warmth, and this love that would grow forever and evermore.

[whencyclopedia]

History & Mining Culture of the Ore Mountains

The Ore Mountains (Erzgebirge) on the border between Germany and the Czech Republic is a region rich in history and culture connected to the mining industry. For centuries the cities on both sides of the mountain range had sustained themselves and flourished by the extraction of tin, copper, zinc, uranium, and most importantly silver. Even though the mines are now closed the mining culture and heritage is still widely celebrated and visible for visitors, with the hammer and chisel motif on many buildings in the different mining towns.

The rich mining heritage of the region was recently inscribed on the UNESCO world heritage list (July 2019 CE), with sites on both sides of the border. On the German side, in the Free State of Saxony, the cities of Freiberg and Annaberg-Buchholz has much to offer in educating visitors about the mining industry, both from the Middle Ages and more recent times and how this intensive industry shaped the lives and culture of the people living there. A visit is definitely recommended for anyone interested in mining history, early industrialization or for those who seek to experience an authentic German Christmas market.

Freiberg

Freiberg, a one-hour train ride from Dresden, traces its history back to 1168 CE. At that time the forest region was under the control of the Margrave of Meissen. A silver ore was discovered close to the small settlement Christiandorf and lead to the establishment of the city of Freiberg, which got its name from the mining rights belonging to the “free miner”. The mining industry became a very important source of income for the Margrave of Meissen, Otto II (r. c. 1156-1190 CE), known later as Otto the Rich. A large statue of the town's 'founder' can now be seen at the main square of the historic city center. Freiberg's importance and wealth increased rapidly after the discovery of silver, and it remained the economic center and mint of Saxony until the 16th century CE. The mining industry continued in the Freiberg region for 800 years until the mines were finally closed in 1968 CE.

Today Freiberg is a lively and charming city with many exciting sites to see, amongst other the Town Hall from the 15th century CE, and the Cathedral of St. Mary, first contracted in 1180 CE as a Romanesque basilica, the current building dates to c. 1500 CE. On the south side of the cathedral, you can visit a part of the old church, The Golden Gate, a richly ornamented sandstone portal from 1230 CE.

Even though the town was destroyed by fire several times and suffered during the Thirty Years' War (1618-1648 CE), much of the medieval town is still standing. Walking around in the historic center, one architectural feature is especially remarkable: the Gothic patrician houses with very high and steep pitched roof constructions. The main square, Obermakt, is definitely worth a visit, where you will see both the statue of Otto the Rich and the beautiful Town Hall. On the north side of the square, you can also marvel at a gate with intricate carvings depicturing the miners hard at work.

It is impossible to visit this city without being drawn towards the rich mining history and culture. To learn more, visitors are recommended to spend a couple of hours in the Freiberg City and Mining Museum. Located in a stunning late Gothic building, it is one of Saxony's oldest museums, established in 1861 CE. The museum is filled with tools, art, photographs, and other objects connected to work in the mines throughout the ages or the culture that flourished thanks to the mining industry. In addition, no one should leave without a visit to the Freudenstein Castle, where the mineral exhibition Terra Mineralia is on display with over 3,500 minerals, precious stones, and meteorites. The exhibition is presented by the Technical University Bergakademie Freiberg, the oldest university of mining and metallurgy in the world, and is a real treasure trove filled with gems from all over the world.

Continue reading...

[aninkwellofnectar]

WE WILL DEVOUR THE NIGHT 🌙 the essence of the equinox book 2

“WE WILL DEVOUR THE NIGHT lures the reader back into a sensual and deadly world of magic and immortals, putting on display Camilla Andrew's full world-building prowess. The political and the interpersonal dance a tense waltz in this sequel that explores the beautiful and terrible ways that magic can heal or destroy.” — Ladz @ladzwriting, author of THE FEALTY OF MONSTERS “Just as rich and decadent as the first book in the series, WE WILL DEVOUR THE NIGHT is a brilliant and sensual must-read for fans of yearning, complicated love, nuanced characters, and intricate politics in a fantasy setting.” — Morgan Dante @ghostpoetics, author of A FLAME IN THE NIGHT

Thank you to both Ladz and Morgan Dante for these wonderful author blurbs for the second book in THE ESSENCE OF THE EQUINOX trilogy. Deeply flattered by such high praise and that you enjoyed returning to this universe and these characters 💕

WE WILL DEVOUR THE NIGHT will be releasing 22 September 2024. Don't miss out on your chance to secure a paperback pre-order as well as some goodies on my personal Payhip!

[plotandelegy]

Mastering Story Physics: Crafting Believable Magical Systems for Immersive World-Building

Photo: Standard License - Adobe Stock

Have you ever read a book with a magical system so captivating you almost believe it's real? That's where story physics comes into play. It's like everyday physics, but instead of dealing with gravity or quantum mechanics, the rules are for our fictional universes. The more consistent and logical the rules are, the easier it is for readers to suspend disbelief and get lost in a story. If you're dreaming up a world of your own, here's a quick guide on getting everything to line up smoothly for maximum reader immersion. 

Begin with the Basics

Foundation: Start by understanding the natural world's physics. It helps to know the rules before you bend or break them.

Consistency: Decide on the rules of your universe and stick to them. If magic drains energy in chapter one, it can't be consequence-free in chapter five.

Limitations: Every system, magical or not, should have its limits. This can create tension, obstacles, and more intricate plots.

A Dash of Reality:

Relatability: Even if your world is filled with flying pigs, there's gotta be something relatable. Maybe those pigs need sleep, or they're terrified of storms. Ground some aspects in reality.

Cause and Effect: If a character uses a spell, there should be a consequence. It can be as simple as being tired or as complex as altering the fabric of the universe.

Complexity and Depth:

Layers: Think of your magical system as an onion Peel back layers to reveal deeper secrets or complexities as the story progresses.

Evolution: Allow your system to grow and change. Just like technology advances, so can magical methods or tools.

Character Interaction:

Practicality: If magic or advanced technology exists, characters should use it daily, not just in dire situations.

Learning Curve: Characters shouldn't master the system overnight. Watching them struggle, learn, and adapt can be super engaging.

Stakes and Balance:

Consequences: Every action should have an equal and opposite reaction. If someone's saving the world with their powers, what are they sacrificing?

Power Checks: Ensure there's something to check or counteract powerful entities. Without a good reason, no one likes an invincible hero (or villain).

-Indigo

[justbelievinginmagic]

ariadne's thread ⎯ pt. 2: never go that way.

pairing(s): hyunjin x fem!reader, soobin x yeonjun, jisung & fem!reader, soobin & fem!reader. series summary: when tempted by an intoxicating offer by hyunjin the goblin king of the underground, you fight against him to find your own sense of self once more while in his labyrinth. glimpse: abandoned in the desert sea, you take your first steps into your quest where you meet challenges that put your patience to the test and meet a collection of unusual folk - from a frustrating man with quokka-cheeks to a sweet tall blonde and his mysterious seal-fur caped partner. warnings/tags: inspired by the 1986' movie Labyrinth, follows majority of the movie's plot points with lore divergence, 3rd person POV, use of Y/N, some violence, pixies get squished, some mild injuries, anxiety, world building!!, strong language, faerie lore!!, amnesia, best boy han jisung being a fae menace!!! (we will learn his name later promise but thats Him!) soobin/yeonjun from txt cameo, selkie!yeonjun, changeling!soobin, goblin!jisung. let me know if there is anything else i should tag! word count: 7.3k first chapter <- -> next chapter series masterlist

The desert sea felt endless. She wasn’t sure how long she’d trudged through the dunes; all she knew was that her shoes (which had thankfully appeared on her feet when she’d been transported) were full of itchy sand. Grains in-between her toes, they scratched at her heels and her soles. It was annoying, but what was more annoying was that every step towards the walled maze didn’t seem to make it appear any closer. In fact, it seemed like it was still so, so far away. It was like an optical illusion; the little walls growing further and further despite her continuous walking. Was this some sort of torture? A brain game? She wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she was growing more and more frustrated.

The area around her was dark; the sunspot she and the King had been transported to was only so large, and the rest of the Underground was dark. Cool and dark. There was a haunting ruddiness in the distance that reminded her of the orange-red glow of fire. As if there was an ever-glowing inferno just out of reach. It was mostly from the floating candles and large roaring fires in the tall look-out posts high above the Labyrinth, she was sure of it. But it didn’t make it less strange.

This whole place was strange. Glancing around with a sigh and a wipe of her brow, she noted the dead twisted plants that spotted the landscape in brown, dry patches. Cacti with withering pink flowers that looked like they would crumble away with a single harsh wind and the odd-shattered stone obelisks jutting out of the sand dunes every so many feet. She paused in her walking, harsh sand squelching in her shoes as she stood and stared around her.

The rockwork she had seen so far were crumbling things, mostly piles of rounded rubble as if they had been destroyed millennia ago. But the further she got through the dunes, the more they began to become sturdy and full things. The one beside her even had an engraving in it – in a language she couldn’t decipher. The letters were curling forms, intricate by design as they crawled down the rock. It didn’t look like any language she had ever seen before.

Everything felt like a dream. Eerie and off-putting with illusions too grand to be real, but standing staring at this tall rock formation… it felt real. It felt like it was historic. Was it a tombstone? Was it a boundary marker? Was it a monument for an old ruler or god? She didn’t know. She just knew it was here, chipping away under desert sand.

Glancing away in the direction she came, she had to admit she had made progress. The sunspot she had left was far in the distance and the once far away walls of the Labyrinth were finally not despairingly far. This was when she noticed another thing: everything crawled towards the Labyrinth.

Dead vines, piling rocks shimmering with magic, withered tree branches, and even the stray night flowers curled and twisted, pointing towards the maze awaiting her. She wondered why. Was it magic? The wind? It was strange there was even wind down here. She shivered as a rush of cold air caressed her skin. Her white long sleeve tunic wasn’t made for the chill of the Underground – it was just enough for the warmth of her heated house. Wrapping her arms around herself, she continued her trek towards the walls. 

Once she got there, she had to find an entrance. Surely, that had to be easier than it seemed. But even approaching the thing felt like a mindfuck. As she got closer, she noticed how tall the exterior wall towered above her. It was made of thick slabs of grey rock that didn’t seem magical. But it did seem ancient. The rock was cracked everywhere, aged by the harsh sand and winds it blocked out. The higher the walls grew, the less she could see of the interior maze. She could only hope she could figure a way once inside what seemed like a never-ending twisted path.

There were also watch points every so many feet yet she couldn’t see any guards patrolling. Maybe the King sent them away? Not one of these look-out points looked to be special. They all were of equal height with a roaring flame within the columned center of the watchpoint. Nothing to hint that she should go towards it rather than another.

Just get to the wall, Y/N.

The closer she got to the Labyrinth, the more she saw evidence of civilization. Rather than loose sand, it was packed down by foot traffic and even remnants of what looked like carriages or carts. A post stood beside some sparkling, shimmering rocks – with too many signs to count crawling up the wooden thing, pointing this way and that. Chaotic. Some of the signs had been hand-painted and eroded away until the words were unreadable. Others were carved pieces of wood that were written in that strange language from the obelisk. There was one that read, in red paint, ‘TURN BACK’ pointing towards the Labyrinth.

Great. Very reassuring.

And then, there was a well with sparkling, cracking stonework with once-intricate tiles making up its molding. The thing was full of water, teetering at the edge of the stones, but it didn’t look appetizing. It was murky dark with green algae and clover-like lily-pad structures jutting out of the surface. Small glowing blue creatures that looked like some sort of moth with transparent wings danced about the water, making ripples. 

She swallowed – her mouth felt dry. She had to have been walking for an hour?

Squatting down, she looked over the well. It was the first thing she had stumbled upon that wasn’t fully dead. The tiles were aging, but still sparkling with the magic stardust that seemed to radiate magic. Their sparkle gleamed even in the dark cave-light of the Underground. Reaching out, she wiped the dust away from a tile, the grime falling into the water and startling the glowing blue creatures away. There was a hissing sound coming from them like they were cats.

Ignoring them, she looked down at the first tile, realizing it wasn’t just a pretty tile, but a painting. Each one of the stones were a painting she noticed, telling some sort of story. The art style was loose and dreamlike with cool blue and purple tones making up the color scheme. It looked like from the only full tile that it was about a girl and a boy from different worlds. One from the blue, one from the purple.  When she blinked, it almost looked like the loosely painted figures were moving.

Scooting over, she tried to figure out the story, but each tile was too cracked and shattered. Each crack revealed a shimmering jewel like substance, almost like diamonds. It was beautiful, but definitely destroyed. She couldn’t tell if it was from the harshness of the desert sea or if it was intentional.

Pushing herself up by her knees, she stood once more and looked over towards the wall only for the thing that was once still a good 15-minute walk away to be right there, only a few feet away! Her eyes widened in surprise, stumbling back into dead foliage that crunched like dead bones beneath her feet.

She wiped her hands off on her pants as she looked back where she came and back at the Labyrinth that now towered over her. Flickering flames painted the area in a warm golden light, almost a mimicry to sunlight. But it never lost its fire-smoke hue, the world painted in an orange-red sunset haze like a filter on a movie.

But it was less dark now and she was glad for it. Walking closer to the wall, she saw no entrance. The thing was cold to the touch with no discernible entrance. Just cracking rockwork with some rotting plants crawling up.

(It made her wonder if this place ever was once flourishing. How could there be so many plants if there wasn’t once water? What had happened she wondered?)

She began to follow the wall, trailing a hand across the cool rock. Dodging white night-flowers and harsh sharpened vines, she continued onwards, hoping to find something, some clue, that would lead to an entrance to the Labyrinth.

The Runner walked on and on, her eyes not leaving the wall as her hand trailed over it. Feeling for something that would feel like a door or a secret. There was nothing, just a cool rock wall with creeping plants. She didn’t know how long she had walked onwards. Her toes felt rubbed raw from the sand but she had to keep going.

It wasn’t until she heard a noise – like someone noisily eating - that she finally looked back over at the desert sea.

There, beside a water well with red stonework rather than purple-blue sparkling tiles, sat a man. A satchel was beside him, with some sort of bread loaf resting on the fabric like it was a make-shift plate.

Someone else! Maybe they knew where to go. He looked humanesque, not a tiny bug like the blue creatures from before. There were no rules with getting help from others.

“Excuse me!” she called, rushing over to them. Optimism flashed through her.

The man turned his head, and she could see only full cheeks. Big food-filled cheeks like a chipmunk. Crumbs of honeyed-bread rested on his pouted lips. And his wide eyes blinked owlishly. Like he had been caught red handed.

“Oh,” he smacked his lips as he chewed and swallowed. “It’s just you,” he said before grabbing his food and shoving the entirety of it in his mouth before standing from his crouched position.

“You know me?” she queried, her voice stuttering.

He began to walk away, loudly chomping. She trailed behind him, brows pursed. He wasn’t super tall, but he definitely held himself with an air of someone who was tall.

He snorted, crumbs tumbling from his pout and falling to the sandy floor.

“Yeah, little human. I could smell you the moment you fell to the Underground.”

Smell? Her hand rose to her nose so she could smell her own skin. It didn’t smell like anything to her, maybe hints of her perfume or soap?

“You can smell me?”

He rolled his eyes as if she was dreadfully dumb.

“Yes, we all can.”

His foot steps quickened as he continued trekking past the wall. Her eyes flickered from him to the wall beside them. God, he was quick.

“Wait!” she called.

He wasn’t extremely tall, but he somehow took wildly long strides. Stumbling over stray rocks, she tried to catch up to him.

“What, Runner?” he sighed as he continued walking. 

“My name isn’t Runner – What does that even mean?”

“Do you need everything to be explained to you? Your scent, your title, your-“

Suddenly, small creatures, their size no bigger than a butterfly, flew out of their hiding spots (behind old dry ferns and the lily pads of another tiled-well.) Transparent milky-white wings and glowing trails of what looked like dandelion fluff trailed after them as they swooped down upon the fae-man. Tugging at his long hair, his clothes, scratching at his cheeks.

“Ugh,” the man spluttered out, hands going to swipe at the things. “Damn pixies!”

They crawled and flew over his form, five of them. A soft chittering giggling sound bubbled from the things. He flailed and whacked at the things until with they fell off him with violent ‘ugh’s.

“Fucking pests,” he cursed as he crushed one with the heel of his leathered boot.

“Hey!” she exclaimed, horrified as he smeared the magic-remnant on the dirt floor with a squish. His eyes flashed to meet hers with a raised brow. He looks oddly young with his brow pursed in such a way. Innocent, like a misbehaving kid being scolded before a scowl replaced his soft-eyed expression.

“What?” he grounded out, whacking aside another stray pixie that had tugged at his ear.

“They were just playing!” she defended, a hand going to shield one of the fallen pixies. Her gaze flickered from the smeared sparkling lavender-azure remnants of the squished pixie to the one that she shielded.

It didn’t look as human as she imagined a pixie to look. It had whisp-y white hair that faded off into blue translucent tube-like strands, the appearance resembling glowing fiberoptics. Its wings were paper-thin and an off-white shade that had small bones making up its structure. Instead of humanoid features, its face was flatter with no prominent nose bridge. Their eyes were a glassy fluorescent blue, wide and bug-like. A spider-esque mouth with black tipped pincer-like fangs bared themselves at her before biting the hand that shielded it, right at the juncture of her thumb and forefinger.

“Ouch,” Y/N yelped, jumping away from the creature that hissed out a gargle of a giggle. More monstrous than humanistic. The fae-man silenced the biting pixie with a well-place kicked, making it fly off into the distance.

“Just playing,” the fae-man repeated with a low scolding chuckle. “Are you okay?”

Her non-injured hand held the bitten hand close to her chest. It stung with the same ferociousness as a mosquito bite. Droplets of red blood pearled to the surface but it wasn’t a bad bite. His hand reached out to grasp her wrist, his skin was warm like a furnace. Not hot enough to burn but, certainly enough that if he was human, he’d be running a high fever. He looked over her hand closely and, if she had been focusing on his face, she’d noticed the fascination blurring in his eyes at her red blood. But she wasn’t she was hissing a bit at the wound’s sting.

“I’m fine… I thought they’d be sweet like a fairy?” she admitted. “Pixies are usually playful in stories, mischievous, but I didn’t think they’d bite.”

His eyes rolled before he wiped at her hand with his thumb. She noticed his nails were a painted lacquer; a black shimmering color that had long been chipped away at the edges. There was a beat before he simply looked at the bite’s holes inquiringly before dropping her wrist easily, his cool gold rings grazing her skin.

He laughed. “Sweetness? From pixies? They’re nasty creatures. Mean vermin.”

A noise of acknowledgment hummed in her throat before he turned away once more.

“Wait.” She called, grasping his wrist desperately.

He paused this time, head tilting back as he brought his free-hand dragged through his hair.

“Yes, Runner.” He answered before gently tugging his hand away.

“My name isn’t Runner; it’s Y/N,” she retorted with a furrowed brow.

“I thought so,” he grimaced as he continued to walk along the perimeter of the Labyrinth walls. Another pixie jutted out in front of him, and all he did was grab it and crush it before tossing it aside. As if it was nothing but a bug.

It was startling and a bit frightening. Everything here was like that – if she was being honest. The way he was able to do something so violent when he looked well… so sweet.

The man had a round face with softened cheeks. His doll-like eyes were the strangest shade of blue – in the flame-light, it turned a purplish shade, glistening like a jewel in sunlight. His lips were a pouty thing – with a strong ‘V’ of a cupid’s bow and puckered lower lip that was a soft pink shade. His cheeks even had a prominent glaze of the magic remnant that everything seemed to be made of. Constellations of pink, yellow, green, purple, and blue glittered through his skin, sparkling when it caught the light.

His hair was dark, long and, unlike the Goblin King, it was long in a more un-styled way. Like he simply hadn’t had the time to cut it. It laid in loose waves down his neck, covering his forehead in soft curls. Some curls were damp with sweat and plastered to his golden skinned forehead.

Hidden beneath his blue-black curls, she could see small teardrop earrings sparkling with golden chain and red rubies. But, his clothes lacked such wealth. They were simple – he wore an orange-tan vest that had been patched haphazardly in red, purple, yellow threads over the years, a white flowy tunic that was open chested and pushed up to his elbows to reveal his toned forearms that were shimmering innately with that magical dust as if someone had painted him in body glitter. Rings decorated each finger in a golden halo, sparkling in the firelight.

His pants were a paler sandy color with clear wear-and-tear on the knees and edges. A belt of some sort of leather clung to his slim waist, cinching his form in. It acted as a purse of sorts, holding what looked like a dagger with a rubied hilt in between its leathered folds, a black-woven purse he had been using as a plate moments ago, and, most prominently, a collection of vibrant jewels. Rubies, emeralds, diamonds, moonstones, and amethysts. Some of the jewels were hung by worn rope; others strong-linked chains of gold. But each one of the jewels were pretty, sparkling in the overhead firelight.

How did he come to attain them she wondered? He didn’t have the appearance of a king or a prince or any sort of royalty – despite his handsome face. He just didn’t have that magnetic lure that the King had. Power that was unspoken. Walking tall wasn’t the same as a powerful walk.

He felt. . . reckless. Like how a wolf in the wild was nothing compared to a dog kept as a pet. He prowled forward, scavenging onwards and swatting at the remaining milky-white pixies that hovered about him. One reached out to tug on his jewels, making a low growl escape his chest like he was some sort of alligator.

She reached out to swat the pixie away, not squishing or squashing it like he did but just shoving it away. His jewel-toned eyes flashed to meet hers from under his dark oil-slick blue-black curls.

He didn’t thank her, just looked at her with simmering eyes.

“I don’t mean to bother you,” she started.

“Well, you are.” He retorted quick. “You Runners are always so slow to the game.”

“Runner – you said it was my title, there have been other Runners? Are they the ones who make deals?” she queried.

“You’re catching up,” he acknowledged.

“I’m a quick learner,” she retorted back. “Just—do you know where the door to the Labyrinth is? That’s all I need to know. I need to get inside.”

“Hm,” he hummed absent-mindedly. “Oh no, do I know.”

Under his breath, he huffed and shook his head.

“You know?” she repeated.

“Know,” he agreed with a shake of his head again.

It all sounded the same ‘know’ and ‘no’, his head was shaking ‘no’, but did he actually say know? And now, Y/N was even confused.

“Gosh, it’s hopeless asking you things!” she huffed as she turned away and looked up at the sky – the reality she was in another world striking her as she saw the dark cavern stalagmites high above them.

Cracks of sunlight beamed through – shining over the Labyrinth. She realized she could faintly see… flowers. Yes, there were flowers blooming high above them. Those flowers had vines that creeped outwards through the sunlight veins of the Underground’s ceiling, crawling in and out of the stalagmites.  Hope in the middle of the darkness.

Her gaze settled back on the rock wall in front of her. In its own thousand-year-old cracks, she could see budding blooms of what looked like magnolias, peach blossoms, and desert poppies. Hope in the middle of darkness.

She needed some hope right now.

“Ask the right things maybe,” the man suggested as he sighed and leaned against the rock nearest to him. A hand rose to wipe at sweat on his brow – how could he be sweating in such coldness?

“How do I get into the Labyrinth?” she mused.

The man paused, a flicker of a grin coming onto his round face. “Now, that I can answer,” he smirked, glancing over at her before pointing with a finger.

“There,” he said simply.

Her eyes followed his pointing finger to find there was a grand gate beside two empty watch towers. The gate’s exterior was decorated with intricately carved vines, twisting, and twirling over the heavy wooden doors.

“See, not a door, a gate,” the fae man chortled.

“That’s so stupid. How was I supposed to know?” she whined.

He laughed again, the thing sounding playfully song-like. “You’ll have to ask the right questions. Think closer next time.”

Y/N fought the urge to roll her eyes. It was like walking on egg-shells in this place. Taking a deep breath, she walked closer to the gates.

“Is there a key?” she murmured.

“Yes,” the man retorted, casually as he leaned against one of the watch towers. He looked awfully amused now, rather than itching to get away like before.

Glancing away from him, she looked over the gate to see an itsy-bity key hole.

“Do I need the gate’s key?” she asked again.

“What do you think?” he queried, looking at her blankly. But the corner of his lips twitched, he was about to grin.

Creeping closer, Y/N pressed a palm against the wooden gate door – and pushed.

With a puff of smoke and the twinkle of sparkling magic-remnant on the gates, the carved vines bloomed their pure-white blossoms before the doors heaved themselves inwards open to reveal the Labyrinth.

Cobwebs tore away with the motion as the plume of smoke tumbled over her and the stranger’s feet. His eyes widened with mock surprise at her before turning to crush a pixie under his foot with a stamp. There was a smear of chromatic glitter when he removed his heel.

The Runner took a soft breath in as she peered curiously into the labyrinth, not yet fully stepping onto the cobblestone path of its interior.

“You’re really going in there?” the stranger prompted, crossing his arms. A brow raised into his curled bangs.

“I have to,” she replied, licking her lips. Glancing towards him, she offered a smile. “It’s the only way to gain myself back.”

Now, that seemed to strike something in the handsome man. His eyes widened genuinely, and he swallowed, poutful lips pursing. His cheeks looked chubby, and for a moment she could understand how fae could be described as cherubic.

“You’re brave or stupid,” he muttered, ruining the moment.

She sighed out. Head falling back in exasperation. He really was pushing her buttons. Regardless, she took a step in, half-ignoring the fae-man for the time being.

Looking left and right, she couldn’t help but feel the creeping tell-tales of anxiety. Sweaty palms, heart rushing, shakiness. It looked endless. Abandoned forever-passageways that seemed to never curve or turn. Their interiors were shadowed occasionally by the flickering of the grand fire-pits high above in the watch towers and the sea of floating candles high above the Labyrinth. The light made sparkling cobblestone walls and floor glimmer and glisten.

“Left or right?” the fae man’s voice piped up again, chuckling as he leaned in and glanced one way and then the other.

“Which way would you go?” Y/N prompted him.

He was of this place – maybe he’d know.

“Neither for me.” The long-haired man snorted. “I don’t know – no point in it anyways,” his fingers reached out to pick up a sparkling rock resting on the uneven floor. Glittery and shiny, he wiped at it with his linen vest.

“You can just leave if you’re going to be like this.” Y/N snapped.

Why was he being like this? Purposely spiteful and misleading one moment, helpful the other minute. She huffed a bit as she tried to find clues to which way to go. Footsteps, signs of life, something.

“Listen,” the dark-haired creature said, taking a step into the Labyrinth after her. “I’m just trying to level with you. Even if you made it there, you’ll never escape. No one escapes the Labyrinth - or the King’s rule for that matter.”

“So, there has been others?” she queried, brows crinkling as she turned her gaze to settle on the man.

He shrugged not even looking at the Runner, his gaze locked onto the rock he found. It was certainly not a jewel or gem of beauty. It did gleam a bit and had something akin to fairy dust trapped within its glassy texture.

“Maybe. Maybe not.” He seesawed.

“Have you tried to leave?” she countered, her gaze not leaving him.

It was odd, he was the only person outside of the grand labyrinth she had seen up close. And he was locked out? Far, far away from the castle. Yet he didn’t know which was to go. Was he stuck here too? Had he done something? Was he once in her shoes?

He froze at her words. The fine muscles in his throat tensed.

“No.” he answered solidly. Topic shut. “I’m not a Runner. Listen, all the others failed – I’d give up now; he’s kinder to those who admit weakness.”

The King wanted to be the all-powerful King, she saw that now as the man continued to gather this and that from the walls.

“Well, thanks for nothing.” She trailed off. “I never even got your name.”

He almost looked at her pityingly. He sighed. “You don’t need to learn names down here with your fate.”

It made gooseflesh rise on her arms and neck, and she resisted a shudder going down her spine. If anything, that only proved how she had felt in her bedroom with the King. That her wish was a mistake.

She had to win.

“You’re not very helpful.” She commented again. “Just discouraging.

“I’m being realistic, little human,” he retorted with a roll of his eyes. “I’ve seen many yous before. They all end up with the short-end of the stick.”

She frowned at him purposely. Staring with cruelly hurt eyes.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” The fae-man said, hands raising in defense as he backed out of the Labyrinth.

Y/N looked back at him for a moment. He hadn’t stopped looking at her and she couldn’t help but notice the glimmer in his eye. A furrow of his brow. Not in disdain or anger but something contemplative. Before sighing a soft huff and walking off, his jewels clanking with every step.

Her own lips stretched into a gentle grimace. What a strange man. But she couldn’t worry about that now, no. She had to keep going onwards. Looking left and right again, she chose to go right. As soon as she took a few more steps inside the Labyrinth, the gates heaved shut with a groan.  

The cobblestone was raised and uneven in places like it had been laid centuries ago and never repaved since. Broken stones rested here and there in stacked piles. The same dried, dead greenery outside of the Labyrinth poked through the cracks here as well, withered roots of dead crawling up the rockwork.

Mushrooms of varying sizes burst forth from the cobblestone walls, finding their homes in the dark corners. They looked unlike any mushroom she had seen – seeming to breath with shuddered breaths of sparkling pollen.

She kept walking.

There were no entrances to other parts of the Labyrinth. There were no doors or corners or parts in the walls from what she could see. It was just a straight path. Forever. She began to run after some time as if that would help make it go faster. Her feet ached from the scratchy sand that still occupied her shoes. It was quiet here; there was only the sound of the soles of her feet hitting rock.

She ran for a while. So long that it almost felt like she was in the optical illusion this time rather than viewing the castle grow further and further. Everything felt like it was repeating. The same crippled plants. The same mushrooms in the same dark corners. The same aching feet. The same pitter-patter of footsteps.

Until she finally came across something different.

In the distance, Y/N could see it. Something in the path. Something on the ground curled over. Panting, sweat dripped down her temple as she paused a few feet away. Her stomach churned.

Lying against the wall of the Labyrinth was a skeleton. A human one she assumed. Curled in on itself as if frozen in time. If she blinked, she could see the muscles, tendons, skin, forming a shell around the stuck skeleton. It looked like her, young and female. They were hiding or sleeping or afraid.

And they were dead.

Cobwebs clung to the skull and she could see caterpillar-like creatures making the eye cavity a home. It made her shiver and run faster.

She couldn’t end up like that.

No, no, no, she had to find a way out.

Running onwards she didn’t see a skeleton again – the only reassuring thing so far. It meant maybe this wasn’t a looping path. As she continued on more and more cobwebs decorated the walls. Huge spiderwebs with intricate patterns were ahead. Sparkling shimmering quilted spiderlace that whistled in the wind. If she wasn’t feeling so frustrated and frightened, Y/N may had stopped to appreciate them or ducked under them. She just swiped at them and continued onwards.

Another spiderweb appeared a few hundred feet away.

She kept wiping at them, avoiding the spidersilk from getting into her mouth as she did so as she ran onwards.

Her arms felt sticky with webs; her feet hurt; her head ached from the repeating cobblestone. She let out a yell as she finally stopped. Panting, with a reddened face, she covered her face with her hands and screeched.

“This place is hopeless,” she scowled as she stopped. It’d been minutes of running straight and straight and straight!

Kicking the brick wall petulantly, she yelped before stumbling to her knees. Her hands went to cup her foot, rubbing it a bit as it throbbed in pain. Tearing her shoe off, sand from the desert sea tumbled out in a cup-full. Her big toe throbbed as she held it close, massaging it with her thumb. Toeing off the other shoe like an over-stimulated child, she kicked it away, making it hit the opposing wall with a thunk. Sand from it tumbled out as well into a small pile.

Wiping strands of hair away from her sweaty face, she leaned back against the wall behind her and looked to the side, heaving and panting as she felt a tell-tale pressure building behind her eyes and nose.

No, no, she won’t cry. She felt like a child. It was humiliating.

It was then she saw a plant staring at her! A plant with a million tiny eyes instead of petals and blooms. She yelped scooting away, her hands scrapping against the rough cobblestone beneath her. All the eyeful plant did was blink, all at once, eerily but not dangerous.

Tugging her hands up from the stone floor, she saw the faint scrapes and inkling of blood rushing to the surface. Another injury. Her eyes burned in frustration before she buried her head into her knees.

First, she walked ages in the desert alone, filling her shoes with sand. Then, she met a rude fae man where she watched him hurt pixies. After that, she got bit by a pixie. Now, she’s stuck walking on and on in one direction nowhere close to getting a real stab at the Labyrinth. And she’s hurt her hands after getting scared by a creepy eye plant.

It was frustrating. She didn’t know what to do and it all felt so so pointless. The scales were stacked against her. How did anyone win?

“Annyeong!”

A cheerful voice chimed and, in that moment, she looked up to see a figure, shading her from the dull light of the Labyrinth.

He was tall, far taller than the Goblin King and certainly taller than the fae she had met outside the Labyrinth walls. He had almost frightened her with how his blonde hair reminded her of the king, but the tone of his voice and the smile on his face was far different from the King’s. In fact, the man looked happy. Gentle. Dimples lit up his face as he outstretched his hand for her to shake. Or to take to stand?

“Huh?” she mumbled.

His smile didn’t cease, and he glanced at his hand with his brown eyes.

She took it to shake tentatively before he yanked her up with a strength that didn’t seem possible in his lanky form. A ‘ugh’ pushed its way out of her.

“Annyeonghaseyo,” he breathed. His smile was sweet she noted as she took him in more now that she was standing. His eyes were a deep chocolate color, and they didn’t seem to be cruel or sparkling or ethereal like the others she had met so far. They were brown, gleaming a bit in the faint golden light of the Labyrinth, but otherwise normal.

“Annie-yeo,” she tried to begin to repeat before he let out a bubbling laugh.

“No, no, annyeonghaseyo – or hi, which is close enough,” he corrected.

A gentle breath left her in relief, glad there would not be a language barrier between the two of them.

“Hi,” she repeated.

“Hi,” he breathed again. “We’ve said hi a lot now. Maybe we should continue to something else,” he teased. He buzzed with an energy, almost childlike in nature. “I haven’t met anyone in so long.”

His admittance didn’t ring alarm bells – like she thought it should. Instead, she felt… sad. His entire form seemed to be desperate in some ways. Desperate to talk to her.

“That’s alright.” She reassured. “I’m Y/N.” Her hand reached out properly to shake again.

“Y/N,” he repeated with a smile as he took her hand and shook it. “You can call me Soobie; my friends do.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“It’s really nice to meet you, too.”

His smile was charming and gentle. The dimples made him look younger and, in some ways, she wanted to protect him. Why…? Her eyes danced over his face. He didn’t seem… well, ethereal. Not like the king nor even like the dark-haired fae outside the labyrinth. Sure, he was handsome and coated in the sparkling dust that seemed to be engrained in everything here. But there was something utterly human about him. His eyes weren’t some fantastical thing; the way he held himself didn’t feel off-putting and otherworldly. And if she looked closer, she noticed that sparkle wasn’t engrained in him like it was for the King or the Fae-From-Outside-The-Labyrinth. It almost looked like make-up?

“I’m trying to make my way through the Labyrinth; do you know the way?” she asked after a moment, glancing down the path she had been heading.

“The way through the Labyrinth… I used to know,” he muttered, gaze following hers down the path she was headed before looking back at the way she came. There was a moment as he thought. And she saw how distant his eyes became. Like, he wasn’t all here with her. In fact, his eyes looked sad, distant. As if lost in a maze. His face fell into a pout, curved lips softly parting as his breath shuddered.

His blinking slowed and she swore for a moment his breathing stopped before he blink, blink, blinked at her. His smile slowly reappeared and his eyes warmed from the deep sadness and confusion that consumed them moments before.

“Soobie?” she asked inquiringly.

“What was your name again?” he queried. As if she hadn’t given it only moments before.

The Runner smiled softly – though a bit tentative. Something was going on.

“Y/N,” she replied. “You don’t know how to get out of this Labyrinth either?”

“Y/N, pretty name,” he hummed pleasantly. Cheery, happy, content.

“The Labyrinth is my home.”

It was said solidly, truthfully.

“Your home?” she queried once more. “Has it always been your home? You spoke in Korean, right? It sounded Korean. Are you from there?”

What if it hadn’t always been his home? The Fae-From-Outside-The-Labyrinth said every Runner failed. She had seen bones, and countless dust, and what if Binnie was another remnant of a Runner.

“Korea. . . “, he breathed. She watched as his eyes faded into the distance. His long eyelashes fluttered. “I-I was from Daebu Island. I lived near the water.” His hands shook as he went to grab the necklace around his neck. It was a beaded necklace around his throat, the thing made of wrapped twine and iridescent shells, seven teardrop-esque gems, and dark-silver pearls. It complimented what looked like a hand-made white sweater. He was dressed all in white she noticed, all soft clean fabric. Like he never was walking in the dirt and grime she was now covered in. How was that possible?

His lips trembled as he continued to fiddle with the necklace. Twisting it around and soothing himself by rubbing the smooth shells and pearlescent gems between his fingertips. Anxiously, his eyes fluttered once more as he moved a hand away to wipe at his face. Glitter shifted on his skin in a streak of golden silver dust. It wasn’t underneath his skin like she had thought.

He was from her world. She knew that now. Was he human? She couldn’t tell completely.

“How could I forget? But-but Junie is here–“ He was talking to himself, rubbing his cheek back and forth. His eyes shifted to look at her again. Wide and gentle and confused. “The Labyrinth, it’s been home for a long time – come inside,” he gestured to a brick wall, that now with a closer look did resemble a door. There was even a latch and door handle made of ivy. His smile was shaky but genuine. He smiled brightly as he thought of something that seemed to distract him from his previous anxieties. “We can have tea together! Junie and I! I make a great cup of tea. It’s from night-flowers!”

“Oh,” she felt genuinely sorry. He seemed kind. There was a manipulative tone or even condescension. He was just desperate. Eager to talk to someone else. Naïve maybe. His thoughts were befuddled for some reason.

“I can’t; I’m sorry.” She apologized.

His eyes grew even sadder like a kicked puppy’s.

“I’d love to but I must find a way out of here. I don’t have a lot of time.”

“A way out,” he repeated. “But—”

“Soobin,” a voice called from within the doorway and out popped a dark-haired fae. He had something about him that felt magical – like the Goblin King. The world lit up as soon as she saw him. His gaze felt magnetic. She couldn’t help but turn towards him, focus on him.

“You’ve made a friend,” he hummed. His words felt like honey on her ears and she couldn’t help but stare. Hypnotized.

His hair was a midnight black, short, and trim in the back but swooping over his face daintily. His face was almost as beautiful as the Goblin King’s. His eyes weren’t a winter-esque blue or jeweled purple, but instead a water-soaked green as though his eyes were salt-frosted sea-glass. His lips were kiss-swollen, a softened red pout.

While Soobin wore a soft, hand-knit sweater of cream, this man wore a heavy fur-like cloak over his shoulders, hiding his shirtless form she noted as it shifted with his movements. He had remnants of magic in his skin but, unlike the crushed starlight of the King, his looked glossy wet like it was liquid honey and sunshine mixed together. If she reached out, she swore it’d stick to her.

He captivated her.

“Yeonjun-hyung,” the blonde-haired man lit up at the sight of him as well. A hand reached out for the forgetful man, and Soobin took it easily.

He hugged the fae man, and the motion sent the smell of salt-water her way. The ethereal man smiled fondly at the other before looking at the Runner again. There was that sharpness, almost an animalistic look. Like a predator hunting a prey. His fingers wound themselves through Soobin’s protectively.

“I’m looking for the way to the castle,” she repeated to the new fae, her head tilted towards the blonde. “Soobin was helping me.”

There was a flash of something dark in Yeonjun’s sea-glass eyes. Something she couldn’t quite place as he licked his plump lips slowly.

“He is helpful,” he said steadily. “Did he mention things aren’t always as they seem? The walls may seem one way but they may lead another.”

Her eyes widened in surprise, one that Yeonjun tracked with carefulness.

“He hadn’t.”

“She was going straight,” Soobin teased under his breath.

It made her roll her eyes a bit, huffing. Yeonjun smiled as he exhaled. His shoulders loosened a bit as he glanced both ways. Down the right and left of infinity.

“Things aren’t what they seem here,” Yeonjun stated simply. “So, you can’t take it for granted,” he looked back at Soobin who had leaned more and more into the older man. His chin rested on the tip of the older’s shoulder as he stared directly at the wall behind her. He smiled raising his brows before gesturing with his chin towards the wall behind her.

The Runner glanced back at the wall opposite of their ‘house’, her brow raising.

“Walk through it!” Soobin encouraged.

She turned and fully stared at the wall in front of her. It looked like a wall. No gaps, no nothing.

“But it’s… a wall,” she breathed.” She took a step forward, trying to trust these strangers. Her hand reached out slowly to find… nothing. It just looked like the wall continued for forever. Stepping through the hole, she could see clearly now. It was an opening! There was another path beyond its bricks, and surely another one somewhere else. These walls were all illusions.

She just had to look closer.

“Thank you! That was incredibly helpful!” the Runner beamed at the others as she turned to face them once more.

Yeonjun’s smile was careful, and Soobin’s equaled her beaming grin. She quickly went to grab her shoes and slide them back on, grimacing at the loose sand grains still in them, but even that couldn’t dampen her mood that was gradually lightening. This was a start - finally!

“Thank you!” she repeated gratefully as she turned to right to begin to walk onwards through the maze.

“Miss,” Yeonjun called out, the tune something so enticing she couldn’t help but pause in her step. “Don’t go that way – never go that way.”

The warning was paired with a shake of his head that Soobin copied.

“Oh…. Thanks,” the Runner grinned at them before heading in the opposite direction, finally feeling like she had something of a start.

Soobin’s sad eyes watched her leave. “I was excited to see someone,” he commented lowly, dejected, and droopy almost like an ill-watered flower.

Yeonjun sighed, his hands going to pass through Soobin’s hair sweetly. “I know, sugar, but we have to keep you safe.” He glanced back at the castle and the shadow it cast over the land. “If she had gone the other way, she would have gone straight to the castle – and the King would be at our doorstep.”

The mention of the Goblin King made Soobin’s eyes focus just a tad.

“Can’t have that.” He murmured, and Yeonjun smiled proud.

“Exactly, coileán,” Yeonjun praised as he moved one hand to release his seal-skin fur cape’s clasp.

The silky soft thing fell off his shoulders, leaving his upper body bare. It revealed what appeared to be spotted grey and white dots over his toned stomach. He pressed a kiss to Soobin’s nose, lovingly, before he draped the cape over Soobin’s shoulders protectively.

“Let’s go inside and make tea, hm?”

[bluegekk0]

what kinda minecraft players would the fam be? :3

I answered similar questions before but I love talking about them and Minecraft so I don't mind answering it again.

Vyrm - he's redstone builder, 100%. He's admittedly not the best at survival, he gets overwhelmed easily and he struggles with the controls. But as soon as he discovered redstone that's what he would dedicate himself to. He'd watch guide videos to get the basics and then experiment, coming up with contraptions you wouldn't even imagine. Traps, secret doors, intricate farms and actual working computers, you name it, he can make it if you give him some time.

Grimm - he's the builder of the family. He has all the skill needed for survival or even hardcore playthroughs, he's very good at the game, but he finds the most enjoyment in building beautiful houses. He dedicates his time to decorate Vyrm's shoddy cobblestone base, turning it into a breathtaking house. Though they usually end up sharing the same Minecraft house (yes, of course they would put their beds next to each other), so FPK just leaves that to Grimm as he plans his next redstone build.

Hornet - pure survival type with a preference for exploring. She's the one who finds mob spawners within 30 minutes of spawning into the world, and she brings back all kinds of loot. She doesn't really do much with it aside from upgrading her gear, her base is just a simple (but pleasant looking) house, though she spends barely any time in it. She's always willing to share what she found, and she'll fill Vyrm's chests with redstone and other materials for his builds. She's a big fan of PVP, and because the others are busy with other things, Zote is the only one who's up for it, so they often attempt to troll one another.

Holly - they enjoy farming and taking care of the animals. They have a little farm next to their small house, and a big wheat field surrounding it. Very often, Grimm will offer to build a windmill as decoration for their farm, and help them with other structures like barns and chicken coops. They do enjoy building, but they're always happy to accept Grimm's help since they see that as bonding. They prefer to farm their crops manually, so as much as they find Vyrm's automatic farms impressive, they stick to their humble farm.

Zote - wannabe griefer, he keeps looking for ways to annoy Hornet, though he gets too confident and his plans often fail because of it. You'll see his name the most often in the chat, since he always dies in the most stupid ways possible, at least until he gets angry and quits. Though as much of an annoyance as he is, he only targets Hornet - he won't intentionally destroy the things Grimm, FPK or Holly built, though he'll sometimes shoot arrows at Grimm as he's building high up in the air, trying to knock him off the scaffolding (only to get instantly bodied by a Power V bow shot from Grimm lmao)

Lewk - I said before that he'd be too young to have an account, but I love the idea of Grimm getting him one just so he can play with the rest of the family. He would try a little bit of everything, though because he's so young, he doesn't fully understand what is happening. For now he seems most drawn to building, he's obviously nowhere near Grimm's level, but his builds are very adorable and Grimm proudly displays them next to his giant mansions.

Asta and Milo - they only watch, the closest they get to joining the game is when walk across Grimm's keyboard while he's playing. They enjoy watching as the others play, even if they have zero idea what's going on.

[hc-werner]

The Dialectical Humanism of Big-Ass Robots: An Intro

“There’s a deep, earnest seriousness to most mecha shows (especially within the “real robot” subgenre) that implores the audience to grapple with intricate ideas and themes drawn from philosophers like Aristotle, Nietzche, and Rousseau, oftentimes complete with allegorical mouthpieces for competing ideologies.”

My high school students always lose their shit when I tell them that I, Coach Werner, also watch anime. I kinda feel bad about it. By now, I know I’ll see the excitement die from their eyes little by little as they pepper me with questions, searching for a connection with show after show after show. 

“Coach, have you seen Jojo?”

“Nope.”

“What about DBZ or Naruto?”

“Not since before you were born.”

“Attack on Titan? Utena? Tokyo Ghoul?”

“Not yet, though they’re on my list.”

“The fuck Coach? I thought you said you watch anime!”

When I tell them I mostly watch mecha, they get confused. After I explain that mecha are the ones with jumbo-sized robots, they groan. I’ve even had one kid say that didn’t count. As a general rule, I try to not let the opinions of 15 year olds hurt my feelings; I only docked his grade a couple points. 

Whatever my students may think, oversized anthropomorphized robots have fascinated me since I was a kid. Over the years, as I’ve revisited shows from my youth and found new mechanized, cel shaded rabbit holes to tumble down, I’ve tried to figure out what exactly was so appealing about the genre. There’s definitely a bit of wish fulfillment, a sorta kaiju-sized power fantasy, sure, but that’s not all of it. Same with intricate sci-fi world building, and of course the thrill of pew-pew dogfights and beam saber duels. But none of those alone seemed to account for the whole thing. They’re all fun set dressing, definitely worth a watch on their own but not enough, I don’t think, to capture my imagination for nearly a quarter of a century.

This series, The Dialectical Humanism of Big-Ass Robots, started off as a rambling, borderline incoherent and definitely substance enhanced diatribe that tried to explain how excited I was for the first episodes of Mobile Suit Gundam: The Witch From Mercury. It feels right, though, both the name and the bigger through line.

There’s a deep, earnest seriousness to most mecha shows (especially within the “real robot” subgenre) that implores the audience to grapple with intricate ideas and themes drawn from philosophers like Aristotle, Nietzche, and Rousseau, oftentimes complete with allegorical mouthpieces for competing ideologies. There’s also the slightly goofy and always physics-defying “rule of cool” concepts of the robots themselves–I mean, who doesn’t want to see a boom cannon with angel wings, or a crucified rage monster, or transforming karaoke jets?–that can easily be laughed off as a kid’s cartoon. Any foolhardy (read: hubristic and dumbasstic) attempt to try to find unifying threads within such a wide and varied genre has to address both of those tendencies. Here, friend, you will find one such foolhardy attempt. 

Mecha anime, more than any other subgenre, has a fundamental tension summarized by two infuriatingly simultaneous, contradictory truths:

Anthropomorphized mechs bring out the best in humanity, allowing us to overcome our flaws and leap forward into a better future.

Anthropomorphized mechs feed into the worst traits of humanity, allowing us to destroy ourselves in new and technologically advanced ways.

Those two overwhelmingly common truths, when taken together, can be summarized in fancy philosophy jargon with just two words: dialectical humanism.

Dialectics is a concept pioneered (in the West, at least) by Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel during the late 18th and early 19th century. There’s literally a whole field of study called “Hegelian Dialectics” that we’ll touch on from time to time, but the main thing to know is that two mutually exclusive and contradictory ideas are often both true at the same time. 

Humanism has a long, fraught history, but the most common Western interpretations stem from Enlightenment-era ideals. Essentially, humanism boils down to the belief that humankind can progress beyond its animalistic nature through a combination of empathy and rational thinking. Again, we’ll be touching on a whole slew of humanist thinkers throughout this series.

So that’s The Dialectical Humanism of Big-Ass Robots. I feel like mecha shows–from Astro Boy to Zeta Gundam, and almost everything in between–play with this dialectic, where the mechs themselves represent humanity’s ultimate destruction and ultimate salvation simultaneously. Sometimes we struggle to survive, sometimes we overcome and thrive, and sometimes we find ourselves transformed into an ocean of pink goo.

In this series, we’ll look at:

Magical Newtype Bullshit and radical empathy

Depression, memory, and trauma, and why Shinji can’t just get in the fucking robot

The power of music (and love, hope, and propaganda) in a transforming space city

And much, much more.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go watch a Tanuki pilot a Gundam.

[themysticastro]

The Venus Signs as Florence + the Machine Songs🧚🏾

✧˚₊‧ aries venus ✧˚₊‧ Drumming song " As I move my feet towards your body, I can hear this beat/ It fills my head up and gets louder" This song reminds me of raw and unhinged passion. Like theres only you and the other person and everything seems to be pulling you two together, as if they are a magnet. This is what aries venus reminds me of, something fully wild

✧˚₊‧ taurus venus ✧˚₊‧ Patricia "Are you afraid? Cause i'm terrified/ but you remind me that it's such a wonderful thing to love" So warm and inviting like a candle in a dark room or being cuddled in a bunch of blankets. Home is wherever a taurus venus is

✧˚₊‧ gemini venus ✧˚₊‧ Shake it out "And I am done with my graceless heart/ So tonight i'm gonna cut it out and then restart" The excitement binds to your feet as you can't stop running towards anything and everything as free as you. You take up anything that moves and all your atoms dance with it. Your love is in the trees, in the grass, and in the summer

✧˚₊‧ cancer venus ✧˚₊‧ Never let me go "And the arms of the ocean are carrying me/ and all this devotion was rushing out of me" Completely surrendering to love is the most purest form of you. Finding security and comfort through letting go and just allowing the emotion to overtake you. Your love is sustenance, taking a life form of its own

✧˚₊‧ leo venus ✧˚₊‧ Rabbit heart "Midas is king and he holds me so tight/ and turns me to gold in the sunlight" Bringing brightness into every lover you have is the most ultimate gift. Yes, leo venuses are gifts always allowing those they love to prosper in the most loveliest form.

✧˚₊‧ virgo venus ✧˚₊‧ No choir "But the loneliness never left me/ I always took it with me/ but I can put it down in the pleasure of your company" I'm still trying to understand how you can love so simply but so intricately. Its like you scatter your adoration all around you and your lovers feel it in their coffee, in their sheets, even in the small hand kisses. Your love is in everything

✧˚₊‧ libra venus ✧˚₊ Hunger "Tell me what you need, oh you look so free/ the way you use your body/ baby, come on and work it for me" when you search for that sweet vibrant youth, you find it is sweetest coming from your own heart. Love embodies you in so many forms. I wish you'd see it like I do.

✧˚₊‧ scorpio venus ✧˚₊‧ St Jude "...we lay in bed as she whipped around us/...maybe I've always been more comfortable in chaos" It is all encompassing, your love. It surrounds all the spaces and crevices between you and your lover. It is to the magnitude of a sort of God that cannot touch this place. Your love even reaches beyond this earth

✧˚₊‧ sagittarius venus ✧˚₊‧ Cosmic love "I took the stars from my eyes and then I made a map/ and I knew somehow I could find my way back" those who cannot reach you, will run more than enough miles just to feel the liberation that comes from your soul. You free others with your love

✧˚₊‧ capricorn venus ✧˚₊‧ King "I need my golden crown of sorrow, my bloody sword to swing/ my empty halls to echo with grand self-mythology" no matter what, you won't let your lover starve. You'll build skyscrapers, castles and high rise towers to fill your love up with just so your lover will always feel satiated from you. Your love is so grand, it destroys even you

✧˚₊‧ aquarius venus ✧˚₊‧ June "In those heavy days in June when love became an act of defiance" It is atypical and odd looking to some, but you embrace it and as you do so, the world gawks. In awe, we are. Your love is an art form

✧˚₊‧ pisces venus ✧˚₊‧ The end of love "I've always been in love with you/ could you tell it from the moment that I met you" your love is the last step, fully wise and grown and yet somehow still so pure. You are the rivers as they become floods and wash it all away so that it can start all over again. Your love is the rebirth of a cycle. All other forms of love did not exist before you.