#the sunset

[redsamphoto]

From a new series and gallery "Wires, Lights & Poles", inspired by The Sunset in San Francisco (land of many wires), in the "Sortable Galleries" on Redsam.com.

[tlatia-the-radiant]

PART III: SYMPATHY

The bunker was shaking under the weight of the artillery barrage as the Radiant Dawn knelt before the Rangda Elder.

"I... I don't know what else to do," she offered. "This is all I'm good for. I'm not even sure I can save you, let alone everyone in this bunker."

"A sword feels capable when it is used to kill," the Elder replied, ancient green skin looking like patchwork jade in the dim, flickering light.

Tlatia nodded. An Earthshaker shell dislodged loose stones from the ceiling.

"But you are not a sword."

The Elder folded their hands. Jeweled bracelets embedded with gemstones clinked together.

"Let me tell you a story. Once, I was young, and in love with a mate. My mate was a capable man and an excellent speaker. We loved one another; every night, we drank from the same water-well, read from the same tome, shared a kiss before bed. This was a time of great upheaval on Rangda. I, as a skilled commander, became a general, while my mate became a political leader. I loved him still, and I believed he loved me."

"But he didn't."

"No. The newfound power my mate wielded corrupted him. At first, the signs were subtle. We stopped reading together. He became too busy with treatises on political theory, while I kept reading our old tomes. Then we stopped drinking the same water; he claimed to be worried of potential toxins. He began to give me orders in the house as well as on campaign. I obeyed; I wished for him to love me, so I did as he told me, even when I felt his orders were wrong. I convinced myself that he knew better; he was my leader, I was his soldier. It was only many cycles after we stopped sharing kisses that I realized I was no longer his mate. I was only his pawn."

"Why are you telling me this?" Tlatia asked.

"Because you needed to know what love is, and isn't," the Elder replied. "Your relationship with your father is not love, no more than the slave is loved by the master or the scythe is loved by the farmer. You are his possession; your body and soul are his."

"I'm not that reliant on my father."

"Then why have you not left yet?"

Coloured beads in the Elder's hair caught the light, shining brightly even in darkness as Tlatia fell silent. She had no answer.

"Do you remember the first life you took in his name?"

"I..."

Memories appeared, unbidden, unwelcome and certainly uncomfortable. A man in grey armour, speckled with mud, clutching a rifle as he was torn in half by a chainsword, screaming in agony. His blood was scarlet-red; his skin, by contrast, was pale as Luna's surface, pockmarked by burns.

"I do."

"I remember mine, too. It is the last and greatest step they make us take; to commit the sin that enslaves us, shackles us. It has to be great. It has to be so great that you must justify it in order to live with it, and you must justify it as an act committed in your master's name in order to live with it."

Dawning comprehension joined horror in Tlatia's gut.

"It was meant to break you. To chain you. Bit by bit they took away your innocence, your purity, your principles; everything that defines you. Your soul is the last and most valuable thing they steal."

"Then I am lost," Tlatia murmured.

The Elder shook their head. The coloured beads clicked together, casting rainbows on the walls. "What is lost can be found."

"How? What do I have left? I've spent so long as a useful idiot--a murderer! How can I make amends when I gave everything I had digging this bloody foxhole?!"

The Elder's cracked lips turned just slightly upwards. They leaned forwards, cupped one of Tlatia's cheeks. Their skin was warm. Their cat-eyes stared into her own, and she could see kindness in them that Father never had.

"Dearest child," they murmured. "You were not born soulless."

[silver-rings-and-rabbits]

I miss the old writing. This scene doesn’t have anything major except for some light, flirty dialogue options and a brush of the hands at the end and yet, even when I first played it, it seemed to perfectly summarise the excitement of new beginnings and new romance. It’s much more romantic than anything written in book 3 and beyond.

Here’s where my MC starts falling for Raf:

[weishenbwi]

[efervesan]

Çok duru.

Hani derler ya ''Kızım olsa bu kadar sevmezdim'' ya da ''Babam gibi severim onu'' bu söylemlerin gerçekten karşılığı olmadığını düşünürüm hep. Bir insan kendinden olmayan birini gerçekten kendi çocuğu gibi sevebilir mi? ya da bir insan kendi çocuğunu nasıl bu kadar sevmez? Nasıl bu kadar zalim olur? Saf sevginin ufacık bir parçasının bile insanın hayatına nasıl dokunduğunu o kadar güzel anlatmış ki. Hepimiz sevgiye muhtacız. Çocuğun hiçbir şey oynamasına gerek kalmamış bütün film boyunca ışığı gözümü aldı, müthiş. Tabii sonunda ağlamasam olmazdı, iyi geldi.

Bir de şarkı bırakayım.

[purrior]

sky

acrylic on canvas

[spiriteddreams]

packing is so hard like. i don’t want to take down my silly little wall decor or start putting clothes in suitcases and plan what to put in my storage unit and what to take home :(

[quotesfrommyreading]

Dying is a vulnerable act. There’s rarely the serenity we see in deathbed scenes. Instead, the pragmatic, much of which we view as shameful: the slow loss of function, the bowels loosed in bed, the sweat stench, the tonguing mouth, the hallucinatory terror, the whimpers, the rattle. You spent all this time learning how not to trip over your own feet and here you are now — older than anyone else in the room and forced to use a stroller, swaddled in diapers. You revert to a time when your mother held you, only your mother is gone. Your children (if you remember them) don’t visit, and why is that?

Shame stems from a fear of disconnection. We live in a culture that increasingly connects old age with disconnection rather than dignity. Our friends pass on, our families visit less and less, we spend more time alone, helpless to arrest the breakdown of our own bodies. It’s no wonder the elderly — and those who care for the elderly — are steeped in a hot tea of shame. And because shame repels, it is no wonder our policies and priorities for eldercare are so lax as to be nearly criminal. Out of sight. Out of mind

  —  The Sunset

[secretadmirer29]

RiNa (Remix+AI) - The Sunset

[kolczasta]

the sky's on fire, I'm freezing

[nasa]

Do You Love the Color of the Sun?

Get dazzled by the true spectrum of solar beauty. From fiery reds to cool blues, explore the vibrant hues of the Sun in a mesmerizing color order. The images used to make this gradient come from our Solar Dynamics Observatory. Taken in a variety of wavelengths, they give scientists a wealth of data about the Sun. Don't miss the total solar eclipse crossing North America on April 8, 2024. (It's the last one for 20 years!) Set a reminder to watch with us.

[tlatia-the-radiant]

PART IV: HERETIC

The day she leaves, the Administratum names her the Lost Primarch.

Her records are censored within days. It takes mere hours for the Sanction Redactus to be stamped across her files, for rough men with flamers to begin incinerating every mention of her name. No one can know of the Eleventh's betrayal. No one can know there was an Eleventh.

As the Dawn Legion floated adrift in the Warp, laying low and burning away from Rangda, Star Forts were towed into position above her homeworld and began to bomb the planet, systematically burning the jungle to ash in a tide of fire. Planetary defense systems sold their lives for a bloody toll; one Star Fort cracked and detonated, and of every two ships in the invading fleet, at least one was destroyed, but the inevitable could only be held off for so long.

In total, it took one standard month for every mention of her in Imperial records to be removed. Every last link between her and the Imperium, severed in record time.

"I don't feel like I've escaped," Tlatia murmured, kneeling before the lone Rangda elder that she'd managed to save.

"You will not feel free for a long time. That is their final cruelty," the Elder replied. "And yet, the chains are broken. The cycle will end. Recovery is a spiral, child. There will be days when you feel trapped, when you feel yourself relapsing--but you will break free."

The Radiant Dawn was silent for a long, long time.

"What would you have me do?" she finally asked. "I need orders."

"No, child. The days of others forging your path is over." The Elder's beaded hair clicked together in one final symphony. "Now you run free, with the sun at your back and the stars as your witness."

[badolmen]

WARNING 18+

19

[good-to-drive]

All this about not getting to see John Lennon on twitter but I think the real tragedy is that Freddie Mercury never had an instagram

[heylsgowt]