#AND THE DISTORTION POTTERY

[that-sure-is-a-person]

Me after listening to episode 7 of the Magnus protocol

[starsandwriting]

Celia saying at least they're not dealing with "tape recorders and manila folders", asking if they've ever tried a different sorting system, hilltop road, distortion pottery and other suspiciously familiar artifacts, a new organisation/hunters that seem to know how to handle the weird stuff, celia (almost amused) recognizing chester, sam receiving an email from "jon", gwen being "in". Episode 7 is just one punch to the face after another NO breaks

[scopostims]

michael distortion (tma) stimboard with kaleidoscopes, spirals, hand stims, and doors for anon :•]

[ID: A 3x3 stimboard of 9 GIFs.

GIF 1: A white person with long green hair flapping their hands and bouncing.

GIF 2: Blue and green footage of someone reaching for a door knob, then the camera suddenly zooming way out before back in.

GIF 3: An animation of a pale purple and blue geometric kaleidoscope pattern.

GIF 4: Purple and green footage of a glass top spinning along a spiral piece.

GIF 5 (center): A slightly-tapered glass cylinder with a green spiral inside being spun, the spiral appearing to shift up and down.

GIF 6: Purple and green footage of someone making a spiral design on a pottery wheel.

GIF 7: Purple and green footage of many shifting and zooming kaleidoscope patterns.

GIF 8: Purple and green footage of someone opening a hefty wooden door with a large key.

GIF 9: Someone in a green hoodie rocking back and forth and flapping their hands.

End ID]

[bat-luun]

(tags via @encryptidarchivist)

YESSSSS i love him very much hes my darling beloved!!! <33

(ramble below cut cuz this got so long oh my god lmao - cw: suicide mention)

The tma oc is actually an au version of 'Pai Rite' (he/she)! He's player character i made while co-DMing a Call of Cthulhu campaign. He's originally from 1982 Chicago and about 28 years old. Her og lore and backstory and what played out in the campaign is rather complicated so imma leave it out. (tho i'd happy to rant about it lol-)

For the tma version: She uses her full name more often than just her nickname/chosen name; Joshua 'Pyrite' Kerr (he/she). She was born in 1978 in LA, moved to England in 1997, and died 2010 at age 32.

She is marked by both The Vast and The Spiral! (in the same way Martin is a mix of The Eye and The Lonely)

Pyrite has a rocky relationship with his parents from the start, his father was killed/taken by The Vast when Pyrite was only 17. His mother was killed by The Spiral, which triggered Pyrites leave to England to study mathematics at the King's Collage in London.

(Idk if it would really work all that well in canon but I've taken The Vast in a less 'real' direction? Like making it less of a place of endless mist or whatever but making it more like a concept?) Pyrite's father was a mathematician and investigating/trying to figure out more of the pi number. The horror of the uncomprehendable powered my the Fear drove him to insanity and eventually suicide, leaving his family suddenly and without a word.

Her mother, turning even more hyper religious than before, turned to pseudoscience as a way to cope with the grief (buying crystals and crafted religious symbols/spells to protect her, and doing other low-key paranoid superstitious stuff).

She eventually got her hands on some colorful (sea)glass shards which she hung by the windows to catch the light and "ward off evil".

The glass is an artifact of The Spiral! It slowly multiplies in numbers in the given location, and starts changing colors/patterns of objects within it's line of sight (though the owner is the only one who can see it's effects).

The longer the artifact is a set location and affecting it's victim, the more intense the distortions get (pottery/dishes "melting" or changing shape, entire rooms becoming mirrored, objects switching places with each other, glass clinking sounds being heard from every room, ...). Eventually it moves from inanimate objects to people in the victims life.

Pyrite's hair got turned a purple/pink as a cause of the artifact. Panicked, Pyrite's mother took a hammer to the glass, breaking it untill there was nothing left but dust. Pyrite found her body later that day as it was being taken away by paramedics. He moved away after that, taking a single glass shard as a keepsake to remember her by, having no idea of it's effects.

He went on to study mathematics in London and found his fathers research notes, going down the same cursed rabbit hole he did.

She did become an avatar for The Spiral later on as the artifact went on to distort any research notes Pyrite made/found beyond recognition, essentially 'winning' and making her a Spiral avatar. Pyrite died in 2010 after Gertrude and Michael stopped the great twisting. Died mad and dazed and out of breath, trying to keep her grip on the only thing that was left of her mother, the destruction of the ritual making her take her own life.

me and my best friend(one of the other co-DMs) did art of Pai Rite and his gay boyfriend Revemine for valentines day!! :D

(also tagging @horrid-mothlegs for if you want more info for when our tma ocs can hang out >:])

[tokyogruel]

hellos!! is there any frame in triage where shidou Does have the same patterned scarf-thing(?) his sons and wife wear? actually do you know what those mean? (<- i only now noticed them skldjlsd)

hello anon! hola!

to answer your question,, well,, no. not really. but also- well, kind of?

the pattern youre thinking of is called paisley. it has a lot of symbolic meaning that i will get to in this post, but.. shidou doesnt really wear it. kind of

i went through triage again and want to point a few things out:

shidous family wears paisley in 3 different places

his wife, around her waist. shidou mimics this with his apron

his youngest, around his neck. shidou mimics this with his jacket(? why are you wearing it like that idiot)

his eldest, around his waist. shidou mimics this almost exactly- except his cloth belt is light blue, not grey, and plain- no paisley

there is, however- one very brief scene where it could be debated that shidou's belt has a paisley pattern. it moves very quickly- and is heavily obscured by light

the pattern is incredibly faint- but look closely. you can see the paisley. this is the only scene that shidou is shown wearing paisley even remotely explicitly.

(and, before i get into the symbolism of paisley- i find it's important to note that triage has a floral-pattern overlay over the entire video. it is subtle, and you can see it better on a higher-resolution screen. but it is there, and it distorts the video slightly, yet entirely)

but, well. why is paisley so important anyway?

paisley, or Boteh-Jegheh (بته جقه), is a design that has been used for centuries, it originates from Iran (considered "Persian")

"So what is behind paisley’s incredible longevity? Its symbolic power has probably played a part. The original Persian droplet-like motif – the boteh or buta – is thought to have been a representation of a floral spray combined with a cypress tree, a Zoroastrian symbol of life and eternity. The seed-like shape is also thought to represent fertility, has connections with Hinduism, and also bears an intriguing resemblance to the famous yin-yang symbol. It is still a hugely popular motif in Iran and South and Central Asian countries and is woven using silver and gold threads on to silks and fine wools for weddings and other celebrations." (source)

"in paisley people have seen resemblances to a lotus, a mango, a leech, a yin and yang, a dragon, and a cypress pine. Ancient Babylonians likened it to an uncurling date palm shoot. Providing them with food, wine, wood, paper, hatch, and string—all of life’s necessities—date palms symbolized prosperity and plenty. Paisley began its life as the privilege of cosseted, powerful men." (source)

"The circle of paisley’s irony is now complete. A pattern of exclusive royal privilege in the East becomes the pattern of Western capitalist longing. It trickles down on humbler fabrics to working men, gay men, gang members, and Boy Scouts. It signifies free love and forbidden love, belonging and exclusion—a seemingly impossible range of human experience." (source, same as above)

(source)

"In Ancient Egypt, for instance, paisley designs were often used on wall paintings and pottery vessels as symbols of life and rebirth; while in Persian culture they represented heavenly gardens filled with lush vegetation and flowing watercourses – a metaphor for paradise itself. Similarly, this pattern became an integral part of Hindu iconography; being used to depict gods such as Shiva or Ganesh." (source)

"The iconic design consists of intricate swirls and floral motifs which are believed to represent life’s cycle of birth, death and rebirth. It also represents fertility and abundance – qualities that were greatly valued by our ancestors who lived off the land they farmed. In many parts of Asia it was even thought that the paisley patterns had magical properties that could ward off evil spirits." (source, same as above)

"Additionally, the paisley flower is believed to represent the cycle of life, death, and rebirth in many cultures. The intricate design of the paisley pattern is said to symbolize the twists and turns of life’s journey, with each curve representing a different phase of life. The paisley flower is also associated with the concept of inner peace and tranquility, making it a popular choice for meditation and spiritual practices. Overall, the paisley flower holds deep spiritual significance and is a beautiful symbol of life’s journey and the eternal nature of the soul." (source, i recommend reading this page in full- foliagefriend is a site i use often as a resource, and their articles are in-depth and pleasant to read.)

so... thats about it, then!

there have been a few other elements pointed out in these articles though, so ill leave a few resources below to read up on, if youre interested :>

paisley (wikipedia page)

cypress (foliagefriend) // cypress (spiritualunite) // cypress (silentbalance) // cypress (artofmourning) // cypress (meaningsymbolism) // cypress (groovingtrees)

"On the Complexity of Using the Mango as a Symbol in Diasporic Literature"

"In Myth and Literature, the Mango Remains King"

"Leeches in modern medicine"

"Leeches are still used in medicine—yes, really. Here’s why." (this article discusses transplanted tissue)

leeches (wikipedia page, the link directs you towards the medical section of the age)

dragons (worldbirds) // dragons (athsq) // dragons (givemehistory)

yin and yang (wikipedia page) @mukuberry heres your 0510 b/w parallels again

ankh (wikipedia article)

date (allaboutpalmtrees) // date (desertempirepalms) // date (groovingtrees) // date (bateel)

phoenix (wikipedia page)

shiva (wikipedia page)

ganesh (wikipedia page)

gray (colorpsychology) // gray (colorpsychologymeaning)

blue (colorpsychology) // blue (colorpsychologymeaning)

white (colorpsychology) // white (colorpsychologymeaning)

purple (colorpsychology) // purple (colorpsychologymeaning)

(ps. shidou has consistent themes of fertility, ovaries, motherhood, birth/rebirth... the ovarian imagery is very persistent in Throw Down!)

[annon-guy2]

Guilty Gear X BlazBlue: BlazBlue Reactions to Bone Crushing Excitement

Here's what I think the BlazBlue cast would say in response to Faust's Bone Crushing Excitement Super in a hypothetical Guilty Gear X BlazBlue Game.

Ragna The Bloodedge

● "GOD DAMN IT!!!"

● "ARGH! YOU... FREAKING!!!"

● "WATCH WHERE YOU'RE GOING!!!"

Jin Kisaragi (His quotes a Japanese words for cold related terms)

● "YUKI!"

● "KORI!"

● "SHIMO!"

Noel Vermillion

● "OUCH!"

● "AHHHH!"

● "I ought to shoot you for that!"

Rachel Alucard

● "!?!" Nago: "The princess looks mad!"

● "You... rammed my...!?" Gii: "That looked like it hurt..."

● "You... fool...!" Nago: "Oh dear!" Gii: "Nice knowing you doctor..."

Taokaka

● "YIKESSSSSSSS!"

● "ME-OWWWWW!"

● "Tao's leg hurts neow!"

Iron Tager (Tager reads Mystery Novels and his quotes refer to authors of said novels)

● "LILIAN JACKSON!"

● "STEPHEN KING!"

● "CHARLAINE HARRIS!"

Litchi Faye-Ling (Litchi's a fellow doctor)

● "That's not how a wheelchair works!"

● "You're the one who pushed me!"

● "Is this how you lost you medical license!?"

Arakune (He has bugs. Self explanatory)

● "My bees! Crushed!"

● "My beloved leeches!"

● "Tartar... flee! FLEE!"

Carl Clover (Carl has chess piece like attacks and the last one is a reference to his 'Rhapsody of Memories' Distortion Drive)

● "WAHHHH!"

● "CHECKMATE!"

● "SYMPHONY!"

Bang Shishigami (His quotes are Ninja Commands in Japanese)

● "YAME!"

● "MATE!"

● "ASHI!"

Hakumen

● "Argh!"

● "I won't bend!"

● "This won't stop me!"

Nu-13

● "Damage to leg: Critical!"

● "You...! Will die!

● "Carry me... Ragna!"

Tsubaki Yayoi (Tsubaki likes historical dramas. Her quotes reference them.)

● "HIMIKO!"

● "NAGASAKI!

● "FUEFUKI!"

Hazama (The dude likes hard boiled eggs, so why not?"

● "SUNNYSIDE UP!"

● "DONE OVER EASY!"

● "DEVILED!"

Mu-12

● "Through the armor!?"

● "While I was down!?"

● "While caught off guard!?"

Makoto Nanaya (Makoto likes nuts.)

● "CHESTNUTS!"

● "WALNUTS!"

● "PEANUTS!"

Valkenhayn R. Hellsing

● "UNCOUTH!"

● "BARBARIAN!"

● "RAPSCALLION!"

Platinum The Trinity

● Luna: "LUNA'S LEG HURTS!"

● Sena: "Why'd you run our leg over!?"

● Trinity: "Doctor!? How could you!?"

Relius Clover (Relius enjoys the Opera, so Opera references away!)

● "CARMEN!"

● "FIGARO!"

● "OTELLO!"

Izayoi

● "This can't...!"

● "Argh! That... hurt!"

● "Ugh...! I won't yield!"

Amane Nishiki (His quotes reference Japanese Dance Groups)

● "ARASHI!"

● "TEMPURA KIDZ!"

● "7 MEN SAMURAI!"

Bullet

● "GAH! I'll get you for this!"

● "Why you...!?"

● "Erk! I break your shin in return!"

Azrael

● "That actually hurt!?"

● "To think I felt that!"

● "What's this... PAIN!?"

Kagura Mutsuki (His references are for Japanese Alcohol Brands)

● "SUNTORY!"

● "MIYAGIKYO!"

● "YAMAZAKI!"

Yuuki Terumi (Terumi likes Live Music, so why not?)

● "DEATH METAL!"

● "POWER BALLAD!"

● "HARDCORE TECHNO!"

Kokonoe (She's a scientist, hence her quotes are related to it)

● "CHEMISTRY!"

● "ASTRONOMY!"

● "MICROBIOLOGY!"

Celica A. Mercury (Minerva gets hit instead of Celica here.)

● "Minerva! Are you okay?!"

● "I'm sure he didn't mean it!"

● "P-Please don't be mad with the doctor!"

Lambda-11

● "Damage to knee joints!"

● "Excruciating!"

● "Ragna... help...."

Hibiki Kohaku (Hibiki's quotes are in reference to Pottery)

● "EARTHENWARE!"

● "STONEWARE!"

● "PORCELAIN!"

Naoto Kurogane

● "MY LEG!" (I couldn't resist 😂)

● "NOT AGAIN!"

● "YOU COULDN'T HIT THE PROSTHETIC LEG?!"

Nine The Phantom

● "FIREY!"

● "BURNING!"

● "BLAZING!"

Izanami

● "Transcendence!"

● "Enlightening!"

● "Awakening!"

Susano'o

● "BLASPHEMOUS!!!"

● "ETERNAL DAMNATION!!!"

● "ABOMINATION!!!"

Es

● "Blue lights...?"

● "Nobody...?"

● "Crystal in my chest...?"

Mai Natsume (Mai likes reptiles, hence her quotes.)

● "CHAMELEON!"

● "SUNGAZER!"

● "SNAKE!" (Not a Metal Gear Solid reference 😂)

Jubei

● "Smart move!"

● "Clever trick!"

● "Decent gamble!"

==============================================================================

Hope you all enjoyed this!

[deusexlachina]

Wannabe Warden Part 16: Become the Ultimate Darkspawn Slayer

In which I do everything possible to become the deadliest possible enemy of darkspawn. Short of becoming a Grey Warden.

(And, to do it, I use the ultimate weapon of the Grey Wardens: Math.)

It is now Act 3. This is the peak of Aveline's journey. This is when her story comes to a close, when her companions finish their arcs, and, most importantly, when her build is finished. Is she a deadly striker? A flexible battlefield controller? But there is only one true path for Aveline.

I build her to kill darkspawn as efficiently as possible.

Nothing says "as efficiently as possible" as the Primeval Lyrium Rune, so this is the first step in my darkspawn-slaying aspiration. I get this as a reward for doing a quest dealing with the fallout of the deadly red lyrium, which induced Bartrand to betray his brother, broke his mind, and now a mere fragment of it is making a haunted house, with floating pottery and everything, which is a feat because there's not even a ghost story here, just a really nasty rock.

As we venture deeper into the house, Varric becomes increasingly desperate to find the red lyrium shard, being uncharacteristically rough with a survivor. His mind is already beginning to be distorted by the unholy thing, but he insists on keeping the shard - he needs it to find a way to save his brother! But that's more the shard talking, so I take it from him, which he later thanks me for. I dispose of the exceedingly dangerous shard in the safest way possible: by giving the shard, which can make dwarves evil, to Sandal, who lives in my house and can make explosives.

He then makes it into a rune. That's the Primeval Lyrium Rune. I've taken it away for Varric just to use it for myself as a weapon. This is exactly what Knight-Commander Meredith does, an act that leads to her becoming increasingly evil and then a rock. But Bartrand, Varric and Knight-Commander Meredith don't have the strength of a Grey Warden. Neither do I, but that's a technicality. I just decide not to be corrupted. I'm Merrilling the red lyrium.

But I can only use the Primeval Lyrium Rune once, so the next step is to find the perfect anti-darkspawn weapon. Darkspawn have two weaknesses - spirit, because they're unholy creatures, and nature, because uh poison fucks them up I guess. My only Nature option is Desdemona's Blade, which is largely obsolete. I don't feel bad for it. It's had more than enough glory for one blade. That leaves the best spirit weapons - the Celebrant and the Edge of Night.

Most would say the Celebrant is the better of these. (Many would say Bloom, the ice axe, is better than either of these, or anything else, but they're wrong because cold damage is not the most efficient way to kill darkspawn, my true enemy). But after the Arishok fight, I'm feeling especially skeptical - not to mention spiteful - of conventional wisdom. I tanked the Arishok that you supposedly can't tank, and melted him with a one-hander, which supposedly might as well be safety scissors. So I do a few tests of my own.

I do some math and the Edge of Night is better than the Celebrant. With each equipped with the red lyrium, the Edge is just over 15% faster, which is fantastic if you're a Berserker and do lots of damage per hit. Wait! I am that thing! The Celebrant deals slightly more damage per hit...but the difference is miniscule compared to my overall damage, whereas the attack speed difference is much larger and scales better.

I need to test it in practice, and I find the perfect unwilling research participant: a High Dragon has killed everyone working at the mine, which it always does regardless of what you do, whether you save the miners from three other threats or don't even induce them to come back to the mine in the first place. I feel like there must be some kind of moral here, but the best I can think of is the dangers of unaccompanied miners.

But this is just me being scientific. Of course the Edge is better. I just mathed it out. So I confidently stride out to slay the High Dragon and die horribly to hordes and hordes of its shitty babies. I try again, in case that time was a fluke, and die horribly again and again. I'm...just not killing them fast enough. But...but the math! Did the math let me down, just like Other Aveline? The High Dragon is laughing at me so hard that its jaw dislocates.

I try with the Celebrant, and said babies aren't even a problem. I start to wonder if the consensus is a consensus for a reason. But I'm stubborn. I'm determined to prove that a one-hander can be the ultimate darkspawn slayer. I practice more, and find that - while the AOE is much smaller than for a 2-hander, with some fancy footwork, I can manipulate enemies into my small arc, hitting more of them at the same time than it looks like I should be able to with my tiny swings - swings noticeably faster than a 2-hander. I also try a different set of talents, this time taking Perception so enemies get no advantage from being behind me. They're hitting my exposed back but, uh, they aren't. Skill issue. This does a lot to help with survivability.

I also try out Adrenaline, which trades stamina for damage. This is the same thing as Berserk but even more. The tactical depth here is stunning, though not as stunning as the fact that some Berserkers don't use it. Including me, until now. Even the Mach-5 Massacre guide, probably the best build that has survived the purge of the Bioware forums, says jury's out on Adrenaline. I don't know who bribed this jury, because as soon as I fully upgrade it and start spamming it, in conjunction with my usual Vanguard, Berserker and Reaver tricks, I'm killing dragon babies so fast that I risk long-term ecological devastation. Guys I'm starting to think adding 8% to all your damage per cast with no cooldown over 8 seconds might be a little broken.

This is representative damage without any Adrenaline. I would show you damage with Adrenaline, but it's a little tricky to get a screenshot of that, because the enemies die too quickly. The High Dragon can take it, but he's so big that my damage doesn't always display, which is not a big deal at all unless you're doing some kind of damage experiment.

Seething with bloodlust, adrenaline and, most intoxicating of all, the sensation of proving other people wrong, I hack my way through dragon after dragon until the High Dragon runs out of babies to throw at me. I slay it without caring how I got up on its head, why I didn't lead with that, or what my shield is doing floating several inches from my body.

I am victorious, not only against the High Dragon, but against everyone who said one-handers were bad. With its blood, I make a rune of valiance for my gloves and a rune of devastation to make the Edge of Night even deadlier.

I am now ready to slay darkspawn so quickly that the Wardens can no longer deny my prowess. I will reunite with Bethany and avenge Carver. All I need now is the perfect chance to show off my might...

[sea-lanterns]

tbh, angey, with how long and slim your fingers are, I think you'd be pretty good at pottery

better than me with my short & chubby fingers that is

-🦖

you have no idea how many times I messed up a pot cuz my fingers were too short, and my hand was too chubby to fit without distorting the pot...

I have like…no artistic talent (especially with sculpting and pottery) but I would love to give it a try someday. It seems like a really good date exercise with you and your lover, so perhaps I’ll find a girlfriend to make pottery with as my first time <3

[legendsobsessions]

(@wingsofachampion) Hiya! What's anthropology? -Tropius

It's the study of people! There are four main sub-fields:

-Archaeology (most common sub-field, my own area of expertise though every anthropologist dabbles at least a little) is the study of people from the past via their material remains. "Material remains" can be anything from bones to pottery, the sort of things you'd expect to find at a digsite—anything that provides insight into how those who came before us lived.

-Cultural anthropology is the study of culture more broadly. It aims to describe and understand differences in culture, like how some regions have more cultural emphasis on battling than others.

-Physical/biological anthropology is the study of human biology and how it affects us. Why are knees so prone to being terrible? What in distortion is going on with people who are sensitive to aura? Questions that have to do with genetics, how we are—that's physical anthropology. (Or biological anthropology—both terms for the field are commonly used.)

-Linguistic anthropology is the smallest sub-field (one of my professors jokingly said a long time ago that having a linguistic anthropologist on the university staff was a luxury item, and the older I get the less I think he was actually joking) and has to do with how language affects culture.

While anthropologists tend to specialize in one field, all of them work in conjunction. For example, material remains from an ancient culture might be written in a script that only a few people still speak, necessitating archaeologists and linguistic anthropologists to work together.

[that-sure-is-a-person]

The Magnus protocol ep 7 thoughts as I go (spoilers ahead)

- Oh Celia is absolutly up to shit, she’s from og world she knows about smirks 14 and the tapes

- HILLTOP MENTIONED OH SHIT

- forgetting names you say

- fucking distortion pottery bastard

- HILLTOP IS ATTRACTING OLD ARTIFACTS FROM THE FEARS!!!!

- the sound design is amazing

- CELIA RECOGNISES THE VOICES, SHE KNOWS ITS JON

- SAM IS BEING CONTACTED BY JON, BOI YOU ARE ABOUT TO EXPERINCE THE HORRORS

- Colin is going off the deep end

- who was Lena talking to before gwen came in

- WHAT DID LENA DO TO KLAUS

- WHO IS HIGHRING THEM, GWEN WHY ARE YOU DIGGING IN TO THIS

- oooh a Bouchard being power hungry and getting into the conspiracy of it all.

- fuck that episode was good!!

[chiropteracupola]

(that rare thing around here - an original spooky story...)

Clapboard always seemed to get oak-leaves stuck in it, clinging in the layers of siding and sticking to the spiderwebs that draped the corners of the porch.  Curtis brushed them away with the tip of his broom, and damned the spiders as a sticky leaf fell into his hair.  There was always more to be done in early fall, as the spiders were now out in full force, well-fed long-legged things the size of half-dollars.  As Curtis swept another layer of crackling-dry leaves from the edges of the porch, he turned, half without intention, to look back at the shelves visible through the front-room window.  

The jar, of course, was nowhere near the door, most precious gem of Lucas’s collection as it was.  In all the tiny parlor-museums that had sprouted in the new-built towns like mushrooms after a rain, very few could boast of possessing such a relic.  But old Lucas had come by the jar and its contents somehow, long years before he had had need to hire on an assistant at all, and there it stayed in the glass-fronted case between bits of carved stone and painted pottery.  Curtis had disliked the thing at first, hating to look at the distorted face of the thief behind the glass.  But in time, he had found himself stealing glance after glance at it, and in occasional dark spaces of sleeplessness, imagining how the thief had lived and died.

The wind that day was on the chilly side, and it stung at Curtis’s face, not so much as a reminder of further cold to come as a suggestion of what might have been.  Resenting it, he hunched his shoulders up a little further, and pulled the scarf a little closer around his neck, fingering the softness of yarn as golden as the autumn-dry grass on the hills.  As he did so, Curtis thought of the thief’s head again, in its jar inside.  He ran a finger and thumb along his own neck, feeling over the roughness left by a slight edge of stubble, and wondered if it had been quick.  Surely they had not taken the head until the man was dead already, cut it neatly from his shoulders with care that they surely would not have offered to him in life.  The head was a prize to be taken, and thus maintained well — one wouldn’t want the preserved face of an outlaw to be smashed ’til it was unrecognizable, though the grisliness of the trophy was of course unavoidable.

But beyond the roughly-severed stump of the neck and the softened, puffy eyelids, there was an odd fascination to the thief’s appearance, in dark hair floating in the preservative like smoke from a just-snuffed candle and eyes that seemed to follow onlookers around the room, though they were shut tight.  It was not only as he moved about the museum-room itself that Curtis felt watched, but in his own rooms, and as he slept.

In dreams, the thief came to him with his head in his hands, staring clear and brown-eyed up at Curtis.  Cautious, careful, he reached out and took the head, feeling the hard arc of the jawbone in his hands, the weight of it startling.  Then, reaching carefully up, Curtis placed the head back on the ragged stump of the neck, all snagged and bloodied where the knife had stuck against the vertebrae, and held it there.  The thief did not speak, only looked at him with those deep sad eyes, and Curtis looked back.  With the head back in its place, the thief was of a height with him, and it was no difficulty at all to take the scarf from his own neck and wrap it about the thief’s, tying it fast and tucking the ends down under the collar of the thief’s worn jacket.

Curtis woke, cold under damp sheets, his own hand splayed across his throat, and saw his own steps outlined before him in the late-coming sunlight on the floorboards.  The day that followed passed slowly and dimly, still webbed over with traces of dreaming, and only when night fell did he feel that he had properly come to himself again.

The sun was not too long gone, and the last curls of sunset light caught between the hills.  At that bowed, obscured horizon, fog had begun to trickle into the valley below, pouring syrupy-slow down over the forest.  Lucas had gone out for the evening, for it ought to have been a night for merriment, for sloshed-out cider and jarred fruit finally stirred into spice-cake.  Curtis had begged out, saying he had no head for merriment, and it was true, he had not.  But the keys of the cabinet were in his own trouser-pocket now, and it was with quiet steps and careful movements that he crossed the front-room and put his hand upon the lock.

There — he was in, but he could yet turn back, and ignore the plan that had awoken already so neatly-formed in his mind.  Curtis imagined leaving the task undone, going back to the routine he had so long followed in Lucas’s service.  He would polish glass, and dust cabinets, and light the lamps when evening fell …and through all of it the thief in his jar would watch him, baleful and betrayed behind the glass.  Curtis could not turn and leave him, not when every day he would have to look…

He straightened his shoulders and resolved himself to the task, then turned and placed the lantern on the desk, just far enough out of the way that it would still cast light upon the blotter.  His own shadow moved strange against the shifting pattern of tree branches cast through the window, the shapes of oak-leaves splaying out like a mantle over its shoulders.  

Again, Curtis checked the lock on the outer door.  Still shut, and giving a little shake of his shoulders, he wondered to himself why he had expected that it might be otherwise.  As the wind shifted in the leaves, the lantern-light shone brightly for a moment on the tightly posed teeth of the stuffed bobcat atop the cabinet, still gleaming-sharp in death.  Curtis made a mental resolution to take down the thing and dust it, when he had the time, for its fur was beginning to look a little moth-eaten with the years.  That was, if he still had employment when the morning came around.

Soon enough, the cabinet door fell open smooth and slow, its hinges oiled by his own hand only a few days earlier.  In his way, he had done the best he could for the thief’s head, polishing his jar when he could and pointing him to face the window.  It had made a difference, he had hoped, to offer what little care he could.  Curtis shifted aside the other objects in the case, the pottery and the stones, and the snakeskin tacked neatly to its polished piece of board.  Last of all he moved the label from the front of the jar, read over again Lucas’s carefully printed handwriting.  The name on the label was not the thief’s own, he was sure.  Lucas liked bright things and legends, but there was no chance that the head of such a well-known outlaw as that had wound up in a no-account town like this, in a one-room museum in an old man’s dusty front-room.  A dollar for a few minutes’ sight of the celebrated head of California’s own Robin-Hood, that was a rather high price for the asking, but one that a fair number of visitors were willing to pay.  Having cleared the rest of the shelf, Curtis slid his intended prize free, pressing the cold glass against his chest as he got his arm half around it and carried it to the desk.  The lantern-light turned the preservative liquid to a dark gold, and the head itself to a blurred mass of shadows.

Mindful of the sloshing of preservative and the scrape of glass on glass, Curtis lifted the lid from the jar.  The alcohol within was cool against his hands as he reached inside, feeling carefully in the depths of the jar for the head.  His fingers brushed against silky hair, floating gently in the liquid, and after a moment, tangled there.  Curtis locked his hand in place, and tugged, and after a moment’s work, the head came free with a thick, squishy sound.  It was heavy, and Curtis had to readjust his grip before he could get a good look at the thing.

Without the distortion of liquid and glass between them, Curtis saw that the thief was younger than he had expected, the twisted, pained death-look not so strong upon his face as Curtis had seen before.  The skin had gone pale and spongy from long years under liquid, the dark hair slick and trailing down where Curtis had not gotten a hold on it.  With his free hand, he brushed it away from his face, tucking it behind each ear.  The lobe of one was torn — perhaps it had once held an earring, gone missing with the years.  In those early days of gold-hunting, Curtis had heard that such earrings had been more common, but it had evidently been a mark of wealth to those that had brought the thief in as much as it had been to the man who had first worn that gold ring.  He ran a careful finger over the ragged place the earring had left behind, sorrowful.

“I’d return it to you, if I knew where it is now,” he said softly, wishing with all his heart that he did know.  But he did not, and instead sat silent and watched the way the lamplight caught in the thief’s alcohol-soaked hair, shining on the dripping preservative that had spread all down the desk and onto Curtis’s trousers.  Something twitched under his hand, and Curtis blinked, only grasping the oddness of the movement a moment later.

The thief’s eyes flew open, and they were brown, the same soft sodden-leaf brown as they had been in Curtis’s dreams.  The thief’s mouth curled, showing teeth, and as he smiled slow, Curtis nearly dropped him to the desk.

“You’re the one who polishes the glass.”

“How…?”

“Don’t you think I’d know your hands by now?  They’re nicer than the other fellow’s, too — not nearly so bony.  Can’t trust a man with hands like spiders, I say.”

“Did he—“  Conjectures clicked through Curtis’s mind, clattering and chilling.  He had never heard the story of precisely how Lucas had come to own the jar, after all.

“Old Bony-Hands?  No, he didn’t kill me, if that’s what you were fixing to ask.  Now, I heard you had some intention of giving my earring back—“  The thief’s eyes flicked sideways, as if trying to gesture towards his torn ear without having hands with which to do so.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know where it is.”

“Ah, don’t mind it, then.  Whoever has it now has got my curse to his name just as well as my gold.”

“Your curse…?” faltered Curtis, still a little unsure of where he stood in this conversation.  The thief blinked at him rather dramatically.

“Didn’t anyone ever frighten you with ghost-tales?  No sitting in the dark hearing about enough ghosties and ghoulies to make your hair stand on end?”

“You’re the first ghost I’ve met.” Curtis felt, all of a sudden, very much out of his depth.  “Is there anything else I could give you, if I can’t give you your earring back?” That seemed the right way to go about it, to make straightforward promises and smooth over what he couldn’t fulfill.

“A proper grave might be nice—“ the thief closed his eyes musingly “—better yet if it’s in church-ground.  I’m sure the rest of me’s in a ditch somewhere, but fetching it’s too much to ask, even of a kind fellow such as yourself.”  He smiled, dripping lips pulling apart in an awkward grin.

“That I can do for you, and happily.”  Curtis gathered up thief and lantern, and, locking the door again behind him, stepped onto the porch.  The lantern-light glinted faintly on a new spiderweb in one of the upper corners, and Curtis chuckled ruefully before starting out into the road.  The cemetery was no great distance, and for the moment, there was still moonlight to see by as well as the flame he carried.  As Curtis and the thief watched, threads of fog drifted across its face, covering and uncovering it in slow, uncanny patterns.

“A rogues’ moon.  That’s what my grandmother used to call it, anyhow.”

“Ah, your granny was right,” said the thief, laughing murkily.  “And a grand night it is, for a fine pair of rogues like us.”  Curtis felt his face grow warm, and looked carefully away, hiding his smile in his scarf.  But his comfort did not last for very long as he walked onwards, for as the fog covered the moon in earnest, he found that the light of his lantern did not carry far, and as he found the narrow path that led to the cemetery, the thief’s still-wet hair grew cold indeed against his hand.

In the daylight, the little square of ground with its scattering of pale, neatly maintained headstones was a pleasant enough place, built on the side of the hill so that visitors might stand and look down into the valley.  Curtis had often walked there of a Sunday afternoon and paused in the shade of one of the few scraggly cypresses by the low wrought-iron gate, but he had always turned and taken himself elsewhere when the sun had begun to sink, and been in town again before the last stray bit of sunlight fitted itself into the keyhole of the hills.  Now, it was full dark, with the sky so patched over with fog that any familiar stars were invisible, and Curtis, though he knew the path well, felt that he must surely have lost his way.

Strange fear overtook him — not the fear of any tangible pursuit, but the sort of terror that waits in shadow and comes creeping into the heart when one is alone in the hills.  Hardly knowing what he did, Curtis broke into a run, the lantern in one hand, the thief’s head in the other.  The breeze, turned cool with the night’s fog, chilled his face, the tips of his ears prickling with the cold.  The tip of his shoe caught against a stone, and he stumbled, barely catching himself on one knee.  

“Have a care!” griped the thief, his head swaying in Curtis’s uncertain grasp.

“Yes, yes,” said Curtis, breathing a little more heavily now, and awkwardly got to his feet, uncertain without the use of his hands.  Dust clung to his trousers, tiny flakes of dead leaf sticking to the heavy cloth.  All the summer had left behind was that dryness of the ground, dusty earth crumbling under his feet as he climbed the final rise of the path.  He placed his lantern on the ground, then clambered over the low fence, holding the thief’s head high.  

“Any preference on the place?” Curtis panted, his free hand pressed against his knee for balance as he tried to catch his breath.

“I’ll give you your pick of it,” said the thief, as if he was offering a fortune in gold.  The thief’s head was heavy, and Curtis’s arm had long since become tired from holding it high, but words spoken in such a way did seem to be nearly reward enough.  Finding a spot at the foot of a tree where the soil seemed less compacted, he accordingly began to scrabble a hole one-handed, the thief looking on from the safety of his other hand.  But before Curtis could get very far, the thief made a little click of his tongue to stop him in his tracks.

“One more thing I’d ask of you, for your kindness.  I’d have just one kiss of your lips, to keep me warm when I’m buried down below.”

“It’ll not be so cold as that, not here,” said Curtis in reply, “but yes, you may have it and gladly.”

“Aye, you’ve got a brain in your head, more than I ever had,” said the thief, and smiled, his teeth still shining-wet in the moonlight.  Curtis laughed, and hefted the head in his hands again, lifting it so that his lips just brushed against the thief’s.  With the same brief fluttering contact as the beat of moths’ wings against the glass of the lantern, they kissed, and Curtis felt the thief’s lips part against his, a final grin that would not be hardened in place by death.

[highladyluck]

Tag nine (9) people you'd like to know better.

Tagged by: @quarterclever

Last song: House of the Rising Sun - The Animals

Currently watching: Star Trek: Strange New Worlds! And I also just watched Bee and Puppycat, The Mystery of Aaravos (Dragon Prince seasons 4 & 5), and Nimona, because it turns out that when you are too congested to sleep, sometimes you can briefly forget your inability to breathe properly by watching cartoons. (I have covid rn, I'm getting better tho!)

Currently reading: BodyDreaming in the Treatment of Developmental Trauma by Marion Dunlea (my therapist mentioned it & it's surprisingly readable for nonfiction, although to be fair, my threshhold for readability in nonfiction is heavily distorted by the inclusion of that fucker Immanuel Kant at one end of the scale.) Also I'm rereading Mirror Dance by Lois McMaster Bujold, although I put a pin in it once I realized I didn't want to be re-reading the torture scenes when I was already feeling like shit physically. Huh, and actually I'm also re-reading Plenty More by Ottolenghi, because I have a lot more access to his more esoteric ingredients than I used to, so there's more stuff I can make now. Like, I have preserved lemons now, and sumac, and dried barberries, and an asian grocery store incredibly close to my house!

Current obsession: Yeah, that's gonna be ceramics. I am really excited to be feeling better today, I hope I keep feeling better and test negative soon so I can go back to my pottery classes. I've recently gotten a lot better at centering and pulling up clay on the wheel and I finally have some decent-looking, medium-sized pots that will hopefully still be in a state to be trimmed by the time I get back in the studio.

Tagging: @agardenandlibrary, @togrutahhh, @iliiuan, @perplexed-penguin, @arealbonecracker, @froglatte, @mermaidtablet, @birgittesilverbae, @evilphrog (chosen somewhat at random from people I've recently-ish followed!)

[mxgicthot]

Aditya Ranjit Singh

Name : Aditya आदित्य

Meaning : Lord of the sun

Gender : Male

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Sexual orientation : Bisexual

Pronouns : He/him

MBTI type : ISTJ

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Homeland : Paraka / Rajasthan

Ethnical inspiration : South Asian - Rajasthani

Spouse : Samaira Rathod

*In arcanaverse - Adi and Samaira are still technically married and live together but have an open relationship.

*In modern au - they live separately

Sun : Taurus

Birthday : 11 May

Chinese zodiac : metal rooster

Western zodiac

Moon : Leo

Rising : Cancer

Apperance

He has shoulder length dark brown hair which he leaves loose, sharp canines and a deep scar above his right eye. He speaks in an unnaturally deep growly voice.

Eyes : Amber

Hair : Dark straight hair

Facial hair : Beard will vary in length, but he never goes completely clean-shaven

Height : 7ft (213 cm)

Body type : Mesomorph Body Type, very strong and burly. He has a muscular chest, shoulders, and limbs.

Accessories

He wears a lot of gold rings. Has a few ear piercings, usually wears dark metal jewelry to blend in with his hair

.

Favourites

Colour : Red

Food : Laal Maas (mutton curry prepared in a sauce of yoghurt and hot spices)

Drink : Mahua liquor

Flower : Rohida (Tecomella undulata)

Animal : Cats

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Personality

Aditya is often stoic with his primary conversational skills being grunts, a swear word and throwing shade when pressed. He is highly observant of his surroundings and notices even the smallest of changes.

Adi keeps his feelings close to the chest, but under his stoic demeanor hides a softer interior. He will do nearly anything to protect his loved ones.

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Likes

Cooking

Triditional art and music

Forging weapons

Reading

Animal's (has a soft spot for cats)

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Dislikes

Surgery desserts

Time wasting

Loud noises

Crowded spaces

Ignorant / judgemental people

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Fears

Being unable to protect his loved ones.

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Minor Arcana - Nine of wands

Major Arcana - the devil

Upright : Resilience, courage, persistence, test of faith, boundaries

Reversed : Inner resources, struggle, overwhelm, defensive, paranoia

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Trade / Occupation

He currently works as a sword for hire.

Has made deals and worked for Queen Nasrin in the past and occasionally continues to assist the royal family.

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Random facts

He is practical and has a desire to understand the way certain things work.

He is a surprisingly good artist, and his preferred medium is charcoal, though he never does much with his art.

Doesn't sleep at night, but prefers to take naps during the day - in the sun.

Likes working with his hands, some of his hobbies include, woodwork, pottery and jewelry making.

Is really well read and knowledgeable on political matters.

Makes his own weapons and is a very skilled blacksmith.

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Rakshasas abilities

Rākṣasa

They are powerful warriors, expert magicians and illusionists. As shapeshifters, they could assume different physical forms. As illusionists, they were capable of creating appearances which were real to those who believed in them or who failed to dispel them. Some of the rakshasas were said to be man-eaters, and made their gleeful appearance when the slaughter on a battlefield was at its worst.

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Magical abilities

Shape-shifting - he can willing change form whenever he chooses.

Illusionary magic : the ability to psychically distort others' perception of reality and the ability to impart substance and power into illusory sensory phenomena

Superhuman Senses- the ability to perceive sensory stimuli with precision and range beyond human norms.

Life-Force Absorption- the ability to psychically draw life energy into oneself.

[primowishes]

Though her ward was like a grumpy kitten, Nahida would of course celebrate the day of his creation. Unfortunately her gift was especially clumsy—for it was her first time making pottery. She managed to make him a very lumpy bowl and an even lumpier mug, but at least they were properly backed and hardened and glazed. She nervously presented the gifts to him, sheepish and shy at her amateur handiwork. “I know it isn’t the best… but I still hope you like them.”

Nahida was no experienced potter--that was obvious enough from the clumsy make of the dishes she'd gifted him. Asahi wouldn't be surprised to even see her fingerprints in the clay, however distorted it might be by the finishing process. He decided against testing that out--he could too-clearly imagine her crestfallen expression if he gave the gifts undue scrutiny.

Asahi sighed. While she didn't make mention of his birthday, the timing made it obvious enough as to the reason for the gifts. "There's no need to go through so much effort. Today's not really special."

He gazed down at the gifts, eyes flickering between dish and mug and back again. Was she interested in learning pottery? He wondered if he should put some effort into learning it as well. Even if she never asked him for help in it, he could still have that knowledge handy nonetheless...

Still, he felt a little awkward, clearing his throat. He held the gifts carefully, so that he wouldn't drop them. "But... thanks, I guess." Even if unnecessary, they still took obvious effort to make, and he wasn't going to denounce something like that, amateur or not.

@starlitwishes

[bl00dysk1es]

hmmmm boys like museum artifacts.. boys like fine art.. boys like modern art... boys like loud distorted guitar through an amp.. boys like ash and boys like powder... boys like bombs who need to be disarmed .... oh yes now i am thinking .. boys as convoluted metaphors .. ohhh

- 🪶

ohhhhhhhhhhh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh ths will keep me up all night ur amazing feather

boys like clay pottery that have been dropped and put back together one too many times

[franknemick]

Test from the other day, pretty happy, stuff to play with! The phone camera distorts so much, the truth is somewhere between the two photos. Http://www. Lucadecor.com https://www.artfulhome.com/ search Frank Nemick . . #pottery #potteryartist #ceramics #ceramique #ceramica #céramique #keramik #ceramic #clay #wip #nmclay #clayartist #wallart #coloradoartist #raku (at Frank Nemick artist at Man Dreaming) https://www.instagram.com/p/CoNVf-NubAj/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=