#Copper live Chart

[haastera]

Calling it now. Season 1 is going to end with Copper 9 being destroyed and the main cast traveling to wherever Flesha and J came from by reversing the flight plan of their ship.

Because they had to have launched from some physical location.

Alternatively they'll look at the ship's navigational star chart and travel to the final human-exoplanet (if one still exists).

The story has outgrown Copper 9 as a setting. If there is a S2 it will be on a different planet.

I know we see Earth thoroughly destroyed, but I think It'll be the setting for S2 or maybe S3 if one eventually happens.

It'd give a fufilling narrative feeling of the cast going back to where it all began to purge the corruption at its core.

It also fulfill UZI's pilot quest of going to Earth, but instead of going to Earth to kill all humans she'd be going to Earth to kill the Solver.

Personally, I think it'd be really cool if the finale battle between the two took place in the mansion, where everything began. Although we see the mansion destroyed, I would write the Solver as having kept it intact, or creating a replica deep within it's nest out of a sense of nostalgia, or due to CYN's unconscious influence.

That's where the heart of the corruption lies. Still in the basement all these years later.

That's also why the basement key and Earth are still on Flesha's keychain. That's where she lives when she's not traveling to worlds ready for consumption. Plus on the Ep6 starmap it always depicts the corruption spreading from Earth to an exo-planet, never from one exo-planet to another.

Copper 9 will be destroyed, but UZI will escape with control of her powers, (like Nori and Yeva), as well as with the literal key to defeating the Solver itself instead of its hosts. Coming for the source of the corruption directly.

At least that's how I'd write it.

[the-lonelybarricade]

Down the Water Well - Feysand Oneshot

Never go near the water well. For eleven years, Feyre obeyed her mother’s command. Except now, she was standing on the edge of that barren circle, staring at the stone well at the top of the hill. The wooden signs were worn and weathered and still illegible to her. She always wondered, did the signs warn about what waited at the top? She’d never been brave enough to ask. Come, a dark voice beaconed to her. Come, Feyre. See what’s inside. See what waits for you.

A contribution to @officialrhysandweek Day 1: Lord of Nightmares

Read on AO3

-

The first time Feyre saw the water well, she was eight years old.

It wasn’t the well that she’d noticed to begin with. It was the large wooden posts staked into the ground, each boasting signs that she could not decipher. There were many of them, an equal distance apart, charting the perimeter of a large dirt hill so that those who approached on any side would be certain to see whatever was written on the signs.

She didn’t care much about what they said at the time. What caught Feyre’s attention was that the grass stopped growing beyond the posts. On one side, a green, flush carpet. On the other, dried, shriveled grass. Her eyes followed the dead zone up to the top of the hill, where a large circle of stone erected from the earth.

Feyre didn’t know what it was, but the moment she rested her eyes on those stones, she felt the air drop in temperature. It was midday, not a cloud in the sky, yet smoky darkness clung to the air around the hill. She knew, without quite knowing how, that the well was responsible for the decay around it. Like it leeched life from the surrounding earth. Fed on it.

It was eerie. Strange. Though Feyre had never been a skittish child, the sight chilled her. And yet. Yet she stepped toward it. Curious, drawn like a puppet being pulled by the strings. She wanted to know what lay on top of the hill, why it was there.

Yes, it seemed to call. Come to me. Come see.

“Feyre!”

She paused, her toe just past the perimeter of dead earth. Glancing over her shoulder, Feyre spied her mother striding toward her on furious footsteps. Feyre thought that was strange, too. Her mother rarely paid any attention to what she was up to. They were on the outskirts of the village because a seamstress lived here, in the cottage that her mother had swiftly exited. Feyre had snuck out as soon as her measurements were taken, and she’d assumed her mother would be too preoccupied with choosing designs for Nesta and Elain’s dresses to notice that her youngest daughter had snuck away.

Ordinarily, Feyre might have been delighted at the attention, if her mother’s face wasn’t twisted in rage. When she caught up to Feyre, she wasted no time with scolding. Instead, she grabbed Feyre’s arm so fiercely that her entire body jostled, and in Feyre’s shock, she bit down on her lower lip. Copper burst into her mouth a moment before tears swelled behind her eyes, and her sobbing began.

It was impossible to forget through her wailing and the unsightly blood dribbling down her chin, splattering to the dirt, the way her mother scooped her up and hissed, unsympathetic, “Never go near the water well ever again, Feyre.”

-

Never go near the water well.

For eleven years, Feyre obeyed her mother’s command.

Except now, she was standing on the edge of that barren circle, staring at the stone well at the top of the hill. The wooden signs were worn and weathered and still illegible to her. She always wondered, did the signs warn about what waited at the top of the hill? She’d never been brave enough to ask.

Come, a dark voice beaconed to her. Come, Feyre. See what’s inside. See what waits for you.

Darkness. Death. Something worse, perhaps.

Come, it repeated, more insistent. Less patient.

“No,” she said. What was she doing here?

Wind twisted her unbound hair, pulling at her nightdress like it was trying to tug her past the perimeter, away from where it was safe.

You’re hungry, it purred. Come to me, and I’ll see that you’re fed.

“No,” she repeated.

You would let your family starve?

“I know how to hunt,” she protested, tearing her eyes away from the well, towards the forest she ventured into every morning. “I don’t need you.”

Oh, but aren’t you tired, my little huntress? Tired of fighting and scraping to survive? You’ve been working so hard for so long. Let me take care of you so you can rest.

Rest. That sounded so nice. There was scarcely enough food to supplement the energy she expended on every hunt. And though she often came home worn to her bones, body so, so heavy, it was always difficult to sleep. Knowing what waited for her.

Lies. Lies, lies, lies, she chanted to herself. It wanted something from her and knew what to say to draw her in. She never liked to examine too closely how the creature knew so much about her.

She whispered, “What are you?”

Your loyal servant.

Feyre snorted.

It’s true, the midnight voice crooned. Free me, Feyre, and I am yours. Your every desire is mine to fulfill.

“Like… a wishing well?” she asked, feeling so childish to even entertain the idea. But she remembered the stories, as a child, of the water wells that would grant any wish for a coin dropped inside them. The cold stone at the top of the hill didn’t evoke the same whimsy, but she could certainly feel the power emanating from it. Pulsing, like a heartbeat. In time with her own.

There was humor in that voice as it answered, in a sense.

“What has you trapped?” That was a less intimidating question than what she truly wanted to ask—Why are you trapped?

Humans are fearful creatures. They push away things they cannot understand. But you are not like them, Feyre. You could free me. My huntress, my salvation. I’ll grant you any wish for that debt.

Don’t ask how, don’t ask how, don’t ask—” How?”

The darkness rumbled as if pleased by her question. Come to me. I will show you.

It wasn’t a far distance up the hill. Ten strides at most. How deep was the well, she wondered? If she fell in, would she ever come out? For years, she had nightmares about tumbling inside, falling down, down, down into an abyss of darkness.

“No,” she said, shaking her head and stumbling back from the perimeter. “No, no, no, no—”

The ground beneath her began to shake, and dirt and stone started to ripple. Feyre screamed so loud that she could again taste the copper in her mouth from years ago, when she’d bitten her lip and bled onto the earth, and her body began shaking, shaking—

“Feyre!”

She blinked, opening her eyes to find Nesta’s snarling face leaning over her in their shared bed. Elain was hovering, too, her pretty face pinched with concern as Feyre shook off their touch and pressed a hand to her head. It felt as if something had coiled around her mind and squeezed, leaving a blistering migraine in its wake. A usual remnant of her nightmares.

“I’m fine,” she said.

“You were screaming—”

“I’m fine.”

The words were as cool and icy as the stone atop the hill. Nesta and Elain didn’t say anything, only shared a glance with each other. Feyre couldn’t stand the words they were exchanging, passing their judgment without saying anything at all. With a huff, she pushed out of the bed.

“Where are you going?” Nesta asked as Feyre began shoving on her hunting clothes.

“Where do you think?”

Feyre hadn’t caught anything in the woods yesterday. Somehow, the creature in the well had known that, known that she was more desperate than usual. Maybe her mind was weak from the hunger.

“I’ll be back by sundown,” she said, grabbing her bow and slinging her quiver of arrows over her shoulder. She didn’t wait to hear if Nesta or Elain responded before she darted out of the rickety door of their decrepit cottage.

Feyre glanced down the path to the woods, the same trek she made every morning, now laid with a fresh layer of snow that had settled in the night. If she was wise, she would venture down the familiar path and check if her snares had managed to catch anything. But there was another path. One she never allowed herself to glance towards.

But some residual talon of the nightmare must have still been hooked in her mind, because she found her neck turning. And then she was staring down that path, the one which led to the outskirts of the village, where the water well would be waiting for her atop a lifeless hill.

Come to me, Feyre, she heard it call. The voice of her nightmares. So disarmingly sweet, gentle. Lulling. That’s it, the voice purred as she took a step, then another. Such a good girl for me.

She continued walking until she passed the seamstress’s cottage, her footsteps swallowed by the silent, killing snow. It was winter. The animals in the forest had treaded past where she was willing to follow. She was desperate. Desperate enough to look, though she promised herself she would not do anything more.

Her mother had made her promise to never come back here. But her mother was dead, and their family was starving, and that voice was calling to her. Chanting, Feyre, Feyre, Feyre. How bad would it be if she looked? What could possibly be waiting for her that was worse than the winter woods?

Feyre paused outside of the circle, squinting at the signs like she might finally be able to make sense of them. B… Be… war…

Come closer, Feyre darling.

There was no use trying to read them. If her mother was truly determined not to forbid her from walking past the signs, she would have taught her how to decipher them.

Feyre took a deep breath that condensed in the winter air, blending with the clouds hanging low around the hill. Drawing her bow, she notched an arrow and drew the string taut. Then, she took her first step past the circle. Even the wind died.

Despite the snowfall in the night, not a single flake had fallen to the dirt at her feet. It was dry, utterly devoid of life, apart from the energy humming through the earth, crackling in the air. Feyre was reminded of standing outside in a thunderstorm, the way every single hair on her body stood at attention.

Feyre, the voice sang, louder now.

The hill was steep enough that she felt breathless by the time she ascended its peak, and her heart was thundering, though she suspected that had less to do with exertion. The well looked ordinary enough—a large circle layered in stones and flattened at the top. It was boarded up beneath slates of iron held down by four large rocks. Maybe she could kill whatever was down there, and the nightmares would finally stop.

Each of the stones was heavy. She pushed them, unable to lift, and gasped as they tumbled to the ground with large thuds, kicking up small clouds of dirt. Whatever lived in the well, it would certainly know she was here, though the voice had gone mysteriously silent. Like it was holding its breath. Waiting.

When she’d managed to push the last of the stones to the floor, Feyre pushed the iron slates just enough to create a small opening. She winced at the scrape of rusted metal and more so at the pitch-black darkness she uncovered. Heart leaping in her throat, Feyre pushed the metal a little bit further, hoping to let more light in.

She gasped as a pair of violet eyes met hers, and a white-toothed smile flashed through the thick shadows.

“There you are, Feyre darling,” he said. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

[loneberry]

September 11, 1973: On the 50th Anniversary of the Coup in Chile 

Today marks the 50th anniversary of the coup d’état in Chile, when a fascist junta led by dictator Augusto Pinochet overthrew the democratically elected socialist government of Salvador Allende. For those of us who are on the left, the story should be familiar by now: Allende had charted a ‘Chilean way to socialism' ("La vía chilena al socialismo") quite distinct from the Soviet Union and communist China, a peaceful path to socialism that was fundamentally anti-authoritarian, combining worker power with respect for civil liberties, freedom of the press, and a principled commitment to democratic process. For leftists who had become disillusioned with the Soviet drift into authoritarianism, Chile was a bright spot on an otherwise gloomy Cold War map.

What happened in Chile was one of the darkest chapters in the history of US interventionism. In August 1970, Henry Kissinger, who was then Nixon’s national security adviser, commissioned a study on the consequences of a possible Allende victory in the upcoming Chilean presidential election. Kissinger, Nixon, and the CIA—all under the spell of Cold War derangement syndrome—determined the US should pursue a policy of blocking the ascent of Allende, lest a socialist Chile generate a “domino effect” in the region. 

When Allende won the presidency, the US did everything in their power to destroy his government: they meddled in Chilean elections, leveraged their control of the international financial system to destroy the economy of Chile (which they also did through an economic boycott), and sowed social chaos through sponsoring terrorism and a shutdown of the transportation sector, bringing the country to the brink of civil war. Particularly infuriating to the Americans was Allende’s nationalization of the copper mining industry, which was around 70% of Chile’s economy at the time and was controlled by US mining companies like Anaconda, Kennecott and the Cerro Corporation. When the CIA’s campaign of sabotage failed to destroy the socialist experiment in Chile, they resorted to assisting general Augusto Pinochet's plot to overthrow the democratically elected government. What followed was a gruesome campaign of repression against workers, leftists, poets, activists, students, and ordinary Chileans—stadiums were turned into concentration camps where supporters of Allende’s Popular Unity government were tortured and murdered. During Pinochet’s 17-year reign of terror, 3,200 people were executed and 40,000 people were detained, tortured, or disappeared, 1,469 of whom remain unaccounted for. Chile was then used as a laboratory for neoliberal economic policies, where the Chicago boys and their ilk tested out their terrible ideas on a population forced to live under a military dictatorship.

It shatters my heart, thinking about this history. I feel a personal attachment to Chile, not only because my partner is Chilean (his father left during the dictatorship), but because I’ve always considered Chile to be a world capital of poetry and anti-authoritarian leftism. The filmmaker Alejandro Jodorowsky asks, “In how many countries does a real poetic atmosphere exist? Without a doubt, ancient China was a land of poetry. But I think, in the 1950s in Chile, we lived poetically like in no other country in the world.” (Poetry left China long ago — oh how I wish I’d been around to witness the poetic flowering of the Tang era!) Chile has one of the greatest literary traditions of the twentieth century, producing such giants as Bolaño and Neruda, and more recently, Cecilia Vicuña and Raúl Zurita, among others. 

To commemorate the 50th anniversary of the coup, the Harvard Film Archive has been  screening Patricio Guzmán’s magisterial trilogy, The Battle of Chile, along with a program of Chilean cinema. I watched part I and II the last two nights and will watch part III tonight. It’s no secret that I am a huge fan of Guzmán’s work, and even quoted his beautiful film Nostalgia for the Light in the conclusion of my book Carceral Capitalism, when I wrote about the Chilean political prisoners who studied astronomy while incarcerated in the Atacama Desert. Bless Patricio Guzmán. This man has devoted his life and filmmaking career to the excavation of the Chilean soul. 

Parts I and II utterly destroyed me. I left the theater last night shaken to my core, my face covered in tears. 

The films are all the more remarkable when you consider it was made by a scrappy team of six people using film stock provided by the great documentarian Chris Marker. After the coup, four of the filmmakers were arrested. The footage was smuggled out of Chile and the exiled filmmakers completed the films in Cuba. Sadly, in 1974, the Pinochet regime disappeared cameraman Jorge Müller Silva, who is assumed dead. 

It’s one thing to know the macro-story of what happened in Chile and quite another to see the view from the ground: the footage of the upswell of support for radical transformation, the marches, the street battles, the internal debates on the left about how to stop the fascist creep, the descent into chaos, the face of the military officer as he aims his pistol at the Argentine cameraman Leonard Hendrickson during the failed putsch of June 1973 (an ominous prelude to the September coup), the audio recordings of Allende on the morning of September 11, the bombing of Palacio de La Moneda—the military is closing in. Allende is dead. The crumbling edifice of the presidential palace becomes the rubble of revolutionary dreams—the bombs, a dirge for what was never even given a chance to live.

[thecoiledserpent]

Writing this ask regarding the Weak Sun remedy. First of all thank you so much for posting! 😄

I wear copper bracelet but it's quite hard to offer water to sun as I live in a place with no sun then how to offer water? Any open space would work? I've also been advised to do Aditya Hyrudya Strotam which I'm learning by listening to it daily. I think I've benefic Weak Cap Sun in 8th house with Mercury and Ketu. Also there are only pigeons here as the place is dark. Sunlight is a luxury for us. I'm having trouble with doing most of remedies for Sun as we don't get to see sun. And some remedies like hanging are done 😁

it's alright as soon as you offer water to the sun within 7-8 in the morning, the best time being within an hour of local sunrise. when the sun itself isn't visible, imagine surya in the form i have described in that post, and it will be fine. imagine his rays blessing you and him smiling at you, and it will be excellent.

also, yes, the aditya hridaya stotram is like the one thing that protects a person from all diseases as well as enhances one's sun. but it isn't necessary to do recite it in sanskrit, if you're a hindi speaker, you can recite it in hindi as well. english is not particularly advisable, but not refutable if done with pious heart either. yes, you have a benefic sun (our charts are literal opposites man 😭🙏) but it's weak, so again, remedies are advisable.

look, thing is that any remedy works as long as you have devotion in your heart. envision the sun god in everything he gives to you. he is fruit, he is vegetables, he is nourishment for it is he who helps seeds grow and produce fruits. he is the basis of all life. thank him when you consume something fresh.

he is in summer, he is in the months, he is in your eyes. there are so many things you can do to praise the sun god, but it all must come naturally from a heart full of devotion. and as long as it does, it is even more precious to the lord than offerings of pure gold with no true love.

[mariacallous]

The phone or computer you’re reading this on may not be long for this world. Maybe you’ll drop it in water, or your dog will make a chew toy of it, or it’ll reach obsolescence. If you can’t repair it and have to discard it, the device will become e-waste, joining an alarmingly large mountain of defunct TVs, refrigerators, washing machines, cameras, routers, electric toothbrushes, headphones. This is “electrical and electronic equipment,” aka EEE—anything with a plug or battery. It’s increasingly out of control.

As economies develop and the consumerist lifestyle spreads around the world, e-waste has turned into a full-blown environmental crisis. People living in high-income countries own, on average, 109 EEE devices per capita, while those in low-income nations have just four. A new UN report finds that in 2022, humanity churned out 137 billion pounds of e-waste—more than 17 pounds for every person on Earth—and recycled less than a quarter of it.

That also represents about $62 billion worth of recoverable materials, like iron, copper, and gold, hitting e-waste landfills each year. At this pace, e-waste will grow by 33 percent by 2030, while the recycling rate could decline to 20 percent. (You can see this growth in the graph below: purple is EEE on the market, black is e-waste, and green is what gets recycled.)

“What was really alarming to me is that the speed at which this is growing is much quicker than the speed that e-waste is properly collected and recycled,” says Kees Baldé, a senior scientific specialist at the United Nations Institute for Training and Research and lead author of the report. “We just consume way too much, and we dispose of things way too quickly. We buy things we may not even need, because it's just very cheap. And also these products are not designed to be repaired.”

Humanity has to quickly bump up those recycling rates, the report stresses. In the first pie chart below, you can see the significant amount of metals we could be saving, mostly iron (chemical symbol Fe, in light gray), along with aluminum (Al, in dark gray), copper (Cu), and nickel (Ni). Other EEE metals include zinc, tin, and antimony. Overall, the report found that in 2022, generated e-waste contained 68 billion pounds of metal.

E-waste is a complex thing to break down: A washing machine is made of totally different components than a TV. And even for product categories, not only do different brands use different manufacturing processes, but even different models within those brands vary significantly. A new washing machine has way more sensors and other electronics than one built 30 years ago.

Complicating matters even further, e-waste can contain hazardous materials, like cobalt, flame retardants, and lead. The report found that each year, improperly processed e-waste releases more than 125,000 pounds of mercury alone, imperiling the health of humans and other animals. “Electronic waste is an extremely complex waste stream,” says Vanessa Gray, head of the Environment and Emergency Telecommunications Division at the UN’s International Telecommunication Union and an author of the report. “You have a lot of value in electronic waste, but you also have a lot of toxic materials that are dangerous to the environment.”

That makes recycling e-waste a dangerous occupation. In low- and middle-income countries, informal e-waste recyclers might go door-to-door collecting the stuff. To extract valuable metals, they melt down components without proper safety equipment, poisoning themselves and the environment. The new report notes that in total, 7.3 billion pounds of e-waste is shipped uncontrolled globally, meaning its ultimate management is unknown and likely not done in an environmentally friendly way. Of that, high-income countries shipped 1.8 billion pounds to low- and middle-income countries in 2022, swamping them with dangerous materials.

High-income countries have some of this informal recycling, but they also have formal facilities where e-waste is sorted and safely broken down. Europe, for example, has fairly high formal e-waste recycling rates, at about 43 percent. But globally, recycling is happening nowhere near enough to keep up with the year-over-year growth of the waste. Instead of properly mining EEE for metals, humanity keeps mining more ore out of the ground.

Still, the report found that even the small amount of e-waste that currently gets recycled avoided the mining of 2 trillion pounds of ore for virgin metal in 2022. (It takes a lot of ore to produce a little bit of metal.) The more metals we can recycle from e-waste, the less mining we’ll need to support the proliferation of gadgets. That would in turn avoid the greenhouse gases from such mining operations, plus losses of biodiversity.

The complexity of e-waste, though, makes it expensive to process. As the chart above shows, even an ambitious scenario of a formal e-waste collection rate in 2030 is 44 percent. “There is no business case for companies to just collect e-waste and to make a profit out of this in a sustainable manner,” says Baldé. “They can only survive if there is legislation in place which is also compensating them.”

The report notes that 81 countries have e-waste policies on the books, and of those, 67 have provisions regarding extended producer responsibility, or EPR. This involves fees paid by manufacturers of EEE that would go toward e-waste management.

Of course, people could also stop throwing so many devices away in the first place, something right-to-repair advocates have spent years fighting for. Batteries, for instance, lose capacity after a certain number of charge cycles. If a phone can’t hold a charge all day anymore, customers should be able to swap in a new battery. “Manufacturers shouldn't be able to put artificial limitations on that ability,” says Elizabeth Chamberlain, director of sustainability at iFixit, which provides repair guides and tools. That includes limiting access to parts and documentation. “Repair is a harm-reduction strategy. It's not the be-all-end-all solution, but it's one of many things we need to do as a global society to slow down the rate at which we're demanding things of the planet.”

At the core of the e-waste crisis is the demand: A growing human population needs phones to communicate and fridges to keep food safe and heat pumps to stay comfortable indoors. So first and foremost we need high-quality products that don’t immediately break down, but also the right to repair when they do. And what absolutely can’t be fixed needs to move through a safe, robust e-waste recycling system. “We are consuming so much,” says Baldé, “we cannot really recycle our way out of the problem.”

[sisterspooky1013]

Gaslight, Chapter 7/48

(On previous posts I listed the chapter count as 58. I was trippin, it’s 48)

Rated X | Read it here on AO3

Dana taps her pen rapidly against the desktop, re-reading the chart for the umpteenth time.

Male, age 32, presenting with acute abdominal pain. Blood and urine tests came back normal, as well as x-ray and ultrasound. She puts in an order for a CT scan and an endoscopy, making a note for herself to follow it with a barium swallow if those tests aren’t conclusive.

“Who died?”

Dana looks up to see Dr. Thomas entering their shared office and smiles wearily.

“I guess that isn’t a great joke for a hospital setting, is it?” the younger woman adds, taking a seat behind her desk and cracking open a can of soda.

Her copper-skinned face and wide, bright smile had been a welcome second impression after Dana’s initial entry into St. Agnes, and the two became fast friends. Thick-waisted and ample-breasted, Dr. Thomas insisted that Dana call her by her first name, Tiffany, and simply smiled sadly and told her it didn’t matter when Dana asked if they had met during her previous tenure there.

“Sorry if I’m being moody,” Dana says with a sigh, leaning back in her seat. “I didn’t sleep well last night and it’s my husband’s birthday today—I’m just feeling a bit overwhelmed.”

Tiffany arches a curious eyebrow as she logs into her computer.

“Does he have unrealistic birthday expectations or something?” she posits. “One of those people that expects to be treated like royalty?”

Dana shakes her head.

“It has nothing to do with him. I think I’m just putting a lot of pressure on myself.”

What she doesn’t tell Tiffany is that as she and Cal have become more physically intimate over the course of the last week—mostly just kissing, and one instance of wine inspired dry humping on the living room couch—her dreams have intensified to the point that they wake her several times at night.

Sometimes they, she and the man, are in the kitchen with the green countertops. She’s washing dishes and he wraps his arms around her waist, or they are dancing in the middle of the room, sometimes kissing as they move across the floor. She can see his face, his hooded green eyes and full mouth, his impish smile. He’s tall, close in height to Cal, and sometimes he is walking her slowly backwards, grabbing at her ass and pulling her close so she can feel him, stiff against her belly. There is always music, though she can’t quite hear it; she senses that it’s there. In some dreams he’s looking up at her from between her thighs, in others his cock is hovering inches from her face. But it’s the ones where she’s riding him, feeling him not just physically but emotionally, that affect her the most. Those are the dreams that pull her from a dead sleep flushed and humming, that send Cal down the hallway to check on her after another nightmare. They are the reason she can’t quite bring herself to return to the master bedroom, for fear that she will call out the other man’s name in her sleep. But then, at least, she’d know what his name is.

“Men are easy,” Tiffany says, giving her a meaningful look. “Give him a steak dinner and a hummer and you’re good to go til next year.”

Dana barks a surprised laugh, but her belly twists. She has the passing thought that maybe being fully intimate with Cal will relieve her of these sordid memories, these haunting dreams. But at the same time, they feel like all she has left of something that was clearly very important to her at one time.

“We’re getting dinner at Mercato,” she supplies. “Have you been there?”

“Yeah, Rick’s taken me there a few times. It’s nice,” Tiffany answers. “Do you have a sitter for the kids?”

“They’ll be at the neighbors’ while we’re out to dinner, but it’s a school night so we can’t stay out too late.”

“Sounds like fun,” Tiffany quips, then stands and drapes her stethoscope over her neck. “I have rounds. See you tomorrow?”

“Yep.”

Tiffany gets as far as the threshold of the door, then stops and looks back at her with a serious expression. Dana lifts her eyebrows in question and waits.

“Don’t forget to cup the balls,” Tiffany says, holding her hand palm up with the fingers curled as though cradling a pair of testicles.

Dana’s groan at her tasteless joke is cut short by the clip of the door closing.

-

“You look great,” Cal says uncomfortably, and Dana smiles demurely.

“Thanks,” she replies, pulling in a breath and looking around the restaurant.

It’s small, only a dozen tables or so, and the ambiance is decidedly romantic: low lighting, flickering candles, smooth jazz music lilting from cleverly hidden speakers. She tugs on the neckline of her dress, which is a low scoop that reveals the tops of her pushed-up breasts. She’d felt good when she put it on, admiring her silhouette in the bathroom mirror, but now that Cal’s eyes keep falling down to her chest as they try, awkwardly, to make conversation, she feels exposed and vulnerable. They’ve only gotten as far as water glasses on the table beside their menus, and already she can’t wait for this meal to be over.

“How was work today?” he attempts, and she remembers Tiffany’s advice regarding his gift.

“It was okay,” she says blandly, and again they fall into tense silence. Cal’s shoulder jumps and his head quirks to the side, and she knows she’s making him uncomfortable with her own discomfort. “Um, I didn’t really know what to get you for your birthday—” she starts, but Cal stops her.

“You don’t need to get me anything, Dana,” he insists, and she nods once.

“I didn’t, actually,” she admits, and he smiles shyly. “But I had this idea that maybe we could sort of—recreate something. An event that was important but that I can’t remember. Kind of a do-over.”

His smile blooms into a delighted grin, and she feels a warm flush in her belly.

“Really? Like what?”

Dana shrugs. “I don’t know, you tell me. This is something I can’t help you with, unfortunately.”

Cal sits back in his seat, pondering with a playful glint in his eye. The waiter approaches their table and asks about a drink order, and Cal turns to Dana.

“Let’s get out of here,” he says, and she flashes her eyes over to the waiter in embarrassment.

“Right now?” she asks in a low voice.

“I apologize,” Cal directs to the apron-clad man waiting beside the table expectantly. “There’s somewhere else we need to be.”

He tosses a twenty dollar bill on the table top and stands up, extending his hand to Dana. She takes it and follows him out of the restaurant, choosing to trust him enough not to ask where they’re going.

_

When Cal pulls the front door of O’Blarney’s open, smoke seeps out and curls into the evening air. She walks in and is greeted by all the trappings of a dive bar: pool tables, dart boards, worn down pinball machines, and the saturated stink of cigarettes and hops. The floor is covered in patchy green carpet and the man behind the bar looks like he’s ready to pose for a mugshot.

Cal directs her to a table and then goes to the bar to get them drinks, returning with a beer for him and a cocktail for her. She takes an experimental sip and smiles with pleasant surprise.

“Gin and tonic?” she asks, and he bobs his head.

“That’s what you used to drink when we met,” he says, scooting his chair closer to hers.

She looks around at the clientele. The bar is relatively busy for a Monday evening, and most of the patrons have the comfortable posture of regulars. A swarthy man in a camo jacket leers at her, and Cal slings his arm over the back of her chair posessively.

“So, what are we recreating?” she asks, taking another sip.

“This is where we met,” he tells her fondly, and her eyebrows lift in surprise.

“Here?”

Cal nods, clearly enjoying her reaction.

“Tell me,” she encourages him, touching his knee lightly for emphasis. He covers her hand with his and holds it there, and she feels a little flutter of excitement.

“I used to come here all the time,” he begins. “Me and my buddy Ryan would come almost every night after work to play pool or just talk. I started seeing you come in every once in a while with another regular, this woman Erin, do you remember her?”

“Erin?” Dana repeats. “I don’t think so.”

“Anyway, you were here with Erin one night and I decided to make my move.” Dana smiles at him and he shakes his head dismissively. “I totally struck out. I think I asked you if you were new to the area or some cliche bullshit, and you pretty much brushed me off. But I saw you again a couple weeks later so I tried just introducing myself, and you were polite but clearly not interested.”

“Ouch,” Dana says with a sympathetic pout.

“I know, it was rough. But there was just something about you. I don’t know, it just felt like I needed to know you, so I decided to go big—”

“Oh, no,” Dana groans, but she’s smiling around her anguished expression and Cal laughs.

“I know, I had no idea who I was dealing with. And Ryan was a horrible influence. He got me all hyped up on this “Say Anything” style gesture that would show you that I was worth giving a chance. And of course I got totally hammered first, for courage.”

“Oh, Cal,” Dana says, pressing one hand to her cheek. “You did something ridiculous, didn’t you?”

“I got up on that stage,” he says, pointing to a small elevated platform in the corner of the room, “even though it was not karaoke night, and I, uh—I sang you a song.”

“You didn’t.”

“Oh, I did. Very off key. But the bartender was kind enough to play the song so I had some accompaniment.”

“What was the song?” she asks hesitantly.

Cal clears his throat, closes his eyes, and sings, “Hands, touching hands. Reaching out. Touching me, touching youuuuu.”

“You’re joking,” Dana says flatly, and he opens his eyes and looks at her.

“Sweet Caroline, bah bah bah. Good times never seemed so good,” he croons creakily.

A genuine grin stretches across her face, and Cal elbows her in encouragement.

“So good, so good, so good,” she completes softly.

“I’ve been inclined,” he says in a whisper as he leans in, “to believe they never would.”

She accepts his kiss, returning it with a few soft smooches befitting a public setting. He pulls away, eyeing her with nothing short of adoration, and she finds herself feeling quite happy.

“And I went for that?” she questions cheekily.

“Absolutely not,” he answers, and she laughs. “By the time I stumbled off the stage you were gone. But I guess it did make some kind of impression, because about a week later Ryan and I were sitting over there shooting the shit,” he says with a thumb hitched toward a table near the wall, “and the waitress brought a drink over courtesy of a mystery woman at the bar.”

Dana makes a face, impressed with her own forwardness.

“And the rest is history?” she asks, and Cal bobs his head side to side.

“Somewhat. We stayed up all night talking, and you actually overslept and missed an interview,” he explains.

“What for?” she asks.

“The FBI, of all things. You said you weren’t totally sold on it being the right path for you, and when you woke up and realized you’d missed it, you decided it was fate.”

“Fate?” she repeats incredulously. Cal shrugs.

“Your words, not mine.”

“Hm,” she says, pondering.

She does remember the call from the FBI and setting up an interview. Her father was incensed that she was even considering it.

“Tell me about when you met my dad,” she asks, her voice suddenly tight.

“Oof,” Cal says with a grimace, and Dana mirrors it. “It was a little bit rough. He asked me about my family and where I’m from, which didn’t set us off on a great foot.”

“You lost your parents young,” she says, and he realizes she doesn’t remember the details.

“I never even met my dad,” he tells her, and her hand slides sympathetically back over his knee. “My mom was a junkie, and she OD’d when I was thirteen. I was in and out of foster care until I turned eighteen and joined the army.”

“I’m sure Dad liked that, though?” she says hopefully.

“Yes, once I was able to get that far and tell him about some of my accomplishments, he came around a little. But then I got you pregnant, and we weren’t married, and that knocked me down quite a few pegs.”

“Would it be wrong to say that I’m glad I don’t remember having to tell him that?” she asks with a pained smile.

“I only wish I were so lucky,” he replies, and they sit there for a moment, sharing smiles and affectionate glances. Cal blinks and shakes his head a little as though suddenly dazed.

“What?”

“I just got the most intense sensation of deja vu,” he says. “It happens to me a lot, actually.”

“Perhaps we’re living in an alternate universe,” she suggests, and he eyes her skeptically before he checks his watch.

“It’s almost eight, we better go get those rugrats to bed,” he says, and they stand, settling the bill before they walk out of the bar arm in arm.

-

After washing her face and pulling on an oversized sleep shirt, Dana turns down the guest bed and slides under the covers.

She thinks about her date with Cal, about her appointment with Michelle tomorrow, about Abby attending summer camp in a couple weeks when school gets out. She thinks about how grounded she’s beginning to feel, though the edges may always be fuzzy, and contentment washes through her body as she relaxes into the bed.

From down the hall, she hears a persistent murmur, like someone is talking. There is no TV in the master bedroom, and it almost sounds like maybe Cal is on the phone. She rises from the bed and creeps quietly down the hall, straining her ears. As she nears the bedroom door she recognizes that the sound is music, and she knocks gently.

“Yeah,” Cal says quietly. “You can come in.”

She pushes the door open and spots him sitting in an armchair near the window. He’s still wearing his slacks and dress shirt, his loosened tie hanging limply around his neck. He’s slumped down in the chair, his long legs extended before him and his elbows propped on the armrests, fingers steepled under his chin. His eyes are slightly swollen, his mouth set. He looks miserable.

Sweet Caroline, good times never seemed so good. I’ve been inclined to believe they never would.

She follows the sound to a small boombox on the dresser, then looks back to Cal.

“Are you okay?” she asks gently, still standing in the doorway.

He nods, then sniffs, and his jaw jerks to the side.

Dana enters the room, pushing the door closed behind her, and approaches him. He watches her with an anguished expression as she kneels down on the floor beside the chair, resting one hand on his knee.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, surprised that he’s not feeling the same buoyant optimism after their date.

Cal shakes his head solemnly, then reaches out and pushes her hair behind her ear.

“I don’t want to put my shit on you, Dana. Don’t worry about it,” he says, then attempts a smile.

“You’re not putting anything on me,” she says. “Please, tell me what happened.”

His watery smile widens, and her heart aches.

“Nothing happened, mija. We had a great night. It was a great birthday. It’s just hard sometimes, you know?”

She nods. She does know.

“I’m sorry,” she says, and he closes his eyes and grimaces.

“Please stop saying that,” he whispers.

She has the impulse to apologize again, so she sucks her bottom lip between her teeth. She thinks about the man from her dreams, how he feels so close in her mind and yet she can’t reach him. She thinks that maybe that’s how it is for Cal: she’s right here, but she’s also eight years away.

She shuffles forward on her knees, navigating around one of his legs until she’s positioned between them, her hands resting on the tops of his thighs. Cal opens his eyes and watches her, his jaw twitching. Dana swallows, tamping down the butterflies erupting in her belly as she slides her hands up to his hips. He tenses, but doesn’t move. His breathing is shallow, coming out in urgent little puffs. She hooks her fingers under the waist of his slacks and meets his eye.

“Let’s go to bed,” she says huskily, and he shifts a little in his seat.

“Are you sure?” he asks, but she can already see him responding in her periphery. She knows how much he wants her, and she wants to want him too. She wants to feel the way she feels in her dreams: seen, adored, worshiped.

She nods.

He rises slowly from the chair and she stands, wrapping her arms around his waist as he cradles her face in his hands. And she does feel adored by him, she has since the day she came home. She just wasn’t ready to accept it.

And when I hurt, hurting runs off my shoulders. How can I hurt when holding you?

He walks her backwards toward the bed, lays her down gently, touches her like she is the most precious thing on earth. He worships her, he loves her, he makes her come.

And all the while she is thinking. Thinking of him—he. His hands on her hips and his mouth on her ear, and the way his body fits into hers like a missing piece of a puzzle.

She sleeps in the master bedroom, Cal wrapped around her like a vine. Awash in dopamine and oxytocin, she prays that she won’t always long for her dreams.

-

She flexes her hips forward and back, her slick lips sliding over his shaft as he kisses her sweetly. She wants him, and she feels ready—so ready. She feels the press of his head against her opening and she arches her back, angling herself just right, and he begins to slide into her. There is a stretch, a sting, and she gasps a little even as she’s still taking him deeper, wanting more of him. They stay still for moments, panting against each other’s mouths, until he sits up and takes her face in his hands. His kisses grow urgent, needy, and she rises up halfway, falling back down with a little whimper. He moans, his hips jumping off the bed, trying to get more of her. She’s never felt so wanted in her entire life.

“Fuck, Scully. I love you,” he groans, and she feels herself rising, gathering, melting into him. Becoming one.

Tagging @today-in-fic

[drops-of-moonlights]

little update! I fiddled around with the blood colors in the AU based entirely on a single secondary character that will come up later lmao. I also wanted to make a better looking chart and draw the Winx blushing, so yeah lmao

Earth has red blood, as we all know by living in it. Soleneians have a sorta brick red shade, close enough to our blood color that Bloom didn’t have issues with medical stuff while growing up (she is lucky she never needed a blood transfer). Antoceans have cyanogoblin, giving their blood a teal-ish shade, more than likely influenced by the amount of copper deposits in the planet and the amount of ocean in it. Daummeians have a magenta-ish shade, and is slightly bioluminiscent as well. Magixians bleed indigo, and the Myrarians, which are few and far between, bleed green.

Back to the blushing! since their blood is different colors, that carries to their blush as well. Stella, having light powers, ends up glowing when blushing on accident more often than not lol. Also, Musa and Bloom’s ears blush as well!

[spinjitsuburst]

Walker Farm Day 2

The forecast calls for rain tomorrow! Jay is pleased by this - he's always felt at home in the rain. Plus he won't have to water his crops! But in the meantime he heads off to water what little parsnips he has

in order to clear those big logs he'll have to upgrade his ax, so that'll be one of the first priorities once he unlocks the mines and can get copper

he got a letter in the mail from a guy named Willy, asking him to meet him by the beach. upon arriving he's gifted something that will be a key item for Jay on his farm:

fishing in stardew valley isn't my favorite activity, but living on a beach means adapting to what's there

he heads out to meet more of the townsfolk, continuing to befriend shane and linus

"how'd you know?" says the guy who has been seen Only Drinking in town

(little does jay know he should not be supplying this man with alcohol)

jay finishes off the day by fishing at 10pm

a normal person thing to do certainly

DAY TWO RESULTS:

the friendship chart is still pretty barren, but linus and shane are who jay is focused on at the moment. emily seems nice, so he's been talking to her a lot. and in jay fashion, he thinks Haley is hot despite her being mean to him

[little-devil-town]

Little Devil Town | Masterpost

ello! my name is Bee [@cryptic-bee], and I'm the author/illustrator behind Little Devil Town :D

this post will contain everything you need to know about the comic before getting into it, as well as links to episodes/ref sheets/etc below the cut!

be warned, it is just a fuck ton of links and reading-

Before I get into it-

Pink equals Links you can click on

Blue equals Important Terms relevant to the comic

that is all :]

》 Tags 《

#Little Devil Town — General posting tag

#Little Devil Town [comic] — Posts involving specifically the comic, like episodes/mini comics/etc

#Little Devil Art — Art by Bee having to do with the characters/lore/etc

#beebo speaks — Beebo posts

》 Important Links 《

| FAQ Post |

| UnVale World Link |

| Instagram Link | Webtoon Link |

》 Episodes 《

Season One

| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 |

| 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 |

Season Two

》 Reference Sheets 《

| Height Chart(s) |

•

Dollhouse

| Lucid Alavor | Puppet | Stitches | Dolly |

| Ghoul |

•

Oxyne's Abnormal Circus

| Oxyne Sophia Averys | Ainsley Ramirez |

| Tiny | Button |

•

Alsifur's Mythics Shop & Stage Tricks

| Vanny Alsifur | Moss Alsifur |

•

The Jury

| Merlin Blake | Cosmos |

| Roman Allister | Kanary Flower | Seren Copper |

•

Pre-Dollhouse

| Annabelle Lee | Daisy Curtis | Magnolia White |

| Wilbur Alavor | Leanna Alavor |

》 Summary 《

A necromantic souleater, a living puppet, an undead arsonist, and a shapeshifter. What could possibly go wrong?

They're not exactly the dream team, but Dollhouse Inc do what they can to scrape by in this strange little Devil Town - even if that includes a bit of murder on the side.

》 Trigger Warnings 《

Violence/Blood/Gore

Cursing

Manipulation/Mentioned toxic relationships

Murder/Death

Implied/mentions of abuse

Implied/mentions of SA/CSA

Implied/mentions of suicide attempts

Implied/mentions of self-harm

》 General Info 《

The story will take place in a fictional city called Devil Town set somewhere in the US.

Some terms are tossed around a lot that I've gotten questions about in the past, which I will explain in this section!!

Unnaturals - Unnaturals are classified as anyone with abilities/powers, or just simply aren't Human. Most of the LDT cast consists of Unnaturals, for example: The main 4, Button, etc. There are thousands of different kinds of Unnaturals, all with their own abilities. Some abilities overlap, like Arsonists [ex. Stitches] and Flare Elementals [ex. Vanny], but are considered to be separate categories depending on strength over their ability [While Stitches is only able to summon flames, Vanny is also able to control existing flames and direct them far easier than Stitch can]

Banned Unnaturals - This is a list of certain Unnaturals and their abilities that The Jury have deemed too dangerous to be allowed in the public. The list ranges from abilities that can get you arrested for being shown off to abilities that will get you publicly executed as a reminder of what will happen if you don't obey. The current Jury aren't too fond of that last option, some members wanting to remove it completely and rewrite the laws, but are unable to as it's the only thing preventing people against Unnaturals from having a full on riot and destroying what little Devil Town has.

Cursed Unnaturals - A category of Unnaturals that don't occur genetically/naturally [hehe]. Instead it's a forceful ability cast upon someone, and something they, in most cases, cannot control. This isn't limited to Unnaturals, some humans can also be cursed - thus making them classified as an Unnatural once cursed.

Souls - The very life essence of a person, Human or Unnatural. A person, in most cases, cannot live without their soul. It's what makes them who they are, their very being in a form of hidden light that only Unnaturals with abilities linked to souls can see.

Hosts - A person's body, what souls will link onto to create life.

Souleaters - Souleaters are considered part of the Cursed category of Unnaturals, a curse that makes the recipient require the souls of people to stay in control of their hosts. They have two states: The Dormant state, where they've been successful in consuming souls and keeping control. And the Starvation state, a monstrous form hellbent on consuming as many souls as possible - though reaching this state means the souls they take will never be enough, because as far as anybody knows, a Souleater cannot return from their Starvation. They are on the Banned Unnaturals list under the Execution section.

》 Groups/Group Roles 《

Dollhouse Inc

Dollhouse consists of Lucid, Puppet, Stitches, and Dolly [and Ghoul but. she's a cat. so-]. They work alongside OAC Afterhours, aka Oxyne's secret mercenary side business. Lucid provides new souls in the form of Living Dolls for Oxyne to convert into clowns when the old ones fail, and Oxyne pays for the warehouse Dollhouse currently lives in.

While Lucid is considered the “Leader” of the group, there's not actually a specified order amongst them - they can do what they like, they just tend to look to Lucid for guidance on missions.

Oxyne's Abnormal Circus

OAC consists of Oxyne, Ainsley, Tiny, and Button, along with various other background circus characters. The circus was a project Oxyne started with the help of Vanny and Merlin to bring attention to the wondrous side of Unnaturals and their abilities, making her a very prominent figure in Devil Town.

Roles

Oxyne - Ringleader, Oxyne is the mastermind behind the Circus. She's completely in control, both because she's the boss and because she can literally mind control her troop if she wants.

Ainsley: Fire breather/Acrobat, Ainsley is both Oxyne's right hand and one of the most well known acts of the Circus. They do various tricks involving flames along with flinging herself through the air and various flaming hoops to wow their audience. Sometimes Stitch will join in to help Ainsley with their act, providing the fire she uses.

Tiny: Strongman, pretty sure this one speaks for itself. Tiny likes to show off just how much that big ass hook arm of his can handle, often testing his limits on stage of how powerful it really is and taking audience suggestions for what materials he can or can't slice through [spoiler: most of the time he can]

Button: Contortionist/Clown, being a Living Doll allows Button to twist and bend in inhuman ways that is both amusing and slightly horrifying to witness in the ring - but the audience enjoys themselves anyway. It also performs as the lead clown when those acts are going on.

Alsifur's Mythics Shop & Stage Tricks

AMSST consists of Vanny and Moss only, selling various mystical items having to do with Unnaturals and such. Kinda like a magic store but with actual magic in it. It was the first thing Vanny was able to do after being freed from her family, and she's very proud of her business. She also offers personal lessons to young Unnaturals struggling with control of their abilities, Dolly being one of her primary students.

The Jury

The Jury consists of Merlin, Roman, Kanary, Seren, and [despite never being seen by the public] Cosmos. They act as the elected leaders of Devil Town, keeping the city in check and making sure things stay peaceful between Humans and Unnaturals. They're also the ones that uphold the Banned Unnaturals list as a way to keep the peace between the two, restricting which Unnaturals can publicly use their abilities, which will be arrested if they do, and which will be executed if found.

》 Backstories 《

| Puppet's Origins | Stitches's Origins | Dolly's Origins |

》 Voice Claims 《

Dollhouse Inc.

why was it so hard to find vcs for the main 4 I thought fit perfectly augh this was as close as I could get em-

Lucid's VC | Miles Morales as The Prowler from Spiderman: Across the Spiderverse but a lil deeper me thinks

Puppet's VC | Spinel from Steven Universe: Future but specifically the scenes when she's sad-

Stitches's VC | Pugsley from Dead End: Paranormal Park but like. a little more raspy me thinks,,,

Dolly's VC | Futaba Sakura from Persona 5

Ghoul's VC | The Cat from Coraline but even deeper because I find it funny

•

Oxyne's Abnormal Circus

Oxyne's VC | Megara from Hercules

Ainsley's VC | Catra from She-Ra and the Princesses of Power

Tiny's VC | Bane from The Dark Knight Rises

Button's VC | Alice Liddell from Alice: Madness Returns

•

The Jury

Merlin's VC | N/A

Cosmos's VC | N/A

Roman's VC | N/A

Kanary's VC | N/A

Seren's VC | Seren doesn't speak. so ey doesn't have one-

feel free to suggest some if you have any ideas for the ones I haven't listed yet :D

[deafmangoes]

Currencies in fantasy settings and particularly TTRPGs (and the genre of vidya games they spawned) is a personal interest of mine.

Because they're often really boring and plain. I shall now vent about this.

Now, there's one very good reason for it: players can't be arsed with exchange rates and complexity in this area. Gold is just how much wealth-per-stab your murderhobo is currently making.

The less good reason is designer laziness. Even on the rare occasions they decide not to just name them "gold, silver, copper" it's nearly always just a fancy fantasy name slapped on top of a decimal system.

For us that makes sense. Pretty much everyone uses decimal coinage these days.

You may be aware, however, that in the past most coinage was bonkers complicated - at least, to the modern person. Before decimalisation in the 1970s, the UK had a currency loosely based on a Base 12 system.

That is, you had 12 pence (d) to 1 shilling (s) and 20s to £1 (originally, pounds were only of real use to bankers and nobles, hence the shift in number). 1s could be subdivided into sixpence, threepence and tuppence, while 1d could be divided into hapennies (1/2d) and farthings (1/4d). You also had crowns (5s) and half-crowns, groats (4d, sometimes) sovereigns (£1, different name, don't ask) and guineas (eventually fixed to £1, 1s). Plus a whole bunch of short-lived coins, which happens when your system has never been properly reformed for 800 years.

When I, a decimal child, first learned about this I thought it was insane. How could shopkeepers do anything with that mess? But what I missed was that Base 12 is the easiest for the human brain to calculate.

Yes, without computerised registers (for which Base 10 was already standardised), a human merchant, shopkeeper or customer could do more with Base 12 because 12 has so many factors: it's divisible by 2, 3, 4 and 6. 10 is only divisible by 2 and 5. Despite all the weird extra coins tacked in, the basic units of pounds, shillings, pence (£sd) was easy to use. We changed it because everyone else was.

So on a setting without computers or even mechanised calculators, why do they have a decimal system?

Be brave! Confuse your readers and players! Make the currency Base 30 except for some foreign coins used as bullion that are treated as Base 7 for religious reasons.

This also lets you play around a bit with rewards - instead of a sack of coin worth 30 gold, why not present your party with some old gold coins that might be worth 30g to a lord's personal bank, or up to 200g to the right collector.

Escape from gold, too - explore your dwarves using palladium or various alloys, mithril fractions set in "less precious" metals, etc. Elves might eschew coinage altogether and use other tokens that represent a value of age or crop yield. Pre-Meiji Japan based their economic system on rice yields, with 1 ryō (the basic gold coin) being equivalent to the amount of rice one person could eat in a year (a koku).

Of course for the sake of ease you should always have a conversion chart handy, but I find that toying with currency is a simple but very effective way to worldbuild and create immersion. Plus, it's just kinda fun.

[grey-gazania]

NEXT for the no excuses meme

@polutrope || no excuses writing meme

Currently wrestling with the next chapter of Loyalty and losing, but here's a couple more sentences just for you!

Slowly, our new home took shape around us. Our farmers spread across the fertile plains, and within a few years, we had begun to prosper once more. We opened new mines in the Blue Mountains, far south of the Kházad’s territory, and though we found no copper, we did find iron and gold. We traded our goods with both the Kházad and the Noldor, and even with some of the Green-elves – the Noldor called them the Laegrim, but they called themselves the Dánas – who lived to the south in Ossiriand.

Realizing as I write this that I never ran the word Noldor through my Easterling phonology chart to figure out where the stress accent should go in their language... Whoops! Pretty sure it's still on the first syllable, but I can't check my spreadsheets till I get home.

[fiction-quotes]

What I have been thinking, captain, is what is exempt from import tax in one country is what I'd like to stick through the crack in my skull to start to fill it: hay, oranges, lemons, pineapples, cocoa nuts, grapes, green fruit, and vegetables of every variety, and linseed oil cake. Horses, pigs, poultry, dogs, and living animals of every description, except cattle and sheep. Corks, bark, firewood, logwood, and dyewoods. Copper or yellow metal, rod bolts or sheathing, and copper and yellow metal nails. Felt for sheathing, oakum and junk, pitch, tar, and resin. Sail canvas, boats, and boat oars.

I fill my head with ships' blocks, binnacle lamps, signal lamps, compasses, shackles, sheaves, deadeyes, rings and thimbles, dead lights, anchors, and chain cables of every description, and galvanized iron wire rope. Lime juice and ice. Printed books, music, and newspapers, maps, charts, globes, and uncut cardboard, millboard, and pasteboard. Ink, printing presses, printing type, and other printing materials. Passengers' baggage or cabin furniture arriving in the colony at any time within three months before or after the owner thereof. Tablets, memorial windows, harmoniums, organs, bells, and clocks specially imported for churches or chapels. Hides and skins of every description, raw and unmanufactured. Veneers of all sorts. Rattans, split or unsplit.

Carriage shafts, spokes, naves, and felloes. School slates and slate pencils, slates for roofing, and slates and stone for flagging. Marble, granite, slate, or stone in rough block.

Soda ash, caustic soda, and silicate of soda. Cotton waste, woollen waste, candle cotton, wood, flax, hemp, tow, and jute, unmanufactured. Specimens of natural history, mineralogy, or botany. Gold dust, gold bars, bullion, and coin. Coir bristles and hair unmanufactured. Broom heads and stocks, partly manufactured for brushmaking purposes. Jars of glass or of earthenware, specially imported for jam. Rod bar hoop sheet plate and pig iron and pighead share moulds and mould boards. Epsom salts, citric acid, sulphuric acid, muriatic acid, carbolic acid. Hair cloth for hopkilns. Wines and spirits.

Captain.

What's true?

  —  McGlue (Ottessa Moshfegh)

[journey-to-balance]

I woke up feeling anxious, readied myself feeling nervous, fussed with my hair a little too long for my own liking, and by the time I sat in that chair, a long forgotten, but all too familiar feeling of anticipatory dread engulfed me. Suddenly, I had become that once vulnerable, insecure young girl again, sitting in a classroom waiting for the results of that all or nothing exam. Except now, I am a middle aged woman, and the stakes are much higher. Was I prepared? Was I ready? Did I do enough? So much was riding on this visit, and the promise I made to myself exactly one year ago. My Bernie offered to come with me, but I declined the offer. After all, it was me against me, and always has been.

There I was, having just turned 53 a few days prior, sitting in a doctor's office. The nurse had just taken my blood pressure. "It's 160 over 91, she frowned. Do you always run this high?" No, I said, as she hurriedly typed. Not usually. After she left, I instinctively reached for my cell phone only to stare at my face. Was my high blood pressure visible? Should I retouch my roots? Did I wear the right foundation? Minutes in that poorly lit room felt like an eternity, but I was determined to record the day to keep myself accountable. So I snapped the photo anyway.

No sooner did I place my phone back in my purse, than my doctor enter the room, a forty-something, soft spoken, Jordanian born endocrinologist with an affinity for vegetable gardening.

After exchanging the typical and expected greetings, he asked how I was feeling and proceeded to sit in front of his charts. I answered truthfully, told him that I was at my one year anniversary into my healing journey and was anxious about my recent test results. He smiled, enough so that I could feel myself exhaling, while his voice seemed to fade further and further away.

The Holy Spirit blessed me that day. Now, I am so grateful I could cry.

A year ago, I had officially succumbed to morbid obesity, weighing in at a whopping 207lbs. I lived with chronic fatigue, hair loss, insomnia, brain fog, and worse, I didn't recognize myself anymore. Was this middle age? Was this my new normal? I had hit rock bottom. Years of walking, years of hiking, years of gardening, and lifting, and digging, and pruning, and mulching, and tilling, and for what? Menopause. My endocrine system was off balance, my lymphatic system, metabolism had slowed to a crawl. I already had one suspicious nodule removed from my left breast, and two suspicious nodules removed from my thyroid. My body had officially become acidic, potentially opening the flood gates to disaster. It was clear I needed to make a drastic change, and I needed to become passionate about it, even obsessed if it were to work.

First things first, I stopped eating out. I needed to gain control of ingredients and therefore overall nutrition. At first this felt like punishment. I stopped hosting, entertaining. No liquor, no temptation, no excess food, no nonsense. Swapped Teflon for copper and cast iron as I was anemic, low in vitamin b-12, low in vitamin D, magnesium, just to name a few. I doubled down on eating simple meals, by focusing on nutritious, whole food. Naturally, I expanded my garden, growing more, doing more, learning more. Like I said, obsessed, for the first time in a long time. In fact, the last time I was this disciplined or "obsessed" about something was back when I was living in Israel and practicing Hebrew for 5 hours a day.

Finally, and most importantly, I gave up all sugar. Yes, all sugar. This was the hardest part, and it took about 3 months for my mood to stabilize and more critically, for it to become a habit. Yes, not even in my coffee. Today I take in my sugar from fruit and only fruit. Nothing artificial, nothing processed, nothing fake, nothing that makes me feel like a fake.

The results? inflammation is way down, energy is way up! I can happily say I wake up at 5 am without the need for an alarm and I now weigh 148 lbs. As for the numbers? Let me explain my doctor's smile. Cholesterol went from 240 to 185, now within normal range, A1C pre-diabetic readings went from 6.7 to 5.6. I am now out of danger and within normal range. Finally, two remaining nodules in my thyroid have shrunk in size. I see the light at the end of the tunnel and am more determined than ever before. And, I'll never go back. This feels like a rebirth.

So, you see, dear friends, I am not ignoring you, and I am beyond grateful for the birthday messages, caring and loving words. But, I had to focus and do my work, ethically, holistically, intentionally, consistently. Naturally and without shortcuts.

I simply needed to get to a point in my life where I loved myself, more than I loved my addiction to excess, in any and all forms it showed up.

Happy Birthday to me. This is relieved, hopeful and grateful 53...

My healing journey and my journey to balance ... continues.

Till next time. With love. Maritza

[marcedrickirby]

Copper (HG) is at $4.3600 (-0.24%)

Copper (HG) is at $4.3600 (-0.24%)

MARCEDRIC KIRBY FOUNDER CEO.

MARCEDRIC.KIRBY INC.

WELCOME TO THE VALLEY OF THE VAMPIRES

[robfinancialtip]

Warren Buffett recently sold approximately $1.48 billion worth of Bank of America shares, marking his first sale since 2019. Buffett's decision may reflect cash management for succession planning, concerns over rising corporate taxes, and potential dissatisfaction with Bank of America's recent performance amidst significant unrealized losses. What does this mean for investors?

Today's Stocks & Topics: HSY - Hershey Co., Market Wrap, CAVA - CAVA Group Inc., I-R-A Money, Warren Buffett Sells $1.48B in BoA: Why Now?, FLTR - VanEck IG Floating Rate ETF, AOS - A.O. Smith Corp., U.S. Economy, S&P 500, TWLO - Twilio Inc. Cl A, Trading and Election News, UPS - United Parcel Service Inc. Cl B, COPX - Global X Copper Miners ETF, GDX - VanEck Gold Miners ETF, UFPI - UFP Industries Inc.

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29:37 UPS

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[gautam-101]

Remedies for Malefic Planetary Influences

Introduction

In astrology, planetary influences play a significant role in shaping our lives, from our personalities to our destinies. While benefic planets like Jupiter and Venus can bring abundance and joy, malefic planets such as Saturn, Mars, and Rahu often pose challenges and obstacles. Understanding how to mitigate these malefic influences can help us navigate through difficult periods and turn potential adversities into opportunities for growth. In this blog, we'll explore effective remedies for countering the adverse effects of malefic planets, enabling a more harmonious and prosperous life.

Also read - Exploring the Intriguing Connection: Numerology and Astrology

Remedies for Saturn's Malefic Influence

Saturn, often referred to as the planet of karma, can bring delays, hardships, and a sense of restriction when negatively placed in one's horoscope. However, there are several remedies to alleviate its harsh effects:

Wearing Blue Sapphire: Wearing a blue sapphire gemstone, preferably set in silver, can strengthen Saturn's positive aspects and reduce its malefic influence. Ensure it is worn after proper astrological consultation and on the middle finger of the right hand.

Chanting Mantras: Reciting the Shani mantra "Om Sham Shanicharaya Namah" regularly can appease Saturn. Devote at least 108 recitations daily, preferably during the evening.

Charity and Service: Donating black items such as sesame seeds, black clothes, and iron articles on Saturdays can reduce Saturn's malefic impact. Additionally, serving the underprivileged and elderly can earn Saturn's blessings.

Fasting and Observances: Observing fasts on Saturdays and following a vegetarian diet can help in mitigating the negative influence of Saturn.

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Remedies for Mars' Malefic Influence

Mars, the planet of aggression and energy, can cause conflicts, accidents, and health issues when malefic. Here are ways to pacify Mars:

Wearing Red Coral: A red coral gemstone can balance Mars' energy. Wear it in a gold or copper ring on the ring finger of the right hand after consulting an astrologer.

Mantra Recitation: Chanting the Mangal mantra "Om Angarakaya Namah" helps in reducing Mars' aggressive tendencies. Aim for 108 recitations daily, ideally in the morning.

Offerings and Pujas: Performing puja to Lord Hanuman, who governs Mars, on Tuesdays can bring relief. Offer red flowers, sandalwood, and sweets like laddoo to Hanuman.

Charity: Donating red lentils, red clothes, and jaggery on Tuesdays can mitigate Mars' adverse effects.

Remedies for Rahu's Malefic Influence

Rahu, the shadow planet, can create confusion, fear, and sudden disruptions. To counter its negative influence, consider the following remedies:

Wearing Hessonite Garnet: Wearing a hessonite garnet gemstone in silver on the middle finger can balance Rahu's energy. Ensure it is worn after proper guidance from an astrologer.

Mantra Recitation: Reciting the Rahu mantra "Om Raam Rahave Namah" 108 times daily, especially during the evening, can help in pacifying Rahu.

Donations: Donating black gram, mustard oil, and blue or black clothes on Saturdays can help reduce Rahu's malefic effects.

Fasting: Observing fasts on Saturdays and avoiding alcohol and non-vegetarian food can help in managing Rahu's influence.

Conclusion

While malefic planetary influences can present significant challenges, understanding and implementing astrological remedies can greatly alleviate their impact. Whether through gemstones, mantras, charity, or fasting, these practices offer a way to harmonize difficult planetary energies. However, it's crucial to consult a knowledgeable astrologer before undertaking any remedial measures to ensure they are suitable for your specific astrological chart. By doing so, you can transform potential obstacles into stepping stones towards a more balanced and fulfilling life.

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