#QUARTZ LUMPS

[raj-global-ramming-mass]

Raj Global Ramming Mass (RGR) is a reliable manufacturer and supplier of Silica Ramming Mass sourced from Rajasthan, India. As a crucial component of our mini conglomerate, RGR, along with our affiliated companies, offers a comprehensive package encompassing mining, processing, and marketing. Our integrated approach guarantees steady quality and enhances the performance of our products. Our track record of reliability makes us the trusted choice for high-quality ramming mass.

[luna--dragon]

I got bored

[mechahero]

//Fun little dash game type thing! Here is a link to a wheel of all the currently playable Gems in Gem Gala.xies. Once you spin the wheel, if you want, you can draw your muse as the gem they got! (Or describe them, I'm not picky lol)

WHEEL LINK

Have fun!

[ryusbeans]

Possibly the best thing I learnt from reading Tunnels (and the sequels) was the existence of Triboluminescence. All you need is two bits of quartz and you can make magic light. Triggers all the wee goblin parts of the brain that likes bashing rocks together and making magic light

[pratibharefractoryminerals]

Sustainable Mining and Processing of Quartz for Industrial Use

Quartz lumps are a crucial raw material in various industries, known for their durability, versatility, and significant industrial applications. As the demand for high-quality Supplier of Quartz Lumps continues to rise, it is essential to highlight leading suppliers in the industry, such as Pratibha Refractory Minerals, which have carved a niche for themselves through consistent quality and customer satisfaction.

Understanding Quartz Lumps

Quartz lumps are essentially large chunks of quartz mineral, which is one of the most abundant and widely distributed minerals on the Earth’s surface. Composed primarily of silicon dioxide (SiO2), quartz has a unique crystalline structure that gives it exceptional hardness, chemical inertness, and resistance to high temperatures. These properties make quartz lumps highly sought after in various industrial applications.

Applications of Quartz Lumps

The versatility of quartz lumps allows them to be used across multiple industries. Some of the primary applications include:

Glass Manufacturing: Quartz lumps are a key ingredient in the production of glass. Their high silica content ensures the production of high-quality, transparent glass with excellent physical and chemical properties.

Ceramics and Refractories: In the ceramics industry, quartz lumps are used to create items like tiles, sanitary ware, and tableware. Their high melting point and strength make them ideal for refractory materials used in high-temperature environments.

Electronics: Due to its piezoelectric properties, quartz is used in the electronics industry for making oscillators, frequency filters, and other electronic components.

Construction: Quartz lumps are used in the construction industry for producing concrete, cement, and road materials due to their durability and strength.

Metallurgical Industry: In metallurgy, quartz lumps are used as a flux in the smelting of metals. They help in removing impurities and improving the quality of the final product.

A Leading Supplier

Pratibha Refractory Minerals has established itself as a leading supplier of high-quality quartz lumps. The company is renowned for its commitment to quality, customer satisfaction, and its ability to meet the diverse needs of its clients.

Quality Assurance

Pratibha Refractory places a strong emphasis on quality assurance. The company sources its quartz from the finest mines, ensuring that the lumps meet stringent quality standards. Each batch of quartz lumps undergoes rigorous testing to ensure it has the desired physical and chemical properties. This commitment to quality ensures that clients receive products that meet their specific requirements, whether for glass manufacturing, ceramics, electronics, or other applications.

Customer-Centric Approach

One of the hallmarks of Pratibha Refractory is its customer-centric approach. The company understands that each client has unique needs and works closely with them to provide customized solutions. Whether it’s ensuring timely delivery, offering competitive pricing, or providing technical support, Pratibha Refractory goes the extra mile to ensure customer satisfaction.

Sustainable Practices

In today’s environmentally conscious world, sustainable practices are crucial for any industry. Pratibha Refractory is committed to sustainable mining and processing practices. The company employs environmentally friendly methods to minimize its impact on the environment. Additionally, it ensures that its mining operations are safe and comply with all regulatory standards.

Global Reach

While based in India, Pratibha Refractory has a global reach. The company exports its high-quality quartz lumps to various countries around the world, catering to the needs of international clients. This global presence is a testament to the company’s reputation for quality and reliability.

Innovation and Research

Pratibha Refractory Minerals is committed to innovation and continuous improvement. The company invests in research and development to find new ways to improve the quality of its products and enhance its manufacturing processes. This focus on innovation ensures that the company remains at the forefront of the industry and continues to meet the evolving needs of its clients.

Conclusion

As a leading supplier, Pratibha Refractory Minerals has established itself through a commitment to quality, customer satisfaction, and sustainable practices. The company’s dedication to innovation and its customer-centric approach make it a trusted partner for industries worldwide. Whether you are in glass manufacturing, ceramics, electronics, or construction, Pratibha Refractory Minerals is your go-to supplier for high-quality quartz lumps.

[tanadrin]

Imagine one day a new social trend starts spreading. It’s something unbelievably dumb. Not harmful per de, but truly silly to believe. Let’s say, I dunno, healing crystals start going mainstream. Everybody’s talking about their crystals. It becomes impolite to criticize people who believe in healing crystals. They become a big part of people’s personalities, and people on TV start talking about them, and one day years down the line politicians are debating funding for crystal-based medicine. And through it all you are sitting there going, what the fuck is happening. I thought we were all on the same page on this. You want to get along and be friendly and open minded but you cannot pretend to believe in healing crystals, this is nonsense, and when the topic comes up you refuse to lie about it. This eventually starts to have social consequences—they’re that popular!—but what can you do? You cannot pretend a lump of quartz can cure the flu or whatever. It’s just all so unbearably embarrassing.

I think what the centrist/liberal/center-left reactionary turn driven by culture war stuff feels like. And I think the key emotion is probably cringe. Not hate, not fear, though those emotions may reinforce the turn. I think in a lot of cases people who imagine themselves pretty open minded and flexible have as part of their worldview something they thought was bedrock social consensus—on the level of “healing crystals are silly woo”—so bedrock maybe that it didn’t even need to be a conceptual boundary they actually policed in their minds.

For instance, when she started her anti-trans turn, JK Rowling made a big show of not being really anti trans, just arguing that Some People Had Gone Too Far. She wasn’t a frothing religious reactionary, after all. And I believe that’s probably true! I think Rowling probably did have a mental model of sex and gender with a little bit of give in it—of the “we can humor the odd weirdo” type. But as the discussion of trans rights in the UK got more serious over her lifetime, trans people went from “the odd weirdo” to “a recognized minority,” and eventually this ran against a bedrock belief that on some level men are men and women are women and never the twain shall meet. To act otherwise was just too embarrassing. And she wasn’t going to embarrass herself in the name of political correctness.

Other people whose brains have been eaten by the anti-woke mind virus (as @eightyonekilograms calls it) have something going of the contrarian in them, who enjoys yelling “up yours, woke moralists!” or w/e. Im thinking of ppl like Glenn Greenwald here, or Dave Chapelle, people who seem not to feel alive except when people are mad at them. That’s a separate but interesting dynamic. And there are people like Graham Linehan who become totally unhinged through this process of auto-radicalization, moths drawn ever closer to a particular source of validation within their chosen reactionary subcommunity, until they are truly parodies of themselves. That is also an important dynamic, but it’s one that only takes hold after the initial turn has begun.

I think the role of that feeling of cringe, that refusal to entertain an idea because it is too embarrassing (even if it does actually have a decent body of research behind it, unlike crystals) is important to think about, because I am interested in how to get people over it. I know that feeling has affected my own thinking over my lifetime. I wasn’t raised particularly conservative, but I had to learn not to cringe at a lot of feminist thought before I could appreciate it and learn from it. I explicitly didn’t have that cringe when it came to gay people for whatever reason, so it never entered my mind that it might be a problem. I remember being surprised to learn when I was very young that some boys wanted to marry other boys, but my response was “huh. Go figure.” Because for whatever reason I had not picked up that this was something I was supposed to be grossed out by. A general doctrine of empathy, of trying to understand people on their own terms, can help forestall some of this stuff, but it’s not foolproof in either direction—I don’t want to believe crystals have healing powers if it becomes socially popular to do so, just because it is socially popular to do so! And if they do, I don’t want to not believe they do just because it is socially unpopular!

(Obviously the crystals thing is not a one to one metaphor for the trans thing, so don’t read too much into that. Maybe astrology would have been a better analogy. Also I’m not talking just about people whose reactionary turn is predicated on trans issues—I think this dynamic applies to everything from gay rights to the Tridentine Mass. But trans issues are a handy example bc, as the adage goes, somebody posts once about trans people and they never post anything normal again. I think the classic rapid-onset trans derangement syndrome is closely tied to the fact that gender norms are a really deep element of many people’s social-consensus-based worldview, and so challenged to that worldview are felt as really cringe.)

I’m curious if other people who grew more liberal in their thinking over time had a similar experience of having to overcome what was basically a feeling of embarrassment at certain ideas.

[angel-of-the-moons]

A Rose Under The Moon

Moon Knight System (Marc, Steven, Jake) x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: Annnngsssstttttt, mentions of sexual abuse but nothing is depicted, Steven being the bean that he is, Reader does a smort, knowledge is power, and knowing is half the battle lol

A/N: Finally! Things are falling into place! Will Steven reveal the truth? Nah.

Taglist: @bad4amficideas @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @shirukitsune @lokisremainingsanity @mundivagantsoul @furblrwurblr @zoleea-exultant @latenightcravingz @daygirl26 @thelastemzy @leahnicole1219 @marsmallow433 @crazyunsexycool @oscarissac2099 @littlenosoul @animechick555 @capsiclesworldsblog @cloudroomblog @lov3vivian @princessakirika @fog-sama @cheshire-salvatore-mikaelson @badbishsblog @lillycore555 @stardream14 @meowmeowyoongles @kate-ohara @kittenlover614 @patchesofwork @enheduannasposts

Chapter 15:

Sphinx of Black Quartz

"Steven?"

Steven winced when you said his name, almost shrunk away when your hands squished his cheeks as you peered into his eyes; your gaze full of confusion, concern and... maybe a little hurt?

"I, uh... well... I..." He blathered, tugging on his sleeves anxiously, his nails pinching the threading in an effort to ground himself.

"Wait, what?" You released his face pressing your finger to the sides of your head as you gawked at him like he'd grown a second head. Not that that wasn't too far off the mark...

Technically speaking, we could be considered Cerberus then, couldn't we? Steven had asked himself.

"No, what?" You asked again, blinking at him as your brain struggled to catch up. One minute, you and Marc and Puck were just relaxing and chatting over some coffee, and then... The moment you got that phone call about the shipment you'd gotten approved for, and then Marc was just... screaming, yelling at the air. "Stay away from her!" He had cried, "She's our friend!"

Did he have a psychotic break? Had something happened on that trip he had taken--

Wait.

The "trip"? Was that even the truth? How was it, that Steven Grant sat before you know, where just moments before, Marc Spector had stood?

"Steven?" You repeated.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed at the lump there, and he nodded, a few stray curls bouncing free as he hunched over a bit on himself, continuing to pluck at the long shirt you'd loaned him.

"Y-Yes." He replied softly, his eyes shying away from you. Looking anywhere but you.

He was... he was afraid. Steven was afraid of you?

"I..."

Steven had taken a scant second to lock eyes with you again, taking in the depths of your gaze with lucid intensity--before darting away again.

"Steve." You breathed, rubbing your temples. "I... what? What happened to--did Marc--I... Can you please explain before I have an aneurysm? Did Marc have a psychotic episode?"

"Not... not far from it, actually." Steven mumbled again. His posture stiffened when Puck meowed at him, sauntering up to crawl into his lap, rubbing herself along his chest.

"Oh, hello... who're you?" Steven asked, getting distracted by the furry critter. His hands stopped plucking and tugging on his sleeves in favor of stroking Puck's silky black fur, "You're a sweet one, eh?"

You blinked for the millionth time at him, your brain abuzz with confusion, wanting--no, craving--some sort of explanation. You watched for another moment as Steven was suddenly laser-focused on Puck, speaking softly to the cat, petting her with his shaky hands.

"Steven.." You said gently.

His shoulders jumped when he remembered you were staring at him. "O-oh, s-sorry, luv."

Puck curled up in his lap, loafing as she blinked up at you slowly. Oh, you wished you could read her little kitty mind to hear what she thought of the situation...

Steven swallowed roughly once more, his hands petting Puck again--likely in an effort to relax himself from suddenly being brought to the forefront of this situation. His tongue swept across his lips before drawing it between his teeth; trying to think about where to begin.

"Marc is... W-We are..." He began to murmur, staring intently down at the soft black cat occupying his lap.

"It's difficult to explain, um... But we--Jake 'n me--we... We live in Marc's head. S-Sort of? We--we share the body, we... Uh. B-But it's not all the time, er... Sometimes not all of us are aware of what goes on when one of us is in control of the body, and..." He pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead while the other continued to almost frantically stroke Puck.

"Oh, bollocks! We--we didn't want you to find out like this, but Marc..." He hissed out an upset sigh; "He was--he was upset, and... I tried to calm him down from inside, but he just... he checked out, and..."

You stare intently at him, his nervous posture, how he just seemed more... Submissive in the moment. A complete change from the guarded, stiff Marc you'd come to know. And the rather calm and carefree (almost) Jake, at Steven's admission.

Your brain began connecting the dots; one by one. So... Jake had been in control of the body these past few weeks. And... Marc and Steven weren't aware. You remembered how shocked Marc had been when you'd told him about having dinner with Jake in your flat; how Marc--and now Steven--didn't recognize Puck.

You always thought the three of them looked too similar to be triplets--they even had the same scars on their hands.

They "shared" the body. But at times weren't aware what was going on when one of them "checked out", as Steven had plainly put it.

Jake was apparently nowhere to be seen, Steven was trying to be a calming influence on Marc...

"Steven..." You said slowly, watching as his deep, soulful eyes finally crawled up to lock with yours. "Do you--do you have dissociative identity disorder?"

Steven rocked his head back, shaking it slightly as he gawked at you, bewildered, "How do you--"

"I own a bookstore, Steven," You said to him, your voice rather deadpan. "I've definitely read a few of the dozen and a half of the psychology textbooks and studies on psychological disorders."

"Oh... right. Heh..." He coughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"So..." You reached out and clasped his fingers in yours, making Steven's heart leap with anxiety once again.

Puck jumped from his lap as you took his other hand, gently guiding him to his feet and leading him back to your sofa. "...explain it to me, okay? If I ask a question that upsets you... please tell me. You won't have to answer it. I just... I'd like to know who I've been making friends with."

Layla groaned as she crawled back through the window, cursing as she bonked her head on the windowsill. Yeah, she had the helmet, but it was still annoying to have her proverbial eggs scrambled.

She spent most of the day hammering down on a cruel scheme begotten by a group of rather cruel landlords and real estate agents--they would find legal loopholes in contracts and leases, they abused the power they held over their tenants--in some cases sexually in return for "breaks" in rent--some, they would evict with little to no reason, sell out the rentals from beneath the feet of others...

Taweret had pleaded with Layla to put a stop to it. Even Khonshu had helped her for a bit, watching from the sidelines and giving his (not really wanted) input. The truth was, it was a sort of criminal gang behind it all, they just paid the landlords and agents to get a hefty chunk of the proceeds from their illicit goings-on. But... somewhere during her mission, Khonshu had left. Taweret had seemed miffed; annoyed that Khonshu would up and leave after being so bothersome and insisting that they "needed his help"...

She arched her back, groaning as the helmet slid away; vanishing to free her curls with a bounce. Pressing her hands against the curve of her spine, she looked around as the rest of her holy garb melted away.

"Marc?" She asked the empty flat.

No answer. Strange. She left him here earlier. He'd expressed no interest in going out today; especially given the weather outside.

Layla pulled her cell out of her back pocket and unlocked it, dialing the boys' phone. As she held it up to her ear, she became aware that the ringtone buzzed from somewhere in the flat.

"Marc?" Layla asked, not hanging up quite yet as she walked through the proverbial minefield of Steven's books, DIY'd desk, past Gus & Co's fish tank... to the bed in the back of the room.

It was made neatly--Marc's habit, definitely. Steven always left the bed in a mess, often forgetting to make it until just before he settled down for the night. Odd, how he would leave it a tangled nest all day and only be able to sleep in it if it were made up just before cosying down to sleep.

She shook her head and furrowed her brows as her eyes settled upon their cellphone, laying tossed at the edge of the bed, ringing.

"Lonely is A Man." Steven's favorite little jingle that she'd be lying about if she didn't say it got caught in her head every other day since coming back to London from doing Taweret's work in Cairo. It annoyed her how often she would find herself humming the tune...

She picked up the phone and hung hers up, sliding it back into her jeans, staring at it curiously as she walked back into the main area of the flat, and into the kitchenette.

She sighed, frowning even deeper. Khonshu's work, no doubt. The old bastard always had something to do with it when Marc (and by extension Steven and Jake) would vanish with no word. But why leave their phone? Did Khonshu have them doing something dangerous? Shady?

"Gods, what have you gotten yourselves into, Marc..?" Layla groaned, pressing her hands to her forehead as she leaned over the counter.

As she opened her eyes, she looked over the granite countertop, staring at the abandoned phone. Something was wrong. Something she didn't quite like. She--

Her long eyelashes batted for a moment, sweeting her cheeks as she tried to fathom what else her eyes had just landed on. Mail. Not just any mail, but bills in Marc's name. The address for some of said bills being...

She and Marc's old address, from when they had been married.

Her fingers quickly snatched up the envelope and used the letter opener to get a look at its contents. As she unfolded the paper, her eyes scanned the writing with lightning efficiency.

It was a receipt. A receipt for paid rent and utilities. Had he really been paying the rent and electric at an apartment he no longer used..? Why? Why wouldn't he mention that?

Taweret suddenly appeared, her ears flopping about in concert, "Layla? Something the matter, m'love? I sensed you were upset."

"Marc is gone. Left his phone." She replied on a mumbled breath as she continued to read through the other receipts, blindly walking through the flat until a sparkle caught her attention out of the corner of her eye.

A keyring. Marc's keyring, glittering under the buzzing fluorescent lights of the flat.

"Layla?"

"He's been paying our old bills, still." Layla further explained, setting the receipt on the end table by the door as she plucked the ring off the hook on the wall.

Her thumb caressed the scratched-up colorful key once depicting a rather cheery cartoon house; faded writing that said "home" at the flattest end of it, making her heart twinge slightly.

Some things Marc just really couldn't let go...

"He must still be doing mercenary work. Or, Jake is at least, to be able to afford both flats on his own."

Taweret frowned, tilting her head to the side, "What are you going to do?"

"Well, I'm going to see if he's been by the place, today... and when I get back--assuming he's back home by then--lecture him for letting me sleep in that sofa of his. I got a crick in my neck from it!"

The goddess giggled, nodding, "Be careful, Layla. Oh! And grab your umbrella!"

The woman grinned up at her, grabbing her scarf Jake had knitted for her, and her coat; before snatching up said protection from the sleet outside, wiggling it.

"Way ahead of you."

"So... Marc was arguing with... one of you?" You asked, your brows pinched as you try to make sense of thr fragmented story Steven was unfurling before you.

"Well, er... kind of. He was having a bit of... panic?" He laughed anxiously, his fingers carding through Puck's fur. The little cat seemed content to let Steven work out his nervous energy by petting her; her silky fur being a very nice texture for his hands to fiddle with while he rambled on for you.

"He has been having a bit of internalized guilt, lately, over... things."

""Things" being..."

"Things that, um..." He scratched Puck's chin as he thought carefully of what to say. He couldn't just spill the proverbial pot of beans to you. Like you'd believe him, anyway. Having cursory knowledge of the psychological... problems that they suffered with was one thing, but he sincerely doubted you believed that Egyptian gods were real, or that they and Layla were Avatars to two of said gods...

"I don't know if Marc would be comfortable with sharing much of it, 'm afraid."

"Does it... have something to do with him being a Marine? I know how common it is for soldiers to develop PTSD." You murmur softly, your eyes casting down into your half-empty mug. You and Steven had switched to decaf tea; the gravity and air inside your flat far too tense for the caffeine-loaded drinks you and Marc had imbibed just before.

Your eyes looked back into his, and, uncharacteristically, Steven was gazing right back, connecting with you.

"Is... that how... you know. You and Jake..?"

Steven shook his head, his curls flopping about, "No, DID sort of... it typically happens during traumatic events during childhood. In some people it isn't obvious until much later, and is sometimes misdiagnosed as schizophrenia or multiple personalty disorder. Marc has just been feeling... guilty, lately. Over people he... couldn't save."

As he uttered that last phrase oh so meekly, you could see that poor Steven was feeling Marc's internalized guilt as well. Your heart broke for them. You reached out and placed your hand on his shoulder, feeling how tense he was.

"Does Layla know?"

"Yes. That's part of why... why Marc has been so upset lately." Steven replied softly, nuzzling into Puck as she stood with her front paws on his soft chest, sniffing at his hair.

"He had an... episode. He woke up and... he was on top of Layla and he was--he was going to hurt her, and--he snapped out of it, but--"

"He feels guilty about it." You finished for him, your heart sinking in sympathetic despair.

Steven nodded and looked up at you, practically hiding behind Puck, "Yeah. Layla told him it was okay, that it happens, but Marc is just so... stubborn. He tries to handle everything himself when it comes to stuff like this; doesn't want the help Jake and I try to give 'im."

"And what does Jake have to say? Is he... listening right now?" You asked.

"No. He and Marc are..." Steven forced out a sigh as Puck settled down again, rolling to show her his belly that he was more than happy to rub for her, relishing in how hard she was purring, the vibration soothing as it thrummed through his hands.

"Sometimes we... we recede into the background. Into our own little "rooms" in the headspace." He explained difficultly, your poor brain trying to follow. "When we're in there, we aren't really aware of what's going on, or even feel each other. It's why I didn't know Marc or Jake existed--why I didn't know the body wasn't actually mine."

"Your headspace is where you share things with each other..?" You tried, tilting your head.

"Yes! Well, in basic terms. It's... I don't know how else to explain it to you, I'm afraid." He muttered awkwardly, poking at Puck's toe beans one by one.

"That's okay... I think if you try to explain anymore my head is going to explode." You chuckle softly, sipping at your tea.

Steven finally cracked a smile.

"It is quite a lot to absorb, innit?" He asked you, smiling a bit wider as Puck grabbed his hand with her paws and tugged it closer to her body.

You smiled affectionately as Puck seemed so intent on helping Steven relax, pulling out every ounce of cute feline charm her tiny body could muster. "Puck really likes you guys... Y'know when she first met Jake she snatched his glove and ran off with it? Stuffed it right into her little cubby where she hoards her toys I keep buying for her."

"Oh, no!" He laughed quietly, booping Puck on her little nose.

"Mhmm... that's kind of why I named her Puck." You explained, setting your mug onto the coaster on your coffee table.

"After the trickster fae from A Midsummer Night's Dream?" He grinned widely.

His knowledge of folklore didn't surprise you one bit; you nodded, grinning right back. "She doesn't spoil milk or lead people astray at night... But she certainly has her moments."

Steven sighed, smiling fondly at the fluffy little terror currently occupying his lap, "No, I'd say she does a very good job at bering very sweet when she wants to be..."

A comfortable, pregnant silence stretched between you, only interrupted by Puck's very loud purring. Until, Steven cleared his throat, rolling his shoulder as he looked away briefly.

"So... you invited Jake up here, too..?"

"Oh, yeah. That goof! I walked in on him at the market trying to buy one of those cheap microwave meals!" You huffed, rolling your eyes.

Steven seemed appalled at the news, but not at all surprised, "He didn't!"

"Nope, 'cause I didn't let him." You told him, "I finished my shopping and dragged his butt back here and made him eat an actual meal."

Steven was quiet for another moment, fidgeting awkwardly in his seat. His face seemed to get a little flush as he cleared his throat once again, the sound rough and forced.

"What's wrong?"

"Jake didn't... oh, bloody hell." Steven wiped a hand down his face, unable to meet your eyes as his face heated up, "Jake didn't... didn't try to... to..."

He swallowed, "...do it with you or anything?"

You could just hear the record scratch on an antique vinyl player as your brain came to a halt. His words sank in, and you couldn't keep down the laughter that bubbled out from inside of you, rocking back onto your side on the cushion as the humor of his question overtook you.

"I--! I'm only askin' because he's--he's kind of done it b'fore!" Steven squawked nervously, confident his face was eight shades of red right now. "Bloke thinks of himself as a bloody Casanova, he does! Damned bellend..."

You giggled again, sitting up to look at him, mirth overtaking the glimmer in your eye, happy the tension in the air was finally alleviated, "No, Steven, Jake and I didn't "do it". We had dinner, and Puck annoyed him for a bit. That's it."

He seemed to deflate and relax at your admission, trusting you wholly, "...Oh. Well, good. We'd rather him not ruin one of the relatively normal friendships we have by... boinking you."

His choice of words once again made you break out laughing, tears burning in your eyes as he floundered about nervously.

"Oh, my god--Steven! What are you, twelve?" You snorted, trying to gasp for air. ""Do it"? "Boinking"?! Pfsh!"

"H-Hey! The more vulgar language is usually Marc and Jake's territory, not mine!" He sputtered. "I try to stay more civilized, thank you very much!"

You snickered as he began to get all huffy, defending his quirky and conservative way of speaking rather haughtily.

"Right... right. Steven Grant, a man of absolute--snrk!--rectitude!" You squeaked, covering your mouth as a tear beaded in one of your eyes.

"Exactly! I'm the most sensible of--" Steven jerked his head to look at you, his mouth open wide.

"Wha--hey! You're still havin' a go at me, aren't you?!"

You just rolled back onto the couch, crying tears of laughter at the absurdity of your day as Steven fretted, muttering under his breath with a faint glow to his cheeks.

Chapter 16: Wahblargh

[same-picture-of-a-rock-every-day]

Trick or treat

You get this GIANT lump of quartz I stole from a golden beach in Colorado :D

[inexplicifics]

💚 true love’s kiss / magic kiss / healed

Milena/Lambert please

Lambert is whistling to himself as he heads through the forest, which would startle almost anyone who knows him. But he’s in a good mood, for once. He’s not being forced into an uncomfortable outfit and made to be polite to idiot nobles, he’s got a bow on his back and a sword at his hip and no annoying bodyguards tagging along behind him, and he’s going to see the woman he’s starting to think he wants to marry.

It’s going to be a scandal and a half, he knows, because she’s not a princess; she lives in the woods with a small clan of dwarves, though she is not herself a dwarf. As far as Lambert knows, she’s not even noble - though she does have the manners to be one. Hell, she’s politer than Lambert is by a long ways.

Polite, and sweet-natured, and pretty, with a voice like a songbird and a talent for stunningly lovely embroidery and the grace of a stalking cat as she walks beside him through the forest or dances across the moss or scampers up a tree -

Even her name is lovely. Milena, Milena, it fits the tune he’s whistling and fills the forest with joy.

He’s in a really truly glorious mood right up until he steps out into the clearing where the little dwarven cottage sits and discovers all seven dwarves clustered around a clear crystal casket laid out on the thick moss.

“What the hell,” Lambert says, stumbling to a halt.

The eldest dwarf, a white-bearded old lady with thick quartz spectacles and intricately made golden beads in her hair, turns to him with tears dripping down her cheeks. “She’s dead,” she says softly. “We - we came back from the mines last night and she was dead.”

“No,” Lambert says blankly, and crosses the clearing in a few swift strides, falling to his knees beside the casket.

Inside, Milena lies as still as stone, hands delicately crossed upon her chest, glossy black hair combed out and laid out beneath her like a shroud.

“How?” Lambert croaks.

“We’re not sure,” the dwarf says softly. “There is no wound upon her, but there was the reek of foul magic.”

And Lambert knows that someone was pursuing her, though Milena never told him who.

“If I only knew who it was, I would tear them limb from limb,” he says, miserable with helplessness. “But -”

“But she would not tell us, either, who her enemy was,” the dwarf says sadly. “Else I would tell you, aye, and we would aid you in hunting them down.”

Lambert swallows against the lump in his throat. “May I - may I see her one last time?” he whispers.

The dwarves nod solemnly, and move in perfect unison to lift the casket’s cover away. Lambert stands and leans over, staring down at that beloved face.

“Should’ve been here,” he says softly. “I’m sorry. I should have been here to protect you.”

And he bends down to kiss her one last time.

Her lips are warm - that’s the first thing he notices. Warm, despite her stillness. And then she shudders and coughs, and Lambert lurches back as she sits up, groping for the side of the casket, and coughs again, and again, and spits out something pale.

“Milena!” the dwarves chorus in awe and delight.

“Milena,” Lambert breathes, and reaches out to help her to her feet. “You’re alive.”

“Lambert!” Milena says joyfully. “You saved me!”

Lambert kisses her again.

He’ll need to ask a lot of questions in a moment - who dared curse her, whether she’ll come home with him, whether she’ll marry him - but for right now she’s warm and alive in his arms, and that is all that matters in the world.

(Or here on AO3!)

[partnersincrimesuau]

PARTNERS IN CRIME - Stevinel SU Fan Comic Chapter 2: Rogues Like Me Page No. 50

Ch.1 Start Ch.2 Start Previous Next

Third section look familiar? ^^ It’s not entirely screen accurate, there were some aquamarines I took out and some red lumps I added in (and I basically redesigned the entirety of the Homeworld background AND moved everyone from the top of the legs to the bottom) so before anyone says “That’s not accurate to the show >:T” TOO BAD because the editable file deleted itself so this is all you’re getting >:)

We know that Pink Diamond led the rebellion as her alter ego, Rose Quartz. As we saw in the previous page, Condor had the suspicion that Pink was somehow involved, or did not detest the rebel efforts. And, a few thousand years later, she found out that Pink was indeed involved – she WAS Rose Quartz. For a rogue like Condor, who was loyal to both her Diamond and the love she found on Earth, this was the best possible outcome. Pink was never her enemy – it was only the other Diamonds.

And even after Era 3, they still are. But more on that later.

(Also the main room of the armoury may look slightly different… that is because I realised how plain it looks earlier in the chapter and realised it should have those star charts so YES those are supposed to be there – the mural, however, is meant to be different… but I’m not sure if I should leave it as those boring hibiscuses. Maybe the gem who paints those changes them regularly? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

(Also I think this is our first glimpse of Condor and 83's personal/non-work relationship... late Chapter 3 we'll see even more ^^)

Info and FAQ about PIC here. Join the official PIC discord server!

(Made in FireAlpaca) Steven Universe is owned by Rebecca Sugar

Original screenshot from the show under the cut:

[leebrontide]

Some enterprising person should make boxes of bonbons that look like a kids polished rock collection. Just little lumps of tastiness that look like jasper and jade and rose quartz.

Imagine getting a box of rock collection rocks the size of a bonbon and then you can finally eat the tasty looking rocks.

If I wasn't semi-banned from the kitchen I'd try to do it myself.

It's the perfect combination of giving someone a cool rock and giving them food.

[sonicfandomsecretsanta]

Secret Santa

@w0lp3rtinger submitted for @silence-caravan:

A cold winter sun hung low in the sky the day Amy decided to wrap her Christmas gifts. It turned the white snowflakes silver, the ribbons in her hands glinting like the tail of a comet, and all the bits and scraps across the floor…

Well, she wasn’t that much of a romantic. They were still just scraps on the floor. She’d really need to clean up after this. 

That didn’t matter though. The day was good. Thank goodness. She needed a good day. 

Once more, she had gone overboard with the gifts, as she did everything. The Secret Santa had been designed in part so that they could all avoid breaking their banks, but Amy couldn’t help it. There was something so wonderful about finding just the right gift, and well, she was lucky. She had the ability to spoil her friends, and so she would do so to the fullest. Tails had his brick kits bundled neatly, individually wrapped before being lumped together with bows and tape. Cream got a new dress and a matching bowtie for Cheese, made by Amy (with a significant amount of help from Vanilla) tucked inside of a box made to look like a chao’s head. There was also the gift for Vanilla herself, an apron to replace the old one that got scorched. Knuckles got mitten warmers and a quartz Amy found in her garden that looked like a dagger, and Rouge would receive a barrage of orthotic inserts and cute thigh-high socks. Amy had got Tails’s help to burn DVD’s of the original Dragon Ball for Omega after borrow copies from the library (to which she gave a donation). Lastly, as always, she made jars upon jars of chili for Sonic, shelf-stable and locked tight in shatter proof jars, for him to use through the year.

Amy sighed, stretching from her place on the floor before leaning back into the footboard of the couch. She let her eyes close, head falling back atop the cushion while a blind hand drifted back and forth across the carpet looking for her hot chocolate.

There was only one more gift to wrap, and it was the one she had been worried about all year. 

The dark chao-head mug sat atop her coffee table. She had bought it way before Christmas was even on her mind, had even told Shadow she had gotten it for them, but when by sheer dumb happenstance she got him again, even after Rouge was barred from drafting the Secret Santa list, well, it felt like fate. It was, by all accounts, adorable. The mug was round, perfectly shaped for a chao head, and thankfully, the lip of the mug was actually well-designed, so it wouldn’t be difficult to drink from. Its face was split into a sharp-toothed grin of mischief, on the other side of which sat the handle shaped to be the wings. Inside the mug, at the bottom, sat the little red spike ball, like a fun surprise at the end of a long sip.

It was perfect. The person she had worked with to custom-make it did a fantastic job. 

So why was she so afraid to give it to Shadow?

Amy swallowed, breathing deeply before she opened her eyes to stare at her ceiling. After a moment, she let her head loll to look out of the window, up and into an endless grey sky.

A smile crept up her face. Shadow had already told her she would be receiving a pasta maker attachment for her mixer. She knew he wouldn’t wrap it. He wouldn’t even put a bow on it. He’d just hold the box with its scribbled-out price tag quietly off to the side until he’d hand it to her, not making eye contact, not saying a word, and yet…

Amy’s brow slowly knotted itself.

And yet.

She shook her head. This was stupid. She was looking way too hard into this. They were her friend, just like everyone else was. Shadow was sweet, and kind, and it was perfectly normal for a friend to get another friend a gift. Heck, that was why this whole orchestrated gift exchange thing was set up, and they’d been doing it for years. Why did it matter now? And what did it matter at that?

But Shadow didn’t do Christmas, ever. He only did the Secret Santa when Amy begged him to, all those years ago, and he didn’t even really like the party until Amy started hosting.

Amy shut her eyes, watching as the blue sphere that took the place of the sun dance there in the darkness.

She would not look deeper into this than she needed to. That lesson had been learned with Sonic, and really, she was lucky that they were still good friends. It had taken years to get to this point and in no way, shape, or form was she about to go and mess everything up by assuming things about people, least of all Shadow.

Besides, if Shadow wanted to tell her something, he’d tell her. She knew this, didn’t she?

But then… would they?

Amy ran her nails along the inside of her palm.

Would they really be honest with her? Would they sit down and pour their heart out, say how they feel, tell her what she meant to them, if she meant anything to them?

She shook her head. That didn’t sound like something Shadow would do.

No. If she had to guess, with something like this, Shadow would probably just keep doing what they were already doing. Maybe there would be small changes, but they’d be hard to catch, because Shadow didn’t just change for anyone. It might be that they would go out of their way a bit more, but just a bit, or maybe, they’d make some small concessions to try things they normally wouldn’t, but they’d never outright say why.

Yeah, that was more like them.

Maybe that was why this whole thing about the Secret Santa sat oddly with her.

Amy opened her eyes, lips pursed. It’s not like she was dumb. When Shadow said they’d be at the Christmas party, everyone was shocked, even more so when he agreed to do the Secret Santa. It had been years since that first one and he hadn’t let up yet, not even the one year he was going to be away in Holoska. He still Chaos Controlled home just long enough to give Amy her gift.

Oh yeah, they had been Secret Santa partners that year too. Damn, how long had Rouge been allowed to be in charge of that thing? How did nobody notice sooner?

Well, then that solved that one. It wasn’t like he was going out of his way to give ‘her’ a gift; he was just making sure to fulfill the promise he made when he signed up for the gift exchange.

Why did her heart sink at that thought?

Amy blinked back the prickling of her dry eyes as she sat up and reached for her mug of hot chocolate, now cold chocolate, from the table. She sipped it as she eyed the Dark Chao mug.

It’s not like any of this mattered. It’s not as if she-

Amy paused, then, she took in a sharp breath.

“Nope!” She downed her hot chocolate before rushing to stand. “We’re not doing that! We are nooot doing that. Nope nope nope!”

She moved to the kitchen and rinsed her mug out in the sink, setting it on the drying mat before looking out the window to the city street below. It hadn’t snowed yet, not enough to stick anyway. Instead, the streets were flooded with last night’s rain, the snowflakes that hung from the telephone polls and traffic lights swaying morosely in the chilly December air.

Shadow would have something to say about it. Or rather, he’d make a face, and Amy would understand, and she’d laugh, and then they’d get those little wrinkles around the corners of their eyes, and that’s how she knew they were happy.

Amy caught herself smiling and shook her head. “Don’t do it,” she muttered. “It’s not a good idea.”

Even as she said it, she could see in her mind exactly how those little wrinkles would crease their skin. Maybe there would be this little twitch in their lip- sometimes that happened, especially if they were trying to not laugh. Maybe they’d look at her with that twinkle in their eye and-

Amy gave a growl of frustration before stomping off to her room.

Fine. Whatever, stupid brain. Two can play this game.

Her tarot cards were in the drawer of her bedside table, kept in a nest of odd beads, pretty rocks, and the crumbling remains of flowers. She snatched them, catching her knuckles on the lip above the drawer as she did so, and hissed as she slammed it shut once more. Her hands shook as she flopped onto her bed as she furiously shuffled.

“This is dumb.” she muttered, drawing the first card. “I know this is dumb.”

Staring back at her was the high priestess, reversed.

Amy shook her head. “Don’t you start too. I’m not repressing anything.”

She shuffled the cards again. The next card she pulled made her snarl. It was the Ace of Cups, also in reverse. 

“I’m not resisting anything!” She hit her pillow hard enough to pop some of the stitching. “Just give me a real answer! You’re not being fair!”

Amy took one breath, then the next. Her fingertips tingled as everything in her screamed to pull one more card, just one more.

So she did. 

It was not the Lovers. That was good, had it been, she might have died. What she found in her hand as the star, upright. It showed a person sitting on a rock looking towards the sky. Above their head shone a brilliant star against the backdrop of inky darkness.  

“Hope.” Amy said quietly, turning it as she did so that it caught the light from her window. 

She lay there for a moment, watching the silver foil of the card flash in the soft darkness of her room. Amy gathered the other cards she had pulled and made them into a neat stack without looking. She could feel their weathered edges, little fraying pieces of paper that had come away with time, and she thumbed them gently as she stared into the ceiling. 

And there, again, in her mind, against the backdrop of white paint, she swore she could see Shadow’s smile. 

Amy took a deep breath. 

The scream she gave startled the birds from their telephone wire outside. They took to the sky in a flurry, eyes wide, wings powered by a hundred furiously beating hearts. 

[rottenpumpkin13]

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall, Will You Spare Me Death if I Fool Them All?

⏤ crisis core: final fantasy vii.

⏤ angst, whump, hurt/no comfort, blood and some gore

⏤ wc: 1312

⏤ a/n: a small portion of the aftermath of the training room incident from Genesis's POV and how he got his wing. i started stress writing and it turned into this :^)

— Everything is always uglier up close.

Or at least one can say as much when they inch themselves closer to a vision of beauty, study each sparkling morsel of it, and come to find that the diamonds glimmering beneath their gaze are nothing more than broken glass shards.

It was a notion Genesis knew well. He had insolent habits as a child, but none of them were as curious as his selective observation.

He'd sit bored at Banora's parties—though ever the prim and proper young boy—with his back against a velvet chair, eyes fixed on the finery hung around the nearest neck.

It was always diamond, emerald, or if the victim was pompous enough, crystalized mako. That was Genesis's favorite. He'd maintain a simpering demeanor, oftentimes hiding his smirk behind a fist as he observed them.

Genesis never said a word. He wouldn't dare be seen as an insolent child when the reward of keeping his knowledge to himself was much sweeter.

If he looked close enough, the ugly truth was brought to light with a blinding revelation. Diamond became crystal, emerald became cheap tourmaline, and the mako jewelry they were oh-so boastful about was nothing but green quartz polished enough to pass for a rarity.

Of course, he could never trust Angeal to do the same.

"What's with your coat?"

"H-uh?" Genesis sputtered.

The din of the cafeteria crowd around him muffled as he became hyperaware of his every move. He had good reason to. Each inch of his bare skin, from his naked fingers to the exposed neck above his collar, was under scrutiny.

The question was as good as a taser aimed right at him. Genesis stilled, then felt the meat slip from his spoon and dunk itself back in his soup bowl with a splatter. He held the utensil feebly in midair, his mouth agape and eyes widened at the man sitting in front of him.

Sephiroth sat beside Angeal on the booth, leaving Genesis alone on the opposite side, a setup which in hindsight, Genesis should've known was a tact.

He met Sephiroth's analytical gaze. The green and slitted eyes raked up Genesis's body, drinking in the pitiful weakness of his form before stopping just below his shoulder.

There was something reminiscent of pity— remorse, even—on his face, but Genesis's pride and embarrassment always worked hand-in-hand to blind him toward such things.

It didn't matter. He knew what Sephiroth was looking at, and he knew what Angeal was alluding to: the bulging spot in his coat where a wad of bandages rested beneath.

He put down his spoon gingerly, prolonging the tap of the metal against the wooden table. Then he wiped his lips with a napkin, sitting up straighter and working a smug smirk onto his previous frown.

"Oh, you mean this?" He patted the leather lump with complete nonchalance—even if he was wincing in pain on the inside. "Infinite in mystery. Don't worry about it, it's just—"

"Bandages?" Angeal inferred. "For your shoulder?"

It had been just shy of two weeks since the transfusion—the fruitless, invasive, and painful waste of his time. The infection had only increased, blackening the already bruised skin by day and leaving Genesis writhing with white-hot pain each night.

"Yeah," Genesis looked down, grabbing his gloves from beside him. Angeal's inquiry had stripped away the opportunity to flawlessly lie.

"It's simply a precautionary measure, no need to dwell over it, old friend, hero of the dawn, healer of worlds—"

"Precautionary measure against what, exactly?" Sephiroth cut in with another blow to Genesis's ego. "Is it bleeding?"

"Bleeding," Genesis repeated as he pulled on his gloves haughtily. "Don't be ridiculous, Sephiroth. I need to keep the wound wrapped until it heals fully, lest I risk contracting another infection."

"And it's not? Healing?" Sephiroth pushed again, this time lowering both eyebrows into a judgmental dip. "You look frail."

Genesis shoved his tray of food away, causing the soup to slop over the bowl. Angeal and Sephiroth watched with clear apprehension as the redhead slammed his back against the seat, then crossed his arms.

His eyes were cool, regarding either of them with no more contempt than they ignited.

"It's not." His voice was clipped. "Healing."

He noticed Sephiroth's shoulders slump. "Gene—"

"I have to go." Genesis stood up. "Never a better time to start on those overdue mission reports than when I'm too weak and frail to compare to the likes of you."

Sephiroth lowered his head, no doubt hiding the regret slapped across his face.

"You know that's not what he meant," Angeal huffed, exasperated as he watched Genesis step out of the booth.

"Yes, I doubt I know much at all," Genesis scoffed.

Angeal was at a loss. "Genesis!"

The surrounding tables had started to stare, some bowing their heads as they conversed in hushed whispers. Genesis was stiff, naked before the tongues which would wag if he were to make a scene.

He looked down at the other two men. "I have to go, but who knows? Maybe we can fraternize later, say, in the training room?"

Genesis pinned Sephiroth—who still kept his head down refusing eye contact—in place with his glare.

"Maybe you can finish me off, friend, put me out of my misery."

All Genesis heard was a last desperate call of his name before he dipped past the surrounding tables, making a beeline out of the cafeteria.

Later that night, he recalled the aforementioned notion. Everything, no matter its beauty, always appeared uglier under the magnifying glass of scrutiny.

He was hunched over in the darkness, both knees digging into the hardwood floor. A few red candles were scattered nearby, each of them blurry through the tearful eyes that drunk in their light.

Genesis's knit shirt and red coat lay haphazardly across the floors, blood-soaked and bedraggled beyond prior recognition.

His hyperventilating sobs were the only sign of life sounding around the apartment. Shaken breaths, each more frantic than the last were all he could manage.

Genesis didn't fear death. No, to say he feared death was an insult, a light way to put it. He was petrified, frozen in horror before the prospect that he was withering away, living with one foot dipped in the grave, feeling the eager hand of death tugging him down inch by inch each day.

He slowly lifted his head, then caught a glimpse of himself through the looking glass. It was a pitiful sight, no matter how many sugary lies he told himself to quench his worries.

There was a burning sensation through his spine, like a nail dragging itself through his veins and ripping apart each one with torturous intent.

Globules of blood dripped down his back, marring the floor with crimson puddles.

Something began tearing through his left shoulder blade. He cried as it broke the skin, twisting and snapping. The wet sounds of flesh being torn open melded with the crackle of his spine.

Genesis's back curled as he hunched over deeper. His screeches were raw, shredding his throat, pulling out every last morsel of emotion from his body until he was hoarse.

He felt it; something coming out of him. With his nails digging into the floor, bloody and cracked, he let out one last guttural cry.

And then he felt it. Something unfurled from his back. He felt it like an extension of his body, an extra limb stretching out.

All was quiet again. His heaving breaths slowed. He curled his palms into fists, then used them to push himself up from the wet floor.

Genesis looked into the mirror.

A black wing protruded from his back.

He raked his eyes over his own body, sticky with blood and pieces of flesh, then pinned the dreaded spot on his shoulder.

There, the wound remained intact, as black and ugly as it ever looked up close.

[taysanimaladventures]

If I could

Begin to be

Half of what

You think of me

I could do about anything

I could even learn how to love like you

Rose Quartz the leopard gecko. Born in 2010, adopted in 2015, humanely euthanized 2023.

I know things on this blog have been depressing as fuck lately. I quit my job, realized my jobs had caused significant mental damage on me, my grandma passes, and only a few weeks later I had to put Rose down. I got her footprints today.

I adopted Rose after the passing of Jasper, a leo I had gotten from a pet store chain and failed to thrive. I obviously refused to buy animals from those chains since and I ended up getting Rose from a former breeder going through a nasty divorce. I brought her to my college dorm in an empty beer box. Since getting her she has done a ton of traveling up and down California as I moved from college to home to the middle of nowhere to where I am now with my husband. She was always one to eagerly pop her head out as you walked by, hoping you had a snack. She had the most beautiful, vibrant colors that made her look like the unhealthiest lemon popsicle. She was also a mini celebrity on this blog for a period of time.

Last year she started to refuse to eat and looked bloated. We went to the vet who said it could be a minor infection or organ failure and she was given antibiotics and pain meds. After her course of medications she did well for the rest of the year up until a few weeks ago. We repeated the same medications but this time she was not improving. She was losing weight, still refusing to eat, was still looking bloated, and was clearly unhappy with all the medications being forced on her. Additionally the vet had felt a lump inside her. I had always suspected cancer since the first time we went through this. She had a suspicious spot on her skin. The vet and I agreed to humanely euthanize her. She was only 13.

I think in a sad way my time with her is another piece of what makes me want to leave the animal care field. Prior to her passing I looked through this blog and saw all my posts of her and how enthusiastic and excited I was about her. But as time went on I lost my passion. I was already burning myself out taking care of dozens of reptiles every day and coming home to needing to do more reptile care became a chore. She was never neglected and I have always made it a point to give my animals the best care possible no matter how low I was feeling. That is our obligation as pet owners. However she had become only that- an obligation. It makes me sad for her and sad for what happened to myself. I grieve for her and for the enthusiastic gecko keeper I used to be.

To other gecko owners: give your gecko a tight (imaginary) hug and a tasty worm for me.

[pratibharefractoryminerals]

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