#eco powers

[karina-333]

[punkeropercyjackson]

Miss Jackson🌊💙🥞🗡

Percy Jackson is a trans woman babes,get with it(art by mi prima @biandbored !!)

[radioactivepeasant]

Free Day Friday: Trespasser

(From the poll: "In Which the Demolition Duo made it to the Wastelands without being banished because They Are Trespassing)

Damas was not, by and large, a religious man. He didn't worship Precursors -- there were some who insisted that his ousting from Haven was divine punishment for his arrogance -- nor spirits. If spirits could be killed, so could Precursors. That made them oracles, elders to be respected for unique perspectives on time, but not gods in Damas’s opinion.

Which made it an oddity to find him in the temple.

He sat on the shallow steps, staring up at the six carved heads meant to represent Precursors. More insectoid than Oracles, or perhaps just more elaborate. They seemed to wear headdresses over their bizarre masks.

"If you, by action or inaction, let Mar die, then at least have the decency to tell me," he whispered into the empty air.

"You always foretold a future moment of need that my House would answer. Has that need passed unnoticed that you stay silent while my bloodline ends? Or does my son live?"

The masks were silent, of course. Carved stone could neither hear nor speak.

Ungrateful wretches. Damas had a fleeting thought that perhaps they'd allowed -- or even orchestrated -- the abduction of his little son because he wasn't servile and "pious" enough for their tastes.

Damas wondered if spirits could harm Precursors. If perhaps the "Good Grandmother"*, She-Who-Hears-Them-Cry, might take an interest if something in this temple had been directly involved in bringing Mar to harm.

Má took her payment even from the hides of fellow spirits, after all.

"Even if you were capable of bringing him back unharmed, I very much doubt you would," Damas whispered harshly to the open air. His throat bobbed with a painful, bitter anger.

"But if you took him, you owe blood-debt to my House, old ones. So grant closure or sit in your realm knowing that I will seek answers among others as old as you."

Was it wise to threaten the Precursors? Damas neither knew nor cared anymore. Two years he'd barely survived having his heart metaphorically ripped out of his chest.

What more could they do to him? Really, what could they possibly do that could be worse than not knowing?

No answer arrived, not that it surprised him. Damas sighed and braced his elbows against his knees, head in his hands.

Stone grated against stone and metal to his left, and he turned his head swiftly.

There was a door there, one heavily fortified with traps. A hovering Sentinel eye kept watch for movement, designed to activate a spike trap if anyone tried to enter the lower levels without permission. And if someone managed to somehow get past that, the door would still be sealed. Whether by an enterprising ancestor of his or by meddling Precursors, that door could not be opened without an Heir of Mar. Damas was the only one who had ever been beyond it.

It should not have opened even an inch.

And yet Damas was witnessing the two mighty halves forcing themselves apart with a tortured groan born of idleness.

He was on his feet in an instant, ready for a fight. There was no chance that this heralded anything good.

"Whoa!"

That was a hu'men voice.

Damas’s hand hovered over his sidearm, ready to draw the moment he saw a face.

"And I thought this place was huge before!"

It was a young voice. High and a little squeaky.

"It just keeps going, doesn't it?" laughed a second voice, deeper, but just as young.

And then the doors were open wide enough to see the silhouette in between them.

And more importantly, to see the object glowing faintly in his outstretched fist.

Damas’s mouth was dry as he fumbled for the pouch between belt and leather armor where he kept his own amulet of Mar. He knew the shape by heart: twin comets orbiting each other, over stylized hands.

Thief-!

Pure, outraged, fury burned through his veins for a moment. Who had this scrawny figure stolen that amulet from? Heaven forbid it be Mar's amulet, lest Damas murder this boy before his very next step.

"Identify yourself!" Damas shouted, raising his gun.

The figure stepped into view. He was small, so thin his clothes hung loosely on scrawny limbs, but he held himself like a warrior.

"People!"

The animal curled around his shoulders sat upright and spoke.

"Jak! There's real people in here! We're saved!"

Odd reaction to a man pointing a gun at them.

The boy eased a step forward, hands raised as if soothing a frightened animal. He still held the incriminating amulet in his hand.

"Whoa, okay, put the gun down. I don't want to hurt anybody-"

He took a step too far and the sentinel flashed. The spikes shot up out of the floor with a faint shunk!

With a yelp, the boy leapt back -- he was surprisingly light on his feet for someone wearing boots two sizes too big. Then, as if the nearly fatal encounter was no more than a slight inconvenience, he backed up, got a running start, and launched.

He kicked off the wall, seeming to find handholds in the tiniest of crevices as he bypassed the spikes entirely.

Once on the ground again, the boy dusted himself off.

"You okay, Dax?"

"Just peachy, considering you almost dropped me!"

"Did not!" the hu'men boy protested in annoyance.

He really was small.

The general gangly sprawl of his limbs suggested he would gain an impressive height, but for now he just looked..small.

And entirely too excited.

"Who....do you- Where did you come from?" Damas demanded.

The boy pointed back down at the steps and shrugged before scratching his head.

"Exploring?"

Oh that green hair hurt to look at. It was filthy, and matted, like it hadn't been correctly washed in years. He couldn't even determine the age of the trespasser, what with the layers of grime embedded into every crevice of his face. The clothes were just as stained with sweat, dirt, and what looked to be bloodstains. From traps?

"Exploring."

Damas repeated the stranger's explanation incredulously. "How did you even get in here?"

The boy and the orange animal looked at each other for a curiously long moment. They seemed to be having a conversation merely by narrowing and widening their eyes in turn. Then, seeming to come to an agreement, they shrugged and turned back to face Damas.

The boy pointed down a barely visible flight of rough-hewn stone steps, lit by torches.

"We came up through the catacombs."

There were catacombs? He hadn't seen anything like that down there, and Damas liked to think he'd made it pretty far! He examined the stranger more closely, avoiding his eyes -- they're not familiar, you're just projecting your grief -- and avoiding looking at the talking weasel thing. He saw sunken cheeks drawn tightly against sharp cheekbones. A pale, barely visible scar across the bridge of his nose. Deep, deep shadows beneath his eyes. How large was the temple, altogether? Were there more people living below their feet?

"How...long were you down there?" he asked after a few seconds.

"Trust me pal," the weasel-rabbit said, "he smelled like this before we got in that zoomer."

"Hey!"

"What zoomer?!" Damas asked, feeling more confused than before.

"The one we took through the lava tube to the catacombs."

Damas was beginning to wonder if he'd somehow inhaled the monks' incense by accident.

The trespasser cringed as if only just noticing the bewildered and only barely softened hostility on Damas’s face. He shoved his amulet -- not his, it can't be his, there aren't any more of us left!*-- into his pocket and waved his hands placatingly.

Was there another Heir all this time? Is that why I was given no chance to protect Mar? Were my child and I expendable?

"Didn't mean to bother you," the kid apologized, "We'll just uh- huh. Actually, where are we?"

And then he looked to the door rather than Damas.

"Hey Oracle!" he shouted, and Damas was glad no monks were present to hear this and faint at the impertinance.

"Where the rot are we?"

Alright. This was now officially more of a problem than he'd first thought. Not even the monks were supposed to have found that Oracle down there.

One of the past Heirs who never inherited the throne had sealed it up the moment he discovered it long ago. After all, the discovery of light and dark eco being opposite poles of one energy might have thrown society into chaos and they didn't want to deal with the fallout. Even Damas was leery of reintroducing that knowledge outside of the Arena yet. Apparently this trespasser had no such thoughts.

He spoke to Oracles -- or pretended he did.

He held and used an amulet.

The boy was a mystery. And Damas hated not having the answers.

"You," Damas decided, wearing anger like a shield, "are coming with me. You have questions to answer."

The boy balked.

"No!"

He dodged before Damas could seize his arm, stumbling back amidst the columns.

"Uh-uh, I'm not falling for that."

"Falling for what?"

Damas was genuinely confused, and more than a little irritated.

The boy continued to back away.

"No, no I know how this goes. You're gonna take me back to the Haven Council, aren't you!"

*

"Haven?!" Damas sputtered, "Why the bleeding rot would I want to go there?! I'm taking you to my city!"

That didn't reassure the kid, who apparently was not fond of the leaders of Haven City.

Well, that was at least a bare minimum of common ground.

"You ain't takin us to no secondary location!" the orange one declared, pointing a skinny digit at Damas.

"The last time I got transported to a new place, I got kidnapped and experimented on for two years," his friend agreed.

Embleer Frith.

Damas stared at the boy. He squinted, as if that would give him insight into the unsettling response, then shook his head.

"You what?!"

What was he talking about? Experimented on?! That would explain the sudden shift from curiosity to distrust. But why-?

Damas knew. Deep down, he thought he knew.

If the boy was an Heir -- and he didn't even want to entertain the thought, but it had to be acknowledged as a possibility -- then that alone would be motive for someone like Praxis to torture even a young man -- or young boy?

If he was still obsessed with creating the ultimate war-sage, then an unclaimed and unattended Heir of Mar would be invaluable.

But if Praxis had been so focused on an older Heir, then perhaps it at least meant that he'd never gotten his hands on Mar.

That there was a stab of shame to follow that whisper of relief was an unsettling proof that he had not successfully hardened his heart as much as he'd thought.

"You came here from Haven?" he asked.

"Yeah?"

Thoughts of a breach in their defenses sickened him.

"And others will follow in pursuit of you?"

This time both trespassers scoffed.

"Only if they feel like sharpening their reaction time enough for a volcanic subrail," the hu'men said. He almost smiled.

The orange one nodded. "Jak here's the best driver there is! Also the most demolition-happy, but nobody's perfect."

Jak?

Now that was a name his spies had been mentioning a lot in their reports. An alleged juggernaut who had turned the Baron's own secret project against him and -- rumor had it -- even destroyed the metalhead nest.

Damas had been expecting someone a little...older.

* the "Good Grandmother" Damas is referencing is a spirit I made up for the Wasteland called Má Crocadeer. Fairly grisly figure with a crocadeer skull wreathed in flowers for a head, and a crocadeer's legs and tail. Her purpose is to punish those who deliberately cause or inflict harm on children. There's a lot of people in Haven who should avoid the desert for this reason.

[moneyisnobject]

"Awakening"

Courtesy: Edvin H Design

[bumblebeeappletree]

Thirty years ago, a group of permaculture experts purchased 329 acres of degraded land in Western North Carolina with a vision: to restore the landscape while creating a new model of communal living.

What began as an experiment in living well off the land has grown into one of the nation’s oldest cohousing communities, where residents live collaboratively and in close connection with their environment.

The community now spans 13 distinct neighborhoods with over 100 residents, each offering a different approach to shared living. Some neighborhoods function as housing co-ops (North Carolina law requires at least five members for this designation), while others feature apartments, duplexes, or single-family homes.

Earthaven’s infrastructure reflects decades of experimentation and ingenuity. From hydroelectric power generated by mountain streams to solar systems energizing both communal and private spaces, the village is a model of thoughtful design.

Residents live in hand-built homes that range from timber-framed duplexes to snug cob cottages, sharing resources like kitchens, workshops, and gardens. Guided by principles of self-governance, consensus decision-making, and cooperative ownership, Earthaven fosters deep connections���not only with the natural world but also among its members, creating a way of life rooted in resilience and shared purpose.

Recently, Earthaven suffered significant damage from Hurricane Idalia, which tore through the region, leaving many homes and shared facilities in need of repair. The community is currently rebuilding and has launched a fundraising campaign to restore its infrastructure and continue its mission of regenerative living.

—Donate to Earthaven's Hurricane Helene recovery fund: https://www.gofundme.c...

—Take a Virtual Tour: https://www.schoolofin...

—Become a Friend: https://www.schoolofin...

—Take a class with the School of Integrated Living: https://www.schoolofin...

—More videos: / @earthavenecovillage

—Earthaven on Wikipedia: https://en.wikipedia.o...

On *faircompanies: https://faircompanies....

[justhereforsomethingnice]

Random thought: how much do the bat family shit, or the arrows, or any other non superpowered family. Or even superpowered like the Flash family, famous for their fast metabolism. They have to eat so much to keep up with their life style, it has to come out.

How many times does poor Alfred have to unclog toilets? Does Iris think that’s the worst about dating a Flash? Do I want to know?

[struno2841]

More stuff with the winter au

[kazimirkharza]

Today we lost Ted Kaczynski. It's not surprising, we all knew that day was around the corner, considering his diagnosis, but hearing about it still shook me a bit. He was certainly not a flawless person, but his uncompromising devotion to defending the wild against the system of civilisation will forever earn him my respect. We need more people of such powerful character, determination and wit. Rest in power, Uncle Ted 💚

[black-eco-sage]

// From my CO.r.E //

"If I had a heart // 01101001 00100000 01100011 01101111 01110101 01101100 01100100 00100000 01101100 01101111 01110110 01100101 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101"

(Last art piece of 2024 and first of 2025, feat. Viris!)

'

'

[risingsunresistance]

does anyone know how to make your screen brightness go below zero, im suffering

[kaiatase]

AYO IM DOIN IT THIS LOOKS SO GOOD

Jak 4!!! Im animating a Jak 4!!! I will make my own story if naughty dog wont!!! 😂😂😂

[karina-333]

[unnamed-atlas]

Finally finished sweet tooth s3. Having incredibly mixed feelings

[moodboardmix]

“Pegasus”

The 289-footer features a low, linear hull, a plumb bow and a trippy metallic finish that camouflages it with the surrounding environment. The reflective “Solar Wings” essentially mirror the clouds above to blur the line between the sky and the sea.

The solar energy generated will be used to convert seawater to hydrogen. Fuel cells will then turn the hydrogen into electricity that will be stored in the lithium-ion battery banks. 

The clean, green power can then be used to power the motors and onboard amenities. According to Forakis, Pegasus will produce zero emissions and have a virtually infinite range.

Courtesy: Strutturaleggera / Jozeph Forakis

[moneyisnobject]

Perini Navi's 'Art Explorer,'

Commissioned by Art Explora, it's the world's largest sailing catamaran, with a length of 46.5 meters, a width of 17.30 meters, and a 50-meter mast.

The flybridge will host virtual exhibitions, while the central part will house the gallery for the inaugural digital exhibition 'Icons' on women in the Mediterranean.

On the roof of the deckhouse, have been installed 65 square meters of solar panels, allowing an instantaneous production of 12 kW and a total energy accumulation of more than 200 kW each day.

The design is by Axel de Beaufort and Guillaume Verdier. 

[wild-at-mind]

You cannot absolve yourself from the fact of your existence in a country that has done horrible things in the past and present by failing to vote. Sorry.

Should you need to absolve your own existence? Some people talk as if you do, but personally I passionately do not think so. Guilt and actions caused by it do not create good activism. The person who convinces themselves that voting is the same as committing war crimes themselves will have a lot of difficulty with basically anything they apply that standard to. That's the problem with society- you can't opt out, not really. Not even with the hyper-anarchist existence I was trying to describe recently. Everything we do, if through enough degrees of separation, harms someone. Anything we need to survive in this world- clothes, food, electronics. We know this. We have to live with this, and not succomb to the type of thinking that most closely resembles OCD with morality fixation. When I see people behaving like this, it blows my mind, like I spent so long trying to unlearn these thought patterns and you're doing it to yourselves?!!

Society is currently set up so that we have to harm people all the time, from living in countries that sanction wars in other countries to damaging the planet. We have to live with that in the here and now, and do what we can when we can. Of course we can ask for better, but I firmly believe the only way to work towards better is to work within society and make connections to others rather than driving them away with this absolutist guilting and hostility to each other. Do not take on a burden of guilt that the person you passed on the street doesn't have. We cannot make society better if we are constantly stumbling under the burden of guilt.

Signed- an OCDer and eco activist