#flashe and mineral paint

[sheltiechicago]

“Talking shit with Coatlicue” (2017), flashe on linen, 79 9/10 × 65 inches

Monumental Paintings by Eamon Ore-Giron Translate Cultural Symbols into Vivid Geometries

A mélange of architectural structures, cosmic mappings, South American textiles, hieroglyphics, and Indigenous symbols emerge in vivid, balanced color in Eamon Ore-Giron’s paintings. Often rendered in flashe and mineral paint on large-scale linen canvases, the works are enveloping and visionary, transporting the viewer into Ore-Giron’s flat, geometric vistas.

All images © Eamon Ore-Giron, courtesy of the artist and James Cohan

“Black Medallion XXIII” (2023), mineral paint and flashe on linen, 72 x 72 inches. Photo by Charles White/JWPictures.com

“Night Shade” (2016), flashe on linen, 84 x 60 inches

“Infinite Regress CLXXXIV” (2021), flashe and mineral paint on linen, 120 x 120 inches. Photo by Charles White/JWPictures.com

“Black Medallion XV (Mama-Quilla)’ (2023), mineral paint and flashe on linen, 174 x 300 inches. Photo by Charles White/JWPictures.com

“Infinite Regress CLXXXVIII” (2021), mineral paint and flashe on linen, 120 x 156 inches. Photo by Charles White/JWPictures.com

[heavenlytouches]

I saw your Gladiator II posr about Marcus Acacius. Can you do one for emperor Geta? Maybe like, his wife doing his makeup or something? Thanksies much

Hello sweetie!! Thank you so much for a sweet request! Ofc I can, I would love to write something about our ginger boi! I hope you'll like it <3 El <3

Emperor Geta- a crown of laurel

𓆉︎ ☼ 𓇼 ☼

FEM reader

<3 (SFW)

TW- none

HUSBAND! Geta

Helping your husband put on his diva makeup

Emperor Geta

You stand in the dimly lit chamber of Emperor Geta, a space filled with opulence tinged with a sense of foreboding. Rich crimson drapes hang from the intricately etched walls, adding to the weightiness that comes with ruling an empire. The air smells faintly of myrrh and olive oil, infused with the tension that accompanies the daily grind of power.

Geta, tall and stoic, sits before a bronze mirror, his ginger hair untamed and wild. The scowl on his face is deep-set, revealing the grumpiness that the empire has come to know, but as you approach, that familiar warmth accompanies you.

You kneel beside him and gently coax his tousled hair into place, your fingers slipping through the strands as you breathe in the earthy smell of him.

“Stop that!”

He grumbles, though the corner of his lips betrays a tiny smirk.

“You’re making me look too presentable.”

“Not possible, my love.”

You respond, a playful lilt in your voice that causes his eyes to soften just the tiniest bit.

“Besides, you��ve got to look magnificent for the people. They expect it.”

He rolls his eyes, and you can’t help but chuckle.

“The people? I’d be better off in the arena with a band of lions than attempting to please that crowd.”

“And yet, you still go out and face them every day. You feel the weight of their expectations, yes?”

“Expectations?”

He growls, his eyes flashing with the familiar fire.

“You mean their incessant need to be entertained. They see me as a man of strength, yet I feel more like a jester in a gilded cage.”

As you laughed softly, placing your hands on his shoulders you can’t resist the urge to tease him a bit more.

“You could always start juggling, my Emperor. I’m sure the Romans would appreciate a new form of entertainment.”

His laughter is unexpected, rich and deep, breaking the rigid facade he keeps so carefully.

“Ah, but would it please you? That’s the only opinion I truly value.”

You lean closer, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead, the warmth of your touch dissolving the walls he keeps erect.

“It pleases me when you are happy, and when you’re true to yourself.”

"Do I really have to wear this?"

He growls, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder as he glances at the small wooden table arrayed with eye paints made from crushed minerals and oils.

The red and black pigments are striking, akin to his fierce persona.

You smile, your heart fluttering as you sit infront of him.

“It’s part of the ceremony, love. The people wish to see their emperor at his proudest.”

He lets out a huff, rolling his eyes, but you can see the corners of his mouth twitch with amusement.

The Emperor Geta reputedly hates everyone- his brother, all men, women, and even the senators of the empire- all except for you. You’re his hidden sanctuary amidst the chaos of politics and gladiatorial bloodshed, and he knows it just as well as you do.

As you sit before him, you pick up a small brush, its bristles softened from frequent use. Carefully, you dip it into the rich black powder and bring it to his face.

You trace a line along his brow, and he flinches slightly, but then relaxes into the soothing motion of your hands.

With a practiced ease, you paint the colors onto him, transforming the grumpy emperor into a vibrant figure worthy of awe.

“Why must you always make me look like a fool?”

He complains, though the way he leans closer tells you he doesn’t mean it.

“Fools are often the most adored, my love,”

You murmur, your heart swelling with affection.

“And you-” you apply the black beneath his eyes, “-are anything but foolish.”

He watches you, an amused glint in his eye. His gruff demeanor begins to soften under your gentle touch.

You tap a tiny bit of the red under his lower lashes and before he can protest, you lean in closer.

“Just a little more. You’re almost too handsome to behold,”

You whisper with a teasing grin.

“Too handsome?”

He repeats, eyebrows raising dramatically.

“You’re going to have me executed by my own guards with that declaration.”

“Perhaps..”

You giggle softly, your fingers now brushing through his tousled hair, taming the fiery strands that refuse to behave. He slowly gets up, admiring your work in the mirror.

“But only if you let them catch your heart, my sweet emperor.”

With that, you pull out a laurel wreath, its golden leaves shimmering slightly in the dim light. As you place it gently atop his head, he gazes down at you, his heart softening.

The small gesture carries a weight of tradition, but it means something deeper in this private moment- the acknowledgment of your bond.

The corners of his mouth break into a rare smile, and your heart skips a beat.

“You and your ridiculous notions.."

He says, half-grumpy yet completely smitten.

“Well, how else will I regain the admiration of an emperor who frightens off everyone else?”

You tease, slipping your hands across his shoulders. He leans slightly into your touch, resting his forehead against yours.

“And you, my treasured wife, have far too much power over me.”

He admits, his voice turning low and sincere.

“What mortal man could resist the charm of his empress?”

At this closeness, you feel the tension of the outside world fade away. Here, inside these four walls, amidst pigments and laughter, he is not the feared emperor but the man who adores you unwaveringly, the softness of his heart warm and inviting.

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes.

“You should know by now that it's only you who can change the hard shell surrounding this heart of mine.”

A breath catches in your throat as warmth blooms across your cheeks.

“Only for you, Geta.”

You reply gently, knowing that for all his grumbling and gruffness, you unearth a sweetness in him that is uniquely precious.

With a swift motion, he closes the distance between you, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. The softness of the moment feels eternal, as the world outside fades, leaving just your laughter and the rich colors of ancient Rome swirling around you.

“Let us show them the emperor with a heart?”

You whisper as he pulls away slightly, a grin spreading across his face once more.

With renewed energy, he stands tall, ready to face the adoring crowd beyond the door. Together, you step into the light, hand in hand- a fierce emperor with the heart of a loyal warrior, and the empress who has tamed his wild spirit.

Here we go!! A well deserved happy end for our ginger model! I actually made this suuuuper long TwT

Don’t forget, requests are always open and I can write for any character you’d like!

I love you guys so much <33

El <3

(all images were made by: El via canva & paint)

[sassenach77yle]

What are ye laughing at, a nighean?” Her father loomed out of the night, smelling of horses. “Everything,” she said, scooching over to make room for him to sit beside her. It was true. Everything seemed suddenly bright, the candlelight from the windows of the Big House, the fireflies in the grass, the glow of Roger’s face when he told her his desire. She could still feel the touch of his mouth on hers; it fizzed in her blood.

Jamie reached up and fielded a passing firefly, holding it for a moment cupped in the dark hollow of his hand, where it flashed on and off, the cool light seeping through his fingers. Far off, she heard a brief snatch of her mother’s voice, coming through an open window;

Claire was singing “Clementine.” Now the boys—and Roger—were howling at the moon, though it was no more than a pale sickle on the horizon. She felt her father’s body shake with silent laughter, too.

“It reminds me of Disneyland,” she said on impulse.

“Oh, aye? Where’s that?” “It’s an amusement park—for children,” she added, knowing that while there were such things as amusement parks in places like London and Paris, these were purely adult places. No one ever thought of entertaining children now, beyond their own games and the occasional toy. “Daddy and Mama took me there every summer,” she said, slipping back without effort to the hot, bright days and warm California nights.

“The trees all had little sparkling lights in them—the fireflies reminded me.” Jamie spread his palm; the firefly, suddenly free, pulsed to itself once or twice, then spread its wings with a tiny whir and lifted into the air, floating up and away.

“Dwelt a miner, forty-niner, and his daugh-ter, Clementine . . .”

“What was it like, then?” he asked curiously. “Oh . . . it was wonderful.” She smiled to herself, seeing the brilliant lights of Main Street, the music and mirrors and beautiful, beribboned horses of King Arthur’s Carrousel. “There were . . . rides, we called them. A boat, where you could float through the jungle on a river, and see crocodiles and hippopotamuses and headhunters . . .” “Headhunters?” he said, intrigued. “Not real ones,” she assured him. “It’s all make-believe—but it’s . . . well, it’s a world to itself. When you’re there, the real world sort of disappears; nothing bad can happen there.

They call it ‘The Happiest Place on Earth’—and for a little while, it really seems that way.”

“Light she was, and like a fairy, and her shoes were number nine, Herring boxes without topses, sandals were for Clementine.”“And you’d hear music everywhere, all the time,” she said, smiling. “Bands—groups of musicians playing instruments, horns and drums and things—would march up and down the streets, and play in pavilions. . . .” “Aye, that happens in amusement parks. Or it did, the once I was in one.” She could hear a smile in his voice, as well. “Mm-hm. And there are cartoon characters—I told you about cartoons—walking around. You can go up and shake hands with Mickey Mouse, or—” “With what?” “Mickey Mouse.” She laughed. “A big mouse, life-size—human-size, I mean. He wears gloves.” “A giant rat?” he said, sounding slightly stunned. “And they take the weans to play with it?” “Not a rat, a mouse,” she corrected him. “And it’s really a person dressed up like a mouse.” “Oh, aye?” he said, not sounding terribly reassured. “Yes. And an enormous carrousel with painted horses, and a railroad train that goes through the Rainbow Caverns, where there are big jewels sticking out of the walls, and colored streams with red and blue water . . . and orange-juice bars. Oh, orange-juice bars!” She moaned softly in ecstatic remembrance of the cold, tart, overwhelming sweetness. “It was nice, then?” he said softly.

“Thou art lost and gone forever, Dreadful sor-ry . . . Clementine.”

“Yes,” she said, sighed, and was silent for a moment. Then she leaned her head against his shoulder, and wrapped her hand around his arm, big and solid. “You know what?” she said, and he made a small interrogatory noise in reply.

It was nice—it was great—but what I really, really loved about it was that when we were there, it was just the three of us, and everything was perfect. Mama wasn’t worrying about her patients, Daddy wasn’t working on a paper—they weren’t ever silent or angry with each other. Both of them laughed—we all laughed, all the time . . . while we were there.” He made no reply, but tilted his head so it rested against hers. She sighed again, deeply.

“Jemmy won’t get to go to Disneyland—but he’ll have that. A family that laughs—and millions of little lights in the trees.”

A breath of snow and ashes

Season 7 episode 2 “The Happiest Place on Earth”

[mindblowingscience]

The flash of bright red caught Laurent Davin’s eye. He was looking at an array of 15,000-year-old shell beads and other artifacts, which have been displayed in a case at Jerusalem’s Rockefeller Archaeological Museum since before World War II. Many people had viewed them, but Davin was struck by this detail. “If you look at it, it’s like blood, a really vivid red,” he says, “and I had to wonder, ‘What’s that color?’” Countless prehistoric artifacts are colored red with ochre, a mineral product that was the world’s first red paint, but something made this hue look very different—and Davin set out to discover what it was. Analysis with high-tech spectroscopy techniques revealed a novel source behind Davin’s suspicions. The beads, originally found in Kebara Cave, on Israel’s Mount Carmel, are the oldest known example of humans using plants to manufacture red pigment. The bright red color adorning them was produced from the roots of Rubiaceae plants, commonly known as the madder family, according to research published Wednesday in PLOS One.

Continue Reading.

[nik-barinova]

*gently hands you my farmer!Zoey info and Shane headcanons and then offers to drop my lore on them, but really for Zoey*

Zoey Kilduff

Full Name: Zoey Elaine Kilduff

Age: 32 (as of Yr 1)

Height: 5’10”

Gender: Female

Pronouns: She/Her/Hers

Sexuality: Pansexual

Nationality: Scottish

Ethnicity: Romani, Indonesian, Indian, Afghani

Farm Name: Solasta Farm

Main Produce: Cheese, Jams, Flowers, Wine, Fruit Tree Fruits, Peppers

Primary Choice of Clothing: Gothic and casual

Loves: Tropical curry, Pepper poppers, Green tea, Iridium bar, Topaz, Prehistoric Skull

Likes: All Eggs, All Minerals, All Flowers (except Daffodil and Dandelion)

Neutral: Hazelnut, Ginger, Maki Roll, Holly Leek, Truffle, Clay, Seaweed

Dislikes: All Mushrooms, All Geodes, Cave Carrot, Pine Tar, Spring Onion, Qi Fruit

Hates: Mayo

Bio:

Daughter to a boxing legend and a late dancing queen, Zoey Kilduff virtually had to raise her younger siblings herself despite being the eldest triplet. Their father was not one to exactly get physical with his triplet children, but he does get in their head too much to the point of them developing serious anxiety and self esteem issues. Her father owned an MMA/Boxing club in Zuzu City, and every day after school, Zoey and her younger siblings would go to workout and train, sometimes going into the late hours.

Zoey never could remember much of her mother, except that she would protect her and her siblings from their father until one night she disappeared.

The only time Zoey ever recalled good moments was when her uncle would sneak the triplets out to a gridball game or a rock concert. Zoey and her uncle were close enough that she would end up calling him her “dad” later on, and so did her siblings.

Things only got worse, though, when her father decided to enter her in a series of boxing matches as a teen illegally by lying about her age. Zoey still had an impressive record, but she would come to school with multiple bruises and cuts, prompting school officials to question her about her home life. Zoey felt anxious to tell the truth, but she did what she believed was right. However, she was (supposedly) proven wrong by her father later that week.

Her father would not speak to her except for when he trained her, but he was much harsher on her than he would be towards her two other siblings. One evening, he would take her on a drive, just him and her, and have a “talk”; which was code for “not good, not good”. The drive was anxiety inducing for Zoey, and before she knew it, the “talk” turned into a shouting match between them.

The last thing the both of them could remember was a sudden flash of bright beams and a the sound of a truck horn.

Zoey woke up surrounded by her siblings, uncle, and grandparents as well as police. She could barely remember what had happened up until the wreck, but with what she could remember, her and her siblings’ father was finally arrested for various charges and would lose custody of the triplets and be left with their uncle. At the cost of being free from their father, Zoey was left a total arm amputee due to how bad the wreck was.

After much rehab, therapy, and support from her loved ones, Zoey and her siblings were able to finish high school, and eventually go on to graduate college. Though while the younger siblings went on to pursue their respective careers, Zoey had difficulty finding proper work and eventually settled for something calmer, thus landing her at a corporate office job with Joja Corp. At first, this was a great opportunity for her to find some sort of peace and calm for her going forward in life, it was definitely the most boring and tiring job for her until she realized this was not what she had in mind for her life.

Sure she was able to find more therapeutic alternatives like skull paintings, but living out the rest of her days sitting in a cubical?

That was until early in her thirties did she receive a letter from her dying grandfather that he had left her a huge inheritance: the old family farm Solasta Farm.

Once she realized this was a new chance at a second life, Zoey quit her job at Joja Corp, and quickly moved to Stardew Valley, truly giving herself a second chance at a new life.

Now if only she could get a chance to befriend a certain town drunk…

[t0ast-ghost]

S3 EP12 (The Empath) ohhhh no. Oh no. Oh nononono no.

Aughgg:

- The three of them beaming down to a planet. What a good way to start an episode!

- Kirk protecting his ship over all

- Kirk had to watch Spock and Bones disappear. He had to watch them disappear and be left alone to call out their names in vain

- Kirk’s body left an ass imprint in the sand

- Together again! In the void!

- Showing what’s on the tricorder is so silly of them

- WHAT TGE FUCJ ARE THOSE

- “We Come—” *gets shot*

- Get hit with the gay beam. The photos don’t do it justice but I’m not taking a video because there’s flashing lights (careful showing this to your photosensitive friends!)

- Jim is so enchanted by her, it’s adorable 🥰

- THIS. This is his character. At least the part that is so often discarded. He’s not holding her hand out of a want to romance her or anything like that. He’s holding it because he wants to protect and comfort her. He’s just like this and it’s so so soft.

- Kirk calling them over as he’s just horrified and disgusted. Then Bones calling them over. Like idk I’m happy over them saying each others names, I’m in too deep

- Each of them facing what are basically their own graves

- Too good to be true. They ain’t escaping

- this

- “The prime ingredients” to what? Suffer soup?

- McCoy straight up objecting to Kirk’s sacrifice while Spock offers himself instead

- “What happened to my men!?” CALL THEM YOUR BOYFRIENDS. On another note, Kirk is so fiercely protective of them and so angry and scared that’s something has or will happen to them

- Annnnd they made him shirtless

- “We’ve already observed the intensity of your passions, and gauged your capacity to love others.” Here they are directly referring to how Kirk loves McCoy and Spock

- Spock and McCoy in da void

- McCoy begging for Gem to help Kirk because he can’t help Kirk

- This healing scene is going on for a very long time. An uncomfortable amount of time.

- Like a renaissance painting

- “Spock why do you have to get so analytical?”

- What kind of choice is that? McCoy will probably die and Spock will suffer brain damage

- “I’m a doctor, not a coal miner.” Yippee!!!

- Spock and McCoy both want to sacrifice themselves

- McCoy just fucking drugged Kirk!!!

- Spock you bitch! Don’t sacrifice yourself bbygirl

- Gem is helping McCoy. She understands. “Your action is highly unethical!” Spock shouts but McCoy can’t allow Spock to go with them

- “Why did you let him do it?” “I was convinced in the same way you were captain— by the doctors hypo.” They’re so worried about their boyfriend

- “And they keep McCoy.” Damn every alien planet wants to keep this man. I mean I get it but like.. damn

- HOLY SHIT WHAT DID THEY DO TO HIM

- he’s in so much distress

- SAVE HIM! Please! Gem save him!

- He’s holding him so gently

- “You’ve got a good bedside manner, Spock.” What. Why. Why are you flirting. Right now?!?

- Spock takes longer to leave McCoy’s side

- “Each of you was willing to give his life for the others.” Yeah! Cause they’re in love!

- Damn they’re just torturing her

- He starts coughing and Jim looks so worried that I wanna write a sick fic based on that look alone

- McCoy wakes up and immediately calls for Jim and Spock omg omg

- good point Kirk. They (the aliens) are fucking hypocrites

- forgive the horrible photo quality. They’re just little guys

- Spock is smiling here. Like you cannot deny he’s smiling here. He’s so happy that the doctor is alive and that he gets to joke with him and Jim on the bridge

A couple of busy days went by but I’ll keep posting :)

Masterpost

Episode written by Joyce Muskat

[dollarbin]

Dollar Bin #48:

Songs of Love and Hate, Part 2

Individual notes, verses, flashes of color and morsels can sum up all that is great about a given artist.

Joyce's heaventree of stars hung with humid nightblue fruit and Eliot's patient etherized on a table instantly encapsulate each author's vast oeuvre; Botticelli's cornered, puffing zephyrs sum up everything that dwells within his immense, canvassed, rushes of air.

Plus, you could dedicate a week or two straight to Dinosaur Jr's catalog or just get the whole thing done quick by letting J Mascis order you to get him a bucket.

Like J says, it's sometimes best to absorb the whole by ignoring it and staring instead, well, into the face of "ducket".

So let's follow J's advice and, after an initial post that focused largely on Jew's harps and orgies, dedicate this Part 2 to zooming in on Leonard Cohen's own, single, summation bucket: the opening track of Songs of Love and Hate, Avalanche.

All the vast riches hidden within Cohen's monstrous but sexy raincoat are on display in this track.

The opening verse goes a long way to sum up Cohen's art. "I stepped into avalanche: it covered up my soul." This isn't a guy with inherited hardships; he bought a house on a Greek island before he was famous with inherited funds; plus he was really, really good looking.

But one of the great things about the man is his ownership of his own sorrow: he knowingly and willingly stepped into a swirl of hardship and frozen water. It's his own damn fault, and he owns that. And when horrors covered up his soul, leaving him hunchbacked, crippled and befouled, he consistently pulled off the ultimate magic trick, transmuting his self-entrapment into a golden sleep of verse and art and song.

And we're the miners in Cohen's song, of course: we stumble into Cohen as we tunnel after more obvious and conventional beauty. I discovered him in the backseat of my teenage girlfriend's parent's suburban on a four hour drive through the mountains.

"Who is this?" I asked the car. I was already transfixed.

"Leonard Cohen!" chorused the entire family of 5, including an 8 year old with pigtails and a stuffed rabbit in her lap. Clearly, they all thought, this new boyfriend is an idiot.

There's a sonic summation at work in Avalanche too: Cohen's signature sinister and churning Spanish guitar, originally encountered on Avalanche's prequel, The Stranger Song, is met by equally sinister and strident strings that crowd him and then retreat time and again; often Cohen would bring in female vocalists to commune with him and contradict him on his records. But this song is too personal, too harrowing, to foist onto anyone else. He burdens the song's weight alone, letting it bury him deeper and deeper down beneath the hill.

We always want it darker when it comes to Cohen. With Avalanche he truly delivers.

And then there's the song's phrasing. Dylan did a real nice job of publicly honoring Cohen at the time of his passing and it occurs to me now that, consciously or unconsciously, the Bobster, after blowing out his voice altogether in the 80's, surely taught himself how to sing all over again in the 90's and Ought's by channeling Cohen's work on songs like this.

Every word in Avalanche is stretched for and clawed after; every phrase refuses to submit to convention and instead is determined by its owners own soulful sense of time. Cohen and the later day Dylan knew they couldn't sing like other men. So they stopped trying, focusing instead on pace and mood, transmuting their own grotesqueries into beautifully individualized truths.

If both songs are indeed utterly Bob and Leonard, how could anyone ever cover such songs? Now one is gonna enjoy reading anyone else's versions of Molly Bloom or Prufrock; Zephyr in anyone else's painting is just a fat baby who needs his diaper changed in a big way.

But music allows for tributes to become solid art. The Cowboy Junkies turned in a deft, Spanish-tinged cover of Give Myself Up To You almost instantly.

And Nick Cave did the same thing 40 years ago with Avalanche.

These covers don't upstage the originals. They kneel to them. And so do I.

[dariusult]

FFXIV Write Day 24- Bar

It was another rowdy night at the Coffer and Coffin. Shifts ending at the Nanawa mines meant that there was no short supply of thirsty laborers looking to wash the dust of the day away with as much ale and assorted spirits as they could get their hands on. The bar was practically filled to bursting as men and women milled about, drink and food in hand, and amidst it all sat Darius, leaning across the counter, chatting up a heavily inebriated Lalafellin man who worked as a foreman at the mines—he had just gotten off of his shift, but started drinking about six bells before that.

"Ah'm tellin yeh..." The Lalafell slurred at Darius leaning so close to the Hyur that he was nearly falling out of his seat. "Yehhh gots tae treat yer pickaxe like yeh treat yer wimmin."

"How's that?" Darius replied with a crooked grin, taking a moment to place a hand on the Lalafell's shoulder and shove him back upright onto his chair. "Bring it back 'round your place on the weekend to meet your mum?"

"Naw!" The Lalafell barked, his ale-soaked mustache curling upwards into a bawdy smirk. "Yeh grab on tight... an' ye don't stop poundin' til yer SPENT!" He wobbled unsteadily in his seat as he threw his head back and cackled. "Hawr hawr hawr!"

The Lalafell's off-color joke elicited a sycophantic laugh from Darius, who clapped a hand down onto the partially pickled foreman's shoulder. "You're too much, Fafamuno!"

The Hyur was being incredibly insincere, but Fafamuno was far too drunk to notice. He simply smiled proudly and lifted the tankard in front of him, taking a disconcertingly long swig from it. He then slammed the tankard down and let loose a satisfied. "Ahhh!!" From behind his now foamy facial hair. "Ah tell yer what..." He said looking back in Darius's direction. "Yer... Yer alright, D-" He paused, squinting at the Hyuran man sitting next to him. "Dickson. Thass' what y'said yer name was, right?"

"That's right." Darius replied genially. He'd never told Fafamuno his name, but that wasn't important. He was chatting up the foreman because he was looking for someone specific, a Hellsguard named Torrid Ram who was sitting on an absolutely massive cache of stolen magitek. The other members of the company had already located the cache, but it had been locked in a huge magitek safe that had also been stolen from the same cache. Darius was familiar with the make of the safe—made to be nigh impenetrable—so unless you had the combination, you'd need some heavy duty equipment to break into it. So the most expedient option by far would be to get the combination off of Torrid Ram.

"By the way, Fafamuno." Darius began, leaning in closer to the Lalafell and lowering his voice, prompting Fafamuno to reflexively lean in closer as well. "I heard one of our boys got into a big score with some fancy Garlean bric-a-brac." He made a point to say 'our boys' to include himself in the fraternity of miners, painting himself as someone Fafamuno could definitely trust.

A spark of recognition flashed across Fafamuno's booze-addled mien. "Yer talkin' 'bout Ram!? 'es been bangin' on about it fer DAYS!" The Lalafell's face twisted into another dumb smirk. "Said 'es e'en got the code to that there fancy box tattooed on 'is bloody willy!"

Darius chuckled insincerely at the foreman's comments. "You're kidding."

Fafamuno shook his head, the motion very nearly sending him toppling from his seat, if not for Darius quickly reaching out and holding him upright. He wobbled unsteadily and raised an equally unsteady finger in Darius's face. "Ah 'ent kiddin'. 'E showed a bunch o' the lads when 'e got rite proper shitefaced t'other day. An' it was there! Plain as day!"

Well that was a surprising twist, but not an unwelcome one. If getting the combination to the safe was as easy as asking to see a stupid tattoo... The Hyur grinned crookedly at Fafamuno. "No way I'd believe that! Where is he?"

Fafamuno slowly spun around and squinted into the crowded room before pointing at the back of an individual who seemed more of a mountain than a man. "Thar 'e be." The foreman then turned unsteadily towards Darius and thrust a finger in his face. "But mark me, lad. 'E's been in a right rotten state e'er since 'e did that. Reckon 'e realized what a shite idea it was to go showin' the key fer 'is fancy ickle box to all n' sundry."

Darius sized up what he could see of Torrid Ram from his seat, but there wasn't much to make of him other than the fact that he was obviously huge, even by Hellsguard standards. He couldn't get much of a read on the brute's disposition from behind, but the fact that Ram was sitting, immobile, with no company wasn't a great sign. Nothing for it but to try his luck. The Hyur flashed a reassuring grin to Fafamuno and pushed up off of his seat, casually making his way through the rambunctious crowd towards the Hulking Hellsguard across the room. Once he got near, he slowly circled around and was immediately aware of the absolutely overwhelming aura of irritation exuding from the Roegadyn. Steeling himself for what was probably going to be an uphill battle, Darius stepped forward, placing a hand on the table and flashing Torrid Ram his most winning smile. "Rough day in there, eh mate?"

Torrid Ram's eyes flicked up to Darius, the Hellsguard studying his face in silence as he hunched over his mug of ale. Then, after a moment of appraisal, a booming voice sounded out from deep in the miner's throat. "Piss off, scrag."

"Don't be like that." Darius said, his smile unfaltering as he pulled a seat up and sat down at the table. "Lemme buy you a drink, what's your poison?"

Big mistake. No sooner had Darius offered to buy Ram a drink than the Hellsguard in question stood up, reached across the table and ripped Darius up out of his chair with one massive fist. "What did I just say, shite fer brains!?"

"Alright, alrigh-" Darius's attempts to placate the now openly belligerent Roegadyn quickly went sideways—literally in this case—as the Hyur was hurled through the air towards the bar by a single swing of one of Ram's massive arms. Darius reached up and locked his hands behind his head, then tucked his chin down into his chest just in time for his body to smash into a table, go sliding across and fall into the side of the bar. All the conversation stopped for a second as dozens of eyes fell on Darius and the path he'd taken through the room to the origin point—Torrid Ram. Then, as abruptly as he'd been thrown, the room was filled with whooping and hollering as tankards were clinked together and everyone got straight back to drinking.

Fairly sure he was uninjured, Darius slowly picked himself off the ground, dusting himself off and getting his bearings. He was right next to his seat, which he unceremoniously plunked himself back down onto before leaning back and looking at Fafamuno. "You weren't kidding 'bout him." So just being chummy and getting Ram absolutely wasted wasn't going to work... There was always the violent option.

Fafamuno slowly turned his head to Darius, glanced him up and down, and then scowled. "Who the 'ell are you?" Lovely.

Before Darius could say a word to the heavily inebriated mine foreman, the familiar voice of a woman sounded out from the other side of him. "Darius! There you are. Should've known you'd be out drinking."

The Hyur turned his head and was greeted by the bespectacled face of the company book keeper, a dunesfolk woman named Lilisa Lisa, frowning at him with abject disappointment. "I thought you said you were working."

"This is work." Darius replied, leaning forward and whispering to the Lalafellin woman.

Lilisa studied Darius's face for a moment, her expression frozen in a disappointed frown. "Somehow I doubt that."

"NOPHICA'S TEATS!" Fafamuno exclaimed from behind Darius. The mine foreman had leaned around the Hyur to get a look at just who he'd been talking to, and finally got a good look. He clapped a hand down on Darius's back. "Lad!! Ye ne'er told me ye was acquainted with such... er... Such a stoonin' vision 'o beauty!" He leaned across Darius, nearly crawling onto the Hyur's back as he grinned lasciviously at Lilisa. "Y'got a name, sweetness?"

Darius unceremoniously brought an arm around, grabbing Fafamuno by the face and shoving him back off of his seat and to the floor before turning and offering the open bar stool to Lilisa. "Sit, I'll explain."

Lilisa glanced down at Fafamuno, who was laying in a pile on the floor and... Snoring? He probably wasn't going to be moving for a while. She then took the Hyur up on his offer, quickly climbing up onto the stool and sitting with her annoyingly perfect posture as she cast an appraising glance at the man sitting next to her. "Well?"

Darius spun in his seat, leaning back against the bar with an elbow. "The cache we want is in the hands of a miner." He then motioned with his head to the big pile of muscle across the room, sitting with his back turned. "That miner. Apparently he got the combination tattooed on his privates."

Lilisa stared incredulously at Darius, her eyes slowly following his gaze to the back of Torrid Ram. Upon seeing the burly brute sitting across the room, something flashed behind her eyes. "Is that so? Tattooed on his privates..?"

"Yeah." Darius replied. "Got drunk and showed a bunch of 'the boys', apparently. But regretted it later and has been sour over it ever since, I guess." The Hyur narrowed his eye at the back of the Hellsguard. "Tried to do handle him diplomatically but I think we're gonna have to do this the hard way. Call Sudeki and Dove, catch him on his way home from the bar..."

A hand gently placed on Darius's arm called his attention back to his current company. He turned back to Lilisa to see her regarding the Hellsguard across the room with a predatory glint in her eye. There was something in there, thirsting. She then looked back at Darius, the faintest of smiles gracing her elegant features. "Would you mind if I had a go at retrieving the combination?"

Darius furrowed his brow, his eye darting from Lilisa to Ram, and then back. Ram was dangerous, and Lilisa wasn't a fighter; she specialized in clerical work. But still, she'd had a reputation back when she'd worked at Mealvaan's Gate in Limsa Lominsa, and Darius was vaguely aware of her appetites. The Hyur sighed and nodded. "Alright, but if things get dangerous..." He tapped on the side of his head, pantomiming a linkpearl call. "I'll be nearby."

"No need to worry." Lilisa said as she slipped off the stool. "I'll break him gently." With that, she slid through the crowd, moving towards Torrid Ram with a predatory fluidity that made Darius slightly concerned for the Hellsguard's well being. He probably would've felt worse if he hadn't just been hurled across the room by the selfsame Roegadyn, so whatever Lilisa did to him was probably going to be... Well, best to not think about it. He watched in silence as Lilisa snaked up next to Ram, and felt himself tense up as the Roegadyn turned to look at her. Lilisa smiled pleasantly as she spoke, her eyes glinting as she ran her hand down the Hellsguard's massive forearm, giving it a playful squeeze. After a moment of hushed conversation, Torrid Ram suddenly stood up, surreptitiously glanced across the bar, then headed out the door with Lilisa in tow. The latter glancing back and throwing Darius a smug smirk as she exited the building.

Darius sat in silence for a moment, then reached down and dug through his pocket, pulling a handful of gil out and slapping it down on the bar before standing up and heading out the door.

Lilisa called not ten minutes later with the combination for the safe. Darius made a point of ignoring the whimpering he could hear in the background as Lilisa recited the numbers to him. Once he had the code to the lock in its entirety, Darius smiled wryly. "Alright, we've got what we came for. Where are you?"

"Oh, don't worry about me." Lilisa said cooly from the other side of the call.

Darius hesitated—he didn't want to press any further—but if something happened to Lilisa, he'd be responsible for it. With that in mind, he decided to make absolutely certain she knew what she was doing. "You sure? I'm fine to come get you."

"Don't trouble yourself." Lilisa replied. "I'll be back sometime tomorrow morning to discuss the books with you. For now, I still need to teach a certain someone how to properly treat a pickaxe."

Upon hearing that, Darius reached up and practically tore the linkpearl out of his ear. He should have known better. He absolutely should have known better. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he made his way down the dark dusty road to meet up with the rest of the team, and to put this memory far, far behind him.

[stesierra]

How would you like to see the book I can't publish? It's a book about disability and societal injustice and gay teenagers and terrible diseases. I'm proud of it but I wrote it in a time before OwnVoices and I don't want to take money away from writers who actually are physically disabled. But maybe it's okay to share it for free. YA fantasy that would definitely be banned in Florida.

CAST OUT

CHAPTER ONE

The smell was like nothing I'd ever encountered. It filtered through the hood of my cloak and the silk mask over my nose and mouth, and it filled my lungs the way the sun fills your eyes when you stare at it.

On my shoulders, my parents' hands weighed heavy and warm. My father's trembled.

I was not trembling. I was sixteen today. Full-aged. Full-aged women walked with their heads held high and uncovered. They looked at the world around them, at anything they liked, without worrying they'd see something that would blight a growing mind.

It wasn't gawking to stare around at the gold-plated columns, the silk-draped ceiling, and the obsidian stairs. It was being adult.

We mounted the stairs, my parents a step ahead of me.

At the top, sentinels framed the ivory entrance. Straight whole tusks made up the door, each twice my height and lashed together with silver wire. As we reached the top landing, the sentinels seized silver handles and pulled. They moved like mirrors.

The doors swung wide. A fire smoldered in the entryway, set in a grate lined with silver fish. We walked around it, onto a tiled platform that stretched into the heart of a triangular chamber. Down below, twelve robed men and women sat cross-legged on the floor. White triangles of linen capped their heads.

The Justry.

I took a deep breath. The smell was stronger here. It was a mineral scent, but sweet, almost cloying. I felt a little dizzy.

My parents' hands squeezed my shoulders. Then Father pulled my cloak away. Mother stripped off my mask. For the first time outside of my home, I stood exposed in nothing but my linen camise and baggy calsounds, which belled out all the way down to my slippers. My scalp felt the kiss of fresh air, even with my black hair braided and bound tight to my head. I stood proudly. I wore my best clothes, dyed red with madder and embroidered by Father's hand. I'd even scraped the paint from under my nails.

When my parents returned to my side, smoke choked the air, and the cloak and mask were gone. I would never wear them again. I wanted to skip and jump, but the eyes of the Justry were on me.

The youngest of the Justry rose, a woman no more than seventeen. The justa's skin was the same brown as the powdered cuttlefish ink Mother bought me. A touch lighter than my own.

The woman spoke, but I fixed my eyes on the crimson pillow she held. On the pillow sat a little golden jar.

Mother nudged me. I looked up.

The justa's mouth moved with ritual words Mother had already taught me. "As I have seen revelations, dear one, and been made pure, so will you. The first revelations are always the strongest." She smiled, revealing teeth a shade brighter than her white lip salve. "Are you ready?"

I nodded.

The justa reached down with white-nailed hands and lifted the golden lid. I caught a glimpse of a little cone, which sent up tendrils of glowing green like the essence of life itself. Oracle ore.

Then the smell caught me.

It swept me out of my body and up to the ceiling and through it, like I was no more substantial than a soul. It sparkled and churned and danced in my lungs, and I danced and churned and sparkled in the air above the city, a leaf on the wind. A grain of sand being melted to glass.

I felt as though I could shatter.

Lights burst behind my eyes like lost stars, and they showed me wonders that flashed by so fast I missed half of them. Underground caverns and winding tunnels that burned with their own greenish light. Gold-fronted mansions that lined the curve of a manicured hill. Huge automas, in shapes of animal and human and nothing living, with joints that moved smooth as oil. Their intricate, glowing guts.

A pale-faced woman with a jutting chin and stub nose, her low cheeks framed by mousy brown hair. Her eyes were the green of malachite pigment and old copper and the little cone evanescing on the pillow in front of me.

I fell into them.

I fell into myself.

I knelt between my parents on the platform. I had not moved except to fall. The justas still surrounded us, and the woman with white lip salve had replaced the lid on the golden jar.

Her smile at me was tender. I was too dazed to read her lips, but I could envision in signs what she said; Mother had drilled it into me. "Well? Child, tell us of what you have seen, and be welcome to adulthood."

I let my parents haul me to my feet. My knees felt like pudding. I closed my eyes, and Mother and Father steadied me with their hands.

"It was amazing," I said to the justa. And I laughed. "It was beautiful. More beautiful than anything I've ever seen. And the taste– it was like waterfalls in the mountains, or the way a diamond must taste. I've never seen either, but I've read–"

Mother's hand clamped down on my shoulder. Father's had fallen away. Something was happening. Something was wrong. I opened my eyes.

The justa's mouth was moving. I'd missed the first part of the sentence. But I read the last of it on her lips and guessed the rest. "–She will be cast out."

My hands clenched in dismay. "What? No, you can't! I saw the revelations! I saw!" I needed to taste it again. I needed the justa to lift the cover over that little glowing cone and let me suck its magic into my lungs.

The justa shrouded the golden case with a sleeve and stared at me with narrowed eyes. "Silence your child, perfectas. Her voice saddens this body."

Mother pulled me close. She spoke – her chest reverberated against my back – but I couldn't see, even without my hood. My eyes had frozen on the justa's mouth. I caught every twitch of her lips, as though I had known and read her face for years.

The justa replied, "She is an imperfecta. The law has no leeway." Her eyes turned towards Father. He must have said something. "Take comfort. There are always miracles. Perhaps the Great Unknowns will hear your prayers and cure her."

I set my jaw. "I don't need to be cured. There's nothing wrong with me."

The justa ignored me. "You may have one night with her before she is escorted from the city. With our blessings."

A drop splashed the back of my neck. Mother was crying.

The justa lifted a hand. "Walk in perfection."

My parents led me away.

#

They didn't speak to me until we were home, inside our own entry chamber, which I'd painted myself a year ago. I stopped just over the threshold, brushed by the draft of the door swinging shut behind me. My hands swept the air, agitated, too fast. "They aren't really going to make me leave, are they?"

My parents turned towards me. Tears glistened in the cracks of wrinkles that hadn't been there that morning. "Zisha," Mother said, her hands cupping my face. Was this the last time I'd see my name on her lips?

"They can't throw me out," I signed. "Not just because I talk strangely."

Father and Mother exchanged mournful glances. Father signed, "Little bird, they knew it wasn't only your voice."

"Just because I'm deaf? Because I can't hear?"

Mother stepped back, freeing her hands. Her fingers twitched a subdued answer. "Yes, dear one."

My face felt hot and sticky. Tears ran down my cheeks. "All those years you spent coaching me on how to talk properly, how to read lips. They were for nothing?"

Father signed, "We hoped your training would fool them. But–"

"It didn't."

"You have a beautiful voice, dear one," Mother signed.

"The Justry didn't think so."

Mother bit her lip. "They are all fools."

I signed, "Tell them I'll stay inside. I won't take revelations again. No one needs to see me–"

"They know you are here now," Father signed. "They won't let you hide."

I swallowed. Sniffed. "It isn't fair."

Father shook his head. "I will pack a bag for you, little bird. Go pick your favorite books from the library." He strode away, his back as stiff as the benches lining the entry hall.

I sank into one and signed weakly, "He's thinking of books? Now?"

"You will want them," Mother signed. "You will not find any outside the Plenary Cities. They cannot read, out there."

"Can they even paint?"

"Not like you, love."

I hugged my knees to my chest, pressed my face against them. Tried my voice. "I don't want to go there."

Her hand brushed my back, but I did not look to see her reply. I didn't want to see it.

I wanted to stay.

@anonymousfoz

@moremysteriesthantragedies

@elizababie

@sm-writes-chaos

@bellascarousel

@palebdot

@Hyba

@da-na-hae

@macabremoons

[botanicalbard]

Okay, Okay normally I don’t post my witting on tumblr but I’m really proud of my Fic for the BG3 amino Halloween competition plus what I did is so tumblr coded. So I have to post it here For context my prompts was: “You walk into a trap, uh oh! Each of the companions must spin the wheel and have a unfortunate fate bestowed upon them, what those fates are will be up to you.” An I made them Horrid little fates based on cranewives songs. Excuse the formatting as this is copy and pasted straight from my google doc with no regard for how well it will transfer.

“Chk, I have no desire to participate in any activity as frivolous as a ‘girls' night.’” Lae’zel huffs in annoyance glaring at where Shadowheart was doing Karlach’s makeup to avoid the undignified but adorable puppy eyes her leader was giving her. Jubilee chuckles, “Come on, it's a tradition here in Faerûn, and how would we ever survive without you?” She says, nudging her lightly. She’d meant it as a silly little call back to Lae’zel’s favorite objection to being left but all three of the other women cringed and over the tadpole, Jubilee saw the image of herself collapsing on the floor of Shar’s temple.

“Fine.” Lae’zel hisses, “But, I’m not subjecting myself to any of that ridiculous war paint,” gesturing to the makeup in Shadowheart’s hands.

“It’s not you know what never mind,” Shadowheart says and shakes her head knowing better than to argue with Lae’zel.

Jubilee was ecstatic and pressed a brief kiss on Lae’zel’s cheek, “Thanks you’re the best.”

“I know,” Lae’zel answers flatly, relishing the jealous look Shadowheart gave her so much that she decided whatever frivolous activities she would be dragged through would be more than worth it.

“Easy soldiers,” Karalch says, noticing the silent exchange of expressions that Jubilee was too thrilled to notice.

Jubilee sits cuddling up to Shadowheart as she begins working on her own makeup, quickly not wanting to test Lae’zel’s patience or risk her backing out. Once they were done preening as Lae’zel called it the women began the walk from camp, Karlach bounding ahead, Shadowheart and Jubilee walked hand and hand not far behind whispering sweet nothings at each other while Lae’zel brought up the rear watching all of them with a gaze that was far more protective than she’d ever admit even to herself. The four women didn't make it to the city proper as Karlach found a small tent that had set up the sign above the flap that read The Wheel of Fate.

Lae’zel hisses at it, something in her instincts warning her about whatever lay in the tent.

“Come on, we should go and give it a spin. What's the worst that could happen? We get more doomed?” Karlach jokes.

The two women both looked at the couple expecting them to take sides, Jubilee lovingly twirled the silver braid between her fingers and looked at her beloved, “Well what do you think, my heart?”

Shadowheart squints at it, they'd walked this path a lot and it was a little suspicious a tent had suddenly appeared along it, however, her desire to spite Lae’zel won out and she says, “It’s just a silly carnival game, seems harmless enough,” and holds the tent flap open for all of them.

An old woman with a rickety wooden wheel sits in the tent and she smiles as the four women crowd in there is barely room in the tent. The wheel has various symbols painted on it: a mouth, a moon, a songbird, an anchor, a knife, a rose, a hand, a coyote, a wedding gown, and more decorated the wheel. “Welcome in, dears, spin my wheel: it won’t tell you your future but it will tell you the kind of person you're fated to be,” creaks an old voice that feels eerily familiar.

Jubilee chuckles, “Sounds complicated but I’ll give it a shot.” She says and gives the wheel a spin and it lands on the little songbird.

The woman laughs cruelly, “Canaries, darling little birds, that are only allowed to live as long as they are useful to miners.” She says and in a flash, Jubilee is gone. Weapons were quickly drawn and the old woman crackled, growing into a hag laughing, “The lot of you killed my dear sister Ethel now the lot of you have a choice: let me take this one of yours or all of you face a punishment from my wheel,” she demanded.

Shadowheart steps forward frantically spinning the wheel immediately desperate to save the woman she loves and hers lands on the anchor.

“Anchors, great burdens, you're a greater one.” The hag snarls and Shadowheart vanishes.

“I’ll conquer your challenge and then pay for this chaith,” Lae’zel hisses back just as fiercely, meeting the gaze of the hag and spinning the wheel it landed on a hand.

The hag cracked a grin “Well, darling you bit the hands that feeds and it can slap back.” And Lae’zel vanishes.

Karlach steps up spinning the wheel with enough force that it should’ve broken off its hinges and it stops on the mouth. Karlach looks at the hag expecting an insult or a threat the way the others had gotten the hag looks her in the eyes “You’ve got enough words where you're going you don't need mine,” she answers and Karlach vanishes.

-｡;+☆+;｡･ﾟ･｡;+★+;｡･ﾟ･｡;+☆+;｡｡;+☆+;｡

Karlach blinks she’s somewhere, in a stone chamber with no doors, walls, or windows she takes it in running her fingers along the stone debating if she could smash her way out or not when a pair of black lips appeared and spoke with Zariel’s voice, “Oh my little pet did you think you could escape me for long, your nothing but a menace, nothing but my fury.”

“Fuck off! I’m not your toy. I’m more than what you made me, I’m strong and a good friend and a good person.”she snarls.

A pair of blue lips appear beside Zariel’s laughing and Mizora’s voice speaks next, “A good friend, with how much trouble you got the pup into. No, no dear you are terrible.”

Karlach huffs and starts building up a rage hoping to smash her way out growling her response, “I don’t give a shit about what you devils have to say I’m not yours anymore! Wyll loves me, my friends love me!”

“Perhaps hearing what your friends really think of you will give you the push to come home to me.”

Wyll’s soft brown lips appear twisted in a scowl, “It’s your fault, I got transformed like this. It’s your fault I’m a monster.”

Jubilee’s rosy lips appear next, quivering with fear, “Her rage scares me, I’m worried she'll get out of control and hurt one of us.”

Karlach braces smashing at the walls surrounding her trying to bust her way out, this was a trick of the devils and the hags her friends would never say that.

That didn't make it any easier as Jaheira’s tan lips appeared, “Useless starstruck worm doesn't have thought between her eyes she slows the rest of us down,” Karlach lashes out ineffectively at the walls, her knuckles bleeding from the strikes to stone.

“See dear look, You’ve only ever been a burden, your rage and fire will ruin them. Come home to me where you belong.” Zariel’s mouth says.

Karlach whirls around turning from the wall to face the severed lips, “Fuck off!” she snarls as the lips descend on her and teeth nash into her flesh.

-｡;+☆+;｡･ﾟ･｡;+★+;｡･ﾟ･｡;+☆+;｡｡;+☆+;

Lae’zel looks around and she’s home, in a familiar room back on Crèche K'liir with two attendants dressing her in ceremonial finery. She looks at the two attendants, “Revrykal, explain what the meaning of this is at once! Why am I here? What of the Istik I’ve been traveling with?” she huffs trying not to sound too much like she cares.

The attendants look at each other in confusion, “Your mission, in Fairy Run, is over, you did so well that you’ve been chosen to ascend. We are just preparing you properly for the ceremony,” the smaller one assures her.

Lae’zel cringes now that she knows the truth of ascension, Vlaakith wouldn’t honor her; she would drain her of everything and feed on life essence, and her skin pales as anxiety creeps in.

“Is everything alright?” The other attendant asks adjusting Lae’zel’s robes, “Ascension is a big deal but Vlaakith doesn't make mistakes, I know you can handle that power”

Lae’zel blinks this much kindness even from a servant who was horribly wrong she should be being chided for her weakness or driven out as hshar’lak for her actions away from the astral sea. She scoffs, “Chk! Do not coddle me!”

She tries to walk off to find the others, to spread the word of Orpheus, to find her idiot Istik companions but no matter what she approaches there's a ritual of the ascension prepared for she tries each of the doors pacing ignoring the protest of the attendants she wasn’t prepared for the ritual yet. She growls in frustration looking through the doors and her eyes widen in fear as a magical force tugs her toward the ritual circle.

-｡;+☆+;｡･ﾟ･｡;+★+;｡･ﾟ･｡;+☆+;｡｡;+☆+

Shadowheart doesn't even need to open her eyes; this is palpably wrong she thinks but doesn't have time to dwell on why or how as water rushes into her lungs. Her eyes shoot open, she can feel herself sinking and she instinctively knows with her armor there's no way she can get herself to the surface. She also notices chains above her she can see her parents and her love each bound to her by the chains. It was her heavy armor dragging them down. She opens her mouth trying to yell at them to sever the chains, go, to leave her but water rushed into her mouth instead and all she could manage was a rush of bubbles. That caused her dear Jubilee to tug even more frantically on the chains assuming it was a cry for help.

They couldn’t hear her and even if they could she knew they wouldn’t listen, they all loved her so much and she loved them. She wouldn’t be their demise, she couldn’t let them suffer for her again, and she wouldn’t drag them down with her. If they didn’t have the sense to free themselves she’d do it for them. She grabbed the chain and pumped her magic into it, shattering the link between them. They were already beginning to float up without her heavy armor weighing them down. She looked up, seeing Jubilee floating away, and whispered, “I love you”. She knew she couldn’t hear it and hated the taste of bitter water in her mouth but she wanted those to be her last words. She looked at her parents and girlfriend. If they were free and safe then all of this was worth it.

-｡;+☆+;｡･ﾟ･｡;+★+;｡･ﾟ･｡;+☆+;｡｡;+☆

Jubilee coughs on black smoke as she’s in the middle of a fight, she can see Shadowheart’s spirit guardians swirl around and the war cries and crashing of Karlach and Lae’zel’s swords. She rushes forward and tries to send a firebolt into an enemy coming up behind Karlach but no flame bursts from her talons. The sorcerer blinks frantically and tries again but can’t so much as summon a spark. Her magic has been a natural extension of herself her entire life and it can’t just disappear on her, so she tries again frantically as blades whirl and skulls crack; she can’t summon the tiniest wisp of magic.

Fortunately, the others do just fine without her, of course, they’d do fine without her. She's just a baker. Shadowheart runs up to her but blinks in confusion upon seeing her well, “I was worried! I thought you’d gotten taken out when you didn’t provide spells as cover! Why weren’t you helping us?” she scolds.

Jubilee hangs her head in shame as the others regroup, “I was trying magic, it's being strange, look.” She says attempting to cast dancing lights and failing. They’d all seen her do this a hundred times, Jubilee had done everything right it just simply wasn’t working.

Lae’zel rolls her eyes, “If you can no longer perform even the simplest of spells I see no use keeping you around, we were just fine in the fight without her.”

Karlach gives her a pitying glance and says, “I wouldn’t have said it like that, but she’s right, Soldier. If you can’t cast spells this trip will be too dangerous and protecting you will make us weaker.”

“No, I’m just having an issue at the moment. I can fix it, My heart please help me make them understand.” Jubilee sputters looking to her partner for reassurance but finds only disappointment in Shadowheart’s eyes.

“What good are you, you can’t protect me or help me like this.” Shadowheart huffs gesturing to the empty space between Jubilee’s hands that are still frantically working their way through spell motions.

“I love you and I can do magic, I can be helpful please!” Jubilee pleads.

“Prove it,” Lae’zel says seeming disinterested already.

Jubilee tries flitting through every cantrip, ritual, and spell she knows and none of them do a thing, the others begin to walk away and the tiefling woman bursts into sobs of despair. “Wait please!” She yelps and when they turn around to look, The tiny sorceress yanks at the Weave with all her might and four illusions shatter.

-｡;+☆+;｡･ﾟ･｡;+★+;｡･ﾟ･｡;+☆+;｡｡;+☆

The four women are back on the street corner the tent and hag long gone, Lae’zel lands on her feet feeling drained and disoriented, Karlach is bloodied but manages to stay on her feet, Shadowheart hits the ground hard coughing up nonexistent water, and Jubilee is collapsed sobbing as waves of magic crackle through her body overwhelming her. Karlach reacts first, bending down to Jubilee “Easy, easy soldier, this is sort of like when my engine overheats and we get through that by calming down, focusing on our friends, and breathing.” The two tieflings stumble their way through a breathing exercise causing the magic to die down as Lae’zel stalks the perimeter for threats and Shadowheart recovers enough to tend to the wounds of those who have them.

“Thank you Karlach, and thank you my heart,” Jubilee says, wiping away the tears as she’s healed.

Shadowheart kisses her forehead, “Any time my soul”

Lae’zel huffs, “Let’s go back to camp. I’m never participating in this ‘girls' night’ again” she huffs with disgust. However, that proclamation doesn't stop Astarion from finding the four women cuddled up in a pile together the next morning.

[phantom-rambling]

(Better read this one first.)

The lights go up.

Everything beneath the circus tent is black, green, and purple. The classic three-ring-and-trapeze setups are crowded with pine boxes–stacked to form pedestals. Brainwashed ghosts of varying shapes and sizes perform as they take their places around the stage. Their movements are formless and unnerving. The crowd in the grandstands watches in bewitched silence or claps a little at the end of a noticeable stunt. Suddenly, every figure in sight stops mid-stride.

Freak Show appears in spotlight with a clap of flash paper. His heel is balanced on the lip of the center ring. His deathly white skin gleams against the darkness. He’s wearing a sharply tailored pinstriped suit—the only red in the entire tent. The crowd’s eyes follow as he reaches up to tip his hat in greeting.

But he’s startled to find nothing there. The spiderlike man smooths back the wrinkles on his forehead in a casual gesture and covertly peers around.

The spotlight abandons him, swinging up across the motionless faces of a troupe of ghosts poised on one of the stacks of boxes. It settles to shine at the top on a clown in a baggy yellow sack-style costume with loud pink polka dots all over it and orange frills on the hands, feet, and neck. The clown’s gloved right hand is extended to point, as if having drawn the spotlight’s direction by itself. Its painted face is obscured by the ringmaster’s ebony silk top hat sat snug on its head. The crowd giggles.

Freak Show, miffed and unsure, hurries through the darkness as quietly as he can toward the lit figure. Meanwhile, the clown’s elbow slowly bends for its fingers to reach the back brim of the hat. With a pinch and a tug, the hat tumbles off–revealing a long messy mop of bright rainbow hair. The crowd laughs and claps. The hat bounces off the toe of one of the clown’s pointed white shoes and rolls on the box. Freak Show appears at the edge of the spotlight and swipes to grab the hat. But the clown swipes faster and plays keep-away with it, dodging and weaving like a rubber hose cartoon as Freak Show lunges and reddens. The crowd chortles with increasing vigor at each failed attempt.

The nearly crimson ringmaster steps back and glances at the darkness above before digging in the pockets of his robe. He produces a ring. Its menacing blue jewel glares in the light. Freak Show slips it on a finger and straightens himself. He turns to the audience with a demonstrative smile and juts the ring in the direction of a nearby performer. The ghost’s body vaporizes, reduced to a green wisp that gutters on the floor. The audience yelps in amazement. He then turns the ring on the misbehaving clown. The clown stands still.

Nothing happens.

The crowd chitters. Freak Show tears off the ring and produces a talisman of blood red mineral carved in the shape of a demon’s head.

No luck.

He throws it down and tries again. The clown leans on one leg and taps its foot. After the third loss, Freak Show’s hand flies in and out of his pocket so fast that it drags out a whole tangled mass of cursed trinkets. He nearly falls to catch them, but misses. They hit the floor with a jingle and scatter. The crowd howls with laughter. Even the clown doubles over, holding its stomach. Freak Show snatches a blackened gold necklace from the pile and raises its glaring pendant at the damned hooligan’s face. The neck of the clown’s gown erupts in eight-foot flames that lick at the tightropes above. The audience shrieks.

The singed cloth falls to the wooden floor in a heap, along with the hat. Dead silence fills the air. A little surprised at the reaction himself, Freak Show regains his composure and coolly approaches his prize. The fabric twitches. He hesitates. The ashy yellow gown bucks with an “arf”, and little teeth from inside clench the brim of the hat. A dog with short blue fur and spry legs races out. It leaps down onto the dirt stage, taking the hat and the spotlight with it. The ringmaster fumes and chases it as the crowd cheers.

Dani, hiding in her ghost form in the shadows of canvas high above, laughs to herself. She likes this new guy already.

She turns around and pries apart two layers of the tent’s facade to check on the others. Danny and Valerie are still working on disabling the industrial-sized doomsday mind-control machine–or whatever it is–that Freakshow has hoisted above the stage. The two are hanging in the air at an open panel on the thing’s side. Piles of its guts have been strewn out onto Valerie’s hoverboard as they work feverishly to cut off the power supply without blowing anything up. They bicker in hushed tones over which wires to cut. Neither gives a convincing impression that they’re very sure what they’re doing.

“Almost done?” Dani interrupts.

“Getting there. This wiring is idiotic,” Valerie replies.

“How’s Tim doing?” asks Danny.

Dani zips her head back out and looks down. The dog is running literal circles around Freak Show as the inhibited ghosts fumble to assist. She snickers.

“He’s kinda making me jealous.”

“Just keep an eye out, okay? We don’t know what else could be up here,” Danny tells her. Again.

“What, you think I’m gonna get a spider bite?”

“As if you’d mind.”

Dani doesn’t really hear him. She’s busy thinking about what kind of superpowers you could get from a ghost spider.

“Why did we let the person we barely know handle the distraction again?” Valerie asks.

“You let Wulf come on the last one,” Danny replies.

“Dani vouched for him.”

“And I vouch for Tim. Besides, he’s immune to Freak Show’s tricks.”

“So am I.” Dani taps the Fenton Phones in her ears that keep out the mind control. “Especially if you’d let me pull his cape over his head and shove his stupid hat over it like I wanted. Tim coulda taken pictures. We’d have a Christmas card right there.”

Valerie can’t hide a smirk, but Danny just rolls his eyes.

His sister sighs. He’s so boring these days.

He and Valerie start talking about how to tackle a junction of cords that looks like the head of Medusa when Dani shushes them.

“Wait a second.” She propels herself closer to the outer wall of the tent. Equidistant from the roar of the crowd and the muttering of the machine, she hears tires. Footsteps. The clink of metal. She burns herself a small window with her palm, though she already knows what she’s going to see.

“We got trouble!”

The tent’s flaps fly apart as Guys in White pour in. Each of them is clad in shiny white armor with bulky projectile weapons in hand. The crowd continues to cheer as its own silhouette evaporates in the moonlight from outside. The dog raises its head and barks madly, dropping the hat. The agents ignore the ghosts around them and fire lasers into the roof. Valerie and the halfas put up their shields just in time. The concentrated bolts of plasma slice through the machine like butter. Its moorings fail, and the sabotagers lurch out of the way as the whole thing comes crashing down on the center ring.

What follows is a confusion of ecto-bolts, lasers, darting liberated spirits, and dust. The dog stumbles around on the wreckage of the grandstands with its face stuck in the top hat. Freak Show–battered but undeterred–takes his stupid hat back. He scrambles around, looking for an exit in the chaos without being seen. A crack of green lightning about two feet away scares him limp. He drops to the floor. The dog catches up, nabs the hat, and is gone before it can be reached. Unable to track the dog in the debris, Freak Show shakily gets up and lumbers away. He’s back in the hands of the agents before he’s out of the dust cloud.

The halfas hold their shields as Valerie returns laser fire with laser fire in a hail of bright red energy blasts. In preparation, they’d made up this formation to avoid each person having to juggle offense and defense. But now they find themselves unable to move much as a clump. No matter how many agents they deter, more seem to pile on. It feels like they’re coming from every direction. Closing in.

“We gotta get out of here,” Valerie orders.

“Where’s Tim?” Danny shouts over all the noise.

They have to carefully break formation to look for the dog. No one can see a thing, and they’re all getting banged up. Dani calls out for their new partner, drawing more fire in her direction. She remembers to turn intangible, but a burning shot grazes her arm anyway. She also has to be mindful of her distance to the ground, or else risk melee attacks from batons and debris that swing out of the haze. Something whacked her foot a minute ago.

The dog finally hears her, at least. A muffled bark comes from somewhere behind her. She turns and sees the dog running from an electrified net that gets thrown, reeled back, and thrown again. Dani fires a slew of bolts in the direction of its caster. She hears them hit something, but the net comes again. Her brother swiftly appears and scoops the dog up as it jumps from a collapsed heap of boxes. That’s good enough for her. She flies upward.

They all fly out of there at top speed into the surrounding fields of Amity Park’s city limits. Ghosts soar out of the destroyed tent, up into the night sky like bees from a burning hive. A deadlocked parking lot of government assault vans attempts to follow them out. Dani stops looking back and focuses on heading back toward town with the others.

Exhausted, Tim stops being a dog and returns to his street clothes. This leaves Danny holding him awkwardly by the waist with his legs dangling. Tim still has the hat in his mouth.

“Is there a reason you couldn’t have done that a little earlier?” Valerie asks pointedly.

“I forgot how until now,” Tim answers defensively after transferring the hat to his hand.

Danny turns Tim and himself invisible, so as not to be spotted. Dani joins Valerie on her board to do the same. When things go this crazy, the girls’ usual plan is for the two of them to split up and debrief remotely. But she isn’t sure Danny knows. Before anything can be said about it, the group notices familiar pod-shaped tracing jets approaching on the horizon, ready for them to scatter.

“Great. Now what?” Dani asks aloud.

“Train car!” Valerie points to a nearby train track where an engine with several freight cars attached speeds along toward town. Too low to track, and the Guys won’t be expecting it. The four of them head down and slip spectrally into a half-empty car of hay bales. Urgency finally lifts, and they all melt against the barn-smelling floor.

Danny is the first to say what everyone’s thinking.

“Well, that was a trap.” He rubs a sore spot on his side where he got hit with a stun baton. “I should’ve known something was off. Freak Show’s an ‘artifacts and occult’ guy. A big machine like that isn’t really in his wheelhouse.”

“It was definitely made by the Guys in White. Nobody overdesigns like they do,” Valerie adds. “This wasn’t just a trap, it was a sting.”

Danny nods in agreement, his head still on the floor.

“Hey, hasn’t Freak Show been in trouble with the Guys for, like… years?” Dani directs her question at her brother. She’s never had to deal with the eerie kook herself before, but she’s heard Danny complain about him often enough. “What do you bet they cut a deal where he lures us in and gets–I dunno, parole or whatever. Meanwhile, they test-drive this big honking machine that can brainwash a ton of ghosts at once. Makes my skin crawl just thinking about it.”

“Mine too.” Danny sits up and takes out the earphones. He collects Dani’s pair. “Did he actually manage to set you on fire?” He asks Tim.

“No, I did that,” he answers from somewhere behind her. “I think I singed my hair a little, though.”

Danny doesn’t hide being unnerved, which makes Dani grin. Valerie looks away impassively.

“So now, I guess we’ll have to worry about Freak Show being off the hook,” Danny thinks aloud to keep the thread going.

“Doubt it. Cause he stole this.” Tim has spent the whole conversation trying to pry something away from the inside of the hat. He tears away the duct tape and is left with a storage drive. He shows the others the label. “Blueprints and backups.”

“Yikes,” the other three say together.

“So, what do we do with it?” Dani asks. She already has her own opinion, but she doesn’t like the riveted look Valerie’s giving the rectangle in Tim’s hand.

If they built anything like that machine, there are a thousand ways they could use it to their advantage and save their town. Valerie knows that isn’t the way they agreed to handle this. At the same time, Dani knows it’s hard for Valerie to put her trust in ghosts in general. And recent events are only making that more complicated. But even if ghosts aren’t all on their side—and many of them aren’t even that human—they’re not pawns to be used. Dani herself is proof enough of that, isn’t she?

True to his promise, Danny hasn’t said anything–waiting for her lead.

Valerie tears her eyes away to look at Dani. She gives her a half-smile and says, “Well, we can’t let it get out, can we? Shouldn’t even exist.”

Dani nods affirmatively.

“Give it here. I barely got to do anything this time,” she says.

Tim hands it to her. Dani stands up and smashes the drive with her foot.

------------

First part of this concept/au.

INDEX

I might make a series out of this. It’s fun.

[siderealxmelody]

Starting Over

@revengeguided

Fenrys turned from the burning house, pulling Feyre through as the wyrdgate began to flash and fracture.

Eosopherus had at least stopped struggled, stopped sobbing for them to wait for reinforcements, wait no doubt, for Thurr.

But Austrus was right, they didn't have time, the Valg wouldn't stop now.

They had to hope Unir would understand, that they'd be able to see the way the Valg had taken advantage of the world.

Eosopherus sat on the ground, gripping Rigelus to her.

Fenrys chose not to comment on how close she looked to Fading right there.

He turned instead to Austrus and Nesta.

"Is it ready?"

"It will be if you all shut up."

Nesta gripped her knife in her teeth, painting the last symbol with blood.

The ruined manor dissapered, Eosopherus let out a low whine. Hesperus holding her shoulders keeping her from flinging herself and their baby brother from the gate.

The world they arrived on was rich in magic, in minerals. It would do, it had to.

------

Austrus ran a hand through his hair, finding Nesta in her makeshift workshop. They'd gotten to work quickly, helping the Asteri refugees here become a fighting force.

A militia.

Hopefully others would come here soon enough.

"How much more ore do you need?"

He could feel the earth pulse under his boots, but it would take for him to pull it out. He turned to the lone window, high above them in this cave.

Feyre and Fenrys had focused on training the others.

They all needed to do something or they'd loose their minds.

Eosopherus hadn't thrown herself into the war like he presumed she would. She held Rigelus and grew frantic whenever someone took him to be bathed and fed.

It was beginning to be a problem.

"Eosopherus needs...I'm going to talk to Eris and Elain to drag her out of her rooms."

She was to be have been their queen, she was their mother's heir.

Polaris was too young, it had to be her who continued their legacy.

She could not break now.

Not yet.

[unpluggedfinancial]

Why Bitcoin's Rally to New Heights Is More Than Just Hype

Bitcoin just surged past $65,000, marking its strongest rally since 2021, and the data suggests this isn't just another false start. With over $10 billion in institutional inflows this year alone, we're seeing a perfect storm of factors that could push BTC beyond its previous all-time high of $69,000. Here's why this time feels different.

Market Momentum Signals a Shift The recent price action tells only part of the story. What's truly compelling is the nature of this rally: steady accumulation followed by controlled breakouts, rather than the volatile spikes we've seen in previous cycles. Institutional players aren't just dipping their toes anymore—they're diving in. BlackRock's spot Bitcoin ETF has already accumulated over $17 billion in assets, demonstrating unprecedented institutional appetite for digital assets.

On-Chain Metrics Paint a Bullish Picture The blockchain doesn't lie, and current metrics are flashing bright green:

Exchange reserves have dropped 25% since January, indicating strong holder conviction.

Network hash rate has reached an all-time high of 550 EH/s, showing miner confidence.

Active addresses have increased by 40% year-over-year, pointing to genuine adoption.

Supply on exchanges has hit a 5-year low, suggesting reduced selling pressure.

Macro Environment: Perfect Timing The global economic landscape couldn't be more favorable for Bitcoin's value proposition:

Persistent inflation concerns continue to erode faith in traditional currencies.

Growing government debt levels highlight the need for hard-capped monetary assets.

Geopolitical tensions are driving demand for borderless, neutral stores of value.

Traditional financial institutions are increasingly embracing digital assets.

The recent spot Bitcoin ETF approvals aren't just symbolic—they're gateway products that make Bitcoin accessible to trillions in institutional capital previously restricted from direct cryptocurrency exposure.

Technical Analysis Confirms the Trend Multiple technical indicators are aligning in a way we haven't seen since the last bull run:

The 200-day moving average has turned decisively upward.

Weekly RSI shows strong momentum without entering overbought territory.

The MACD histogram indicates sustained buying pressure.

Volume profiles show strong support at current levels.

Key Metrics to Watch For those tracking this potential breakout, keep an eye on:

Funding rates in perpetual futures markets.

Options market implied volatility.

Weekly volume trends on spot exchanges.

Institutional flow data from ETF providers.

Risks to Consider While the outlook is positive, several factors could impact Bitcoin's trajectory:

Potential regulatory challenges in key markets.

Macroeconomic policy shifts affecting risk assets.

Technical resistance at the $69,000 level.

Short-term profit-taking from long-term holders.

The Path Forward This rare alignment of technical, fundamental, and macro factors suggests Bitcoin could be approaching a watershed moment. The combination of institutional adoption, strong on-chain metrics, and favorable market structure presents a compelling case for new all-time highs. With exchange reserves depleting and buyer demand growing, the supply squeeze could accelerate price discovery beyond previous resistance levels.

The question isn't just whether Bitcoin will reach new highs, but rather how sustainable the next leg up will be. The methodical building of market structure and institutional involvement suggests this rally could have stronger legs than previous cycles.

As always, proper risk management remains crucial, but the data suggests Bitcoin's next chapter could be its most transformative yet. Keep an eye on the metrics mentioned above, maintain your position sizing discipline, and remember that even the strongest trends don't move in straight lines.

Take Action Towards Financial Independence

If this article has sparked your interest in the transformative potential of Bitcoin, there's so much more to explore! Dive deeper into the world of financial independence and revolutionize your understanding of money by following my blog and subscribing to my YouTube channel.

🌐 Blog: Unplugged Financial Blog Stay updated with insightful articles, detailed analyses, and practical advice on navigating the evolving financial landscape. Learn about the history of money, the flaws in our current financial systems, and how Bitcoin can offer a path to a more secure and independent financial future.

📺 YouTube Channel: Unplugged Financial Subscribe to our YouTube channel for engaging video content that breaks down complex financial topics into easy-to-understand segments. From in-depth discussions on monetary policies to the latest trends in cryptocurrency, our videos will equip you with the knowledge you need to make informed financial decisions.

👍 Like, subscribe, and hit the notification bell to stay updated with our latest content. Whether you're a seasoned investor, a curious newcomer, or someone concerned about the future of your financial health, our community is here to support you on your journey to financial independence.

Support the Cause

If you enjoyed what you read and believe in the mission of spreading awareness about Bitcoin, I would greatly appreciate your support. Every little bit helps keep the content going and allows me to continue educating others about the future of finance.

Donate Bitcoin: bc1qpn98s4gtlvy686jne0sr8ccvfaxz646kk2tl8lu38zz4dvyyvflqgddylk

[sunrise-of-my-mind]

Awakened Elements: How Natural Stones Create Artistic Worlds

Gemstone paintings are a unique art form, in which natural materials are transformed into incredible artistic compositions. Each stone, such as amethyst, malachite, or jasper, possesses its own uniqueness, and reflects the power and beauty of the virgin nature. Crushed Semi-Precious Stone Workshop of St Elisabeth Convent creates wonderful paintings from gemstones.

The specialists seem to awaken the ancient elements - earth, water, air, and fire, while creating these paintings. Each mineral shows the geological processes that have been forming its unique structure and color for millions of years.

In the paintings made from gemstones, these ancient elements get another expression. The cold depth of the amethyst facets conveys the mysterious power of the water element. The undulating shimmers of malachite seem to bring the winds and waves to life. And the bright flashes in the heart of the agates stir the imagination, releasing the primordial might of the fiery element.

The artists working with this material unifies the human world and the world of nature. In these paintings, the ancient elements of nature come to life, revealing their mysterious grandeur to the viewer.

Each of these paintings is a small possibility to realize the existence of deeper, more profound reality, where the laws of nature reign supreme. When a person gets in touch with such a world he or she feels the connection with the planet and gets the feeling of harmony and peace.

[umichenginabroad]

Week 7: Kayaking (gone awry), Hiking, and Pompeii

Ciao! Apologies for the late post, this past week was busy and one of the more stressful ones I’ve had (ironically, perfectly highlighting my point from last time). My solo adventure in Florence was a blast, and I would highly recommend everyone doing a solo adventure to two when traveling. While I have so much fun traveling with friends, it was freeing just being able to meander around at my own pace, stop into various shops, and go to around 10 museums (I love museums) without worrying about anyone else. 

(Top left picture of a painted cathedral ceiling found in one of the many museums visited, top right is a view of the Duomo down a narrow street, bottom picture of the Florentine skyline with mountains in the background at sunset)

The hostel I stayed at was quiet, felt very safe, and was in a great location. I took the bus back to Naples as it was cheaper than the train (5 euros total!) and I didn’t mind the longer travel time on Sunday as I had my last physics midterm the next day to study for. We were a bit delayed coming back into Naples, but other than that it was a surprising, but welcome smooth trip! Monday morning I took my exam in the morning and had a slow day, working a bit on a job application for the fall and typing up some emails I had been putting off (who wants to write emails when the Mediterranean Sea is out your window??). 

Tuesday started off with more of the same until I had class in the afternoon and an excursion that evening. CIS Abroad took us on a paddleboarding tour along the coast of Sorrento to a hidden beach to watch the sunset. Sounds great right? Definitely something you’d want pictures of. Fortunately, the tour guides provided us with sealable, clear bags for our phones so they wouldn’t get wet but we could still capture the moment. Unfortunately for me, my bag had a hole in it which I failed to realize until halfway through, when I went to take a pic of the town and all I got was the apple logo flashing on and off. 

(Pictures from kayaking, the left one is of me kayaking, taken by a friend who didn't have a hole in her bag. The right picture is a sunset view from the cove we paddled into)

(Last picture on my phone before it went into a coma, at least is was a decent one :)

Once I got back to my apartment, I dutifully put my phone in rice and hoped for the best. The next day, I had class in the morning then hiked Mount Vesuvius with two of my friends (luckily the tickets were on their phones, not mine) in the afternoon. The hike ended up being easier than I thought and the view from the top was phenomenal. We hiked around the crater as far as we could go, as part of it is closed to everyone except geologists. It was strange knowing the volcano is overdue to erupt as the top is closed and just looks rocky, not like the dramatic videos of boiling, spewing lava. As I learned the next day in my archeology class, the closed top actually makes it much more explosive (think shaking a coke bottle with the lid on). Fun fact about me, I used to be utterly convinced I was going to be a paleontologist when I grow up and went through a hard core geology phase alongside the paleontology, so the little kid in me was ecstatic to be on a volcano and be surrounded by the volcanic rocks and minerals (yes, I can still identify more than I’d care to admit). 

(My and a friend at the crater of Vesuvius)

Once I got back from the hike, I worked up the courage to try turning my phone on. Nothing happened. I tried for several hours and eventually got it to connect to my computer to put it in “recovery” mode, but still had no luck getting it to actually work, even after trying to factory reset it. After fighting it for a while and getting nowhere, I called it a night as I had 6 hours of back to back classes the next day. Friday morning I finally had time to take it into an electronics store where they took it to the back and simply told me to come back in a few hours. Without much other choice, I left it there and trusted them as, thanks to dual authentication of practically everything nowadays, I had no way of signing into any of my accounts without a phone number. If I couldn’t get it fixed, I was going to have to buy a burner phone until I could get back to the states. Thankfully the shop was able to repair it and my phone is now good to go (minus a functioning FaceID or phone speaker but I’ll gladly take the loss). I knew it would work out one way or another, but it was still very stressful not having a working phone, especially when I couldn’t even access my bank account or wolverine access without the verification code texted to me. 

Relieved to have a working phone, I rushed to the train station as I had a field to get to in Pompeii! Though it was scorching hot, it was fascinating to see some of the highlights and learn some of the nuances. My Archeology professor is very knowledgeable as she used to work at one of the excavations sites in Pompeii! Walking around the city was so surreal because I had realized just how well-preserved it truly is. Reading about it and seeing pictures pales in comparison to seeing it with your own eyes. Some of the wall murals still had vivid color, intricate mosaics were still intact, and signs still hung outside of businesses. It blew my mind that everything I was seeing was over 2000 years old, yet many aspects were very similar to our cities now. 

(Pictures from Pompeii, top left showing the gladiators old training center, top right showing some (original!) paintings inside a home, and the bottom picture showing Mount Vesuvius in the background with part of what's been excavated next to high ground with building still to be uncovered)

Overall, it was a decent week. Florence was captivating, I had a blast kayaking (despite my phone issues), and I got to explore both Pompeii and the volcano that destroyed the city. Time is truly racing by, but I still have a lot left to experience!

Arrivederci!

Marika Ruppart

Mechanical Engineering

Engineering in Sorrento, Italy

[megkelso]

Day 3 - Art House Project cont.

Kadoya; (200 yr old house) with a focus on the flow of time. ‘Sea of Time ‘98’ / Tatsuo Miyajima an indoor pond with led lights flashing at a pace set by a Naoshima resident, showing how unique every persons view of time is. Also pictured is ‘Naoshima’s Counter Window’ which is motion censored to detect and present things outside through numbers.

Ishibashi; ‘The Falls’ / Hiroshi Senju a painting that has already changed over the 5 years since its installation due to the nature of the mineral the artist used to paint it it oxidises. With a sentiment of life always changing.

Haisha; artist Shinro Ohtake transforms this house into his dreamscape with scraps and collages and paintings and sculpture.