#flint and steel core

[teogobrr]

Yes, the cute redhead with crazy eyes can be trusted with sharp objects. The worst thing that can happen is cause someone’s gay awakening.

[paganimagevault]

Magyar (Hungarian) sabretach plates 9th-10th C. CE. More images and sources on my blog, link below.

"Hungarian men held their essential tools (particularly the fire-starting kit of the age, that is, fire steel, flint and tinder) in their typically leather sabretaches suspended on the right side of their belts. The sabretache’s front flap was occasionally ornamented with bronze or gilded silver mounts, or contiguous plates (sabretache plates) as early as around the 900s. The ornaments on the sabretaches (plates and mounts) were typically Hungarian rank indicators of the 10th century; moreover, some regard these as power insignia of the dignitaries serving the prince’s family. They could have belonged to the military escort of Hungarian great princes, or were probably leaders or high-ranking participants of the raids. The number of such artefacts ever displayed in a museum is extremely low, we only know about 27 sabretache plates and 13 ornamental mounted or leather sabretaches including the recently found pieces. Most of them were found in the upper region of the River Tisza, some around the boundaries of Transdanubia and Upper Hungary, but not even one has ever been found in other core areas (e.g., Transylvania, southern Hungary).

Ornamented pieces represent outstanding examples of 10th century Hungarian goldsmithery. However, it was not ornamentation that expressed ranking, but the right to wear these objects and other insignia (such as gilded silver-plated belt mounts, sabers, quivers holding arrows, or harness decorations). Sabretache mount ornaments gradually lost their significance in the rapidly transforming society and their use discontinued after the Hungarian raids had stopped (after 955/970). Hungarian great princes consolidated the central power with a firm hand in the last third of the 10th century, which implied the internal relocation of the population, and the organisation of a new Western-type military escort. The onetime colourful Eastern clothing and the art behind it vanished.

A Hungarian Conquest period cemetery consisting of 77 undisturbed graves were unearthed in the vicinity of Páty settlement at the very beginning of 2022. Two graves also included insignia, namely sabretache ornaments, which suggests burials of extremely high-ranking men. Similar complete sabretache ornaments unearthed by applying contemporary archaeologoical methods were last discovered in 2011, while only as few as 38 pieces of such artefacts have been previously known from the Carpathian Basin so far. A further significance of the finds of Páty lies in the fact that sabretaches have been found together with their content (flint fire steel, and whetstone).

At the end of the campaigns against the western states and Byzantium (955 and 970) probably also weakened the power of the tribal aristocracy. Historical sources and archaeological finds suggest that the Hungarian Chieftans strengthened their central power with a firm hand in the last third of the 10th century, both by large-scale internal population resettlement and by organising a new type of military entourage around them. They tried to equip their members with Western-style weapons, and the former badges of dignity lost their role and were no longer used by the new escort. The splendour of oriental costume and art of the past has slowly faded away, left only by the magnificent jewellery that was buried in the ground in the preceding decades."

-taken from the Hungarian National Museum

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Living Weapon Whumpee part 12

Warnings: forced living weapon/fighter, war, bleeding & bullet wounds, several deaths, hostage situation, held at knifepoint

...And the tide slowly began to turn. Whumpee was giving Flint's soldiers a fighting chance.

He was drenched in blood from himself and his enemies, chest heaving as he dispatched enemies left and right, an unstoppable force of death. A terrifying sight, a glorious one.

The fight started thinning, until a single frightened voice cried out that Whumpee instantly recognized.

"Whumpee!"

He whipped around, teeth bared, spotting Myra against the wall a few meters away from him -- being held at knifepoint. And an even more terrifyingly familiar voice came from her current captor.

"Weapon, HALT!" The booming command came. And Whumpee obeyed, freezing stiff before his brain could even catch up. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as his gaze traveled from Myra's scared face -- to Leader's, who held Myra in front of her like a shield with a short blade to her neck.

Another stray bullet tore through Whumpee's shoulder in a spray of scarlet blood, making him hiss, but he didn't even blink, frozen in place.

"Weapon, what is the meaning of this?!" Leader roared furiously, face twisted with rage. "How did Enemy get control of you?!"

Of course Leader would see it like that. That Weapon could only be controlled, have no free will of his own. That he couldn't function at all without a handler.

Whumpee growled low in his throat, taking a stiff, menacing step forward, then another, and another, blood dripping from his daggers. His eyes were wild and feral, dilated with adrenaline from the fight. "Let her go," he snarled viciously, fire in his eyes.

Leader had the audacity not to flinch when faced with the lethal predator he had trained to be Weapon. "Weapon, STOP," he ordered harshly.

And again, Whumpee's body obeyed, no longer moving closer, the conditioning engraved deep into his being, tied to every muscle. It was hard to resist something coiled so far into his core, years of training creating the overwhelming habit to listen and obey and take orders. It wasn't even a conscious movement, it was as instinctual as breathing.

"Weapon, I will forgive you for this accident if you make the right choice now. I won't even punish you for it when we get back to my base," Leader spoke slowly, deliberately, eyes hard and sharp as steel.

"No... Punishment...?" Whumpee echoed distantly.

Leader gave him a saccharine smile. "No consequence. I'll let this slide, but you need to use your training and complete your mission, remember? Or have you forgotten something?"

Whumpee's first instinct was to pounce on the opportunity to earn mercy from Leader -- it was rare for him to offer a way out of additional pain. But he firmly reminded himself that it was his choice this time. Leader's image of power was a false illusion right now. Because Whumpee -- Weapon -- wasn't a mindless machine anymore.

He was tempted to go back, the familiarity of not having to think for himself, just having to follow Leader's commands and knowing it would all be okay. Going rogue was new to him, an unknown sensation that made him uneasy and made his skin crawl. He lacked direction, and Leader could give that to him again.

But Myra -- Myra was in imminent danger.

...Why did he care again?

A whole war was raging inside Whumpee even as the fight continued around him, his world narrowing to focus on Leader and Myra. His conditioning was taking over again, making him forget everything but obedience and submission. He was viscerally aware of it creeping into his thoughts, tainting them, triggered by seeing Leader again. The thick fog that crept back into his head, muddling his willpower.

Leader's smile widened at the suddenly flat, vacant look on Whumpee's face, the dissociation setting in. "Weapon, protect and escort me out of here," he ordered. He could tell his men were losing against the remainder of Flint's fighters now, and Leader was a coward who wouldn't risk his own life. He needed to escape while the rest of his men died, regroup and make a new plan now that he had Weapon back.

"Yes, Sir," Whumpee mumbled, and walked over to him.

"Whumpee, help me," Myra sobbed, trembling with fear in Leader's grip, the knife still held to her fragile throat. "Please help me..."

Whumpee tuned out the vicious fight going on behind him, the screams of pain and panic as the two sides tore each other apart with bullet and blade. He only had one mission now…

⏪️ Back Next ⏩️

Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump

@ay5ksal @otterfrost @sausages-things @i-don't-know-sal @togzy

@whump-till-ya-jump @cravesunconditionallove @whumpwritinglover222 @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl

[mxrcusflint]

some old flintwood wip

i know where home is flintwood my beloved

Marcus had spent the better part of the past six years making up for the brunt of his father’s sins, and then the added weight of his own. It was a thankless job. It didn’t matter that he’d never cast an Unforgivable, or that he’d kept his head down — people still cut a wide berth around him, and he preferred it that way. If he barely said ten sentences a day, if he retreated back to his flat after every day, ate a dinner hastily cobbled together, and spent the night with his knuckles wrapped, then it was for the best.

He’d cut everything off with Wood a year before the brunt of the war, before the worst of his moral failings. It was hard, at the end of it all, not to look at Wood and detest his goodness, his rising star, the naive innocence of an unburdened bloodline. At twenty-one, Wood had been summoned to first string and the pitch had fallen in love. Scotland had made it a known bet that they’d be knocking on Wood’s window for the regional team once the World Cup came back around. It was on the eve of that dinner meeting that Marcus had called everything off. He’d justified it — they’d been contentious bed mates at most, sparring rivals at best, meeting with no particular cadence to fall into bed together. 

Marcus was smart enough to know that whatever similarities they had, the core shade of their beings was different. 

And so. The war. 

He had nightmares often — of blue-black woods, of snaps and running so hard his chest hurt. There was a small subset of people Marcus had ever held in high esteem, and they’d splintered, one by one. Bole, Higgs, Warrington, Derrick, Urqhart: Snatcher, casualty, marked, killed in action, marked. It had become a horribly easy list to recite. Slytherins of their age didn’t make it out often.

The Flint name had long fallen from grace, that much was clear. His father, his older brother — two marked wizards who’d died in the war. Marcus couldn’t hold space for that. He had a business to run, and that was all he could think about without losing it. 

If it weren’t for Montague, he’d have never come to a Puddlemere game. They were the last two strongholds of their old team, and he’d conceded because he’d seen the empty space over Montague’s shoulder where Cassius should’ve been, and after that he’d been unable to say no.

He hadn’t thought all of it through, to be frank. He couldn’t pay attention to anything else; not the roar of the crowd, nor the referee’s contentious calls — Wood was glowing, brilliant in front of the hoops. Marcus couldn’t tell what was worse: the deep, deep jealousy for the first stringers, or the ache of watching Oliver at his best. 

The quaffle finally flew from a Ballycastle player’s hand to get past Wood’s outstretched fingers. 

“Good contenders for the cup, yeah?”

Marcus merely nodded at Montague’s statement, too occupied with how the familiar stubborn, frustrating tilt to Wood’s mouth made him claustrophobic.

Wood had gotten better since the last time Marcus had seen him play — a scrimmage between Puddlemere and Falmouth that still surfaced in his memory no matter how much he steeled himself against it.

“They’re probably going to get beaten out by Tutshill,” Montague continued, voice filled with longing, “But their chaser line is looking strong.”

Montague could no longer play, not after war injuries and a trip down a Vanishing cabinet, but he was an avid enough watcher that they traded observations and statistics over a meal on occasion. Marcus kept an arms-distance between himself and most people who’d known him, but it was hard to say no to Graham, not when he still struggled with recalling memories, things that Marcus knew he should’ve remembered cold.

(Winning the Quidditch cup, being made Prefect, the odd crushing disappointment that plagued them all when Warrington hadn’t been selected for the Triwizard’s cup.)

Puddlemere won in a landslide, which they needed. They were trailing Tutshill and Ballycastle by 100 points and the season was drawing to a close. Marcus allowed himself a moment to appreciate the sight of Wood in the middle of a dogpile of happy Puddlemere players, before excusing himself from Montague. There was no point in lingering in the stands, and both men knew that they would see each other at some point anyways — pureblood circles ran small nowadays. No point in causing public concern over gatherings when it was easier to lay low.

The impulse to dive into the inner labyrinth of the pitch grounds was one that Marcus didn’t try hard to fight. He rarely got energy like this where he lived. The sheer amount of adrenaline was enough to make anyone dizzy. Post-matches were a gaggle of players, of staff and press junkets, and he was one of many, many bodies weaving in and out. He allowed himself to drink in the bustle, the hum of excitement from Puddlemere supporters, and it was a nice contrast to the quiet of the shop.  

It was, in hindsight, an idiotic idea, because —

“Flint?”

It was a voice that plagued him in his sleep, one he’d held onto during the deepest, darkest winter months during the war. Marcus would know it anywhere. He had never wanted to hear it again. 

Wood had the trained reflexes of a professional Keeper, and so his hand was already on Marcus’ shoulder by the time he’d made up his mind to walk away. There was nothing else to do but turn around and face the man. 

“Good game,” Marcus said, and he shut his mouth before anything else could escape. There was likely nothing coherent he had to say, because this was the closest he’d been to Wood in three years, and he’d never been able to rid himself of this weak spot. 

“Thanks,” Wood said in a carefully neutral tone, “I never expected to see you at a Puddlemere game.” 

It wasn’t a direct attack, but Wood’s eyes were cool, appraising. Even when they weren’t strangers, Marcus made it a point not to attend, albeit for different reasons. 

“Montague wanted to,” Marcus replied. He didn’t elaborate; Wood didn’t need to know that for some odd reason, Warrington had had a soft spot for the middling team. 

“I see,” Wood said, though his tone of voice indicated that he didn’t, not really. “Well. What did you think?”

Marcus shrugged and made a non-commital noise. 

Wood stared at him for a beat, before scoffing. “Man of few words still, huh?”

“I’ll be heading out then,” Marcus said, though it came out more harshly than he’d wanted it to, on account of his words getting stuck in his throat. 

“Sure,” Wood said, and he released his hold on Marcus’ shoulder. Marcus took the opportunity to hightail out of the stadium, and though he managed to apparate back to his flat without splinching himself, he didn’t manage to shake off the phantom touch of Oliver’s hand for the rest of the night.

[l-lend]

🪻Part of the Flower Fic Event 🪻

Check out the others to get your fill of clones

🪻 @arctrooper69 - Tup, Rex, Gregor

🪻@photogirl894 - Hunter, Wrecker, Fives

🪻@totallyunidentified - 99, Cody

🪻 @dragonrider9905 - Hardcase

🪻@nahoney22 - Fox

🪻 @jedi-hawkins - Kix

🪻@moonstrider9904 - Howzer

a/n: I'm back but I'm a tad rusty

Deft fingers plucked a sprig of vegetation from its place among its brethren. With careful inspection for any signs of blight, the herbalist’s gaze fell to her escort. An impish smile curling her lips.

“Ser Wolffe, I’m inclined to warn you that if you keep that expression it may freeze.”

She was met with a humorless laugh, “Is that your way of putting a curse on me?”

“If I intended to do harm, I would have slipped my turmeric reserves in your wine skin while you slept.”

Her eyes drew to the skies overhead. The clouds granting a reprieve from the afternoon sun.

The clink of plate mail reached her ears, “Have enough weeds for your potions?”

The herbalist cast a sideways glance, “Medicinal herbs for my elixirs, and no, these would barely last your men a week.”

Silence enveloped the pair as she trekked deeper into the forest. Her armored shadow trailing behind.

The tranquility of their herb expedition was halted as the heavens opened up pouring rain onto floral and fauna alike. The pair slogged through the muck to their refuge, a cave hopefully abandoned of creatures. A firm grip on her shoulder halted her scurrying.

"Stay near the mouth."

His other hand drew his sword from its sheath. He stepped deeper into the cave, sword at the ready for any beast that called this cave home.

The apothecary peeled back the hood of her cloak. The material clinging to her from the downpour. Her satchel soon met the ground as gently as she could. The flora samples and vials of many elixirs and tonics softly clinking together. She freed herself from her cloak as he returned.

"It's abandoned. We can wait for the rain to pass."

With the issue settled, the knight took to gathering what dry wood that could be found. After attempts to coax a spark, the herbalist began to rummage through her satchel. Finding her target, she produced a sealed vial containing a ghostly white plant. The cork loosened with a satisfying pop, she tipped the vial onto the collection of wood.

"You have a spell for this,"

Her nose scrunched as she set to work with her flint and steel. Once. Twice. On the third strike, a spark finally fell into the moss setting it alight. The wood beginning to crackle as it began to catch.

"I'd prefer trusting in science over waving hands and muttering hexes."

The knight slipped his belt from his waist, resting his sword against cave wall. His chest plate was soon to join his weapon revealing a charcoal tunic. A lupine silhouette etched into the fabric with meticulous thread work.

Her gaze whipped away from his form in favor of her satchel. A metal pot being worked loose from its fastenings before she tipped over a few waterskins before she set to work on her mortar and pestle. A tincture of violet petals soon ground into a fine powder with her deliberate motions. The pot soon being warmed by the bed of embers as the powder was split between two cups.

He studied her ministrations. The soft scraping of stone on stone melded well with the crackling of the fire. It was not much longer before a steaming mug of the mixture was before him.

"It'll take the chill out, and allow you a night's rest."

At meeting his unwavering gaze, she took a sip from the mug before offering it once more.

"It's harmless lavender. It only helps."

He gingerly wrapped his fingers among the mug, savoring its warmth before he lifted the beverage. The scent he was only familiar with in large cites wafted towards him. Its delicate floral notes momentarily softened his vigilance.

The mixture met his lips and soon warmed his core only to spread outward as time passed. His muscles less rigid. A sigh allowed to leave his lips.

Perhaps some witchcraft would be a welcomed comfort. As long as she was the one to brew her potions for him.

@locitapurplepink, @rain-on-kamino, @writing-positivelyexisting, @burningfieldof-clover, @padawancat97, @ahsokastechie

[angeart]

---- HMTB CHAPTER 55----

HMTB chapter 55: A Boatem We

is now posted on AO3!!

---

It’s up to Grian to reel Scar in. It’s up to Grian to make sure everyone remains unharmed. It’s up to Grian to disentangle this and defuse the explosives they’re all stubbornly setting up—himself included.

But nobody’s listening to him, because Impulse isn’t stopping, and Scar is ready and willing to deliberately step over that tripwire, uncaring for the collateral, and Mumbo doesn’t understand that what he’s holding fire to is just another TNT, and Grian is tired, he’s so very tired. His hands aren’t made for defusing. He’s made of flint and steel, wax knots and gunpowder core. Not this.

[bleue-flora]

I always thought that the book needing fire to work was kinda a reference to the Fenix birds. Like burned into ashes to re-born with a new life again. And it only being burned on lava it's interesting, maybe it's a hint that is bc lava is more close to the server core than flint and steal, it works better like that?

[context]

Ok, straight up I have never thought about the phoenix connection, but you are so right it makes a lot of sense. That is really cool to think about… mmm that’s an interesting thought. More likely perhaps, it’s due to the End Portal being suspended over lava, because we know death and the book are connected to the End? Or perhaps fire just isn’t hot enough to provide enough energy for bringing someone back from the dead (lol there goes my engineer mind trying to use thermodynamics to make sense of lore XD)…

As an aside, c!Dream really did think ahead, making sure he had access to lava and books in prison��� huh and maybe that's why he has a lava bucket all the time instead of a flint and steel... (here's just a few clips off the top of my head, where it would make sense for him to have a flint and steel: [end of Logstedshire] [finale surrender] let's just ignore the fact that they happen to both be burning c!Tommy's items... )

[theminecraftbee]

I kinda wanna hear your thoughts on trying to build a deck around Zedaph or maybe Impulse, cuz I find their mechanics really fun but I have no clue how to execute it B)

so a rare zedaph deck i'd EITHER run also with redstone and lean, thematically, into the "opponent keeps getting burned" effect, or I'd throw rare xb in and make a general explorer-themed deck. the main thing with zedaph is that it's inconsistent, but it DOES punish aggression - maybe my last option is "put rare pearl in there as your other core hermit, and some wolves"? idk, i'd either find a way to make it more consistent, or i'd lean heavily into the "makes it hard for the opponent to do stuff" aspect.

as for impulse... i'd probably make a redstone/balanced deck. play three rare impulse, 2/3 common tango, and 2/3 common bdubs. play ALL the draw you can - three composter, three flint and steel, one fishing rod. maybe also play some chorus fruit. your goal is to draw into impulse and have a tango and a bdubs on the bench as soon as possible, and build the deck around that!

[mizumech]

Day 2: Cover/Crown

Hey, it’s mizumech’s day 2 entry for Treebarkweek 2023! The title of this work is ‘Take Cover’ and it is 1560 words long! Again, this may or may not be uploaded to ao3 after the event and I reserve the right to edit later.

This fic is really, really weird. Martyn is barely in it, to be honest. The main supporting character is a berry bush.

TW: Injury, Altered state of consciousness (?), potential psychedelics

-

The sirens are wailing loud for everyone to hear. 

“Take cover,” the more proactive ones yell, “Take cover!”

Ren scrambles to his feet. His van had recently been completely wrecked by aircraft artillery, leaving with warping metal, shattered glass, but most importantly redstone, pipes, and a nuclear core.

He’s heard those sell well on the black market. And by the way things are looking, he should sell them off soon.

As good as the nuclear core and redstone make his economic prospects look, holding those make people less likely to harbour him in their bunkers, which makes his survival prospects look dismal, if anything,

Not that he blames them. If he had seen a grimy person crawling to his doorstep clutching a poison-green sphere of energy with redstone in their hair, he definitely would have had second thoughts.

Well, he needs to go, and go he shall. He makes sure the core is still intact before hugging it close and setting off.

As he walks, he takes stock of the inventory he has. He has…one mending book, a flint and steel, cellotaped glasses, the clothes on his back, the nuclear core, redstone, pipes, soap from a kind host, some unknown food from a supply drop…

He has a flower crown. Not helpful, but comforting anyways. He remembers the hands which had twisted those into shape and kept it alive with some unknown magic and that face gives him strength.

His heart screams the name, loud and clear, and it's one only he can hear. 

“Exsqueeze me,” he says as he weaves through the pandemonium.

~

The roads where he lives have all been torn out, in a bid to keep them all in one area to make better targets, but he’s heard rumors.

He’s heard rumors of a path to follow, through the brambles on the outskirts and marked by everyone who had undertaken the journey.

He remembers Etho telling him about it; almost delirious, hands pricked and red.

“Hey, Ren!” He had said, human eye heavily dilated, “Have y—ya seen Side Kit recently? I found a huge patch of berries for her. I’ve got…a way…out!”

Ren knows better than to trust the words of an intoxicated (?) man, but high for the rest of his life is better than not having the rest of his life, right?

He’s heard of friends who have hopped the bramble and escaped the siege, but he’s…not going to get his hopes up.

The sirens are continuing to go off, and Ren slips his headphones on.

He has berries to find.

~

It’s not really about finding the bramble bush. That’s simple enough. 

He remembers doing LARPing in adolescenthood near those bushes, with the brambles acting as defensive walls to a made-up kingdom and the flowers and thorns acting as a crown.

Those brambles were just as home as the van before its fiery death.

It’s really about taking cover. Even through the headphones he can hear explosions. 

And then he sees a plane dip down so close Ren thinks the pilot could definitely see him through the foliage. 

He panics.

He runs, runs, runs, core nearly shattering after hitting the copper pipe one too many times.

There is no contingency plan in his brain because all he can think about is barb-wire berries and LARPing as his feet fall heavy like metalwork.

In the midst of all that, he remembers to hold on to his flower crown because the hands that made it belong to his Hand.

Martyn.

The plane seems to continue to chase him, diving lower and lower, trailing black smoke.

His heart pounds with the name.

Martyn, Martyn, Martyn.

Martyn, his Hand, with him through thick and thin, through both Battles of the Banners.

He stumbles on train tracks. Right. He should’ve known. Even as a child the rail that went through the now bramble grove had been decommissioned, but the fifteen years between his childhood and his LARPing had been enough for new life to grow.

Ren knows he definitely should step off the rails, but it vaguely soothes his brain to run on the same path as a train once did. If he follows the train tracks, he cannot get lost. 

Somewhere in his haze of fear, he registers the sheer amount of alliums that have grown around the tracks.

They’re good food. Good for picnics and any survivalists.

That of which he is not. Martyn always was the one doing the survival. He was the one who knew how to pick out bugs from the berries and which flowers were poisonous.

If he thinks hard enough. he can probably remember what exactly Martyn twisted into his crown.

~

Somehow, he reaches the brambles. There is a gate that someone seems to have installed for the berries to grow over and to keep out mobs.

He plucks one and eats it. Juice runs down his chin as sweetness explodes in his mouth.

He takes a breath. Sky looks clear. Even if he’s sweating in places a man ain’t supposed to sweat. He turns back to the gate.

Ren quickly looks it over. There’s a poppy, and a lilac. There’s a maple leaf, but that’s definitely not Etho.

Void knows Canadians take every opportunity not to draw a maple leaf.

He pries away a huge mound of vines. A creeper face.

That’s Etho.

Pain shoots up his arm as he releases the brambles. Right. Thorns.

Well, he’s gotta do it again because he needs to figure out how to unlatch the gate.

Why does he do this to himself?

Martyn would know how to unlock this, he thinks, In fact, Martyn probably already unlocked this twice.

He fumbles with where the metal meets the wood, squinting through the pain.

Ren distracts himself by juxtaposing. 

The time Martyn whacked him at the back of his neck with his LARP-axe hurt more.

(That’s not true.)

Is everything getting a little…hazy?

There’s another explosion in the distance.

Ren does his best to distract himself. 

“Just Grian and Scar,” he says softly as he steadies the crown on his head.

And suddenly, he hears the sound of a motor sputtering and what suspiciously sounds like a plane propeller coming to a halt.

He falls back into that useless frenzy, only this time his heart is racing and eyes are painting his surroundings with some sort of chromatic aberration.

It feels like he’s just smoked fifteen joints at once and then lit the ends like a firework. 

What does he need to do?

Take cover.

Right!

He quickly throws himself to the ground.

On second thoughts, that…was stupid and he was possibly a big idiot.

The nuclear core might’ve also fractured.

Welp, what is cellotape for? 

He tears the strip off his glasses and sticks it over the crack.

Ren scans the horizon. He can hear footsteps, and they match the beat of his heart.

It no longer calls Martyn’s name. It instead calls ‘danger, danger’.

Some faraway coughing ensues.

He looks at the berry bush, bristling with thorn.

Ren dives for it, plunging himself deep within the mound and holding back a sob as the thorns pierce through his jeans and flesh.

And it’s still not enough. He knows he’s barely covered in plantlife.

He grits his teeth and risks moving his arms around, internally screaming as the wounds in his arms begin to tear.

The inventory of his baggage rings clear in his mind.

Suddenly, a painful, terrible, idea comes to him.

He rips off the tape strip for the second time in a minute, and lets the luminous matter drip and absorb into the earth.

Nothing happens for a second, and Ren’s heart sinks.

And then the pain doubles tenfold and the bramble starts to constrict around him like a snake, coiling and stabbing at him.

And it’s still not enough. It’s not fast enough.

He can hear greenery buckling under the strain of feet in the distance and whatever psychedelic effects those berries might’ve had might’ve had is really starting to kick in; because the grass looks like it’s comprised of little computer pixels.

Ren takes deep breaths and musters the strength to hurl the core onto the sharpest parts of the thornbed.

It shatters.

Ren tenses and waits for the pain. 

Anything to avoid facing enemy bombers. Anything. Even death to a berry bramble. 

He’s seen what Watchers do to captives. Jimmy, one of the people in their LARP group, had been one of those.

The loam seems to groan with the strain and the parts near his face shoot up first, knocking off his crown.

Dangit!

His crown!

Maybe it is a blessing that in his delirium he is not thinking straight. He can barely feel the lashes across his face.

Against all logical thinking, he reaches out his hand to get it, but the vines cover him whole.

It’s ironic, how Ren’s biggest challenge was the freakin gate and how he’ll die so close to freedom.

Bested by some weed berries. He should qualify for a Darwin award.

Well, anything’s better than a Watcher, right?

His hindbrain won’t stop screaming about the crown, and Martyn, Martyn, Martyn.

The footsteps stop in front of the bramble bush.

The hallucinations must be really bad by now, because he thinks he can hear Martyn’s voice.

“Ren?”

Against his best interests, he slurs out, “Mi’Hand?”

[stardust-in-my-mind-blog]

harmony of tarot

if you are flint then call me steel

let me break you off in intentional flakes

make your blades sharper so when you cut me off

I can hardly feel the cut and I'll just stem the bleeding

reforge me in whatever fires you stoke up

in this fool of a heart of mine

for you know exactly how to light my candle

smash us together and we spark

I'd call you steel for your intellect

and remind you that your mind

cuts you more than it protects you

but you've never really been able to take the heat

your flesh is sensitive like your carefully hidden emotions

I had to be so gentle with you

one time I sent my little static barbs under your skin

overwhelmed you lashed out at me

ashamed at your anger

furious with how your danger sparked

a curious delight in my eyes

you like control and don't like misplacing it

remember when you worshipped me helplessly

good chance I could make you do it again

the volcano and the tornado

did I tell you my favorite volcano is named Kilauea?

she seethes and seeps all her creative wrath

consistently and in a rhythm that pulses like

the deepest core of mother earth

there is this way our solitary frequencies

blend colors together like how water and fire make steam

you only got the best of me because you kept me in the dark

but I'm the wild oracle that divines my inner empress

I see and feel everything just like you know

any proximity would give me leisure to understand

every little secret you tried to keep from me

it seems the one thing you couldn't control

was betraying your fear of me

which saddens me but my universe will tell me

where to take my passion and wrath and my sword

so let's have a moment my sweetest friend

just one moment of honesty

I'll listen first and consider to hold my sting

[boyakishantriobeta]

"I hate my job."

Was practically.the motto of the Bitches. While the Wolves worked in the grey, the knights worked in the dark. We worked in the dark. And dear god was there a lot of dark. Practically a janitor group, as I trudged my way through the radiation filled planet. Renegades, a group of extremists had managed to land here and set up base. Setting up portals and shit, this was the core of a splinter in my side for decades. No point being formal, magical flames erupted from my skin.

Energy comparable to a black hole implosion erupted from the planet's surface, never expanding beyond a specific shape which in the simplest terms, was impossible twice over. But that was the beauty of magic, the laws of the universe can be bent. But naturally at a cost.

Pain struck through my body, a clear warning to not bend the law. Pain, everything was on fire and that activated my genetics.

Horns, flames along with death began to drill through the material, mana reflexive material, conducted and ferrofluid all slowing the big boss down as radiation became absorbed, redirected and drained of energy. Chemical reactions began occuring faster and faster, Nuclear radiation absorbing as the wall cracked.

Weapons at the ready, they watched as the drill broke through the wall, soon dissipating into nothing to reveal....

Nothing. No-one. Then the sound of a rapier slicing through solid steel echoed from behind them. A metal spike slicing the door open, creaking as their stood a frenchwoman.

"Drop the weapons and nobody dies." She stated, flint lock in hand as she stepped into the room.

[treemaidengeek]

If you reblog with a fun story about your campfire experiences, I will send you s'mores 🍫

If you reblog with your favorite story to tell or song to sing around a campfire, I will core an apple & fill it with cinnamon & butter & bake it in the coals for you 🍎

Maybe I can even be persuaded to record myself singing a silly Girl Scout song

[maruthiceramics]

Elevating Kitchen Designs with Superior Reginox Faucets

When it comes to creating the perfect kitchen, the importance of high-quality sinks and faucets cannot be overstated. Since 1976, Reginox has been at the forefront of kitchen innovation, standing as a symbol of excellence in stainless steel sinks and worktops. With a rich history rooted in Dutch craftsmanship and a relentless pursuit of quality and innovation, Reginox has become a trusted name in both the national and international kitchen and project markets.

WHY CHOOSE REGINOX?

With so many options on the market, choosing the right kitchen sink faucets can be overwhelming. Here are a few reasons why Reginox stands out:

Quality: Each Reginox product is subjected to stringent quality control processes to ensure it meets the highest standards.

Innovative Designs: Reginox’s design team is constantly exploring new trends and technologies to bring innovative products to market.

Sustainability: Reginox’s commitment to sustainability means you can feel good about your purchase.

Wide Range: From traditional to contemporary, Reginox offers products that fit a wide range of styles and preferences.

Customer Focus: Reginox listens to the needs of its customers, ensuring that every product is designed with the user in mind.

DUTCH QUALITY AND CRAFTSMANSHIP

At Reginox, quality goes beyond mere words; it’s a fundamental commitment. From the initial design phase to the final production, every product is carefully crafted in-house. This hands-on method guarantees that each sink and worktop adhere to the highest standards of quality and design.

INNOVATION AT THE CORE

Reginox’s dedication to innovation is evident in its ever-evolving product range. By continually listening to the needs and desires of consumers and kitchen professionals, Reginox stays ahead of market trends. This proactive approach allows the company to develop products that are not only aesthetically pleasing but also highly functional and durable.

SUSTAINABILITY AND RESPONSIBILITY

Reginox takes its environmental responsibility seriously by being economical with energy and opting for recyclable materials and packaging whenever possible. This commitment to sustainability is woven into the fabric of Reginox’s operations, ensuring that the company not only meets the current needs of its customers but also preserves resources for future generations.

A DIVERSE RANGE OF FAUCETS

Reginox faucet collection is an example of versatility and attention to detail. The range includes a variety of styles, materials, and colours, ensuring that there is a perfect match for every kitchen design. Here’s a closer look at some of the standout collections and categories:

The Reginox faucet collection boasts an impressive array of styles and finishes, catering to diverse tastes and kitchen designs. The Cano series offers stunning options in Gun Metal, Copper, and Gold, while the Crystal collection features faucets in Gun Metal, Copper, and Gold, adding a touch of luxury. The Pearl, Yukon, Ela, Leon, Levisa, Cedar, Flint, Yadkin, and Yampa faucets come in classic Chrome finishes, with additional color variants such as Cedar Black, Yadkin Black, Yampa Black, and Pearl Total Black for a bold look. The Spring, Logan, Somo, Huron, Palm, Kelso, and Oxon models are crafted from durable RVS, with sleek designs in Chrome, Gun Metal Silver, and Gold Flax. The Yadkin and Yampa faucets also come in pristine White finishes, while the Leon, Levisa, Cedar, and Flint faucets are available in unique finishes like Gun Metal Silver and Gold Flax. This diverse collection ensures that Reginox has the perfect faucet to complement any kitchen aesthetic.

MATCHING TAPS AND ACCESSORIES

To complete the look of your kitchen, Reginox provides matching taps and accessories that complement their sinks and worktops. These accessories are designed with the same level of care and precision, ensuring a cohesive and stylish kitchen environment. From soap dispensers to drainers, every accessory is crafted to enhance the functionality and aesthetic of your kitchen.

MEETING THE NEEDS OF MODERN KITCHENS

Reginox understands that our kitchen is not just a place to prepare food but more than that. Whether you’re a professional chef or a home cook, Reginox products provide the reliability and performance you need.

CONCLUSION

Reginox has earned a distinguished reputation for excellence in the kitchen industry by consistently delivering high-quality, innovative, and sustainable products. Known for their extensive range of sinks and worktops, Reginox products are now available at Maruthi Ceramics. This partnership brings together Reginox’s renowned quality and Maruthi Ceramics’ commitment to providing top-tier kitchen solutions. In addition to faucets, Reginox offers a range of premium kitchen sinks designed to meet various aesthetic and functional needs. Maruthi Ceramics proudly stocks these superior products, making it easier than ever for customers to access the best in kitchen design and functionality.

But Reginox is not the only brand available at Maruthi Ceramics. Customers can also find products from other leading brands such as Hafele, Carysil, Franke, and Nirali. Each brand brings its unique strengths to the table, offering a diverse selection of high-quality kitchen fixtures and fittings.

Maruthi Ceramics’ showrooms are conveniently located across Bangalore, with branches in Banaswadi, JP Nagar, Indiranagar, Rajaji Nagar, and Lavelle Road. Whether you are renovating your kitchen or designing a new home from scratch, Maruthi Ceramics provides the quality and reliability you can trust. Visit our showrooms across Bangalore to explore the latest offerings from Reginox and other premium brands, and experience the exceptional service that Maruthi Ceramics is known for.

[dangerousskeletoncoptree]

my core is thick as steel and both transparent as glass and opaque as flint

getting it to bend is easy for me getting it to learn from it is hard

these facts have impacted my life a dozen times over at the very least

[pokemon-goodmorn]

What's that rumbling? Why, it must be the evolution of Pokémon Flint's fossil:

Vortitan - The Dust Devil Pokémon! (#69)

Type: Rock/Ground Ability: Earth Eater (Sand Veil) Height: 19' 8" / 6.0 m Weight: 1410.9 lbs / 640.0 kg

Vortitan evolves from Ikivak at level 38.

---

Dubbed "the colossus of the sands", Vortitan is optimized to passively feeding in desert conditions. Despite its frightening appearance, this Pokémon has no ill will or malice in its heart. It exists simply to feed. On momentum alone, it can glide underneath the dunes at upwards of 45 miles per hour (70 kilometers per hour), maintaining that speed for eight whole hours before it needs to move its fins again.

However, it is not always lazy. With its newly evolved claws and drill-like horn, it can burrow through limestone in search of Rock-type Pokémon to feast upon. In fact, it is speculated that that is why so many Vortitan fossils are so well-preserved: because they naturally bored into a rocky deposit before getting stuck.

The corresponding evolved fossil Pokémon exclusive to Pokémon Steel is Bivoutel, which you can read about here.

For a behind-the-scenes look at this Pokémon, read below!

Number one - yes, of course the evolution to "The Suction Pokémon" is going to be #69 in the Pokédex.

Number two, if you saw the post on Ikivak earlier, you may have seen that I called it "Titanoover". That was a bit of an unfortunate happenstance on my part. I actually had the core idea - a fossil Pokémon who could naturally burrow through limestone, making fossils of it abundant - before I had the name for it. What this resulted in was me creating Ikivak in preparation for that idea, making a post about Ikivak, and then getting to the end and realizing that I had no idea what Ikivak's evolution was going to be called. I'm so glad I came up with something better than Titanoover in the end.

The name, for posterity's sake, is a combination between "vortex" and "titan", with Ikivak containing the corresponding part of titanichthys's name. Ikivak's horn became something more akin to a narwhal's tusk, and its orange color scheme has become a gradient to reflect how different layers of dirt and bedrock are colored differently. I thought that would be a nice little nod to the connections between geology and paleontology.

What I was thinking when designing Vortitan was, I want people to think this Pokémon is scary, then that it's not scary, then that it is scary. Because when you look at it, it's horrifying. You would have a heart attack if you saw this thing emerge from the sand. But also, it's not inherently evil. It doesn't seek out vengeance. It doesn't hunt people for sport. It just glides and feeds, like a real titanichthys. But also... isn't that, in and of itself, kind of horrifying? Just because it doesn't actively want to kill you doesn't mean it won't kill you. It barely thinks. It only moves. If you're laying in the sand and it breaches and swallows you, that's it. You're dead. And it doesn't even know it killed you. Isn't that scarier, in a way?

My last little gripe is that looking at Bulbapedia, I feel like Game Freak has really painted themselves into a corner with Pokémon weights. The heaviest Pokémon is Celesteela at 999.9 kg / 2,204.4 lbs. Say that Vortitan is made of something like granite. A solid prism of granite that's 20-by-8-by-8 feet (bearing in mind that granite has a density of 2.6 g/cm^3) would weigh 94,200 kg or 208,000 lbs. Even if you say that Vortitan weighs half of that, it's still forty-something times heavier than The Heaviest Pokémon! Get it together, Nintendo!

Finally, as a treat, here's some earlier drafts of Vortitan. On the right, you can see I experimented with these little lines around their mouth to really emphasize the "vortex" aspect of Vortitan's mouth, but I'm glad I left it out in the end.

[earaercircular]

Britain is losing its way in cutting carbon.

A slowdown on wind power is a serious sign of drift

Stand on the cliffs above Happisburgh, a Norfolk village, and imagine the electricity to power a large city flowing beneath your feet. Some 80km offshore stand 130 turbines, each over 300 metres tall, or the height of three Big Ben clock towers stacked atop one another. Cables that emerge from the seabed pass underground between flint-clad villages, carrying energy for 1.5m homes.

That, at least, was the plan. The Norfolk Boreas was intended to be one of the largest offshore wind farms anywhere. Vattenfall[1], a Swedish developer, won permission to build it in 2021. The blades were supposed to start turning by 2027. No more. In July the company halted work because of spiralling costs. Other projects are in doubt. This week the results of the government’s latest renewable-energy auction are also due. In contrast to previous rounds, few if any offshore wind projects are expected to win contracts.

If so, that would be the clearest sign yet that Britain’s once-impressive progress towards net zero by 2050 is faltering. Early gains came in part because manufacturing has declined and the country was early in kicking dependence on coal. But as other countries have sped up their own transitions, progress has slowed. In June the Climate Change Committee[2], a watchdog, warned that Britain is trailing others’ efforts.

One problem is a studied lack of leadership on the environment from Rishi Sunak, the prime minister. In July, after a by-election victory seen as a rejection of London’s ultra-low emission zone (ulez) for vehicles, Mr Sunak touted policies, such as the need for more oil extraction from the North Sea, viewed as provocative by environmentalists. He also hinted to ministers that net-zero policies could be watered down. On August 31st he named Claire Coutinho as his latest energy secretary, the fourth occupant of the post in just a year.

How much does Mr Sunak’s lack of interest matter? He is buffeted by others. Some in his party hope to paint Labour politicians as eco-zealots. But he must also contend with other backbenchers, including his immediate predecessor, Liz Truss, who demand more green activity. That group compelled the government to suggest, on September 5th, that it would ease an effective ban on building onshore wind farms in England. Nonetheless, under Mr Sunak green progress is stalling.

Start with offshore wind, the core of recent green efforts. Over the past decade, and four rounds of auctions, the cost of electricity produced from such fields has fallen by almost 75%. Only China has more offshore turbines. Last year wind, most of it offshore, produced more than a quarter of all electricity in Britain. Boris Johnson, prime minister from 2019 to 2022, had much bolder goals, to make Britain the “Saudi Arabia of wind”, lifting capacity to 50 gigawatts by 2030—it is 15GW today.

That was always going to be difficult, requiring three or four new Norfolk Boreases[3] each year. With other wealthy countries also keen on the technology, competition for skills and parts has become fierce. Inflation has also hurt. Vattenfall, Orsted[4], a big Danish wind-farm developer, and others say building costs are up by 40% from last year. Pricey steel is one problem. Overstretched suppliers, including those of boats needed during construction, are another.

Most analysts think building costs will remain high. Despite this, the government refused to increase the maximum strike price—the highest bid allowed to developers in a reverse auction—from last year. It may have worried about giving any hint of consumer bills rising to support green projects. If so, that was wrongheaded, says Jess Ralston of the Energy and Climate Intelligence Unit[5], a think-tank. With gas prices expected to remain high and no obvious alternatives, offshore wind projects still offer savings for consumers. Ministers were also probably influenced by developers crying wolf before, saying a price could not be met only to bid below it.

If few, or even no, new offshore wind projects are agreed on after the auction this week, that would create uncertainty for suppliers to the industry. Developers may drift away to other markets: Germany completed its largest auction round so far in July. And even if one or two projects win support, if prices are too low for the developers to get around to delivering them, that would mean more delays.

The outlook for onshore wind farms may seem brighter. But these are much smaller than those at sea and a big expansion is unlikely. Tight planning restrictions will remain, even if these are less arduous than the previous regime, under which a single objection from a local resident would scupper a project. In England just two onshore turbines have gone up in the past three years, both on land owned by Keele university[6].

Mr Johnson had talked of easing planning rules, or finding ways to reward areas hosting wind farms for doing so, but no specific proposals have yet emerged. In Norfolk, councillors grumble that locals see no gain from disruptions in the county. Other countries do a better job of dangling carrots. In Germany, for example, some developers pay communities a share of their annual profits, roughly equivalent to €2,000 per hectare.

Two other indicators illustrate Britain’s drift. The first concerns heat pumps to replace household gas boilers. Last year 69,000 of these were installed, whereas Germany managed to put in 236,000. A target to get 600,000 into British homes each year by 2028 is all but certain to be missed. Regulations and taxes that apply to electricity, but not to gas, discourage switching. A lack of skilled engineers to install the pumps is another constraint.

The second is the administration of Britain’s emissions trading scheme, introduced after Brexit to replace one used in the European Union. By the spring of this year, the national carbon price had started to diverge from the European one. Since July, after the government said it would issue more allowances for polluters, the national carbon price has fallen yet further. That gives investors in Britain less incentive than those in Europe to seek out green projects.

The pace has not slowed in every sector. Even if the push to decarbonise the grid is slowing, the switch to electric cars continues: one-fifth of cars bought by Britons in August were electric. It helps that electric-car prices have been falling globally, but also that Britain has stuck to its promise to end the sale of new petrol and diesel cars by 2030 and introduced a goal for manufacturers to make more vehicles electric. Some Conservatives have called for both of those to be ditched. Instead Mr Sunak listened to the auto industry—notably the Tata Group[7], which in July announced plans to build a battery factory in Somerset, helped by a large subsidy from the government.

More tensions will come to the fore this month, as an energy bill reaches its final stages in Parliament. Ms Coutinho faces pressure on matters such as the ending of installation of oil boilers in households (Duncan Baker, Conservative MP for North Norfolk, calls it “the rural ulez”). If Labour were to form the next government, it says it wants all of Britain’s electricity to be zero carbon by 2030— five years before the Tories’ target. Another year of drift would leave it with a lot to do.

Source

Editor, Britain is losing its way in cutting carbon A slowdown on wind power is a serious sign of drift,-in: The Economist, 5-9-2023; https://www.economist.com/britain/2023/09/05/britain-is-losing-its-way-in-cutting-carbon

[1] Vattenfall is a Swedish multinational power company owned by the Swedish state. Beyond Sweden, the company generates power in Denmark, Finland, Germany, the Netherlands, and the United Kingdom. The company's name is Swedish for "waterfall", and is an abbreviation of its original name, Royal Waterfall Board (Kungliga Vattenfallstyrelsen).

[2] The Climate Change Committee (CCC), originally named the Committee on Climate Change, is an independent non-departmental public body, formed under the Climate Change Act (2008) to advise the United Kingdom and devolved Governments and Parliaments on tackling and preparing for climate change. The Committee provides advice on setting carbon budgets (for the UK Government carbon budgets are designed to place a limit or ceiling on the level of economy-wide emissions that can be emitted in a five-year period), and reports regularly to the Parliaments and Assemblies on the progress made in reducing greenhouse gas emissions. Notably, in 2019 the CCC recommended the adoption of a target of net zero greenhouse gas emissions by the United Kingdom by 2050. On 27 June 2019 the British Parliament amended the Climate Change Act (2008) to include a commitment to net zero emissions by 2050. The CCC also advises and comments on the UK's progress on climate change adaptation through updates to Parliament.

[3] The Norfolk Boreas project was a 1.8GW offshore wind power generation facility planned to be constructed in the North Sea, UK. It was the first phase of the Norfolk Offshore Wind Zone, which would have a total installed capacity of 3.6GW. Vattenfall is the owner of the offshore wind farm and developed until recently the project through its wholly-owned subsidiary Norfolk Boreas. https://www.nsenergybusiness.com/projects/norfolk-boreas-offshore-wind-farm/

[4] Ørsted A/S (formerly DONG Energy) is a Danish multinational energy company. Headquartered in Fredericia, Denmark, Ørsted is the largest energy company in Denmark. The company adopted its current name on 6 November 2017. It was previously known as DONG. As of January 2022, the company is the world's largest developer of offshore wind power by number of built offshore wind farms. Ørsted developed approximately 30% of the global offshore wind power installed capacity, excluding mainland China. Globally, Ørsted produces 90% of its energy from renewable sources, and has an objective of exceeding 95% by 2023 and 99% by 2025. The company has a goal of net zero generation by 2025 and no carbon emissions by 2040

[5] The Energy and Climate Intelligence Unit (ECIU) is a non-profit organisation based in the UK conducting independent research and analysis on energy and climate issues. The organisation was incorporated in 2014.[1] According to their own about page, they are a "a non-profit organisation that supports informed debate on energy and climate change issues in the UK", supporting journalists, parliamentarians and other communicators with accurate briefings on key issues, and work with individuals and organisations that have interesting stories to tell, helping them connect to the national conversation.

[6] Keele University, officially known as the University of Keele, is a public research university in Keele, approximately five kilometres from Newcastle-under-Lyme, Staffordshire, England. Founded in 1949 as the University College of North Staffordshire, Keele was granted university status by Royal Charter in 1962

[7] The Tata Group is an Indian multinational conglomerate headquartered in Mumbai. Established in 1868, it is India's largest conglomerate, with products and services in over 150 countries, and operations in 100 countries across six continents. There are 29 publicly listed Tata Group companies with a combined market capitalisation of ₹23.6 lakh crore ($311 billion) as of March 2022.