#watch me just use the miners and crafting art

[hyperfixtime]

I offer WIP bits from the same project. Img 1 (An Image that encapsulates the dread i felt on needing to do the text in photoshop), Img 2 (the beloved cottage core girly of Hermitcraft), Img3 (Mossman and KingDog), and Img 4 (Joe Hills)

[12u3ie]

Hi I am NOT normal about pottery shards and I WILL talk about them

AKA: under the cut is me explaining all the pottery shard designs out in Minecraft 1.20 snapshots as of now (March 23, 2023) in alphabetical order, going over their design and their possible meaning in the lore. Pictures of each shard will be above the text of the listed shard. Now, let's get on with it shall we?

Angler. Starting off simple. A fishing rod with a fish at the end. The ancient society knew how to craft fishing rods and catch fish.

Archer. A drawn bow and arrow. They crafted bows and arrows and knew how to use them. Probably related to skeletons somehow. Maybe the skeletons are them? Maybe the skeletons just stole their technology once they were gone? Unsure.

In real life, bow-and-arrow technology was revolutionary in terms of human evolution. Some archeologists even theorize that bows were the tools that began the end for our cousins, Neanderthals. But in Minecraft... who knows?

Arms Up. A humanoid figure with their arms raised. The arms-up pose means something unknown. Perhaps a gesture of friendship, or peace? What we do know is that, for near certain, the ancient peoples were humanoid in nature, close if not near identical to modern players.

Blade. A sword. Very similar to the standard Minecraft sword model, with a slightly different hilt. Maybe a pixel art limitation, maybe not. The ancient peoples knew how to make swords.

Brewer. A bottle of some description. Seems like a mixed design between a glass bottle and a cauldron. Nevertheless, it has its origins in brewing. They knew how to brew potions. Did they have a different system of brewing to the modern day, or did they have access to the Nether for materials? Currently unknown.

Burn. A flame. They knew how to make fire, or at least knew of its existence. But drawing on the last point, perhaps it's not a fire, but a blaze powder instead. The textures are oddly similar to one another.

Danger. A creeper. Seems like these mobs have been around for a while, and have always been a pain in the backside to watch out for. Wonder if they replied to such a call of danger with "aw man."

Explorer. A map with an X, marking a specific spot. They hid treasures in the ground likely in the same way of IRL pirates - marking a spot on a map for later. Sadly, from modern treasure maps found in shipwrecks, it seems they weren't able to get back to all their spoils in time. Also indicates they knew how to make and use maps.

Friend. An iron golem face. The ancient peoples knew that iron golems existed and that they were protective and friendly towards them. Perhaps, building upon other, older theories, they made the iron golems themselves.

Heart. A standard heart shape. Possibly a visualization of love. Or perhaps they had hearts within them as humans do in the real world, and this is what they looked like.

Heartbreak. A heart broken in two down the vertical center. ...Let's go with the first assumption of the previous shard's imagery. A broken heart is often a symbol of a bad feeling over a lost relationship. The ancient society had intricate relationships between its peoples. They loved and fell out of love, in any and possibly every such meaning of the term.

Howl. A wolf. In the words of a dear friend of mine, "They had doggies!" Or, more likely, began the process of domesticating wolves into the tamable breed we know today. At the very least, they knew of the existence of wolves, regardless of whether the ancient people-wolf relations were good or not.

Miner. A pickaxe. The ancient peoples were able to craft tools like pickaxes to mine for resources. The pickaxe here, much like the sword, is slightly different in design to what we know today.

Mourner. A warden. Now this... this is a very interesting one. I have my own theories that would require a bit more explaining than this format will allow for. (Maybe I will express such thoughts at a later date, if readers wish to hear them...) Let your thoughts be known in the tags!

Plenty. An open chest. This proves that the ancient peoples had the ability to craft chests, and the need for extra storage beyond what could be carried (presumably in their inventories, if they had them).

Prize. A gem. This is an indicator that they were able to mine for resources. Now, some sources may indicate this as a diamond. However, the shape is very distinct from that of any diamonds ever in Minecraft. This may be a completely new - or rather, very old - and different gem than anything players have seen before.

Sheaf. A bundle of wheat. They had means of farming and collecting wheat, and perhaps other crops as well. Agriculture is a part of their culture.

Shelter. A tree. They were able to hide from the elements underneath trees, later emulating this with their own buildings.

Skull. A skull. This could either be the skull of a skeleton mob, from which the skull item drops today, or perhaps the skull of the deceased. They knew of skeletons and death in one form or another.

Snort. A sniffer. This proves that sniffers existed at the same time as this ancient civilization, and that these people were in some form of contact with sniffers.

-~-~-

Remember that anything listed here was important enough to the society of ancient peoples to be immortalized in the art of their pottery. Each one of these has some sort of significance.

-~-~-

Taglist: @darubyprincxx @nightshadeowl @eagle-warri

[gryffsposts]

Percy Jackson x Avatar, The last airbender

Since I didn't see much of these, I am gonna be putting the main atla heroes sorted based on what their godly parent could be. These are just my opinions, I don't put any claim that this would be canon or that you shouldn't think differently.

So...since Aang is the main character...yeah Idc, I am starting with my favourite Toph

Gaia - primordial Goddess of Earth or Hades - God of the Dead and Riches, king of the Underworld.

Well I couldn't find any picture of her kids and she doesn't have a cabin, so...well you know what erthbending looks like either way. Gaia or Gaea can control eveyrhting earthy, even bones and animals, her kids would be able to do most of the same things. They would be more powerful than any demigod from the camp, since Gaia is a primordial Goddess and Zeus is lesser in power to them, since they are the oldest. Toph is without a doubt the strongest earthbender. I read the children of Gaea avoided being away from earth, especially in the air, which is very Toph. It is also said they use the earth as an extension of themselves, which I do not kidd you, it really was there, is so Toph to a point. They are also described as stubborn and determined, but loyal. Do I need to say anything else? Toph would 100% be Gaea's child. But....if you don't like her being a child of a primordial Goddess...I guess Hades, God of the Dead and Riches and king of the Underworld. Hear me out....bone bending. If you haven't heard about it..basically there is a theory bone bending can be done by an earthbender...which in a way...could raise dead from the ground. Besides, Hades is said to have some control over stones and minerals. Since it's said his children can be surrounded or have affinity for money, Toph is also from rich roots and she often doesn't have problems attracting money, read cunningly getting some. This gives Hermes energy as well, but oh well. So yeah, Toph in my opinion is a Gaea's child....or Hades's, altho I am tilted more towards the green option. Oh, and for those asking why not Demeter or Persephone, they control the fauna mainly, not earth. We don't see Toph even once bend flowers in Atla.

Katara

Poseidon - God of the sea, storms, earthquakes, droughts, floods and horses.

With this one I had no trouble. I mean, not only by bending, but by characteristics. She can be calm and sweet as still waters and then raging and determined like a sea storm. Her personality matches the description in Rick Riordan's site. She is also fiercely loyal to Aang and loyalty is said to be the fatal fault of Poseidon's children. They can also heal by entering water. Really, there is nothing more worth mentioning. At least to me, Katara is an obvious child of Poseidon.

Sokka

Athena - Goddess of wisdom, civilization, mathematics, strategy, defensive warfare, crafts, the arts, skills, intelligence and brilliance.

Okay, so, disregarding the logic that Katara and Sokka are siblings, Sokka as Athena's child makes the biggest sense to me. Yeah, he goofes around a lot, but you can not say he is dumb. He plans everything, the group is lost without his abilities to read maps, to make schedules and generally without his tactic mind. Sure, he gives off Poseidon vibes as well, since he is also very loyal and protective of his closed ones, but Athena really fits him more, at least in my opinion. Just to warn, I do not only watch the bending abilities, or in his case, lack of such, and you will see that when I do Zuko. So, yeah, I got off the main point, Sokka is very strategic, thoughtful and has great interest in war duties. He is also incredibly smart, maybe the smartest one in the Gaang. So yeah, for me, he is 100% Athena's child.

Aang

Hebe - Goddess of Youth and cupbearer to Zeus or Zeus himself - God of the sky, thunder, lightning, kingship, honor and justice.

Oof, is Aang hard to sort or what??? Okay, I think he could be Hebe's child, because, they are said to preserve their youthful look (Iceberg *couph couph*) and because they are described as caring, sociable, friendly, liking to make others happy and generally concerned with others's happiness, take pride in community services, enjoy parties and feasts and tend to heal fast from injuries. I think that sounds a lot like Aang. Honestly at some point I was thinking of putting Hermes in, because of Aang's cheeky and travel-loving nature, but then just dropped the idea. Also, when I searched for Wind Gods in PJO universe, the resultats weren't something that reminded me of Aang at all, so I left them out as well. In genral, Aang is very lively and childish in a good way and he likes to make others happy. Because he wanted to live out his childhood, at the beginning of the series, he was too irresponsible towards his duties as the Avatar, which I think would happen if you put a Hebe's child in his place. But why then do I think of Zeus as well? Well, because the children of Zeus are more or less born with responsibility and while they usually take on it with pride, who said that would be the case for everyone? Besides Zeus children can control the weather to some extend, which is said to be an ability for the airbenders. Plus, Zeus and the sky. Yeah, air nomads. While Aang isn't the one to love leadership roles like Zeus's kids usually do, he is good at it when the cause is to his liking. In comics of Atla, he is shown to start leading an air nomadic group and seems to be doing good and to be happy. He also loves his traditions, which I think would fit Zeus. Zeus's kids are also mentioned to be brave and strong, which Aang is. It is stated that Zeus kids can control air. I think it fits. Altho by duty I think Aang fits more Zeus, in personality he is much more like Hebe, and that's why I can't really decide. For Toph, I am heavy on Gaea even tho Hades fits as well, but for Aang I really can't decide whether he would be Hebe's child or Zeus's.

Zuko

Ares - God of war or Hades - God of the Dead and Riches, king of the Underworld or Zeus - God of the sky, thunder, lightning, kingship, honor and justice.

Oh boy.....I was saying how Aang was hard to sort....Let's just dive into it. For me personally, Zuko would be most likely Ares's son. Just to mention, ignore all the daddy issues going on in the series, altho with a father like Ares who needs Ozai? Anyways, obviously, Zuko is very agressive, especially at the start of the series, war is surely on his mind, no doubt about it and generally....kids of Ares are described as war streategic minds, with courage and determination. Okay...while Zuko was in a way forced in this position by his father, he was indeed brash and very agressive at the beginning. I know he settled down in the third season...but still. Hey, no one says you need to only be a bloodlusting screaming angry issues head to be a kid of Ares. They are smart, despite what your initial impression of them might be. Determination is what drives Zuko and fuels his firebending. Whether that would be the goal of catching Aang or later the goal of helping him stop his father, there is no denying Zuko needs an ending point or something he is passionate about to keep him going. I think that fits Ares great. But....Hades wouldn't be a bad option as well. Okay, yeah, Zeus, Ares, Hades, the great awful father trio....but I mean at least Zuko is used to it (Poor Zuko, he really needs more hugs from the Gaang). So, back on track, Hades. Why Zuko would make a good child of Hades? Well, Hades's children are said to hold grudges and to want to finish their business with someone. Doesn't that sound like our fire prince? Also, he really gives off this shadowy emo vibes that Hades usually has. His sass would also be very much appreaciated. Also, Hades's children can have some sort of control over fire and minerals. As I mentioned, I don't only watch the bending abilities when sorting. If I did, Zuko would either have to be Hephaestus son with Leo's rarer fire ability or Hestia's son...which as at least I can tell, does not fit him. So yeah, back to the main topic, while Zuko doesn't really give the vibe of necromancy stuff, his personality does fit well with that of the children of Hades. And now, Zeus. Look, I just added him, because of three main things. First, Zeus's children as mentioned in Aang's sorting are born with a heavy burden. Second, his kids are usually serious and goal orientated. And third, they are said to have good leadership skills and at the beginning of the series, while cold and distant, Zuko does a good job with commanding his soldiers. Not to mention he ends up as the next Fire Lord. Oh yeah, and he can also bend electricity, which is something Zeus and his kids are definetly known for. So...in conclusion of Zuko...he is either a son of Ares, Hades or Zeus.

Suki

Arthemis - Goddess of the hunt, archery, wilderness, animals, forests, the Moon, radiance, maidenhood, and childbirth.

Okay. I mean, this one is very obvious. Suki is part of warrior girl group that is super badass and doesn't rely on bending abilities. How more Arthemis coded can it be??? Do I need to explain more??? Since Arthemis is a sworn virgin Goddess, Suki wouldn't be her daugher but part of her huntresses. They have more physical prowess than other demigods. Now...if you have to ask me as which God's kid she would be....I don't really know. I don't even know if I want to speculate tbh. If you want, go ahead, but I am leaving it at that. She is definetly one of Arthemis's huntresses. This would however make things between her and Sokka technically impossible tho....but oh well. I honestly am too tired to think it anymore lol, but I am definetly sure that if Suki was to be in the PJO universe, she would be a huntress of Arthemis.

[celamoon]

heyyyy cressie!! for the event,could I ask for a fishbowl beewax candle with strawberry scent?

Beige, red, green, and the other colors of the museum. 

Hinata doesn't know how he found himself in a museum with you, but he doesn't find it in himself to whine or complain when you had been looking forward to it. You look happy, pulling up your tickets and staring at the map pamphlet. You tell him about each display, desperate research, and years of hyperfixating on history coming to your aid. Hinata listens to you, opting to stay quiet as you ramble. You're excited again.

"Well, you studied all of this in college as well, right?" You cling onto his arm, tilting your head at him. "You don't need to pretend to be uninterested."

Hinata exhales, chuckling. "True. Could we see the swords first?"

"Of course," You follow after him.

Hinata's passionate about a lot of things. You follow him through the museum, glancing at paintings and portraits, focusing on the way Hinata's hand grips yours. He's warm. His hands are rough from playing ball, but you like it. Ugh. You grimace at yourself. That's cheesy. 

"Babe, what's wrong?"

"Thinking about your hands," You stop with him and stare at the blades. Hinata glances at you, and he swallows. 

"Can I-"

"Go ahead."

Hinata starts rambling. Swords, grips, guards, wrapping, metal; Hinata knows it all. It's fun to watch all of his historical knowledge come into play. Well, he had chosen that as a topic, obviously. You lean your head on his shoulder as he rambles, pointing at the metal and showing you the minor details. 

"This one's by Murasakibara Toshiyoshi," Hinata points to one, and you pause. 

"The deer is cute."

"The circle is meant to represent the moon, and the vegetation is supposed to indicate it's autumn," Hinata hums. "It's made of wood."

"I liked the one with the eagles and waves the best," You hum. "It looked nice."

"The one was by Ishiguro Masatsune," Hinata hums. "He was razy famous for fitting swords back then."

"Is it true that—" You pause. "No. I think I read that it was fake."

"The Nichirin blade does not actually exist," Hinata laughs, lips pursed in amusement. "That's crafted from an ore that isn't real either. That's just something Demon Slayed came up with."

"Yes, that's why I stopped myself," You purse your lips, ears burning. "It would have been cool if it were."

"Actual swords are made of tamahagane," Hinata pulls you to one of the swords. "Pure steel. It's made of iron sand found usually near the mountains. It's more common in the United States, though. All of the tamahagane blades were from the mountains in Japan. "

"Wow," You exhale. "You're such a great tour guide."

Hinata grows embarrassed. "Really?"

"Yes," You hum. "I'm not much use here."

"Well, you were explaining every single rock to me at the museum a while back." Hinata reminds. "You seemed interested too."

"Mhm," You pause. "The hope diamond was huge. It looks like something Komaeda would own and forget it's cursed."

"Are you saying his luck is all because of an amulet?"

"It's possible," You shrug. 

"That's not how it works."

"Yeah, I know," You let go of his arm, stretching your arms over your head as you glance at the map on the wall. "The hope diamond is cursed, maybe by a miner who died while mining it haunts it. Isn't that sad?"

"Losing your life for the sake of others..." Hinata mumbles quietly to himself. "How sad."

"I know," You mumble. "Well, I hope the spirit is at least peaceful."

"It's waiting for its next victim." Hinata mumbles. "What do you want to see next?"

"Danish art, Danish art!" You drag him along. "You know, there's a lot of ships there."

"Oh, my god," Hinata covers his face as you navigate through the building, and he freezes in place when you point at a painting. "No."

"It's the shinji chair meme!" You laugh. "It's by a Danish artist called Lundbye. It's supposed to portray never-ending despair. I thought it'd be funny to show you."

Hinata sighs. You hand him the polaroid you brought, and he sighs as you imitate his pose, Asian squatting and mimicking his look. The camera snaps, and you get up as quickly as you had got down, glancing over his shoulder to look at the photo. Hinata shakes the frame, and you glance. He pauses. You're pretty.

"Can I keep one later?"

"Sure." 

You wander around the gallery before you stop at another one. The artist in the painting is checking the painting with the mirror, and a mess of art supplies is around him. Though, you point at something else. Hinata notices it before you tell him.

"That's the artist's self portrait. This is a self insert drawing."

"You're kidding me." He entertains you anyway. He finds it cute when you point out things he already knows.

"I'm not," You scroll through your phone and pull up a portrait of the artist. "See?"

"I'm." Hinata purses his lips at the artist, and he pauses. "So, like, what you do."

"Yes." You grin. "Humans have not changed past self-love."

"Not narcisism?"

"Nope." You stare at the painting. "Self-love."

The paint is dried, and the colors are old with age, yet you still stop to stare at it. Familiar? Maybe. It was nice to see that people were people no matter what decade they were from. You rock on your feet, pausing to take in the art. It's pretty.

Hinata pauses to stare at you, waiting for you to finish with the image before moving on. You're pretty. Handsome? You're beautiful. That's what you are. You're beautiful. His shoulders relax as he comes to the realization, features softening. You've been beautiful. It was as if you were sculpted by the gods themselves. He feels as though he'd see you in a museum. You belonged there.

"Haji?"

"Hm?"

"What's wrong?"

"You're pretty," He mumbles, whispers almost. It's like a quiet confession. "You belong in a museum."

"You do too," You grin back at him, heart fluttering, head ringing. "We should be sculptures together. How would we pose?"

"Not sure." You ramble as Hinata stops to look at the rest of the sketches on display. Boat, boat, boat... that's a lot of boats. You weren't wrong.

"Boats." You pause. "we could pose on a boat."

"Please don't."

"I was kidding," Your eyes dart to the sculpture of Eros and Psyche, and you pause. "We might pose like them."

"That's too much for us."

"Maybe me in your arms?"

"That sounds more realistic."

"Mm," You pout. "Why can't it be something more romantic?"

Hinata points at himself, motioning at his face.

"Fair." You turn your head. "What else do they have on display?"

"Art."

"No shit," You snort. 

Hinata follows you as you start wandering through the statues, reading the stories behind them and pausing whenever you found something interesting. He had his fair share of fun already, so it was only fair that he would let you have fun. You seem interested in the poses. You have Hinata pose for you; while he complains, he indulges you. You pause at the statue of Perseus.

"Please?"

"What would I even hold as a head?"

You rummage through your bag, throwing him a bundled-up jacket. You throw him his umbrella to be the sword. 

Hinata laughs, and you wait for him to imitate the statue before taking the photo. Hinata's handsome. Your handsome, handsome boy. Man. He's grown a lot, now that you think of it. You don't remember when he was ever ugly to you. You hold down on the button, the polaroid coming out slowly. Hinata helps you tuck the jacket back into your bag, and you wait for the photo to show up.

You pause when the photo sets.

"Haji," You mumble, showing him the picture. "You look like a greek god."

"Thank you, babe, but I really—" He pauses at the sight and purses his lips. You're not wrong. His entire build looks like a statue. You make him look pretty in your photos. "I lied."

"Yeah," You huff proudly. "I'm keeping this, by the way."

"To add to the album?"

"Yeah."

He chews on his bottom lip, tapping his foot. "We still don't have a photo of you that I can keep."

"You'll take one eventually." You hand him the polaroid, pulling out a permanent marker to scribble on the back as Hinata pops the polaroid open. Three. There are three left. He clicks on it, the photo of you scribbling on paper with a pen in your mouth out. It's pretty. You look like you belong in a museum. Maybe he was terribly in love with you. He is. Well, that would be old news to him.

"Is that the one?" You tuck your pen back, glancing at him.

"I'll pick later. Did you want to see anything else?"

You shake your head. "There's not much rock here."

"You can see bits of American history in the museum if you look hard enough," Hinata takes you to the Mayan exhibit, pointing at the brick. "That used to be part of the building. They redesigned it."

"The stairs were too, right?"

"Yes, the stairs were renewed as well," Hinata hums. "Do you want to look at the gift shop?"

"Yes," You drag him to the shop, staring at the little trinkets and jewelry. You put on Van Gogh's sunflowers, imitating structures and jumping at the price tags. Everything is expensive here. Though, you pause at the sight of the notecards, gaze lingering. "Haji."

"Yeah?"

"Should we split a box?" You reach for a box, looking at the designs. "We can include them when we write letters."

"Each month?"

"Yeah."

"Are there any assorted ones?"

"Yeah," You mumble. "but I was thinking of the water lilies."

"You can get a box," He takes the box from your hands. "Speaking of which, did you get my letter this month?"

"I did! The stickers were very cute, and the cookies were delicious," You grin.

"Well?"

"I'd rather draw them," You take a photo of the box cover, and Hinata takes a photo as well. 

"You like the lilies, right? I'll send you a mini painting when we exchange cards next time." Hinata hums. "I live close by, after all."

"I still can't believe you decided to end up on the other side of the country," You mumble. "You should visit me next time."

"You know the East has more to do."

"We have clean air," You shrug. 

Hinata lets you cling to him as you look through the rest of the jewelry, pointing at a couple you think your friends would like. The sunflowers would look good on Sonia; the studs would look good with Souda... the list goes on. He's surprised you still remember the majority of his class. He had expected you to forget a good number of them. You pause at the studs, and you glance at Hinata's ears. 

"We should match earrings."

"We don't need to match ones from the museum."

"Mm," You pause. "We should make earrings for each other at home."

"We could do that." Hinata's voice slows.

"You're tired, huh?"

"I still need two photos." Hinata hums, shaking the camera. "two more."

"We don't need to use them all."

"I'd like to have another photo of you in the museum." Hinata mumbles. 

"We have the one of me imitating the statue."

"I'd like another one," He smiles. "Shall we go back?"

"Sure." You wander back to the statues and pose for him as he takes the last photo. Second to last. Hinata wonders what he should take as the final photo. You follow him as he poses you, and you hand him your phone for photos of your own. You imitate the art. Though, Hinata finds that there's no need for you to imitate it. 

There's a moment, Hinata thinks. His left eye burns a little, and he clicks down on the button unconsciously as you're staring at him. He doesn't understand why he did, but as he shakes the photo, he wonders if he had just wanted a photo of you looking at him. Maybe he did. He hands you the camera back finally, and he shakes the polaroid. You ramble to him a little more about the myths surrounding the statues, and he stares at the photo, reaching for a permanent marker of his own, scribbling words on the back. You sneak a photo of him of your own, the shutter silent. 

"Haji,"

"Hm?"

"I love you."

"Love you too."

[tev-the-random]

The Crystal Cliffs Academy of Wizardry is finally open, which means it’s time for me to headcanon.

> Mineralogy and Crystal Healing classes are the most popular in Crystal Cliffs due to the empire's huge natural collection of magical minerals.

- Gem is particularly knowledgeable in this field, as it is the basis of her magical studies. Surprisingly, - or perhaps not so much - Fwhip also excels in this subject, and he sometimes helps Gem with the classes.

> A class closely tied to Mineralogy is Tool Crafting. The students learn how to craft staffs and wands that can amplify, direct and purify their magic. General studies of minerals, wood properties, carving and sigil-making are applied, as well as the general handling of magic tools.

- This is another subject Fwhip likes to help with, specifically when it comes to applying technology to the craft - meanwhile, Gem knows best of the traditional crafting and magical applications of said tools.

- Pixl sometimes provides copper wires to be used in Tool Crafting. Gold sometimes is provided by Scott, while Joey offers a small supply of jungle wood.

> Sigils is another popular class, due to its sheer usefulness. Though Gem likes to keep these classes objective, she doesn't aim for mere memorisation of the symbols. Their history and properties are explained, as well as their formation, so students can create their own sigils or simplify/stylise existing ones without losing their effects.

- Shubble Shrub Berry's Forest Golems are used as a prime example of sigil carving for giving life, and although Shrub is having a hard time right now, I can see Gem asking her to bring some more of her carvings to be presented to the students in Sigils class.

- There is a whole section on most students' grimoires dedicated solely to the sigils discovered in Rivendell.

- Although material is provided for writing down sigils, it's not rare to see loads of sigils written everywhere, as students often do. On the desks, sometimes on a wall, behind tests, on any susceptible wooden structure... sometimes on cheat sheets - the headmistress doesn't allow those, though. Although Gem is very proud to see her students applying their Sigils learnings, she sometimes has to use magic to remove the symbols scattered around the school.

> Classes on Fairy Circles are sometimes available; Gem learned just how useful they can be during Xornoth's time. Lizzy, Shrub, Katherine and Gem herself give the students their own teachings on the subject.

> Lizzy's classes on Sea Magic sometimes alternate with the usual Study of Magical Beasts. Her insight on the magic of the deep ocean, oceanic structures, water-based magic and aquatic creatures is considered almost cryptic, and sometimes field trips to the Ocean Empire are scheduled to give the students a better understanding.

- There are many benefits to being a marine biologist-

> Gem dreams of being able to take her students to see dragons. Growing up amongst those creatures, she knows there's a big difference between studying Draconology in theory and actually meeting dragons.

- Although the dragons of Crystal Cliffs aren't hostile towards the students, they're not exactly cuddly either. They keep a close watch of Hope's egg and act rather territorial to strangers. The headmistress would rather not bother the ancient creatures.

> Although she was hesitant at first, Gem has classes on Dark Arts and Demonology. Less so people can practice them and more so they know how to deal with it. What happened to Sausage and Joey should not repeat itself with anyone else, and that'll be much easier to accomplish if more people know how to avoid being tricked into those things.

> People like Joey, Scott and Pixl often have tips to offer about elemental magic.

> Though a lot of the initial students in the Academy are directly invited by Gem, the school will be open for anyone who wants to enrol and learn about their magic. Some people are sent from other empires through recommendation. Some are travellers that stumbled upon the Crystal Cliffs and decided to stay. Some travel far with the intent of finding other wizards and learning more. And some, like the very first students Gem housed, came with an initial hostile intent, but ended up caught up in the wizard's business and, through some threatening hospitality, decided to abandon the bandit life and stay at the school.

> Travels to the elder Elven Library are scheduled at least once per semester. Scott doesn't mind it, and Gem thinks the vast knowledge of the old tomes are a unique learning experience she shouldn't study alone.

- Although some students are prone to trouble, the Great Wizard believes they'll be able to do great things with their knowledge. If not, then it pleases her immensely that the magical arts are being revived trough each and every one of her students, and she can see the old wizards the lived on these cliffs would be proud as well.

[iamthenightcolormeblack]

Impressions of Wilde (1997)

I really liked this movie and I'm sure you will too! It's a great introduction to Oscar Wilde (who he was, a glimpse into his personal life, and why he remains relevant and incredibly charming) and also a celebration of homosexuality.

1. Overview:

The movie doesn’t tell the whole story of Oscar Wilde's life. It covers the 1880s, his rise to fame and sudden fall, and ends shortly after his 1897 prison release. Some Oscar Wilde fans were disappointed because they wanted to see the early parts of his life (how he got his inspiration and crafted his aesthete persona).

The costumes and sets are absolutely gorgeous and transport you back to the late Victorian era; lots of deep red fabric curtains, detailed mahogany wood furnishings, intricate paintings, and lavish costumes.

The lead actors are amazing and they resemble the real people almost exactly.

2. Casting:

Stephen Fry as Oscar Wilde. One could say he IS Oscar Wilde reincarnated; he looks almost exactly like Wilde. Most importantly he perfectly combines Wilde's charm and intelligence. The film also tries to show Wilde as a father and married man in addition to the "gay fop" identity that he's usually placed in. As much as he mocks society, he's kind and loving (still cares about Bosie even though it's obvious at times that Bosie doesn't deserve his kindness).

Jude Law as Lord Alfred "Bosie" Douglas, Wilde's lover. I must say that Bosie definitely reminds me of Dorian Gray because he's blond, beautiful, and selfish. He throws lots of temper tantrums and reminds me of a teenage boy trying in vain to rebel against his father, the Marquess of Queensbury (Wilde's enemy who plays a big part in his downfall). He does seem to care for/love Wilde, but is still selfish in that his first concern is himself.

Jennifer Ehle as Constance Wilde. You may know her as Elizabeth Bennet from the 1995 BBC version of Pride and Prejudice. Film Constance is quite intelligent and unconditionally supportive of Oscar Wilde.

3. Scene Recaps:

The film begins quite unusually in the Wild West (no greater contrast between the gritty Colorado mining town and the elegant parlors of London). Wilde makes his entrance in a fancy fur coat, dressed to kill. He successfully entertains the miners with a story about an artist.

Back to London; Wilde was in Colorado on his North American lecture tour. At a party he meets Constance and marries her "because all artists need an audience." Quite an interesting quote because there's this general conception that artists are isolated people who need to get away from society to produce their best works, when in actuality they need others to appreciate their works. Constance is a good match for Wilde because she's intelligent and constantly (coincides with the name) supports him even though he cheats on her with his gay buddies.

We are then treated to a lovely scene where he walks through a crowd of lawyers (marking him as a nonconformist).

Robbie Ross, one of Wilde's best friends, introduces him to gay sex.

“Dinner with lord and lady Asquith” = code language for a fling.

Then he meets John Gray, a handsome bohemian played by Ioan Gruffud, a pretty guy with long hair, and has another fling with him. Gray brings up the idea of art as a means of capturing the soul (inspiration for The Picture of Dorian Gray, which brings scandal to the Wilde family).

Oscar Wilde has 2 boys with Constance. He loves his family and cares about the wife but he’s always away in London working on his plays/stories or having flings with his gay buddies.

I really liked how the film used Oscar Wilde's children's story The Selfish Giant as a metaphor for his relationship with his family. His success isolates him from his family; he's often away and doesn't visit often, much like the giant hides behind a wall.

He meets Bosie at the premiere of the play Lady Windermere’s Fan (not historically accurate). Bosie says something smart to flatter Wilde, summing up what Wilde did in his work: using wit to mock and amuse people simultaneously.

Bosie is a beautiful, selfish rich boy and wants Wilde for his own entertainment. He has some affection for OW but loves himself first; Wilde's friends and Robbie Ross are concerned for him. Wilde and Bosie have a passionate, open relationship. At times Bosie has sex with other men while Wilde watches.

They dine together without a concern for others’ opinion (another of my favorite scenes from the movie).

Wilde genuinely loves Bosie and sees him as the victim of bad parenting (what a pity, since it's unclear at times whether Bosie loves Wilde).

Eventually because of his relationship with Bosie, Wilde makes a powerful enemy in Bosie's father, the Marquess of Queensbury. Queensbury attempts to insult Wilde several times before sending him a card accusing Wilde of being a sodomite. Wilde sues for libel and that precipitates his downfall, as all the details of his personal life are revealed.

In the trial, Wilde tries to explain "the love that has no name" and is convicted. Then follows a heartbreaking scene where he tries to maintain his composure while being haggled and booed at by spectators, while his friends can only watch in silence.

Bosie swears to Wilde that he loves him, but while Wilde languishes in jail, he complains that the imprisonment affects him most as he's suffering (what a selfish person).

I have ambivalent feelings about the “happy” ending where Oscar Wilde is reunited with Bosie. As much as I like happy endings in LGBTQ+ movies (because that doesn't often happen), Bosie clearly isn't a very good person and maybe would have been bored with Wilde and left him.

4. Some things not included in the movie:

The film doesn't include the fact that Oscar Wilde slept with teenage boys and male prostitutes. The flings seemed to be consensual but some of the sexual partners were underage.

Constance is advised to change her last name to save her social reputation, but the film doesn't show that she actually did (changed it to Holland).

The last part of the film (the trial to the ending) merely serves to remind us that Wilde was courageous for being a nonconformist in a stifling society. They don't really show what happens to Wilde after his imprisonment with the exception of the reunion with Bosie.

Conclusion:

Definitely watch this movie if you haven't already; it's an excellent introduction to Oscar Wilde, or if you're a Wilde fan, it will be great entertainment.

I was going to write some more intelligent things about this movie but I just started college and I didn't get around to finishing this little post until a few weeks after I watched the movie (so I've forgotten some stuff in it/my other thoughts about it).

[gumnut-logic]

Callisto (Part Six - Rescue Site)

Prologue 1. Incident - Bit 1 | Bit 2 2. Fallout - Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3 3. Voyage - Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3 4. Arrival - Bit 1 | Bit 2 5. Orientation 6. Rescue Site

This fic seems to be taking forever, but I hope it isn’t reading that way. I had so much fun over the weekend and I still have some fun ahead of me writing one of the core scenes I had planned. I hope you are enjoying reading this.

As always, many thanks to the amazing @tsarinatorment​ @scribbles97​ @janetm74​ and @vegetacide​ as well for all the read throughs and support. Wonderful science officer @onereyofstarlight​ this bit has one of the places we talked about extensively and wouldn’t exist without your help :D

Again, thank you to all the wonderful peeps who have been reading along and commenting despite the once a week posting schedule. You help keep my enthusiasm alive and you have no idea how much I appreciate every word of encouragement ::hugs you all::

Have a Tracy boy or two on the job :D

-o-o-o-

Scott rolled his shoulders and tried to stretch out the tension that was slowly giving him a headache.

At least now they were moving. This rescue felt like it was taking forever.

Hell, it was the same with most space recues, if even more with this one. The distances involved just went on and on and no matter how fast the Thunderbird, it was slow.

It rankled Scott just a little. The fact that the environment could not be influenced by his impatience.

And Dad…

He shunted the thought aside. Perhaps that was why he scorned the time needed. It gave him far too much time to think.

The tunnel stretched out before him as it had for some time now. The life signs were nearly seven hundred kilometres away from Callisto Base. Usually, this was not a problem. There wasn’t a Thunderbird that couldn’t cover that distance in a short period of time. Even Four could do it at velocities no other underwater craft had ever managed.

But this location was at least two kilometres underground, and while the molepod was always an option, Virgil had vetoed it with the option of travelling via dragonfly through the tunnels. Scott had to agree. They needed far more information before barrelling into an unknown situation, not to mention the difficulties of deploying the molepod in these conditions.

But by this point he was almost ready to jump out and blast a hole in the damned moon to get where they needed to go.

Time. So much damned time.

Too much to think.

His hands shifted on the Dragonfly’s controls spinning her into a dive as the tunnel dipped suddenly. The brilliance of the pod’s forward lights lit up the never-ending cave as clear as daylight.

It sparkled back at him in sharp, stabbing needle-like reflections off the walls that did nothing to improve his headache. He had already set his helmet to shade to protect himself. It was ridiculous to be needing sunglasses this far underground.

Behind him, Virgil was following him at a short distance in Dragonfly Two, his lights just bright enough to light up the red of Scott’s pod.

For some irrational reason Scott wanted his pod to be blue.

The blue of the sky he was currently missing.

He sighed.

Again, too much time to think.

“Another five hundred metres.” Alan’s voice from behind him was the reassurance it always was. Why he felt comforted when his littlest brother was nearby and within reach was something he did not want to examine too much.

A twist of his wrists as the tunnel backed around on itself in a hairpin of a turn and he had to dodge another nest of those weird deformed ice stalactite formations sticking out into their path. “What are we looking at?”

“Looks like another cavern. A big one.”

They had flown through several of those enormous caverns on the way out here already. They acted like junctions, some having multiple tunnels converging on them, every single one a home for more ice formations and that damned reflective rock. It had taken John to get them out of the last one. This place was a damned maze.

Virgil had fortunately come prepared, as always. He was leaving a trail of comms-support beacons behind them as a clear path to return to Callisto Base.

Scott fought the urge to duck as the tunnel suddenly shrunk by several metres and took another swerving turn. Scott spun the pod over one-eighty degrees on her longitudinal axis as her wings nearly scraped the ceiling.

Righting them finally, he couldn’t help but check his monitor to make sure Virgil took the turn safely.

He almost smiled as the green pod behind them flipped in a manoeuvre that no doubt had Gordon yelping in the back seat. He couldn’t help but be proud for just a self-indulgent moment.

But his attention was torn away as his pod suddenly shot into a large open space and the light reflecting off the walls suddenly blinded him.

Alan’s gasp behind him only echoed his own.

Their forward lights were being shot at them in blinding brilliance off the ceiling of the new cave.

That brightness only increased as Virgil’s pod spun into a hover beside them.

Oh god.

Whatever had been in the walls of the tunnels was obviously concentrated here.

He redirected the lamps away from the ceiling only to have the brilliance follow them all the way down the closest wall until he was able to turn the pod towards the most distant wall.

Crystal.

There was crystal everywhere.

The cave walls were covered in spikes of the stuff as it they were inside a giant geode. He had to acknowledge that it was stunningly amazing when it wasn’t ripping his eyeballs out.

But that wasn’t what took his breath away.

As their lamps lowered, they caught the edges of something else.

He turned the lights down towards the floor only to discover he couldn’t see it.

Because it was covered in water.

Fluid, liquid water, the dragonflies causing the faintest of ripples to dance across its surface.

A lake.

Scott’s jaw dropped as he tipped the pod to peer down into the dark water only to have more crystal attempt to stab him in the eye from the depths.

“What the hell?”

Water wasn’t supposed to be able to exist in this environment. He poked at his scanners. Atmospheric levels were the same, ever so thin, providing little to no air pressure or heat to keep the water in this state.

“John? What am I seeing?”

Thunderbird Five did not answer immediately, but the data transmission rate on comms doubled as his space brother reached his fingers into the cave through the pod’s sensors.

“Impossible.”

“That was my thought. Virgil?”

“It’s beautiful.”

Scott’s lips thinned. “Scientific explanation? Gordon?”

“You got me here, bro. But I’m more concerned about those lifesigns.”

Scott frowned and double checked his readout. The two dots registered, glowing strongly at him.

From under the water.

-o-o-o-

Virgil frowned as Scott spun his dragonfly around and returned to the entrance of the cavern. His forward lights lit up only what could be considered a beach where the original tunnel swooped in and connected with the crystal cave. At the base there was only a few scattered crystal formations and Virgil watched as his brother expertly put down without touching a single one.

“Are we going to take a look at the lake?”

Typical. Nearby water body and his fish brother wanted in it.

But Virgil needed more reconnaissance.

And if he was honest with himself, there was just a dash of sightseeing involved. Not much, because of the urgency of the mission, but enough curiosity to send him off on a scout around the cavern.

Crystals that had to be the length of an arm or a leg stuck out from the walls in haphazard directions. Most reflected back clear, but in streaks, as if seeping up a localised mineral, there were ribbons of colour in places – reds, greys, golds, pinks. His scanners spat back that it was simply quartz, silicon dioxide, but he had never seen a formation like this.

Which was understandable as this was an alien landscape with vastly different environs to those of Earth. The artist in him was literally stunned, while the scientist valiantly fought for a reason.

He swooped around the edges of the cavern, his lamps lighting up brilliance as he went. The cave proved to be roughly circular, approximately four hundred metres in diameter and about a hundred metres high. He came across two more tunnels leading off it, but all were as dry as the one they had used to enter the cave. Towards the centre, but not quite, the ceiling arched down and what appeared to be a stalactite met a stalagmite to form a column of swirling crystal that looked like something straight out of an art glass exhibition. The ribbons of colour were here too, but this time mostly in a rose pink and a startling blue.

Virgil didn’t have words.

The light playing among the crystals just touched every artistic sense he had and froze them solid.

But there was a mission and those two glowing red dots glared at him from beneath the surface of the lake.

He ran scans of the water. For it was water, mostly, though, certainly not any he would want to drink.

For one thing it was salty, a definite brine solution with a number of minerals including silica in concentrations that defied as much logic as the water’s existence did in the first place.

The difficulty was that the lifesigns weren’t clear. They were in the water, but resolution faded at a very shallow depth and there was a lot of deep depth in places.

“John, can you get any more resolution on these scans? I can’t pinpoint the lifesigns.”

There was a muttered curse on comms that had Virgil arching an eyebrow. “No, I’m sorry, Virgil. Interference is particularly strong in that cavern. We’re working on it, but I don’t have any great hopes.”

“What about a probe? Would that improve the signal?” Virgil blinked as his headache suddenly flared. Ow. Damn. The controls in front of him blurred a moment. Shit!

But then everything righted itself, just leaving an echo of the pain in his head as the headache droned on as it had before.

Maybe his painkillers were wearing off. A glance at the time proved that was far from the case.

He dreaded to think what that would have felt like without them.

“Virg?”

“What?!” Okay, so he was abrupt, but he was busy.

“Hey, hey, calm down. You didn’t answer John. Just checking on you.”

“Virgil, you there?” John’s voice dripped concern.

Shit.

“Sorry. Just got a headache. Need some sleep.”

“I feel you, bro. Want me to pilot?”

“No. No. I’m fine.” He swallowed bile and mentally shook himself. “John, you were saying?”

He could feel Gordon’s eyes on the back of his neck.

“Probe deployed. Target is Burr Crater, which you are directly under at the moment.”

Virgil’s display reported the probe entering Callisto’s atmosphere. He hoped it would give them enough information to act.

Time was ticking.

He spun the pod around and tried to ignore the rainbow of light that was his forward lamps. The flicker, while beautiful, was doing nothing good for his headache at all.

“You sure you’re okay, Virg?”

He pressed his lips together and considered ignoring the question from Gordon. But he knew if he did, his brother would only worry more.

It was a Tracy trait.

“Let’s just get this mission done. We have people who need saving.”

Gordon’s grunt wasn’t a happy one and the chances of Scott being called in on his headache were increasing by the moment.

“I’m fine, Gordon.” He cut the conversation off by dropping the pod rapidly towards the beach where Scott had climbed out and was walking to the water’s edge. Another spin mid-air and Virgil lowered into a rather delicate landing, keeping the pod’s feet away from the crystal formations sticking out of the rock.

Virgil swallowed again before climbing out of the pod. His boots hit solid but glittering rock, damp in the darkness.

Scott and Alan were standing at the water’s edge staring out at the spectacle that the pod lights lit up.

Gordon clambered out behind Virgil and together they both walked over to stand beside their brothers.

“This is so cool!” Alan was obviously excited.

He said it on external comms and the sound travelled across the cavern only to bounce back in so many perfect ‘ool’s Virgil’s eyes widened.

On the spur of that, as the ‘ool’s slowly faded away, he activated his own external comm and sung a single pure C note.

It came back at him from so many different directions it was like a chorus.

“Oh, wow.”

‘Wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow…’ It went on, the faint atmosphere sporting just enough density to carry the sound waves.

“That is something, isn’t it?” Scott’s voice was quiet. “The dragonflies made one hell of a racket. We’re going to have to be careful. Wouldn’t want to set up a harmonic that could bring the roof down on us.”

Virgil was still processing. The thought of playing his piano in this cave was just mind boggling.

“Dad says the Base scientists are having some kind of scientific fit over this place.” A grunt. “I’m more concerned about those two lifesigns.” He paused. “John, any luck with the probe?”

“Unfortunately, no. The interference is just too thick. I can read the water, but very little in it or below it. I’ll keep trying.”

Scott sighed. “Keep us updated. Looks like this will have to be more hands on.” He turned to Gordon. “We need Thunderbird Four.”

-o-o-o-

Next

[thetravelerwrites]

Dr. Mael Halvorg (Part 2)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationship: Male Part Fae/Female Part Fae Additional Tags: Exophilia, Monster Boyfriend, Fae, Naga, Reader Insert, Anthropology, Genetics Content Warnings: Children, Pregnancy, Incubation, Infertility, Birth, Oviposition, Egg-Laying Words:

Commissioned by @ivymemnoch​! The reader and Dr. Halvorg discuss his lingering infertility problem. Amai lays her final clutch of eggs. Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

“Good morning, class!” You said on the first day.

“Good morning!” Fourteen bright voices responded.

All of the children except for baby Yenu were sitting on their tails behind desks in a room that had been set up as a classroom by the staff.

“So, every day each week we’re going to work on a different subject,” You began. “Mondays are reading and language comprehension, Tuesdays are maths and sciences, Wednesdays are social studies and economics, Thursdays are geography and history, Fridays are fun days with arts, crafting, music, and educational games. Today is Monday, so we’re going to start with reading. You should each have a workbook appropriate to your developmental level in your desks, so please take out your reading workbooks.”

As the children shuffled and searched for the right book, Dr. Halvorg stepped inside the classroom with a clipboard. You raised an eyebrow.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

“I’m observing the children in a school setting to see how they adapt,” He replied.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “And I’m also assuming how I teach, correct?”

He dipped his head sheepishly. “I was curious. And it’s for my research.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Mm.” You turned back to your students and fell into your teacher’s voice. “Keenai, if you would begin reading the first sentence, please?”

Keenai picked up his workbook and started reading. “The small dog lives in a red house.”

“Can you tell me which of these words are verbs?”

“Um…” He looked at the sentence, frowning.

“To remind you, a verb is an action word, something someone does.”

“Uh… lived?” He replied slowly.

“Very good.” You said, and he smiled in relief. “Tani, you’re next. Read the next sentence in your book.”

“The red house was built on a wed… wedeness…”

“Wednesday,” You said. “That’s a hard word, I know. Can you tell me what the noun is in that sentence?”

“House?”

“Good! A noun is a person, a place, or a thing. I’m a noun, you’re a noun, the room we’re in is a noun.”

“Is Nenish a noun?” Jinsa asked.

“Yes.”

“Ha ha, you’re a noun!” Jinsa said, pointing at Nenish.

“So are you!” Nenish interjected.

“Hey, hey! Settle down, please!” You called over them, sitting on the edge of your desk. “Fuma, you next.”

Fuma read from his book, and then Amaia. Next, you went down the line of the four-year-olds, having them read a sentence and find colors, shapes, numbers, or sounds in the sentences. The three-year-olds were next, and they simply read small sentences. You then had the one-year-olds spell and say three-letter words.

Their quick development was normal for nagas, as they tended to age quickly until they hit puberty, when their aging progress slowed to accommodate for yearly hibernation, but it was also startling in conjunction with the developmental levels of similar creatures. You had never studied the advancements of a species’ young so closely before, and you had to admit, it was fascinating. You could see why Dr. Halvorg found it so interesting.

You set the children writing tasks appropriate to their learning level and took a moment to talk to Dr. Halvorg, who was scribbling quickly in a notebook.

“They have computers now that you can write on, you know,” You told him, amused.

He looked up over his glasses at you and quirked an eyebrow. “I am aware of that, thank you. I’m not quite so old-fashioned as I seem, regardless of what Amai might tell you.” He looked back down and continued scribbling. “I’m a chronic note-taker. A bad habit I can’t seem to break, though with my profession, it’s often a strength rather than a weakness.”

“Hmm,” You hummed. “And what do your notes say about my teaching?”

“Adequate,” He replied, still scribbling. “Don’t misunderstand, that’s not a criticism. I hold everyone to an extremely high standard. If you hadn’t met expectations, I would have dismissed you.”

“So I meet your expectations?” You asked sardonically.

“At the moment,” He said, snapping his book closed and standing up. “I still want to observe your other classes before I’m completely satisfied.”

“Hmm,” You said again.

True to his word, Halvorg attended every class that week, observing you interacting with the children. Other than a question or two about your future curriculum, he stayed quiet. At the end of the week, he asked that you submit a weekly progress report until you either found a replacement or were dismissed.

It seemed excessive to you, and you were beginning to wonder if he still saw the children as an experiment. He seemed to care about them, but how much of that was genuine and how much of it was his own self-interest? You were starting to feel leery of and disconcerted by him.

Perhaps he picked up on this, because he seemed to go out of his way to avoid you. He had you direct all of your questions and reports to his assistant and rarely picked up his phone. Any conversations were brief and succinct. He did send you notes on your curriculum, making suggestions for each child. If you weren’t already suspicious of his motives, you might almost have though it sweet.

“I think Halvorg is avoiding me,” You told Amai when the two of you went to lunch together. Now that the two of you could hang out after all the years, you made it a point to set time aside for each other and had lunch at least once a week.

“What makes you say that?” Amai asked, drizzling dressing over her starter salad.

“Ever since he watched me teach classes, he’s barely spoken to me. He seemed excited to exchange research notes when I first arrived, but now he seems to have no interest in speaking to me since he finished observing class.”

“He could just be busy,” Amai suggested. “The four year old’s birthdays are coming up. He always does something special for the kids on their birthdays.”

“Are you concerned that he only sees your children as test subjects?” You asked her. “He seems obsessed with them.”

Amai laughed. “I thought that way in the early days, but he genuinely loves kids. If anything ever happened to me or Yenuno, I’m confident Halvorg would take care of them.” She took a sip of her mineral water. “Are you coming to the kids party? You’re invited, obviously.”

“Will there be clowns? I hate clowns.”

She snorted. “Nothing so gauche. I think Halvorg set up a treasure hunt. The kids always love whatever he plans. Honestly, I know I complain about him, but he does make it easy for me sometimes. I haven’t had to plan any major events since the kids hatched.”

“Hmm… I don’t know. It’s strange to me how involved he is.”

Amai sat back in her seat and eyed you shrewdly. “Did he ever tell you about his son?”

You looked up in surprise. “Son? I thought you said he had no children.”

“He doesn’t… technically.” Amai set her fork down. “You didn’t hear this from me so don’t repeat it, but he had a wife nearly a hundred years ago who cheated on him. He raised a boy, thinking he was his son, but the child was actually fathered by the other man. His wife left him and took the boy with her and he never saw him again. I don’t think he ever got over that.”

“Oh, god,” You replied, horrified. “I can’t imagine what that’s like.”

“He’s spend the last several decades saving dying races from the brink of extinction. In a way, he thinks of those children he helped bring into the world as his children, too. And every time he has to let them go, it’s like losing his son all over again. I think the fact that he gets to help raise our babies is something of a gift for him. Trust me, it’s not something he takes for granted.”

“I guess I hadn’t thought of it like that,” You said in dismay.

“Halvorg is stuffy, strict, and a stickler for protocols, so he can be difficult to read, but I assure you, he loves my children as if they were his own. It may have started as research, but he has a family now and I think that’s what he wanted all along. Try not to judge him to harshly.”

You conceded with a nod. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The following Saturday, you attended the kids birthday party as requested. The kids were excited and zooming around the receiving area, shrieking and laughing, all of them wearing party hats and nothing else. Amaia was piggy-backing on Dr. Halvorg, her tail wrapped around his waist for stability and her arms hugged around his neck. Dr. Halvorg walked around completely normally, as if this was a typical action and he was used to it. He watched the children playing with a wide, fond grin on his face.

You walked over to Amai and Yenuno, who were watching from the refreshments table with Yenu, feeding her crackers.

“Nothing like a little bit of chaos in the morning,” You said.

They laughed.

“You’ve never seen them after a group kill,” Yenuno said. “They’re uncontrollable after they’ve taken down an elk together. It’s pretty incredible to watch for me, personally. Nagas in the wild typically don’t work together and they especially don’t hunt together, not even siblings.”

“They are very close and friendly, for nagas,” You remarked. “Markedly different to most snake-related species I’ve met.”

“It’s Amai’s blood and influence that’s doing it, I’m sure,” Yenuno said, kissing his wife’s cheek. “She’s the most friendly and cheerful person I’ve ever met.”

“To be fair, sweetie, you haven’t met all that many people,” Amai said, laughing.

“That is fair,” Yenuno conceded. “My point stands, though.”

“Alright children, gather ‘round!” Halvorg called, and they flocked to him, swirling around him like a whirlpool. “Now, you guys are going to split up into teams to help Nenish, Tahara, and Sadji find their gifts. Nenish will have Tani, Jinsa, and Keenai on his team. Tahara will have Amaia, Osan, Ishni, and Dashu on his team. And Khuzho, Chidil, Fuma, and Itheti will be on Sadji’s team.” He handed a small leaflet to each team. “Follow the clues to find the treasures! Go!”

The kids scattered, giggling madly.

“Come get something to drink and rest for a minute, Halvorg!” Yenuno called. “I think you’ve earned it.”

Halvorg grinned boyishly, an expression that brightened his face and made him look… well… rather handsome. He jogged over to the table and had a ginger ale. Elves have hypermobile ears, and his ears were high and wiggling slightly, a normal indication in elvish peoples of happiness and excitement.

“I think they’ll really enjoy their gifts this year,” Halvorg said, taking sips of his soda. “And the treasure hunt is half the fun. It’s challenging, but not too difficult. If they work together, it should be no trouble at all.”

“You didn’t get them history books like last year, did you?” Amai asked with her eyes narrowed. “You might as well have burned the money you spent on those for all the use they got out of them.”

“No, I learned my lesson,” He said defensively. “I bought toys.”

“Educational toys?” Amaia asked shrewdly.

He stopped mid-sip and looked at Amaia with an eyebrow raised. “…maybe,” He said into his cup.

Amaia rolled her eyes. “At least Yenuno and I ordered some stuff the kids will like.”

“You don’t know that they won’t like them,” I said. “I loved educational toys.”

“Yeah, but you’re a nerd,” Amaia said, poking you playfully.

“So what? Your kids could be nerds, too. I’m pretty sure Osan is going to be a Star Wars fan. He’s been talking my ear off about the Mandalorian.”

“It’s so strange,” Amaia said, ignoring your response and looking off in the distance. “I thought that because the kids were hatched in clutches, they would be like twins or triples or the like and have similar interests and personalities, but they’re all so different. Different likes, different traits, different styles. It’s amazing.”

“It amazes me, too,” Yenuno said, staring into his drink with a wistful expression. “My siblings and I separated when we were young, so I don’t know what they were like or if we had similar interests. Honestly, until recently, I never gave them a thought. Watching my children work together… it makes me wonder what my own siblings were like, and if they’d still be alive today if we had helped each other.”

There was a contemplative silence for a few minutes, broken by excited voices reentering the receiving area.

“We found it!” Tahara said, holding up a wrapped gift. The other four were carrying smaller treat bags that had their names written on them. “Uncle Maël, look!”

“Excellent! Well done!” Halvorg said, bending to give Tahara a hug. “Now, let’s wait until your brothers return with their gifts before we open them, okay? How about you five play tag until then?”

“Okay!” Tahara said.

“I’ll play with you,” Yenuno said. “I’m starting to get fat, preparing for the incubation period.” He patted Amai’s belly, which carried his three eggs, likely to be the last clutch they’d have together.

“How soon?” You asked Amai as Yenuno took off to chase with his children.

“Any day,” Amai said with a weary sigh. “And I’m ready for it. These little guys are heavy.”

“Boys or girls?”

“We won’t know until they hatch. It’s too hard to get a clear picture with the ultrasound, and besides, even if it could, both the male and female genitalia are internal, so it’s nearly impossible to tell.” She took a sip of ginger ale. “We’re really hoping for at least one girl. Don’t get me wrong, we love the boys more than anything, but we’d like Amaia and Yenu to have some sisters.”

“I’d like to be present for the laying, if that’s okay,” You said.

“For your research?” She asked.

Your head rocked back. “No, because you’re my friend and I want to be there for you.”

Amai smiled fondly. “Oh. Of course, thank you.”

Dr. Halvorg had not added anything to the conversation with you and Amai, and instead went to the table and made a plate of snacks. You gave Amai a look and a cocked eyebrow, and she nodded understanding, slipping away from her spot to watch her husband and children play.

“Dr. Halvorg?”

He flinched and looked up, glancing around furtively and noticing that the two of you were alone. “Yes?”

“Why are you avoiding me?”

He opened his mouth and closed it again before responding, “I’m doing no such thing.”

“I’ve requested at least three meetings with you this past month, and you’re always too busy,” You said dryly.

“Well, I am,” He said, turning. “If you’ll excuse me…”

“Are you avoiding me because I asked you out?” You asked bluntly.

He missed a step in his stride and stopped.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I should have realized from your professional demeanor that you wouldn’t be open to interoffice dating. I apologize.”

Halvorg sighed and turned to face you. “It’s not that. Not exactly, I mean.” He set his plate on the table and looked you full in the face for the first time in weeks. “I haven’t given a thought to dating in…” He rubbed his forehead. “Gods… decades. The question took me off guard, of course, and I actually had to sit down and give it some thought. I’ve been wrapped up in my work, of course, but I think I was just distracting myself.”

“From what?”

He sat on the edge of the table and crossed his arms. “It’s hard to talk about. I don’t even really talk about it with Yenuno, and I would consider him my closest friend.” He sighed heavily and avoided your eye. “I’ve ignored my personal life in favor of spending my career and fortune in this century helping races achieve something I want for myself.”

“Children?” You guessed.

He nodded a little morosely. “Not just that, but that is a significant part of it. I’ve been following the reproduction rates of Celtic fae since the fae were originally integrated and it’s decreasing year by year. I live in constant fear that my own race will be extinct in my lifetime.” He quirked his head at you. “Your race still seems to be fairly prolific, is that correct?”

“Oh yeah, I have a bunch of brothers and a truckload of cousins. No problems there.”

He sighed. “I don’t know what the problem with my race is. I’ve studied genetic traits, magical impediments, marriage and divorce rates, and ratio of coupling to conceptions.The numbers are terrible and I don’t know why. That’s what drives me crazy. I hate not having an answer.”

“Have there been miscarriages?”

“No, that’s the crazy thing, the rate of conception is extraordinarily low. I think there have only been three live births of Celtic fae blood in the last year.”

“Oh, jeez,” You said, sitting against the table next to him. “I didn’t realize the problem was that severe. Have you considered whether it might be a physical problem?”

“How do you mean?”

“Have you ever done a sperm count? Or had an MRI of the area to see if there’s a blockage? That kind of thing can be genetic and men tend to be shy about stuff like that.”

He tilted his head and frowned. “No, I haven’t. It actually hadn’t occurred to me. Honestly, I’ve been so focused on my work to distract myself, it may have worked too well and I ignored such things.” He looked at you and smiled. “You’ve given me something to think about.”

You smiled back. “Good. I wonder if the females of the race have a similar issue. It may have been something bred into the people over time, over centuries.”

“That’s possible,” He said. “There’s certainly a precedent; some creatures have been bred to extinction. Remember the pug?”

“That tiny dog breed with the squashed face?” You said. “Yeah, they died out a while ago, didn’t they?”

He nodded. “That was human interference, though. Yenuno’s people were dying out due to antisocialism; too reclusive to even propagate their own species. Yenuno was the only one of his kind to take up this project, and even he was reluctant.”

“He seems happy now,” You remarked.

“Yeah,” Halvorg said softly, watching Yenuno laughing and chasing his kids with a sad kind of jealousy. “He does.”

You watched his face, the deep, deep sadness creasing his face and making him look older than he was.

“Follow up, Halvorg, see a specialist. This may have a fix that didn’t exist the last time you tried.”

He nodded, smiling at you, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I will.”

As you stood up, you bumped his shoulder lightly. “Thank you for talking to me. I appreciate that you trusted me enough to discuss such a sensitive subject. I get the feeling that you don’t share yourself with many people.”

He laughed. “No, not really.” He looked up with a smile that seemed more sincere. “Thank you for listening.”

Amai went into labor three days later. She was taken to the laying room, where both Yenuno and Dr. Halvorg were present in addition to the interspecies OBGYN. You were suited up in scrubs and the paper gowns that surgeons wear, as was everyone else in the room besides Amai, who was completely naked, and Yenuno, who never wore clothing. There were natal heart monitors on her belly and an EKG hooked up to her chest.

Amai was sitting on a specially designed chair that would allow her to pass the eggs through her birth canal and into the waiting arms of the doctor. She was already sweating and panting by the time you arrived. The OBGYN and Dr. Halvorg were having a quiet conversation. You went to the other side of Amai and took her hand, trying not to wince when she nearly crushed your fingers.

“Is she okay?” You asked in alarm.

“She’s not fully dilated yet,” Halvorg said, pulling his braid into a surgical cap. “The eggs are getting impatient, it seems.”

“Yeah, well, so am I, so they can settle the fuck down!” Amai shrieked at him.

He bore the abuse with no reaction other than a wry smile. Yenuno wisely said nothing and simply wiped Amai’s forehead with a cloth.

“It won’t be long,” the OBGYN said. “She’s almost there.”

“Just saw me open and get them out,” Amai moaned. “It would hurt less.”

Yenuno tried to kiss her cheek, but she swatted him away weakly.

“No,” She said peevishly. “No touching ever again.”

“You said that last time,” He said, smiling fondly.

“Yeah, but I mean it this time,” She said sulkily.

“Of course you do, darling.” He patted her head. She scrunched her face up at him in annoyance. She was always adorable when she was miffed.

“I’ll make you into shoes,” She said sourly. “And a matching purse.”

It took a while for Amai to dilate fully, and by then she was very tired. Yenuno was looking worried; she’d laid several eggs over the years and never struggled this much before. Perhaps this being their last clutch was a good idea.

“Okay, I think we can start pushing now,” The doctor said, getting ready to catch the eggs. “Amai, when you feel the next contract, hold your breath, bear down, and push.”

“Okay,” She breathed. “One’s coming.”

We all braced for the push. Amai took several quick deep breaths and held it, her face pulled tight in pain and effort, doubling over in the chair as she did. You and Yenuno held her hands and patted her back and murmured encouragement. Halvorg was waiting with a soft cloth to take the eggs for cleaning, after which they would be laid in a specialized incubating carrier to be taken to Yenuno’s cottage.

The first egg came slowly and with much screaming. The doctor caught it and handed it off to Halvorg. The shell of the egg was soft and needed extremely delicate care, but Halvorg was well practiced by now and got the egg washed and into the carrier under ninety seconds and returned for the next.

The second egg came more quickly, but Amai screamed the whole time. By the time the third and final egg was laid, her voice was raw and she was too exhausted to scream.

But it was over. She fell back into the recline of the chair as if boneless and breathed in shallowly, her eyes barely open.

“You were amazing, darling,” Yenuno said gently, kissing Amai’s face. “Rest. I’m taking the eggs to the cottage. The children will visit you when you’ve slept.”

She turned her head slowly to look at him and touched her fingertips to his face, tracing down his cheek, chin, neck and chest before letting her hand fall back to her side, and her eyes closed. Nurses came to whisk her away to a recovery room, the OBGYN following behind. Yenuno and Halvorg left to take the eggs to the cottage for the incubation, and you were left alone in the laying room.

As you were shedding the paper gown and surgical cap, you noticed a small book lying on the ground. It looked to be one of Halvorg’s research journals, though it was smaller than his usual ones. He must have dropped it out of his back pocket when he was disrobing. You picked it up and took it with you with the intent on returning it to him in the morning.

And of course, you’d completely forgotten by the time you woke up.

Amai recovered enough in a few days to be up and walking around. She and the children took turns keeping Yenuno company, as he grew morose if he was left alone too long. You had declared half days until the new babies hatched so that they could have more time with their dad.

One afternoon, after the children had left class for the day, Dr. Halvorg came in and sat on the edge of your desk.

“Hello,” You said pleasantly, closing the folder with their latest work for grading. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

“I wanted to let you know I took you up on your advice,” He said, looking a little bashful. “I went and saw a specialist. They’re going to be doing some tests soon. Sperm count, blood tests, an MRI. Any test that can be done will be done.”

“Good!” You said, swinging your chair around. “I’m glad. Maybe you’ll finally get an answer.”

He sighed, looking pensive and anxious. “I’m trying not to get my hopes up, but I still wanted to thank you for pushing me to do it.”

“I didn’t push you to do it, Maël,” You said. His eyes narrowed at your use of his first name, but he didn’t say anything. “I just brought the subject up. It was your decision to do it.”

“Well, thank you all the same,” He replied. “I admit, I’m nervous about it. I could either get wonderful news or have my worst fears confirmed. I don’t know how I’ll react to either option.”

“Would you like me to come with you?” You asked him.

He looked at you in surprise. “You… you don’t have to do that.”

“I know I don’t,” You replied. “But this is the kind of thing you need friends for. And since Yenuno is tied up with the eggs, I could be a good substitute. You don’t even have to think of me as a friend, if you don’t want to, just an emotional support associate.”

He was quiet for a moment. “I think of you as a friend.”

“Well, thank you. I was hoping we’d get there eventually. So? What do you think? Want some support for this?”

“Not for the tests, I can do those by myself perfectly well,” He said, adjusting his tie nervously. “But… for the results… perhaps… a friend would be nice.”

“I’ll be there for you, then,” You said, standing and patting his arm. “Does Yenuno know about this? Have you talked to him about it?”

“No,” He replied. “I didn’t want to tell him while he’s dealing with his own new babies. Besides, if the news is not good, I don’t want people feeling sorry for me. If the news comes back positive… I don’t know… I think this is one thing I’d rather keep to myself.”

“Except for me, you mean,” You said.

He nodded concedingly. “Besides you.”

“Let me know when the results come back and I’ll go with you. We’ll make a day of it, go to a spa, get a bikini wax together, eat some overpriced salads, buy something ridiculous we want but don’t need. It’ll be a blast.”

He actually laughed a little. “Sounds like a plan.”

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My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

[oftenderweapons]

Mold Me New (3) — Taehyung

A Small Town Swoons Story

Pairing: Taehyung x reader (nicknamed Frog — for now)

Wordcount: 3.7k

Genre: ceramic artist!Taehyung, divorced!reader, Strangers to Lovers, Fluff, Angst, Slice of Life

Rating: 18+ (for future smut and explicit thoughts)

Hello to my readers!!! Welcome to the Small Town Swoons Universe! 🥰✨

In this episode: Terry has given very generic instructions to Frog about how to retrieve her birthday gift. A more then welcome surprise follows. 

TRIGGER WARNINGS: None. (Wow. I’m shocked.)

Once more let me thank potter supreme @joheunsaram​ (I’d be wandering in darkness and despair without you. Lob U)

Here is my complete masterlist and in case you need it, here’s the Spotify music companion.

Navi: Chapter 1 — Chapter 2 — Chapter 3 — Chapter 4 — Chapter 5 — Chapter 6 — Chapter 7

“Hello?”

You felt deeply embarrassed venturing into the backyard of a stranger.

“Excuse me? Hello?”

The heavy sound of something slamming against the floor of a garage had you slightly worried. You were ready to run away when the door opened. The neighbourhood wasn’t familiar to you and Terry’s refusal to tell you anything about the specific address she had given you scared you even more.

You feared you’d end up at one of Terry’s friends with benefit’s house.

You changed your mind, however, when you recognised the man standing out of the door.

“Frog? Is that you?”

“Taehyung?” You said, recalling the name of the man. You had met him only a couple days before, spending a good time with his friends while your own had ditched you.

“Hello Frog!” He exclaimed, incredibly happy to see you. “Are you here for a four pm meeting?”

“All I know is that Terry told me to be here by four. She gave me the address but,” you laughed, shaking your head and touching your hair nervously. “She didn’t mention it was you. She didn’t say anything. She only said it was a surprise.”

Taehyung’s laugh exploded suddenly, deep and loud. “That explains many, many things.” He nodded to himself, waiting for you to get closer. “Welcome to my studio,” he said, letting the door open a bit wider.

The space inside was bright and airy, with a wall that resembled a glasshouse, while the others were made of brick and lined with shelves. In a corner you noticed a strange contraption, like an iron cauldron, and an unfamiliar machine close to a basin. There was also a large table all along the glass wall, like it was waiting for plants to be hosted, but none were found.

“With me you’ll learn the humble, raw art of modelling clay.”

You turned to him with a furrowed brow, completely confused. “Clay?”

“Yes. Clay.”

“You model clay?” You asked, giving him an amused look.

“I am an artist,” he stated clearly. “I also model clay but that’s not all I do.”                                                                        

“So that’s my gift? A clay lesson?”

“Ten clay lessons. I’ll make you an intermediate.” Taehyung reached a wooden cabinet, opening it and taking out a large block of clay, grabbing something from his apron and detaching a smaller part before putting the clay back in the cabinet. “But first, let me get you an apron.”

You felt your eyes blink in confusion. “You teach?”

“Art should answer anyone’s calls, in my opinion. I help people learn how to call.”

You were positively impressed. The quiet, if a bit Darcy-esque man, seemed relaxed and talkative in his natural habitat.

Taehyung reached a coat hook on the wall, giving a good look at you before choosing a garment suitable for your height. “This should do,” he said, offering it to you and letting you put it on.

You appreciated the independence he allowed you, allowing you to wear it yourself. You hung your tote on the now free hook and slipped your arms and head into the different loops before closing the tie around your waist in a cute ribbon.

“You'll want to fix your hair before your hands get messy,” Taehyung suggested, watching you carefully get it out of harm's way, since the last thing you wished for was dirt in your hair.

“You didn’t mention you teach art the other night.”

He smiled shyly. “The night you introduced yourself, I remembered I had gift lessons booked under your name. I wanted your birthday surprise to stay a surprise.”

You were entirely endeared at the thought. “That’s very sweet of you!” You exclaimed, watching him collect the piece of clay he had previously cut.

“It’s not a big deal,” he murmured, looking away as his cheeks blushed.

He was eager to watch you learn. He already felt like your hands could have so much potential. He had studied them all night after he met you, watching the sinewy fingers arch and straighten and hold and curve. “Okay, let’s start from a little bit of theory.”

He moved to the table by the window, “Would you mind grabbing a bowl with some water, there?” He pointed to a large utility sink in one of the corners, where you found a bowl and filled it halfway with water.

You made a careful work of walking to the table, placing down the bowl and sighing in relief once you realised you had caused no issues so far.

“Two questions. Have you ever used clay before?”

You snorted and shook your head. “Nope.”

“So you supposedly know nothing about it?”

“Exactly.”

He chuckled and bobbed his head. “That’s okay. All you need to know so far, is that clay is a mineral, and it can have different compositions which make it more or less difficult to model and to cook. I’ll have you use very generic clay, which is suitable for beginners, isn’t too picky about cooking and will look a bit plain, but is also pretty easy to shape. You’ll thank me later.”

You raised your eyebrows and smiled.

“It’s easy to work with, it cooks at low temperature and is also cheap, which will make it better if you ever choose to continue this hobby,” he explained. “It will take a fairly long time for you to master several techniques with this one, so no use spending money on fancy stuff. We’ll keep that for when you’re an upper intermediate. All cool?” He asked, checking in on you with his beautiful, dark eyes.

He had very pretty eyes, you noticed.

“Yes, got that.” You confirmed, startling when he slammed the clay against the table.

“Cool.” He replied with half a grin. “Let’s start from zero.”

Once more he extracted a tool from the pocket of his apron, showing it to you. “This is a wire. You’ll find one in your apron too.”

You rummaged in the pocket and found it. “This will help you with step one — Wait. Lemme start from very very zero.”

He walked back to the cabinet and dragged a block of clay out — the one he’d cut a piece from a few minutes ago. “This is called craft clay or potters’ clay. It’s ready-made and you can buy it in any diy shop. Some artists make their own mix, but let’s start with this since it’s specifically made for learners.”

“It looks very tough,” you commented, testing the small amount he’d cut before, prodding it with your finger.

“It just needs some love,” he explained, pouting sadly. “Clay is so misunderstood. It needs to be firm. But it’s pliable, as long as you treat it appropriately.”

You arched your eyebrows. “I just thought it was softer. Messier, somehow.”

“It is once you wedge it and moisturise it.” Taehyung acknowledged. “Clay contains platelets. Platelets make it solid, but also plastic as long as it’s not dry. Right now you have two enemies. Shape memory and air.”

Taehyung’s hands got on the piece instinctively. “Today I’ll only manage to explain wedging and centering. So be careful and pay attention. If you mess up wedging, your life will get ten times more impossible on the wheel. Let’s start.” He brought the main block back in the cabinet. “That one needs to stay fresh.”

Once at the table he settled beside you. “What’s wedging?” You asked, staring at your piece of clay.

“Wedging is your starting point. As you saw earlier, ready- made clay comes in blocks. Which means square. On the wheel, you’ll always start from a cute soft ball. Which means round.”

Taehyung’s hands massaged the clay for comfort. He felt somehow uneasy at the way he was going to interact with you. “Basically clay holds memory of the shape it was in. You want to erase it to make it more pliable. Like… When an introvert is in their comfort zone for too long and you need to get them back in society and you just… force them in several different social circumstances to warm them up, make them more versatile. More sociable.”

God, he felt ridiculous. He was using his inner turmoil to explain pottery.

He was going to defenestrate himself.

“Okay,” you laughed. “I got the introvert thing. I like the parallel.” You smiled and for a second you thought about all the years you’d been there, shaped like a block to fit inside someone’s life — or to fit them in yours.

You could use some wedging too.

“We usually wedge on plaster, or concrete or wood, because they get the extra water out of the clay. You want it to be a tiny bit humid. But not wet.” Taehyung spread his large hands over the small disk in front of him. “You want to make it more homogeneous. Uniform. For today let’s use the ram’s head method. It’s basically like kneading dough.”

His hair fell over his eyes as he bent down, leaning towards the table. “We have a small amount of clay, since you’re starting. You basically want it to become a thick block first.”

He bent the disk in two, turning it in a thicker, longer rectangle before placing his hands to the opposite sides and pressing, making the clay become more compact.

“Okay, try,” he invited you to do the same.

You mimicked his actions, focusing on the cold, solid feeling of the material under your fingertips.

“Use your palms. Don’t be afraid to get your whole hands on it. You’ll need all your strength.”

You nodded and followed his lead, the cold expanding to your palms, the feeling amplifying beautifully. It was somehow reinvigorating after the initial strangeness.

“Good. Now. Ram’s head.” He inhaled and regained his position. “These,” he said, wiggling his fingers, “and these,” he explained circling his hand around his shoulder. “That’s where you want to focus. All your strength resides there. You won’t feel it right now, but you will once you work with larger pieces.” He steadied himself and placed his palms on the sides of the piece. “Palms on the sides. Your wrists will do all the work. Your thumbs wrap around the top of the piece. The other fingers on the back of the piece. Focus on the wrists. You want to push the clay downwards first, then outwards, to the back of the piece. Okay. Position your hands.”

Taehyung stood straight up, allowing you to see his clay, on top of which he was previously bent over.

“I’m not…” You frowned and tried to feel the clay under your hands, trying to recognise the different sides.

“It’s okay. May I?” He asked, bringing his right hand close to yours.

You nodded, waiting for the contact.

It was chalky, somehow, almost dusty with the way the clay was already drying up, but it still held some cold dampness.

He corrected your fingers, staring at them and giving them a slight twist. “This way your wrists should reach just fine.”

He stood at your side, respecting your personal space even though his hand touched you. The smile on his face was the gentlest, most exciting thing you had felt in a while.

“Okay, mirror it with your left,” he told you as he stepped back, regaining his own space.

“This feels nice,” you admitted, giving the first twist of your wrist.

“Let’s see if you still think so after wedging for twenty minutes,” Taehyung chuckled.

“Twenty minutes!?” You said, already worried.

He giggled and shook his head, his curls brushing against his forehead, which you didn’t notice, because you were too busy focusing on the clay under your hands.

“Ten, usually. Twenty if you need very pliable clay. Like if you’re doing hand-building. But we can use something a bit rougher.” Taehyung helped you get out of the position your clay body was stuck in. “Help it with your fingers. Bring it back, yes,” he encouraged you once the position was right. “And now your wrists. Exactly. Look at you. You’re learning!”

He looked excited when you turned to look at him. He was literally shining with the meek sunlight coming from the window.

“I’m learning!” Your excitement mirrored his own.

“Okay, now, watch. This is why it’s called ram’s head.” Taehyung showed you the spiral on the sides, and the elongated triangle on the front.

“That looks fancy!” You said, feeling curious about the shape.

“Keep going and yours will be just like this!” He spurred you on, making you work harder and faster, which eventually led you to the ruthless burning that possessed your arms afterwards.

With his elbow, Taehyung pointed at your shoulder blade. “Just push your body weight into the clay. The whole motion should mimic a wave,” he showed you how. “If your hands are positioned right, you only need to lean in to wedge— Just. Like. That! Good job, Frog!”

You smiled and went on, paying attention to his corrections, and his gentle advice, enjoying the gentleness with which his pinkie finger pointed to a specific direction, or a finger that was in the wrong position, realigning it.

“Nice! Now, tuck the corners in in a cute fluffy ball. See how soft and warm and round it feels now?”

You nodded enthusiastically. There was something in menial tasks that always made you happy with yourself. Seeing the results of your efforts and hard work always made you feel accomplished, productive.

And it’s been a while since you felt that rush, except for seeing an organised shelf in your shop, with books neatly aligned and rated.

“Okay. I’ll show you how to work the wheel. We got little time left, so maybe I can show you the groundwork and then you can toy around with the body I centred, so you can get familiar with the feeling.”

You agreed.

Taehyung gave a few more twists to your clay body and brought it to the wheel. “Okay. Here we go. Forget Ghost, this thing is a lot more difficult than that. And forget all that water. Too messy. Bowl?” He asked.

Your forehead creased as he pointed to a small stand with a basin. It looked like a short version of a vintage stand for those porcelain bowls used in bedrooms.

You moved it closer to him.

“Thank you,” he smiled and caught the clay body, throwing it on the middle of the turning plate, currently still as he hadn’t yet activated the wheel.

“You can aim for the centre. There’s an indentation to show it. See,” he pointed to the plate. “There are all these circles to show you if you’re actually following the shape.”

He dipped a finger in the bowl, letting the extra water drip down, until it was just slightly damp. “You run around the base to seal it. That way you don’t need to slam it down and you don’t risk watching it unstick and mess around with you.”

“Okay. Great!”

“Now. Position is very important. With your legs you hold the holster and the wheel. Don’t worry about getting too close. Check three things. Knees around the wheel. Elbows braced on your thighs — that will stabilise you. And your torso leans forward. Not angled but perpendicular to the wheel. You need to be right on top of it, so your weight sinks down. Not across.” He showed you the correct position, his lean frame protecting the ball of clay like a hen defends her chicks.

Watching him become so tactile and connected with the material under his hands was endearing, but also fascinating, especially with the way his hands wrapped around the body.

“Okay, let me centre it for you, then you can try. It’s a procedure that can go back and forth, so I’ll have you doing this over and over for a few times. It will help you familiarise with it.”

“Thank you,” you replied, watching his fingers sink in the water. “Now, trick. You wet your hands. Let them drip down just a little, so you don’t drench your piece. If the piece is drenched, the platelets will loosen and the walls of your cup, bowl, vase, whatever will collapse. And we don’t want that, right?”

The way his head snapped towards you with an inquisitive look made you shake your head and reply readily, “nope.”

“Exactly. So, we sink our hands in, rest, and— one, two three, drip and—” he moved his hands over the clay body, letting a few tens of droplets fall onto the material. “Nice and wet. Not sodden, of course. We don’t want that, remember?”

You blinked and nodded as his hands started moving.

Taehyung grinned as he noticed your captivated gaze. You were learning. You were curious, interested, completely amazed. It was the most satisfying look he had ever seen. “This is your treasure now. You curl yourself around it and protect it. Like a dragon hoards its gold.”

He leaned down into the piece, his foot looking for the pedal and pressing it down very, very delicately.

“Your pinkies and ring fingers are doing all the work right now. They seal around the base, reinforcing the sealing we did before. Once you gave enough spins around the base — oh, feel the plate with the side of your pinkie and palm!” He reminded himself, showing you the part of his hand and securing it around the wheel once more. He corrected his position. “You will feel the clay push you up. That’s when your palms close in. You want to make sure it goes up.”

The wheel suddenly stopped and Taehyung showed you the result. “See. Cute mushroom shape. A two inch stem, and then the round hat.”

You bent down to check and studied the way the table started spinning slowly again, showing you the consistent shape.

“More water. Same technique.” He repeated the dip-drip process. “Now. Pinkies stay in. Lots of pressure. And your palms are going to push the hat of the mushroom up. You want it to turn into a cone. So once the hat disappears, you’re gonna keep your hands steady, with a lot of pressure, and drag them up, slowly. And bend them inwards slightly, into a tip.” He followed the process with his hands, his fingers steady and his veins thicker at the effort and the pressure. The way his elbows braced against his hands brought even more blood to the back of his palms.

Still, you didn’t let that cloud your focus. You stared at the process, especially once he stopped the wheel and took his hands off.

“Now we’re bringing it downwards with the thumbs. We’re helping it regain the center. This,” he prodded the ball of his thumb, the soft part where the finger could sink, “is the part that gains the centre. You push it down, while your fingers lean over. Like you’re projecting energy from your palms.” He finished showing the procedure, showing how the ball of clay was a perfectly round dome, placed in the exact middle of the wheel.

“Now you take the lead!” He turned to you with a grin.

With a shy blush you watched him stand up and gesture to the seat elegantly.

You settled down and fixed your position around the wheel, following the instructions he had given you previously.

“That’s nice. Closer.” He corrected you helping your seat closer to the holster of the wheel.

“Now we’re ready to go. Wet your hands—” he directed you, helping you count the dip and drip. “Steady.”

You placed your pinkies tightly around the base, feeling the dome a bit too large for your hands. That’s because it was shaped for his large hands.

“Yes. Steady,” he encouraged you. “Go.”

The taglist is open!

Navi: Chapter 1 — Chapter 2 — Chapter 3 — Chapter 4 — Chapter 5 — Chapter 6 — Chapter 7

[stonesparrow]

You seem like the right person to go to for some thoughtful meta analysis

Here's something that has bothered me for ages - the lack of cultural info for Ishigami Village (and the Petrification Kingdom but that's a whole post on its own)

I can accept that they haven't made their own writing system. Ok, fine, cool. But they have art cause the one kid is a really good artist! Where is the art??? And music? Humans love making noise, so even if they hadn't heard someone of Lillian's caliber before they should've at least heard music before (the lithophone would've been such a fun one to incorporate - like "haha they have a stone instrument in the stone world! Aren't we clever?"). It showed them hitting a drum to signify the beginning of the grand bout, but it would've been so cool to hear the music they had developed and to see if any of the influences of the 21st century remained.

Also what's with the ropes they wear? (other than perhaps being a clever indicator to show who is from the 21st century and who is from Ishigami village) And why didn't Senku get a rope when he became their leader? They could've made it so cool and significant!

I just feel like all we know about their culture is that they're all named after rocks, minerals, and metals (which is very cool! But I want More)

What are your thoughts?

Hummm cultural development for Ishigami Village?

I feel like music is definitely important in the village - I believe there’s a quote from one of the novels where Byakuya tells Lillian that he’s prioritizing oral traditions instead of written language so that they can preserve modern Japanese or something (which I personally think is a little sketchier than simply handwaving the whole “language didn’t change for 3,700 years” thing. Language can undergo a huge shift in a few centuries, let alone a few millenia. I wouldn’t be able to speak Elizabethan English very well at least)

The Hundred Stories is as close as you can get to a sort of sacred “text” in the village, and in Soyuz’ flashback on Treasure Island it’s revealed that Soyuz’ mother was selected as the Head’s wife for her incredible memory, so that Soyuz could learn the Hundred Stories. Besides the role of the priestess/prince??? to learn the stories and preserve them for the next Stories holder, Ruri was known to tell the Stories to the villagers as well, since they know the story of Momotarou and Speaker the Bee.

We know a good number of the Stories were about survival, and some are apparently long enough that they take hours to recite in their entirety. A few were hints for Senku, but then what does that leave for the rest? Byakuya wanted to preserve the knowledge of Japan, so would they perhaps be other kinds of fairy tales? Songs, folklore, history...mathematics? There’s apparently a filler tale called “G1 Grand Prix,” and one about comedy. There might even be stories about things that the old world had phrased in really simple ways like... electricity being “captured lightning” or “houses that touched the sky.”

I’d hazard a guess that music could easily be integrated into the telling of the Hundred Stories - some of them might even be told in song or with a rhythmic cadence. Ishigami Village hadn’t progressed to forging metal until Senku showed up, so they’d be slightly limited for instruments. Basic string and percussion instruments would be easy though, and perhaps things like wooden flutes.

Aww now I’m imagining that one of the Hundred Stories was like, advice to children to stay close to home and it was to the tune of a lullaby that Byakuya would hum to a baby Senku to calm him down.

I’m a little at a loss for a logical reason why everyone would be named after rocks and minerals. Setting aside the obvious pun with “Stone God Village,” names in all cultures are often derived from occupations or symbolic of characteristics or natural beauty. Plus the fact that the villagers have no tradition of family names or actually using many of the minerals complicates it somewhat (and the 6 person gene pool which is conveniently handwaved). Perhaps some people long ago were really into the stones and minerals story in the Hundred Stories and started naming their kids after them, since many minerals are described as beautiful or strong and tough.

The ropes...hmm. Many of the villagers wear them around the neck, or if not that then around the waist, plus some in the hair. Plus Kohaku apparently has a hairtie that’s separate from her hair rope, which means they’re accessories rather than anything practical. There’s not a real difference in the way ropes are worn according to gender or age either. Sagara getting a rope collar to symbolize being a part of the village might hint that it does mean something to them though? Perhaps when a new child is old enough that it won’t be a choking hazard they’re given their rope to symbolize being officially recognized as a citizen? As for Senku I guess Boichi just didn’t feel like adding more to his design, but I could see him tying one around his waist if he had one.

As far as clothing goes there’s also the stone shoes and blue/green colors in clothing, though Magma has a black outfit and Ruri’s is purple. It seems like it’d be pretty labor intensive to find plants and create all those richly colored dyes though. (also handwaved, but they gotta come from somewhere and I don’t know what would be available in southern Japan 3700 years in the future). It seems weird to me that Kaseki was sort of an outcast for enjoying craftsmanship as a kid - after all, crafting is one of the most valuable skills in a society and there had to have been craftsmen before him.

Evidently there’s no fabric since Yuzuriha had to explain what a loom was. Still, you could do a lot of artistic things with leatherwork. And agreed, I believe painting is a thing, perhaps there’s illustrations to go with the 100 Stories?

We do know that the villagers have a strong tie with water and fishing, and use single outrigger boats for fishing. It would make sense then that the ocean would have particular significance to them - perhaps they might even personify it or treat it as something to be respected. Fish is the main food, but culinary traditions could also rise from the forageables around the village, nuts and berries and the like.

They have a holiday called Stone Day on Senku’s birthday (aww Byakuya), though we don’t know how that’s celebrated. Though it does mean that the modern Gregorian calendar was preserved, so there has to be some kind of timekeeping being done, perhaps with a sundial structure like Stonehenge? Or some sort of drawn calendar with symbols even. They also have a tradition of watching the sunrise on the first day of a new year.

[kneipho]

Hope Springs Eternal Part 1

I shivered

palpably in response to the stimulus of this auspicious winter morning as though I were a nervous acolyte on his first day of probation.

It was that benchmark event called my Birthday.

Like Christmas and Easter they have this annular ring in every sense.

Dates and their import. I was raised to have the healthiest respect for them.

A rendezvous of another kind awaited me later in the day that was seasonal in another sense.

But that just added a certain spring to my step.

Entering my eight decade on earth I dragged that motley crew of bones about me.

Like a hod carrier carting clusters of smokeless polish coal for some imperious client.

But the mind has immense powers waiting to be tapped.

A mineral rich load, a vein of resources with targeted thoughts that were the match for any prescription medicine.

Age is but a number and they can be sung in harmony with one’s universe or jarringly and at odds.

I’m a late in life poet with lines very gingerly crafted at this point in time.

My aunt Virginia who raised me when my mother died started the revolution in my thinking.

“Your mind should be a diary.

Always take note of what’s happening around you and when it happened.

Time, dates, everything.

It always comes in useful.”

She said in that nuanced tonic sol fa accent of hers.

Virginia instilled in me this most functional regard for which I am eternally grateful.

Her words about dates and time echoed continually through the recesses of mind to my ultimate benefit.

I had the required notepad and pen at hand to record anything I could sculpt into a creative ode.

As of yet

a title eluded me but maybe something lustrous, radiant romantic would be apt.

Quite a lot has been composed already much to my surprise.

Virginia’s advice and the embryonic epic planted fertile shoots in my head as I entered the kitchen.

I called it my domain.

Structured in an algebraic fashion with proximity dovetailing elegance it resembled a gallery.

The sink and shrouded tap heads my first port of call.

Stooping over archly I filled a gleaming white plastic jug kettle for that morale boosting first cup of tea.

As I sipped my tea the insights Virginia kindly bequeathed started flooding back.

Those condensed pearls of wisdom regarding time and it’s ambience.

Optimism and cheer were her other passions.

As well as paying attention.

“Focus on your environment. There is joy in abundance.” Virginia opined.

“A treasure trove awaits for those who concentrate.” She said.

“Where there is joy there’s hope.

Time and hope are intertwined.”

Never losing a chance to stress matters time-related.

Typical Virginia logic.

I’m taking it more seriously now as my respect for that statute of limitations called life expectancy approaches.

This lady’s pointers were manfully ingested as my tea stained cup wobbled in my right hand with it’s rivulet of veins.

The tea leaves scattered wildly in that microcosm of a drinking vessel had a fleeting fascination for me.

But as I scanned my surroundings with the eye of a keyhole surgeon I couldn’t help but notice something else.

The kaleidoscope of colour filling the french panel window in front of the kitchen sink.

Window drabness red carded with the zeal of a strict umpire dismissing an offending player.

My intuition told me to brace myself for events both surprising and anticipated .

This afternoon’s engagement is to the forefront of my mind and for good reason.

Think I’ll leave the cell phone behind.

Or did I hear it go off?

My device was of the more crowded cumbersome type with stubborn square buttons that even the more dexterous hand would find difficult to navigate.

The fingers slipped involuntarily like I sometimes did on those treacherous black ice patches.

“It’ll wait. Can’t really be that important.” I said to myself.

It was one of those phones that emitted this discordant buzz when some arrant nuisance rings at the most inopportune time which is often.

“No … face the morning and it’s canvas of brittle prospect.” Speaking with eloquent pride to myself, Hamilton Lake.

Walking outside on this my 78th birthday could be seen as an obstacle course.

I’ve always had a thing about posture.

The feet must be properly positioned and ready for anything unexpected.

The steps from my house could be awkward and angular with hidden crevices.

Those rugged pockmarks gouged out by the chisel of that tyrant called the elements.

The inherent beauty of garden plants, on the other hand,

purged whatever sluggishness there was in my frame.

Their spectral tint and gravity defying droop gave my eyes an optic fillip.

Green border shrubs and yellow rose petals bore a magic that defied description.

Albeit with telltale winter stains.

But the mindfulness of gait and knowing that slippage could be fatal moderated my enthusiasm about my settings.

Onto the yard and then the slope towards town with a propensity for the occasional wobble notwithstanding.

A downward denouement laced with grit and optimism.

The verges on the fringe of each footpath were covered with tufts of flickering grass cavorting about in a light south east breeze.

Haywire brambles whose overlapping tentacles were embedded in every mound or patch.

Star shaped brown leaves as veiled cover for those sharp spines sticking out.

The bane of every bulging blood vessel.

An ice clad descent that can either capsize or upend even the most determined stride.

Ice that most deceptive gloss that far too easily masks it’s latent perils.

Irrespective I continued unabashed.

The heart, portent of fragility, bruising barometer of one’s twilight moment can be an ally.

A motivator of noble human impulse.

My rainbow tipped walking stick was my elder compass.

A bearing locator for crazy paving pavement slabs.

Those structures fractured by peculiarities of sudden temperature with their plummets and summits!

But focus though impaired was motivated by a stoic forbearance imbued with fire in the soul.

Virginia’s velvet toned voice enjoined on us at home to watch the clouds.

The wispy contours, greyed over forms, wooly frills and outlines drifting overhead.

She also warned of their penchant for unleashing torrents which could spoil the daily strolls of even the most ernest of ramblers.

Today the clouds weaved their way across that azure blue path called the sky.

Curiously enough the self same clouds added to their repertoire by the graceful skirting of rooftops and faraway rock formations on the outskirts of town.

“Clouds are a heavenly canvas. A floating exhibit of the firmament.

They inspire poets, works of art.” Virginia said.

They were doing just that in my case with aplomb.

The planned mysterious link up was never lost sight of amid Virginia’s majestic musings.

“Use your imagination or your imagination will use you. The borders between make belief and the real world must always be maintained.

Imaginings of every kind can be triggered by just about anything familiar.

They can assume a life of their own.”

Wonderful counsel from a wonderful woman.

Virginia, however, unlike some philosophers had a marvelous sense of humor but abhorred the canned, corny variety.

Although such humor couldn’t always be avoided I was mindful of her sensitivity on the subject.

Meticulously taking out that pad again I scribbled a few more lines.

It’s beginning to fill up.

The only thing that remains is to have someone to dedicate it to.

The human eye, a person’s best camera turned to the leach like ivy carpet which clung with tenacity to the grey grained stone wall narrowly to my right.

Preserving their corporeal integrity and playing their part while going largely unobserved.

Fir trees, enclosed by pavement railings and gardens had an overwhelming stillness about them.

An unyielding rooted presence.

They too are age defiant when cultivated and getting the right supports.

These trees act as filters for the dust, smoke and fumed manifestations of the modern manufacturer.

Urban heat island effect offset and mitigated.

All these details forensically noted.

A sudden wakening ensued.

“Hi there, Hamilton. Lovely morning for a stroll.”

My inner space rightly interrupted for a different reality.

“Maybe we’ll meet later at one of your favourite spots or a coffee shop.”

Local teens, Sonia and Winfred with whom I regularly crossed paths and swopped pleasantries of a deeper heartfelt kind.

They alighted from their bicycles

“It’s your birthday today isn’t it?

You’d put people half your age and mine to shame.” The young lady Sonia said.

Winfred her boyfriend agreed.

“Such generosity I rarely encountered from my own group.” I thought to myself.

Sonia, a vibrant vivacious youth whose tactful airborne words shone as brightly as her arched angelic face.

Winfred, her boyfriend had a slightly bulging chin and matted haired that looked as if it had been constantly drenched.

His was a handsomeness harrowed out by high jinx and crack of dawn capers.

After a friendly departure this couple dashed off with a daring and delight so dirigere of the young.

As well as the young at heart.

–

Sunday Submission: @mantrabay

Photograph and short story by mantrabay copyright protected.

Part two will be submitted next week with your kind permission.

[resinatingbeauty]

I’ve had a lot of requests from various people at different times who are just learning how to use resin to create with and wanted some tips and tricks. I have wanted to make this post for a while, but I wanted to acquire more experience myself before giving others help. This first post is just going to go over some really basic tips and tricks and subsequent posts (if they’re found helpful) will elaborate. This is for all of you who are like me and get the least amount of benefit from watching Youtube tutorials these days because EVERYONE has one, and half the time they’re drawn out for ad revenue so an hour long video will only contain 20 mins worth of information with the kicker being you can’t even fast forward through what you know or rewind through ads to get back to where you need to be. So, for those of you who hate that like me, this text post is for you.

If you’re just starting, choosing which resin you want to purchase is intimidating. Craft stores like Michael’s and Hobby Lobby rarely offer more than one or two brands, typically over priced due to the fact that they’re labeled “art resins”.

Epoxy resin is by far the easiest to start with for beginners. It is the most forgiving, has the most consistent results, most brands use the same 1:1 ratio and the overall technique is the same. I am not affiliated with these brands/companies in any way other than I have used their products and have written reviews for several on Amazon.

Start with small packages (4oz-8oz kits / 8oz & 16oz hardener + resin). A quick Amazon search for epoxy resin will give you many results. This is one of those cases where you really don’t get what you pay for- boat, tabletop, etc. epoxy will yield the same results at more reasonable prices per fluid ounce than art resins. I recommend going with brands like FanAut, Puduo, Let’s Resin, Craft Daddy, etc. which often offer kits with gloves, craft sticks / stir sticks, measuring cups, and even additives at reasonable prices. All these items are things you’ll need to start off, so any extras are appreciated. I recommend Puduo, as it is relatively inexpensive compared to similar brands, yields consistent , crystal clear results, and has a somewhat faster curing time than other epoxy resins for the price. If none of these brands ring your bell, here are the qualifiers for a “good” epoxy resin:

Self Degassing- This is pretty much the standard expectation of epoxy resin and one of the reasons it is considered forgiving for beginners. When resin and hardener are combined, gases are trapped and form air bubbles which have a tendency to multiply as you stir your mixture and the combination heats up. But it shouldn’t be taken for granted that all epoxy resin does this, so try to look for “self degassing” in the item description / label.

Self Leveling vs. Doming : Doming resin is great for the magnified look on pendants and other flat projects, but self leveling resin is where you should be starting as doming requires the build up of surface tension to achieve. While “doming “ resin may achieve this easier than others without this feature, it is pretty irrelevant if you don’t know to dome resin in the first place.

Art Resin vs Other Epoxy: Art resins make claims of being ideal or a better choice for arts & crafts, but the reality is that you can achieve the same effects from table top or boat resins such as Mas- are just as capable of casting, coating, doming etc. as art resins especially if you’re looking to take on a larger project you will pay less and get more with these brands than smaller quantities of art resins. Make sure they are crystal clear, hard type, self degassing, and self leveling. Keep in mind that cure time relates to the size of your project and the ambient temperature of the environment, so don’t waste money on products that charge more for touting faster curing time.

What about 2 part epoxy in syringes? (Ice Resin, Gorilla Glue) Personally, these pre prepared epoxy resins are more complicated than they look. You can’t save combined resin and hardener, so once you mix the two or pop the seals to both you have to use the lot of it in one shot. Ice Resin in particular is quite expensive and doesn’t offer the clear, glossy results I expected it to when I used it, so I would avoid these if you are just starting out.

Additives & Extras- Don’t waste a lot of money at the start funding your would be creations until you have at least seen one entire project through from start to finish. I made the mistake of investing in silicone molds, glitters, additives like rhinestones, craft papers, transparency films etc before I really found my niche and what I was really using epoxy for the most. There are some great deals for 100+ piece silicone mold kits that include gloves, stir sticks, silicone measuring cups, and the like available cheaply for those looking to make smaller things like jewelry, keychains, figurines etc. the one I have just linked to even includes the epoxy for under $20. These kits are offered by Amazon and even Etsy and are a great place to start as they provide you with everything you would need to create at least one full project. They are also a great activity to do with your kids (ages 10+ would probably be ideal) as you can add pretty much anything that isn’t silicone, wax, unsealed paper, alcohol, or water based into resin, which opens up a world of possibilities!

Tips & Tricks That Will Save You $

If you’re itching for purchasing pigments to add color to your resin projects, try purchasing or reusing some old or cheap mineral eye shadows. Not sure if your eye shadow is mineral based? I’m willing to bet it is, though some colors may not look the same when mixed in resin as they do on the pallets, they will color it nonetheless, just pick a small amount up on a popsicle stick or toothpick and stir it into a small batch of resin to see how it turns out. Dollar Tree eye shadows will work just as well as expensive pigments, so consider this before investing in expensive mica pigment sets!

While silicone molds are probably the easiest and are reusable, you can also use plastic molds, carve your resin block with carpentry tools or by hand-or even make your own molds! There are simple recipes utilizing dish soap and corn starch out there, or you can use silicone or even hot glue! Flexible silicone molds won’t require a mold release, but plastic and other molds will or you may end up cutting your project out. You don’t have to purchase a mold release product for this, either- olive or vegetable oil spray on a paper towel will suffice, just remember to let your mold sit for a few hours to demoisturize.

Can’t find gloves because of COVID19 hype? Finger cots are even better than gloves as they allow for more dexterity even when they get sticky, are cheaper, and readily available in bulk online!

Pretty much anything compatible with homemade “slime” can be mixed into or embedded in resin, so there is that. However, be careful how much glitter, pigment, etc you add as you can throw off the chemical balance that allows your project to cure properly. Refer to the directions included with your specific resin kit as most will tell you what ratios must be maintained for proper curing.

Everyone that works with resin knows the arch nemesis that is the bubbles. There are times where it seems like, no matter what you do, your perfect clear cast of a dandelion goes to shit because of some stray air bubbles. There are a few tricks to avoid this from the start:

Use a separate cup to measure resin and hardener. Pour the combined mixture into a fourth cup after the first 3-4 mins of stirring (half time) scraping the sides and bottom. This helps what was on the bottom get integrated into what was mixed on top. Always make sure to pour resin first when mixing and mix slowly, scraping the sides and bottom, for the time listed on your instructions. You want your mixture to be almost water consistency, clear, fluid, with little viscosity, and no streaks visible. Allow it to sit for a few minutes to natural degas and get rid of the bubbles.

Use a torch or grill lighter to pop surface bubbles. You can also do each one individually (as the grill lighter suggestion may not always be a good idea- be careful using this on large projects and molds that may ignite) with a tooth pick. Using a blow dryer or heat gun will also help bubbles rise to the surface to be popped.

Make sure that you keep contact with the bottom of your mixing cup with your stir stick-try not to lift it too much as this can introduce air into the mixture (“whipping the resin”) this can also occur if you are stirring too quickly. If you notice a lot of bubbles, let your mixture sit for a few minutes and resume stirring at a slower pace.

Make sure you start your project at a temperature of 74 degrees +, if your bottles are cold to touch, place them in a plastic bag and let them sit in hot water to warm up. You can also roll them (slowly) on a counter top.

You know, if all else fails you could always make ocean or nautical themed projects :)

That’s all for now- let me know if this helped you or someone you know working with resin or experimenting. Feel free to comment with any questions you would like answered in my next post! I also recommend the Resin Obssesion blog- they have a lot of useful information and tutorials with photos that were really helpful for me starting out!

Xo Samantha

[sammystep]

My God is the Sun

So this was an entry for a prompt on the Jojo discord I'm in- this prompt was history and I of course had to go and make it weird. 

Historical Fiction of the first expedition to Machu Picchu, in which the narrator discovers the reason the Spanish Conquistadors had no record of the palatial grounds.

Written in Lovecraftian style, genre: horror

It is with reluctance that I dare to transcribe the events of that night in December to paper in the fear that to repeat it outside the confines of my mind will make it tangible. The discovery of such an evil in the world however weighs on me, my remaining honor implores me to give witness of the events so that it my not be repeated in error. May my selfless recording of my own cowardice give peace to the widows and families of those lost to us, if it is possible to find peace after such a tale.

I had traveled from Europe to the mountains of Peru under the employment of one Augusto Berns, a German business man of moderate renown and ambition, but no less lacking in political connection to without doubt expunge his name from these documents should they be parted from me. My previous experience working for his competitor in Egypt had extended my reputation far enough that for a moderate pay raise I had no qualms in overseeing similar unsavory work in South America. The relics of the ancients were not scarce once there was a deposit struck, but like mining for gold or silver there needed to be an experienced geologist on hand to conduct the miners. So too there was a need for my service of identifying the treasured pieces of archeological finds between useless bits of rubble and broken pottery.

Within a few months in the jungles of this untamed land our expedition had learned from the locals of a royal palace of the Inca left untouched by time. The Spanish conquistadors leaving no record of reaching such a place in the research I conducted made this rumor at least worthy of a guided tour up the mountain. A few shining coins convinced the local boys of the village to help haul equipment and guide us to their ancient playground, nimble as mountain goats they climbed steep rock face and held balance over a decaying rope bridge to our goal. The workers of our party armed with machetes to clear vines and overgrowth thick and gnarled from our path, if not for the occasional brick jutting from the ground clearly made by human hands, I would have assumed the palace to be only myth. Surely no structures would survive the will of nature at her heart of green growth.

Finally, a monument emerged from behind the trees, a complex of buildings and rubble overtaken by tall grass and vines and wild fruiting plants but immune to the advancement of thick trees and roots. Our searching was rewarded with the discovery of a dense collection of artifacts and items crafted hundreds of years ago. By the weeks end we had established a camp under the guise of a logging operation, rudimentary living quarters and storehouse to properly care for the treasures built at the base of the path up the mountain the locals called Machu Picchu.

The easily scavenged locations produced adequate finds and we pushed further and further into the expanse of desiccated temples and chambers even as the days waned with the nearing of the winter solstice. The temples devoted to the ancient gods of the builders of this mystifying isolated city were easily identifiable like all temples are, the walls carved in intricate detail of ritual and practices not unlike the stained-glass windows of a Christian church. Naturally, the caverns connected to the grand temple served as tombs for the deceased where we found the greatest treasures so far. Raw gems and rough metal tools and a few weapons made of a strange black glass that the locals identified as obsidian and was only found in volcanic deposits.

The mummified remains of the people buried here stare at us as we take from them the last of their worldly positions, eyes long unseeing and shriveled in their skulls but watching all the same. The treasures abounded and were sure to fetch whatever price we named for them and I sent word to my contacts in England to inquire their interest in purchasing directly from me and avoiding business costs going through Herr Berns. The day after that letter posted on an outgoing expedition to the coast for resupply, we came upon the grandest cavern yet found.

This new partition of the tomb system was markedly different from its predecessors, the walls even more spectacular in their craftmanship depicting a specific ritual and repeating figure of a man standing head over shoulders of the life-sized renditions of native people. Though certainly grander and more extravagant than the chambers that came before it, the new cavity was sorely lacking in loose artifacts that may be easily traded and sold. Few raw and roughly cut gem stones were cemented into the walls themselves and the workers quickly jumped at the chance to dislodge some precious stones as large as their fists.

I allowed them to work uninterrupted as I studied the carvings and hieroglyphics on the walls, and though I was no scholar of this language their rudimentary story telling through sequence made the ritual understandable across years untold and needing no interpreter. Depictions of young men lined up and awaiting a signal of the sun and moon to align descend into a cave, an underworld inhabited by creatures portrayed with human bodies and decidedly inhuman faces. The torsos and limbs of the nonhumans posed in strange and unnatural ways as the scenes continued deeper and deeper into the cavern. Only a sliver of light remained from the winter sun as I gained awareness of what the ritual carved from solid rock entailed, what the specialized glass tools and unfathomable artifacts scattered in abandoned workshops were for.

I could scarcely stomach the contemplation of the images, knowing now what my own hands had touched in the extraction of items from the temple halls, what morbid truth the array of alters and weapons found so far had been subjected to. All in appeasement of their god, the primitive god of what I would only realize later the god of death and blood. What I had once believed to be simply decorative motifs in the floors that I stood upon served a different more practical purpose to channel the blood of their deceased into this grand cavern. And if the star alignments and depictions were to be believed, the winter solstice marked the festival of ultimate sacrifice to this blood god. The groups of men previously depicted nearer the entrance to this tomb now bent in supplication to be worthy of becoming one with this great being.

My examinations ended here with the last of the carved reliefs, and I wish now that this had ben the end of our adventure to this hall of death, but ancient stone had never posed any real threat before, aside from unstable footing. Foolishly we continued to the rear of the cavern where the walls seemed to bow out away in a circular cul-de-sac around a central pillar holding the roof stable. Though it was covered in slimy algae enough to obscure what material it was made of, enough of the monolith remained visible to see it was dotted with alcoves containing the first untethered artifacts to be found in this section of cave. Within moments I had retrieved one of the items, a stone mask carved with great care and polish, its face a haughty sneer and monstrous fangs protruding from behind closed lips. In all my experience I had never known an artifact to emit such malice and menace as simply holding this mask instilled into me.

Not having the fortitude to withstand this feeling for longer than necessary I ordered the workers to start collection of these masks, for while they were indeed eerie and disturbed, they would fetch fair price to private collectors in Europe. The novelty of possessing mysterious worship items the fad of nobles to flaunt their wealth and intellect to lecture guests on its origin. I then turned my attention to the obstructed portions of this structure and what was uncovered burns into my mind even now as I write this account. Under the muck and slime, I revealed little at a time the face of a man, carved so carefully from the stone it appeared as though he had been cursed by Medusa of Greek myth.

Though the stone man was indeed the most valuable piece of ancient art we had uncovered in this expedition, he was carved from the very structure of the cave system and I mourned for the riches that would never be mine upon his sale. I returned my attention to the workers extracting masks from alcoves and scolded one as he was about to place the mask upon his face in jest. The light from the entrance was fading quickly as we recovered all we could carry and as we turned to exit it had faded completely so that we were forced to abandon arm loads of cargo and hold torches aloft instead. The flash of flint and tinder to light them sparked in the gloom and made the shadows dance along the carved reliefs on the walls, the pictures seeming to take on life of their own as the light shifted on their features.

I had scarcely lit my own torch to lead the men back to camp when the sliding scrape of a stone being dislodged behind us froze us in our steps. The more cautious and superstitious of the group spun around and franticly searched for explanation to the sudden sound but I foolishly eased their minds believing it to just be a natural shifting of rock or discarded artifact. The sun had truly set now and shade became pitch black without its radiant presence. As I worked to calm the men so too something else was working in these obscuring shadows.

From the central pillar of the cavern a writhing mass of roots carved from stone warped as they awoke from their centuries old slumber, twisting over themselves in masses indescribable in words before shooting out and grasping the closest members of our party, binding them and constricting like snakes devouring their prey. We were reduced in that moment to our most basic of instincts, some men fleeing the cavern on swift feet before their minds could even comprehend what they were witnessing, others remaining frozen in place as if they too were cursed to remain stone. Madness must have overtaken me then, for as I watched the stone vines rise up and pierce through the ear lobes of one of the workers, another vine through his tongue as he screamed, I could only feel a sense of awe as I saw acted out in front of me the rituals I had studied on the engraved walls. Blood flowed freely from his wounds as he struggled against the embrace of the stone vines, struggled against the embrace of death.

More roots curled around our ill-begotten goods that had fallen to the ground, lifting the macabre stone masks to the faces of the other men caught in the tangled web. The collected blood from the first man splashed over them and, upon contact, produced thin bone like claws from the sides of the masks and extended into the skulls of the workers. Their blood pooled beneath them where they lay motionless and fed into the irrigation channels marked into the floor, flowing towards the central monolith at a supernatural rate. With horror, I looked up to the face of the carved man and witnessed color return to his face and hair and I felt within me the burning cold awe of witnessing the ancient god come to life. For that is the only thing he could be, the carvings and worship of the ancient people must have been correct in their depictions of this god of death.

The monolith god descended from his perch, towering over we remaining mortals and approached the bloodied man still held firm in front of him. I had no control over my own person to even draw breath as I witnessed the pillar god’s chest undulate before sprouting ribs from beneath smooth skin without drawing blood, the ribs caging the unwilling sacrifice and pulling him to the gods body, where upon he started to melt into the flesh of the stone man, screaming in terror as his bloody tongue filled his mouth to drown his own screams. As he was digested and incorporated into the flesh of the god, the others that had been sacrificed and lay immobile on the floor began to twitch and move under their own power once more. The sight must have broken me from my stupor as I next remember running alongside the few others still untethered by roots toward the exit. Blurred walls rushed by my vision before we finally spilled into the open night air, spurred on ever faster by the sounds of our less swift companions being torn and cannibalized by our former colleagues.

I was one of only three men to make it back to our camp at the base of the mountain.

In our haste to reach the relative safety of our outpost we had not the presence of mind to ensure the creatures that were once men had given up the chase at the edge of the temple grounds, our subconscious minds somehow equating their presence as static and therefore bound to the unholy place behind us. But we were soon proved wrong when from outside the door a squealing of metal and splintering of wood informed us that the main gate to our own safe haven had been breached. We three that knew the truth of what lay out in the light of the crescent moon, rendered dumb and speechless as we heard the cries of men and animals alike outside fall prey to the hunting party stalking past our door. We could not draw breath to warn the others before they too rushed outside to fend off what they knew nothing about. I regained a semblance of sense or perhaps my survival instincts overwhelmed my rational mind, but I found myself cowering behind the doors of a standing wardrobe, not daring to crack the door in hope that perhaps I would run out of air before I could be found, that my death would be kinder than the ones I could hear happening still around and inside the lodging.

I know not how much time passed as I prayed mercy, as I awaited the inevitable. Eons, years, seconds had no meaning as I counted each breath, each heartbeat that flooded my ears and rendered them useless to hear the intermittent screams of the men in my employ. Exhaustion tugged at my eyelids as surely my supply of fresh air dwindled before my breathing must have alerted the hunters to my hiding space. The doors of my salvation proved to be little more than paper to the claws and power of the men formerly human, their faces twisted in expression to match the accursed masks found in that sanctuary of death. I screamed wordlessly as they dragged me past the remains of the work crew, of the carcasses of the pack animals and past the demolished wooden gate. In my panic I thrashed though they did not harm me as they carried my body back to the temple grounds.

The large flat stone in the center of the courtyard had been speculated to be the site of ritual for animal sacrifices to the ancient gods, and I suppose to a god, humans must not be more than livestock after all. The twisted creatures held me to the slab, one on each limb as a fifth held aloft one of the wretched masks. From the cavern entrance the blood god emerged into the moonlight, his hair a shade of red matching the blood on his face and hands of the night’s sacrifices given onto him. Two black horns adorned his head on each side of his head and I knew this was no god but a demon set upon the world. We had awoken that which was truly cursed, without our greed for treasure and careless disregard for warnings of ancient people this creature would be forever still trapped in its stone prison.

The terrible mask descending towards my face obscured my vision of this demon and the sickly moon in the lavender sky, the creature biting down and spilling its own blood from its tongue in preparation of taking the last sacrifice of the night. But as the cold stone settled over my face hope bloomed in my chest as through the eyehole’s daylight cast its first red rays upon the ruins. The temple grounds were bathed in the glorious rays and the hunting party fell to the ground squealing and shrieking as their skin and sinew burned away. With my limbs free I managed to free my face from the mask as the hunters still dripping blood activated its command to impale my own skull. Even now I bare the scars of the few bone like claws that managed to break the skin of my temple and face. With my remaining strength I flung myself from the alter, the man made from the monolith unable to step foot into the sunlight lest he suffer the same burning fate as his minions. I could feel his eyes upon me even after leaving the main entrance to the ruins but I dared not slow my retreat to look back.

My legs carried me past the ruins of my camp, now to be abandoned along with the stone buildings of the ancient peoples. In a trance, I carried myself to civilization. Though I understood the local dialect, at this moment I found words beyond me, unable to reconcile the fate I had narrowly escaped and indeed believing my escape was a phantasm of my own making, a final imagining of a dying mind like that of a dream. But the comfort of the safety afforded me now, the solid walls and bright sun shining down restored my faculties, though I still dare not speak of this encounter out loud.  

I fear the strain on my mind too great to bear for much longer. I am no longer able to tolerate the thought of sleeping at night and leaving myself vulnerable to the hunters come back to reclaim their lost prize. But sleeping in the bright sun as I wish to do proves impossible as well, only able brief periods of rest under the burning rays before the discomfort proves too much, my eyes now sensitive to even the faintest flicker of flame. My strength wanes as food tastes of ash in my mouth, my mental state and paranoia sapping my will to sustain myself with it. Even if it were not a repulsive task anymore to simply eat, I fear that this gnawing hunger in my belly will never again be satiated.

I wait impatiently for the next traveling escort arranged by my employer to deliver the artifacts my team had collected, and I pray they will not hesitate to abandon the task of collecting the items when confronted with the carnage left at the camp site. The temple of the bloody god and the cursed stone masks must stay hidden in this jungle, lost to time.

Author’s Note:

I read a few short stories by Lovecraft to get the kind of feel for that horror genre down and I just gotta say this writing style is pretentious as hell and totally my jam.

Let me know what you think- I know its a VERY niche market for loosely Jojo-related historical fiction horror pieces ':|

[mantrabay]

Hope Springs Eternal Part 1.

I shivered

palpably in response to the stimulus of this auspicious winter morning as though I were a nervous acolyte on his first day of probation.

It was that benchmark event called my Birthday.

Like Christmas and Easter they have this annular ring in every sense.

Dates and their import. I was raised to have the healthiest respect for them.

A rendezvous of another kind awaited me later in the day that was seasonal in another sense.

But that just added a certain spring to my step.

Entering my eight decade on earth I dragged that motley crew of bones about me.

Like a hod carrier carting clusters of smokeless polish coal for some imperious client.

But the mind has immense powers waiting to be tapped.

A mineral rich load, a vein of resources with targeted thoughts that were the match for any prescription medicine.

Age is but a number and they can be sung in harmony with one’s universe or jarringly and at odds.

I’m a late in life poet with lines very gingerly crafted at this point in time.

My aunt Virginia who raised me when my mother died started the revolution in my thinking.

“Your mind should be a diary.

Always take note of what’s happening around you and when it happened.

Time, dates, everything.

It always comes in useful.”

She said in that nuanced tonic sol fa accent of hers.

Virginia instilled in me this most functional regard for which I am eternally grateful.

Her words about dates and time echoed continually through the recesses of mind to my ultimate benefit.

I had the required notepad and pen at hand to record anything I could sculpt into a creative ode.

As of yet

a title eluded me but maybe something lustrous, radiant romantic would be apt.

Quite a lot has been composed already much to my surprise.

Virginia’s advice and the embryonic epic planted fertile shoots in my head as I entered the kitchen.

I called it my domain.

Structured in an algebraic fashion with proximity dovetailing elegance it resembled a gallery.

The sink and shrouded tap heads my first port of call.

Stooping over archly I filled a gleaming white plastic jug kettle for that morale boosting first cup of tea.

As I sipped my tea the insights Virginia kindly bequeathed started flooding back.

Those condensed pearls of wisdom regarding time and it’s ambience.

Optimism and cheer were her other passions.

As well as paying attention.

“Focus on your environment. There is joy in abundance.” Virginia opined.

“A treasure trove awaits for those who concentrate.” She said.

“Where there is joy there’s hope.

Time and hope are intertwined.”

Never losing a chance to stress matters time-related.

Typical Virginia logic.

I’m taking it more seriously now as my respect for that statute of limitations called life expectancy approaches.

This lady’s pointers were manfully ingested as my tea stained cup wobbled in my right hand with it's rivulet of veins.

The tea leaves scattered wildly in that microcosm of a drinking vessel had a fleeting fascination for me.

But as I scanned my surroundings with the eye of a keyhole surgeon I couldn't help but notice something else.

The kaleidoscope of colour filling the french panel window in front of the kitchen sink.

Window drabness red carded with the zeal of a strict umpire dismissing an offending player.

My intuition told me to brace myself for events both surprising and anticipated .

This afternoon’s engagement is to the forefront of my mind and for good reason.

Think I’ll leave the cell phone behind.

Or did I hear it go off?

My device was of the more crowded cumbersome type with stubborn square buttons that even the more dexterous hand would find difficult to navigate.

The fingers slipped involuntarily like I sometimes did on those treacherous black ice patches.

“It’ll wait. Can’t really be that important.” I said to myself.

It was one of those phones that emitted this discordant buzz when some arrant nuisance rings at the most inopportune time which is often.

“No … face the morning and it’s canvas of brittle prospect.” Speaking with eloquent pride to myself, Hamilton Lake.

Walking outside on this my 78th birthday could be seen as an obstacle course.

I've always had a thing about posture.

The feet must be properly positioned and ready for anything unexpected.

The steps from my house could be awkward and angular with hidden crevices.

Those rugged pockmarks gouged out by the chisel of that tyrant called the elements.

The inherent beauty of garden plants, on the other hand,

purged whatever sluggishness there was in my frame.

Their spectral tint and gravity defying droop gave my eyes an optic fillip.

Green border shrubs and yellow rose petals bore a magic that defied description.

Albeit with telltale winter stains.

But the mindfulness of gait and knowing that slippage could be fatal moderated my enthusiasm about my settings.

Onto the yard and then the slope towards town with a propensity for the occasional wobble notwithstanding.

A downward denouement laced with grit and optimism.

The verges on the fringe of each footpath were covered with tufts of flickering grass cavorting about in a light south east breeze.

Haywire brambles whose overlapping tentacles were embedded in every mound or patch.

Star shaped brown leaves as veiled cover for those sharp spines sticking out.

The bane of every bulging blood vessel.

An ice clad descent that can either capsize or upend even the most determined stride.

Ice that most deceptive gloss that far too easily masks it’s latent perils.

Irrespective I continued unabashed.

The heart, portent of fragility, bruising barometer of one’s twilight moment can be an ally.

A motivator of noble human impulse.

My rainbow tipped walking stick was my elder compass.

A bearing locator for crazy paving pavement slabs.

Those structures fractured by peculiarities of sudden temperature with their plummets and summits!

But focus though impaired was motivated by a stoic forbearance imbued with fire in the soul.

Virginia’s velvet toned voice enjoined on us at home to watch the clouds.

The wispy contours, greyed over forms, wooly frills and outlines drifting overhead.

She also warned of their penchant for unleashing torrents which could spoil the daily strolls of even the most ernest of ramblers.

Today the clouds weaved their way across that azure blue path called the sky.

Curiously enough the self same clouds added to their repertoire by the graceful skirting of rooftops and faraway rock formations on the outskirts of town.

“Clouds are a heavenly canvas. A floating exhibit of the firmament.

They inspire poets, works of art.” Virginia said.

They were doing just that in my case with aplomb.

The planned mysterious link up was never lost sight of amid Virginia’s majestic musings.

“Use your imagination or your imagination will use you. The borders between make belief and the real world must always be maintained.

Imaginings of every kind can be triggered by just about anything familiar.

They can assume a life of their own.”

Wonderful counsel from a wonderful woman.

Virginia, however, unlike some philosophers had a marvelous sense of humor but abhorred the canned, corny variety.

Although such humor couldn't always be avoided I was mindful of her sensitivity on the subject.

Meticulously taking out that pad again I scribbled a few more lines.

It’s beginning to fill up.

The only thing that remains is to have someone to dedicate it to.

The human eye, a person’s best camera turned to the leach like ivy carpet which clung with tenacity to the grey grained stone wall narrowly to my right.

Preserving their corporeal integrity and playing their part while going largely unobserved.

Fir trees, enclosed by pavement railings and gardens had an overwhelming stillness about them.

An unyielding rooted presence.

They too are age defiant when cultivated and getting the right supports.

These trees act as filters for the dust, smoke and fumed manifestations of the modern manufacturer.

Urban heat island effect offset and mitigated.

All these details forensically noted.

A sudden wakening ensued.

“Hi there, Hamilton. Lovely morning for a stroll.”

My inner space rightly interrupted for a different reality.

“Maybe we’ll meet later at one of your favourite spots or a coffee shop.”

Local teens, Sonia and Winfred with whom I regularly crossed paths and swopped pleasantries of a deeper heartfelt kind.

They alighted from their bicycles

“It’s your birthday today isn’t it?

You’d put people half your age and mine to shame.” The young lady Sonia said.

Winfred her boyfriend agreed.

“Such generosity I rarely encountered from my own group.” I thought to myself.

Sonia, a vibrant vivacious youth whose tactful airborne words shone as brightly as her arched angelic face.

Winfred, her boyfriend had a slightly bulging chin and matted haired that looked as if it had been constantly drenched.

His was a handsomeness harrowed out by high jinx and crack of dawn capers.

After a friendly departure this couple dashed off with a daring and delight so dirigere of the young.

As well as the young at heart.

Photograph and short story by mantrabay copyright protected.

[feverinfeveroutfic]

chapter thirty-two: heart of gold

“i wanna live, i wanna give, i’ve been a miner for a heart of gold. it’s these expressions that i never give: that keep me searching for a heart of gold.” -”heart of gold”, neil young

Oswego was a rather tightly woven little dot upon the southeastern shore of Lake Ontario, at least according to Joey. He also explained that the nuclear power plant on the far side of town was so set apart from everything else that it seemed to come from another world altogether. He made a joke about the river waters being radioactive but it only made Sam wary of everything around there.

“Nah—they haven't had a meltdown up there,” he assured her, “that's just the whole joke about being from here is all. That we all glow in the dark like a buncha of glow sticks or sump'n.” But then he drove them back to his place down in a town known as Camillus, not too far on the outskirts of Syracuse.

“Hang on, I thought you lived closer to New York City,” Sam confessed.

“I mean, it technically is—about a half an hour less of a drive. Oh, you talking about my old place? I had to move back around here in March 'cause that drive was getting treacherous in its own rite and rent was getting to be too much. I would'a told you sooner but—you know. Things happen. I'm making a little bit more money than I was before so I was able to do it.”

“Right, right, right.” Sam flashed back and when she, Frank, and Charlie had to rescue him from the snow.

“Besides, I was startin' to miss this part of upstate, as you'll see here in a couple of minutes.”

Despite the darkness, the orange and yellow trees that lined the landscape made her think of fire or the cotton balls she would find a craft shop. The nondescript edge of town reminded her of California as well as the outskirts of Reno and Carson City. The two lane highway turned into a four lane main street and she spotted the faint line of lights over a ridge on the southern side of town: the brightest yellow light shone out from the top part of the ridge. Sam glanced about the block for anything notable to recall for the next time she visited.

“Not much here,” she remarked.

“Nah, there really isn't,” he confessed with a shrug of his shoulders. “'Swaygo is even worse as we'll see tomorrow. But every part of this is home to me. I was born in 'Swaygo and I grew up all around here. Even though I've moved outta 'Swaygo, I still call it home.”

They rolled up to a stoplight and Sam peered across the intersection to the long low brick building nestled next door to a fuel station. She recognized a paint palette over the front window and a line of big bold text right over it.

“Is that an art store?” she asked with a gesture out the windshield.

“It sure is!” he declared. “Given it's night time and we're a buncha hicks 'round here, they're closed for the night. But we can go in there tomorrow if you'd like.”

“Yeah, I kinda need something to make an artistic rendering of you,” she explained, “and even though I have plenty of things back home for that, it's still a four hour drive regardless.”

The light turned green and they lunged forward. They drove past the art store and a mere white light shone in the front window: she knew that tomorrow was going to be quite the eventful for them as Joey hung a right past the shop.

“Right down this way,” he explained as they drove down the dark side street to the very end. He reached the stop sign and he peered both ways about the dark neighborhood. No one coming.

He rolled forward to the low apartment complex right in front of them, such that it took her by surprise.

“Yeah, it surprised my mom when I brought my parents along when I moved in here,” he told her; even in the dim light, she could make out the sight of that lopsided grin upon his face. Even though he had just turned twenty six, he still resembled to a little boy with that smile on his face and that twinkle in his eyes even in the darkness.

They bounded into the driveway and then they posted up at the big cube of silver mailboxes.

“Gotta check it out first,” he told her as he unbuckled his seat belt and slid out of his car. He rounded the front end, and the headlights shone upon his slender body as he made his way over to the mailboxes. Sam watched him fetch for the mail but then she noticed the soft glow of the headlights on the back of his curls. It was right there she wanted to draw him and then to paint him out with oil paints. Not watercolor, not acrylic, but oil paints.

She hadn't worked with oil paints before, but she wanted to do it right there for him.

He returned to the driver's seat with a little pink sheet of paper in hand.

“Gotta care package from my aunt,” he told her.

“Oh, boy!” she declared.

“I can't get it right now, though—tomorrow is gonna be quite full for the both of us.”

He started up the car again and they made their way over to the building on the right. Right before their parking spot stood a little walkway that extended around the building and into the darkness. Joey led Sam around the corner to a low doorstep and a cold blue door: when he unlocked the door, he let her go inside of the dark and cool apartment first. When she was inside, he reached for the light switch on the wall. It was a small place: they stood in the living room right there, which consisted of nothing more than a small thread bare gray couch and a small side table with a black lamp and a low glass coffee table; an eggshell colored vent about the width of the door itself stood on the left side of the room. Right in front of them was the kitchen, a narrow sliver of a room rounded by a low table with three chairs. To her right was a stone stairwell which led up to the loft.

“I assume that's your room upstairs?” she asked him with a point to the stairs.

“Sure is. Bathroom's up there, too, and—I think I have a spare tooth brush in my medicine cabinet. I'll haveta check 'cause I know how sucky the aftertaste of coffee can be, especially this time of day. But in the meantime, make yourself at home here, Sam I am.”

He shut the door behind him and he darted up the stone steps. Sam peered about the small living room: right behind her was a tiny television with rabbit ears over the top; a long low barren bookshelf, barren saved for a small handful of books and a few stacks of vinyl; another lamp up top with a cream colored lampshade, and a small hockey trophy. She stooped down for a look at the bookshelf: nothing she had heard of herself, but it was in fact comforting to see that Joey did have another nuance to him. She eyed the vinyl records, at all the Journey and Led Zeppelin, Foreigner and the Beatles, Deep Purple and Rush, Kansas and Yes. She let her eyes wander over the record player itself, tucked behind the television and with the cable coiled up on top of the protective glass. She wished for her copy of Spreading the Disease to merely appear before her just so she could play it right then and there.

“Yeah, I do have a spare one,” he was saying as he descended the stairs, and he stopped right in his tracks. Sam turned her attention to his standing on the bottom step. Joey showed her another little grin.

“Ah, I see you found my music collection,” he proclaimed; he lay the head of the plain red toothbrush in one hand as if it was a club.

“Of course,” she declared with a beaming smile on her face. She lifted herself into an upright position and brushed herself off even though the floor was clean.

“I learned to sing by singing to songs from the Beatles and Journey, y'know,” he said as he neared her, “I literally would sit in my parents' living room and listen to records on their player and try to sing along to the Fab Four and Steve Perry. I'd also sing to Foreigner and Rush, and that was how my voice came to be so high and light.”

“Gotta start somewhere,” she added.

“Gotta start somewhere, right,” he echoed, and he handed her the toothbrush.

“Thank you,” she said in a soft voice as if he had just given her the best gift ever.

“I also hate to make you sleep on the couch,” he confessed with a shrug of his shoulders. “I just think back to how uncomfortable we both were in the cabin last year for my birthday.”

“No, no, no—it's okay,” she assured him, and she couldn't think of anything else to follow up to that.

“It is pretty comfy,” he continued on. “I've napped on it many times before. One time, I came home at three o'clock in the morning and I pretty much collapsed onto it face down ass up. I actually woke up face down ass up. That's how comfy that couch is—I slept for four hours in that position. Wouldn't use one of those pillows, though—it's hard on the neck.”

“Do you have a spare pillow?” she asked him.

“I do, as a matter of fact.”

“Do you have a blanket?”

“I have many. Sam, this is upstate New York and I've lived out here the twenty six years I've been alive—we gotta have a shitload of blankets and a warm place to sleep at otherwise no one can survive up here. You can use a bit of my toothpaste, too.”

“Good to know,” she confessed as she tapped the head of the toothbrush against the inside of her palm. “'Cause—I gotta get this taste of coffee out of my mouth.”

* * * * *

Sam jerked over onto her side there on the couch cushions. Joey was in fact right about the couch: it was comfortable. Almost too comfortable. She had a difficult time even so much rolling over on her side or onto her back. She had woken up twice throughout the night but she had fallen back asleep. Perhaps it was from laying in a bed different from hers that threw her off a bit.

The spare soft pillow cradled her head: she sighed through her nose and kept her eyes shut against the rich darkness before her. The only sound came from the pipes running in the wall and Joey's slow, gentle breathing upstairs.

She thought about the incident with Alex back at the coffee house and that little raise of his eyebrows. He had softened for her a little bit right there, even with Joey right behind her ready to beat him down yet again. She barely knew the young man and he looked at her like that because of her past with Cliff.

She couldn't stop seeing it over and over again inside of her mind. Not to mention that little sliver of gray hair over his brow kept reappearing in her mind.

She thought about the mysterious man and the stripe in his hair. No way that was him, even though he shared a lot of similar looks to him. The stripe was far too big and Alex had too soft of a face as well. And yet she wondered about him. One thing that baffled her about him was his referring to Joey as her boyfriend. As far as she knew, he only saw them together that one time, unless he saw more of what Joey was doing at the memorial than she did: it made no sense to her.

It was all so much to think about that she wound up falling asleep again.

No sooner had Sam fallen back to sleep when she woke up yet again, that time to the sound of a heavy rain outside of the apartment window right in front of her. Joey yawned upstairs and cleared his throat. She opened her eyes and soft bluish gray light shone through the heavy white blinds.

Joey cleared his throat again.

“Hey, Sam, you awake?” he called out to her.

She groaned and rubbed her eyes.

“Sam?”

“Yeah—I just woke up. Why? What's up?”

“Kinda hungry right now. You want some breakfast?”' “Please,” she said in a broken voice.

She heard Joey climbing out of bed up there, and then he padded down the stone steps.

After a brew of coffee and a bite of biscuits and gravy courtesy of him, they climbed back into his car and drove down the block to that art store right as it opened for the day.

There were only six aisles before her, but she knew it was all for the best with all the smallness of the town. She couldn't hardly resist that new art supply smell as she picked out a pair of paint brushes and some acrylic paints: she had considered those beautiful oil paints but she wasn't willing to bust down for a can of turpentine, nor was she willing to fill Joey's apartment with that acrid odor. A brand new medium for herself and for Joey as well.

Meanwhile, Joey himself checked out the little wooden blank mannequins on the other side of the room: he picked one of the smaller ones for a closer look. Sam watched him move the arms about for the perfect pose. He set down the mannequin and he posed in its wake, as if he was ready to pose for her when they got the chance that weekend. But she couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of him.

Once she had picked out a canvas and spent the rest of the spare change in her pocket, she and Joey made their way back out to the lake effect rains.

“I got a little something waiting for us back at my place,” he said once they ducked back into the car in unison.

“Like what?” she asked him, but he didn't reply to her. He never did reply to her as they returned to the apartment and she set her things down on the coffee table in front of the couch. Joey ducked into the kitchen for something: Sam took the plain off white canvas out into the open. She ran her hand across the heavy grain of the canvas: like a thick heavy rug right underneath her skin.

“Sam?” he called to her. She raised her gaze to the counter top, and the tall brown glass bottle right before him, right in between his hands. She spotted the label on the front side there and her heart skipped several beats at the sight of it.

“Joey,” she begged as she shook her head at that. “Joey, please don't.”

“Why?” He frowned at her.

“Because it has booze in it.”

“And?”

“Joey, please,” she pleaded as she stood to her feet and scrambled closer to him. “I want you to stay away from the booze for a time.”

He never changed his expression at the sight of her.

“Why? It's just you and me here. And it's a whole weekend, too. You've got time before you gotta mosey on back to school.”

“Joey—you don't want to go there right now.”

“What? It's just one drink, though.”

“Yes, and one drink leads to a second one and a third one. It happened at the restaurant with all of us there before—and it'll happen again.”

He nibbled on his bottom lip and she watched his hand as it rested on the bottle neck. His fingers stayed curled around the smooth glass. It was dead silent in that room: silent save for her own shuddered breath.

“What if I told you,” he began in a low voice, “that I feel better stripping down to bare skin with a drink in me?”

“Just one?” she demanded.

“Just one.”

“I'll stand here while you drink it down, though. I need you to be as clear as possible to boot.”

“Clear but also loose.”

“Exactly,” she said, reluctant. Joey pried off the cap and he tipped the bottle back into his mouth. She set her hands on the edge of the counter and watched him. He drank it down in four large gulps, and he ran his tongue around his lips like that of a snake.

He fluttered his eyelids at her and set the bottle down on the counter in between them. She scanned his face and at his brown eyes in particular. Even in a few seconds time, she could see the effects of it overcoming him. The canvas and the paints awaited her.

“Let your clothes fall to the floor,” she told him in a low voice. He stuck out his tongue at her, and then he cracked a little grin at her.

“Come on—let them fall right off of your body.

He unfastened the button on those tight jeans and he let them fall down his legs towards his feet.

“D'you take your shoes off?” she asked him.

He then stooped down and pried off his shoes.

“I have now,” he said as he kicked off his jeans and left them there on the linoleum. He then peeled off his shirt and lay it across the counter.

“Man, you do not hold your liquor well, do you?” she joked.

“I dunno 'bout that,” he admitted; he stood there in his underwear right before her with a giddy look on his face. Sam frowned at him and she set one hand on her hip.

“What's the matter?” he asked her.

“Take off your underwear.”

“Why?”

“Don't question it. Just do it.”

He sighed through his nose and then he slipped his thumbs inside of that elastic band. He let them fall onto the floor, right next to his jeans. Sam gestured for him to follow her.

“Right over here,” she encouraged him in a gentle tone; and she led him to the middle of the living room, right in front of the coffee table. “Hang on a second—”

She doubled back to the kitchen table for a chair, and she brought it back to him. A perfect fit in between the coffee table and the vent on the wall.

“Have a seat.”

Joey plunked down on the cushion and spread his legs out a little bit for her to see in between his thighs.

“Want me to pose for ya?” he cracked as he raised his arms over his head.

“No. Just sit normal. Let me see you. Let me see you in your entirety.”

Joey set those large hands on either side of his hips, right on the edge of the seat. Sam headed into the kitchen for a wash basin.

“There's an empty pickle jar right there next to the sink,” he told her; indeed, there was, so she picked it out and filled it with clean cool water from the faucet. She returned to him and picked up the paint brush. The sole light came from the kitchen and from the window on the side of the room but it proved to be enough for her. A nice moody painting for the man himself.

Even with the cool lighting in that apartment, there was a bit of a sheen to his skin, especially right around his knees and his ankles. A healthy shine of sorts upon the rich darkness about his skin, and one that she was eager to cover with her paint brush.

She didn't have her pencil in hand, but she could have a good look at his slender nude body before her. He had eaten and drank down a bit of alcohol: he was full enough for her and those soft yellow and brown tones for his skin.

She thought about Alex and the little pearl of gray hair over his forehead. She gazed at the painted head on the paper, at Joey's head of black curls. A fleeting thought crossed through her mind that told her to dip the brush into white paint and make a little pearl over his forehead. And yet she flashed back on their scuffle back at the coffee house: she need not draw attention to that, even if it was art.

Such a small, slender little body. Much like Cliff, he had a little crease in between his waist and his thighs as if he had had a belt there. Maybe it was just part of the male anatomy, to have that little crease there near their thigh region. If there was one thing she needed to polish up on in her future drawing classes, it was all of that. The taste of the fundamentals and perhaps running away with them more and more in her own artistry.

She used that one brush for his whole body and his thick black hair. A touch of blue all over and she had a portrait of Joey, done with nothing more than her and him in the safety and privacy of his own home.

“May I see it?” he asked her.

“Of course! You are the subject after all.”

She picked up the canvas and she showed it off to him, and he brought a hand to his chest.

“I don't have a pencil on hand so I just winged the whole thing,” she confessed, “so it's a bit rougher than I like and what I'm used to, too.”

“No, no, I love it! And it's not just the booze talking with that, either—that really looks like a Native American painting! I wanna share that with everyone now.”

“Well, it has to dry out first,” she told him as she placed it back down on the coffee table.

“Okay. Should I get dressed now?”

“Please,” she encouraged him with a gesture to him.

“I'll get dressed and I'll drive us up to 'Swaygo 'cause the day is still pretty young.”

“As long as you're up to par,” she pointed out. “I'm not riding in the same car with a drunk dude.”

“I ain't drunk, though—just kinda tipsy. I can talk you there, though, if you'd like.”

“Yeah, sure, I'll take that.”

Joey headed back into the kitchen for his clothes and his shoes. He then handed her the car keys and they strode on outside, where the rain had backed off a great deal into a fine drizzle. She climbed behind the wheel of his car: it felt like a million years since she last drove a car with all the rides she had gotten, from Charlie as well as the subways. But she managed to drive them up to Oswego, the city by the lake, by Joey's direction. Even with the one drink in his system, she could tell that he wasn't up to par to drive any distance, but he was lucid enough to tell her about it.

By the middle of the day, and by the time they had cleared a low rolling hill outside of Syracuse, she spotted the vast black sheet off in the distance and she knew that had to be Lake Ontario. The gray of the lake hung over that small city like a protective blanket, and she thought of the towns back in California, all the ones that lined the coastline and beckoned everyone with beaches, but there was something else to it. The gray washed over everything and left it all muted in its wake: the sole black and white light house off in the distance only added to the feeling of it all.

“So this is Oswego,” she declared. “This is where you grew up.”

“Born and raised!” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “The lake looks so cold right now,” he added.

“I imagine the snow here getting crazy,” she said.

“Oh—the time you, Charlie, and Frankie had to come get me was only a little part of it. Up here, we really only got two seasons: winter and road work. If they aren't working on the roads, it's probably snowing a shitload. And we often get feet of snow down by the lake shore, too. Speaking of which, I think it might snow in a bit. It feels like snow and looks it, too.”

“Sounds like Carson,” she noted as they rolled up to the first stoplight. “Almost word for word. Except Carson and Reno are both in the desert rather than near a lake.”

“Huh. Wow.” He raised his eyebrows at that.

“Yeah, it's—kinda crazy to think about especially when I hear the same thing being said about a place that's still relatively new to me.”

He then turned his head in her direction.

“I think I like you, Sam,” he admitted in a soft voice.

“I have seen you after all,” she added.

“You've seen me in the buff. And—if I'm bein' perfectly honest, I kinda wanna see you do more of it.”

“You want me to do it again,” she stifled a chuckle.

“If ya don't mind,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders.

“I'll have a pencil next time. I'll also make sure you're genuinely comfortable, like I want to make you comfortable around me sans the alcohol.”

“You have a heart of gold, Sam,” he declared.

“Nah—you're the one with the heart of gold, Joey,” she said as the light turned green. “It's in there under all those proverbial scars. It just needs to be coaxed out.”

[batsidian]

today, November 4th, is the annual #lovelikeyou event

https://snapbacksteven.tumblr.com/post/188801519802/snapbacksteven-calling-all-steven-universe

marking the day Steven universe aired on cartoon network. the has been around for 6 years(not including su future)

in this post I'd like to share what su ment(and will always mean!) to me

I'm guessing I discovered it around March 2015 ,probably a little earlier, based my first fan art posts

I think what sparked my interest was garnet's design, I remember seeing screenshots and art on tumblr and I was really drawn to her cool, futuristic, somewhat superhero-ish design

(might get a little heavy idk??)

oof idk how to explain why I love it so much ugh ,the characters,the messages,the music,the backgrounds,the designs,the story,the whole gem world and the concept of aliens based on minerals and other concepts/details...maybe because I was already interested in minerals as a kiddo and that it made me rediscover the hobby and fascination for stones

(who needs merch when you can have 300+ rocks amirite ??😎)

also su was something positive in my life in a very dark period of my life

I got depressed and dropped out of school

and along the way I got tested for a few different things, disabilities etc...

and I'm still not fully out of it yet,but definitely way better than when it all began

and although I dropped out of art school, thanks to su,making fan art and gemsonas etc it was one best things to push me forward as an artist and thanks to making art about it I got a lot of practice and progressed to most compared to the past

it was a creative outlet for me,not only fanart, but gemsonas and stories for them,cosplays, and crafts using different medias. ..wel it actually made me get into different art medias!

su has and still is helping me with self acceptance and my identity

accepting me for who I am,what I like,what I wanna do etc,not holding myself back/changing myself just bc I was afraid of what others would think

(during my years watching su I finally got to understand myself, that I was pan and identify as a demi girl, some years before that,probably early high school I just didn't know how to describe those things or how I felt )((also I have the big hots for all the quartzes hhvggdffgcgfggg///))

I relate to quite a few characters for other reasons but mostly amethyst (and other off color gems) bc we both had a hard time accepting ourselves when we got the news that "something is wrong/different " with you

also thanks to su,especially through conventions and cosplay, I made quite a few friends!or got to bond even more over ot with friends I already had when they started watching it

although I wasn't there from the beginning, it feels like su has been in my life for soooo long

and its messing with my head that actually it has already ended but...also not yet now su future is coming soon

maybe the fact that we know this is the last season is the thing that's messing with me

and although I will me a puddle of sad mush when it ends, I will stay in the fandom and keep making stuff and loving the show

I am looking forward to what future works rebecca,the crewniverse members and artists who got inspired by this groundbreaking show will make

....and the next generation of geologists lmao (including me question mark >:} )

for this post I wanted to share both old and new:digital and traditional art,cosplays,different crafts and a few of my pieces from my mineral collection!