Triple Shockwave from Sun Crossing Rocket
Image Credit & Copyright: John Winkopp (WAI Media)
Explanation: What’s happening to this Sun-crossing rocket? The SpaceX Falcon 9 rocket, visible on the upper left, launched only about one minute before this amazing image was captured. As it rose to low Earth orbit from Cape Canaveral, Florida, USA, in late May, the rocket became supersonic before it crossed the disk of the distant Sun – from the perspective of the well-placed photographer. The spacecraft’s high speed caused bow-shaped compressed-air shockwaves to form across leading surfaces, with at least three visible even outside the Sun’s disk because they refract sunlight. The trailing exhaust caused turbulence visible on the lower right. None of this was damaging to the robotic Starlink 10-53 mission, which delivered 29 communications satellites to low Earth orbit as planned. And if that isn’t amazing enough - the Sun had spots!
[Description: a looping bouncy animation of grace and Rocky from project hail mary. Grace throws himself onto rocky for a hug, smiling and nuzzling his face to the top of Rocky's xenonite covered carapace. Rocky brings a claw up to ruffle Grace's hair and grace throws himself even more on top of rocky, rocky wrapping his arms around grace. End description.]
Borderline Personality Disorder, Anxiety, Depression, and the Body
The brain is such a funny thing. One moment you might be walking along carefree, thinking that nothing has affected you, and that very same evening you find yourself in the throes of a panic attack. And your brain keeps telling you that you’re the worst person on Earth, unworthy of anything good in this life.
And the worst part is that your main tormentor here is your own mind. Your own sanity.
I don’t know whether the person whose words triggered what happened to me meant to hurt me on purpose or not. I hope not. I hope that this person simply didn’t take my state of mind into account. Or perhaps it’s worse. Because that person knew what I’d been through over the last nine months and decided anyway that it was the right thing to do. That they could push me deeper into the pit as punishment. That I deserve it.
I was diagnosed with borderline personality disorder quite recently. However, this has already allowed me to spot the first warning signs that I’m slipping. And I’m scared. Not when the episode is happening, no, afterwards.
It’s how my emotions take control of me, and I think I’m thinking rationally, but afterwards I realise that’s not the case at all. That I was frantic, fragmented, incoherent.
My mind starts fixating on trivialities or even making things up out of thin air. Saying:
- ‘Hey, look, they’re fed up with you too. Can’t you see? How can you not see? You’ve worn them out with your endless problems. It’s always one thing or another, and they just want to relax from the daily grind, not babysit you.”
And just like that, you’re sliding down an old metal slide. You try to grab the edge – it cuts your palms. You try to brake with your hands and feet – you get burned by the friction.
So one person’s words, aimed squarely at your trigger zone, make you doubt everything. And that hurts even more, because another part of your mind says this is a betrayal of those who care for you. After all, it means you don’t value or believe in their sincerity. And this polarised (ha-ha) attitude towards the situation in your own head begins to tear it apart into warring factions.
When I felt I could no longer control the flow of my thoughts, I switched off all my devices for a day to divert the floodwaters from the burst dam into a channel away from the people I cherish.
Perhaps this isn’t healthy. Locking myself away in a cage like a wild beast, but how else can you restrain it if not by putting it in a cage?
Since December, I’ve been plagued by constant pain. Not the usual chronic pain I’ve lived with for years. No. This pain had me curled up in bed for hours, crying; the medication didn’t help relieve it. And all because my liver decided it was bored and formed gallstones. They only removed it on my third emergency admission, and that was only because I practically begged them to. After all, the ultrasound and MRI didn’t show any acute condition, but since the pain persisted and my blood tests weren’t great, and they had an empty slot, they went ahead with it.
Back home, with my discharge papers in hand, I noticed a note saying that during the operation it had become clear that my gallbladder was phlegmonous. What does that mean? It means it was enlarged, inflamed and had pus in the walls. And also that if it had been just a little bit more, it would have burst and then peritonitis would have set in.
And yet, from January to May, they had been telling me that everything was fine, that my gallbladder was calm and there was no indication for urgent surgery. Despite the pain getting more unbearable, and the episodes of it starting to last from 15 mins to 6+ hours.
My nervous system is worn out, completely exhausted due to the pain, nerves, blood, hospitals, antibiotics, and almost any stress triggers an emotional, practically uncontrollable, response.
I am fresh post op too. Stitches are still there, yet to be removed.
And when this person, whom I considered a close friend, said that I’d better leave the community because I was making it unsafe?
I really did want this not to get to me. Because, no matter how much this person blames me for the fact that they can no longer trust me (after previously assuring me that everything was fine), I can’t trust them either. Not when their words and actions are constantly at odds with one another.
But it did get to me.
It got to me more than that.
It was a Spartan kick off a cliff, because the last thing in the world I want is to make this community unsafe. Just like any other.
Slowly, my mind is finding peace. But it’s an almost hourly battle. Because the nasty whispering voices haven’t gone away. They’re constantly trying to hurt me, to point out my worthlessness, my guilt. I’m terribly afraid of hurting my friends or being a burden to them.
There’s no conclusion or moral here. The narrative is as broken and chaotic as I feel. These are the cries of a wild animal, locked in a cage, into the void.
A Blood of Arlathan Fic
Starring:
@lunammoon Ezra Mustermann and ???
@so--whoonos Nyxsiris
With Cameos From:
@teamtakagi Jerran
@aislingavry Naina
@elfmaid Kalais
@wickedadaar Del and Beck
Banner by @so--whoonos
Ezra had a job with the Mourn Watch. And, at least officially, that had been the reason they had joined the Veilguard.
There would be blood mages and blood magic and spirits and there was a base within the fade. So of course a Tie Breaker would be needed. If nothing else, to keep the spirits from being bound against them.
In truth, that had simply been what they presented to the Watch as a reason.
It wasn’t a lie, but the truth was that Nyx was going and Ezra didn’t want to be left behind.
Their official role had only come up a handful of times. Now was one of them.
Dalish were missing- taken by Venatori. People were in danger. Evanuris would be there and NYX was going. And if Nyx was going into danger, Ezra couldn’t stay in the lighthouse.
Nyx and Ezra had hiked in with the Dalish, following along with the path of the inner circle as they took their disguises into the thick of the Venatori present.
The plan is simple enough because of the many moving parts; find the captured elves, release them, get out. Ezra’s skills were needed. Ward work and breaking blood binding was what they were best at, and Nyx knew they could keep Ezra safe, and all the captives they freed.
Ezra isn’t passively sensitive to blood magic. That was the sort of thing that got Tie Breaker training halted and the mage redirected into some other form of spirit magic.
It was a useful skill until it wasn’t and there was too much blood magic around at once and over stimulation caused mistakes. Sensitivity to blood magic was excellent unless it couldn’t be turned off, in which case it was a potential liability.
Even so- even without speaking it out- they could sense it. Potential and spilt blood something thrumming from somewhere.
Elgar'nan is not supposed to be here, none of the reports mentioned the possibility of him showing up beyond the always looming threat of him being awake again. They knew that at any time he could, that was why they had the wards, but now the dreadful possibility was right in front of them.
Nyx stops breathing , and again, just like before, the darkness curls in on the edges of their vision, but they hold it off. He doesn't know they are there, they could still help, and they should still help. There is no reason that him being here should stop them.
They are always a little bit aware of split blood, in the same way a warrior might recognize the light glinting off a blade. There is so so much of it. And in the distance, and they could taste the spirits malicious and not pressing against the veil. Compassion and Despair and Valor and Fear and Courage and Bloodlust and Wisdom and Rage.
They weigh their risks and pull out all the stops of their spirit, so much stranger than it had ever been. Their tethers and wards have only strengthened over time and give feedback. They glow distinctly even in the light of the day, a full set of wings and eyes. Their own eyes are pupil less, so they could see through all their eyes at once.
As they move through the forest looking for those liberated and taking out any venatori they found. They can feel as they draw near Elgar'nan and they know He could feel them as well. They try to be careful, but they know he will try to take them. They have faith that Ezra's wards will give Elgar'nan a run for his money.
“Ah, little Protection, you’ve come crawling back to me. You see now the error of your old choice to leave me. What a perfect time for you to reunite with me in the hour of reclamation of my glory.” They feel Elgar'nan’s grip around them, the red swirling of his magic pulling them closer.
They plant their feet and resist. “Never, I left you and I refuse to join your cruelty again. I am not yours.” Elgar'nan growls in frustration when he can't force them, and as predictable as ever, he tries to bend them to his will trying to use his magic to rebind them to him, and Ezra's wards flare.
The symbols Ezra had traced in ink and blood along Nyx’s skin begin to flicker and then spread. It is a maze with a prize at the center, with walls too high to climb and too low to dig and too strong to crack too fast for a path to be found.
The wards aren’t unbreakable- but that’s fine, because there’s no such thing as an unbreakable ward, not really. But there are such a thing as strong wards, and such a thing as clever wards, and such a thing as tricky wards.
A strong ward would not be enough to hold back Elgar’nan.
A clever ward might not be either- although it might last longer.
But a tricky ward?
Strength doesn’t matter in a fight against an opponent you haven’t noticed on the rooftop above you holding a brick.
Cleverness doesn’t matter against someone who’s openly cheating to an audience that doesn’t care.
The magic creates a lattice of words and sigils and poetry and power that wind in and around each other in confusing twists and spirals. The beginning is hidden in the middle and the end is halfway between that and the start. It changes and how it changes and when is based on a pattern that’s solvable yes- but not quickly.
It takes a long time changes too much for anything you learned from your failure to be useful if you tried again. Like trying to retrace your steps along the shore when the tides have risen and fallen again.
The wards are working. They’re working!
They struggle and the wards let them slip like water through Elgar'nan’s hands, but he keeps trying to catch them. They need to hide from him. They wrack their brain for how they escaped him the first time, and they remember only darkness.
Darkness! That’s what it was. It fills them with dread, they know the darkness and how it fills their lungs, but they know it will work, they are not night, but they are not as bright as the sun. They are the light in the dark, and they need that darkness again.
They pull on the shadows around them, between the leaves of trees, in the corners of the ruins. They let the darkness fill their lungs and their breath becomes labored, but they keep breathing and keep their eyes open. They look for their tethers, Vena, Kalais, Bug, Desi, Rook, Ezra. They are the brightest spots in their sight, but their sky is filled with many smaller lights, all the people they had met and formed connections with.
They reach toward them and out of Elgar'nan’s hands.
“Ezra! They worked perfectly. I was able to get away.” They take the other’s hand and move from where they were, not risking the possibility of lingering here. They know he will try again, it is just a matter of what.
They reach out for Ezra, needing that reassurance as they hadn't said anything yet, but they are looking beyond Nyx into the mid-distance and Nyx can feel the magic working on them.
An anger they rarely feel burns in their chest. They pull on Ezra's tether and increase their protection that they have given them. They imagine the breaking of threads around them.
They are in a palace. There is a warmth on their face. The sun? They thought it was the sun. They were surrounded by people who. Who- were they?
They were fairly certain that they knew or should know? The people looked like people. They had sockets with eyes and mouths with teeth and heads with hair, and markings on their faces that felt right.
They were people- even if Ezra couldn’t quite identify them- even if they knew them. They had to know them? How else could they be there?
What Ezra was certain of was that they were safe. Not just Ezra themself, but these- people who had faces and yet- did not.
One of the figures meets Ezra’s eyes. They stand out more than the rest, even though their features are obscured. Their hair a flame and their eyes a glow. Their mouth is turned into a scowl and their glare burns more than the sun did- although it feels more real.
It stares at Ezra, and then it looks to the side. Ezra follows its gaze.
There is a figure more clear that the rest. They stand away from the crowd. Ezra hadn’t recognized them at first, or but perhaps they had just arrived? A Protection Spirit! The figure had grey hair shining branch like groves on their face. Their eyes were like glass and their smile painted on. They looked almost doll-like.
That's Nyx. Why would Nyx look that way? Why would they-
And they were safe, because of the light of the Sun shining on Ezra and through Ezra and no one could hurt them- any of them. And all they had to do was to embrace the Sun back and-
This- wasn’t a thought of their own. None of this was. Because whomever had created this version, did not know what Nyx look liked happy.
Ezra looked out into the indistinct crowd. Were any of these people happy? With their glassy eyes and painted smiles?
None of them were. Because none of this was real. Except-
They look out into the crowd, and bit into the meat of their palm, clenching a bloodied fist, and yanked- as if pulling aside an invisible curtain.
They are on a cliffside- a place they weren’t quite sure how they left and knew they never had. Immediately they turned to Nyx. Their runes flashed and burned like embers waiting for a simple gust of air.
They squeezed their staff with their bloodied hands, the white wood remaining just as white as it always was.
They gently cupped Nyx’s cheek, and waited for them to return from wherever they were.
“Here/Helper/Here”
The Glorious Sun has important plans today, so they must be completely vigilant. The people that the Sun had gathered were large in number and not good at waiting. They had caused a disturbance already with an animal of some kind. Protection hated when innocent creatures got in the path of the Sun's glory.
“See, aren't you so glad that you returned to me Protection? I can keep you away from the riff raff. You will be witness to the coming of my new kingdom.” Nyx was very used to how Elgar'nan talked, it was irritating to say the least. They much preferred… someone else. They blinked, trying to recall the face they were thinking of, gray like their own hair and purple. Helper.
But they don't know a helper spirit, do they?
They try to remember how they got here. They had left Elgar'nan, so why did they return?
“Protection! What ARE you doing? I need you here and at your best.”
They blink and nod looking back to the Sun. “Of course, my apologies.” but they still can't shake the nagging feeling that they need to look for this Helper.
They look past Elgar'nan to try and find them. They felt in their spirit that they needed to find them, something was tugging on them. Something pulled at their chest. They turn away from Elgar'nan again, searching the faces to find the one they need, following the tug in their chest. Their feet are moving before they think. They see them, their friend, Helper. “Ezra!”
The magic breaks around them both, their connection to each other prevailing over anything that Elgar'nan tried to ply them with. Nyx wonders what pulled Elgar'nan’s attention away from them, likely whatever the inner circle is doing, so they should get moving. They lock eyes with Ezra and they don't need words to both get moving to help the captives.
There are cages, full of terrified people with Venatori standing outside of them that are, in Ezra’s opinion, not terrified enough.
They can fix both of those things.
Ezra runs towards the first one, quick, efficient. Their staff clenched tightly and their fingers splayed as sickly green melts the first guard from the inside and their lightning took out the second.
They knew they could trust Nyx to watch them as their magic ripped apart the threads holding the cage door closed. They almost burn under their finger tips. They felt- something- and they turned to find a Venatori too close to them and rushed forward. Their palm, cracking with lightning, slams into his chest and they are sent to the ground, twitching lifelessly.
They notice Jerran, dressed in his old mercenary garb. He makes eye contact with them, and then his dagger is in the chest of a man standing next to him, dressed similarly. And so Ezra works on freeing the Dalish trapped inside.
There are so many people here. They don’t recognize any of them, and they wish that they did. Just enough so that they could know who to look for and who to ask about. There are Dalish elves in the Veilguard. They seem to know what to do, so Ezra focuses on what they know. Their fingers picking apart arcane locks with ease. They feel like they should be bleeding, but they know that’s just in their head. Shaza and her son look different- and it’s perhaps the magic of this place getting to their head. But they help guide the people to safety.
Their eyes catch that of a woman. The left side of her face is covered in blue ink, save for the negative space in the shape of twisting vines that’s mirrored on her left. They do not envy her. She looks away from Ezra, her head lowered. Ezra’s smile is as soft for her as it always is.They rub their own face in sympathy. In another life, they could easily see themselves as having donned Falon’Din or perhaps June’s vallaslin, and the idea is-
They’d have scraped their skin raw.a
They nod towards the where the other members of the Veilguard are waiting to bring the newly freed to safety. That woman, they point in the direction of Naina. The white haired woman should be able to give her the guidance and help she’ll need.
That’s the nice thing about Veilguard. Everyone has a part to play, a piece to fill. And if everyone does what they know, then there’s nothing left to be done.
They take up their bow and cover Ezra as they work. They feel each breaking of the seals and bindings like small pops of energy released. They fire as fast as they can, most of the venatori coming for them only need one shot to take down, but they start to overwhelm with numbers alone. They see some slipping through and getting closer. The crack of lightning is familiar and expected as Ezra drops one that was too close to them, and Nyx redoubles their efforts.
They see as allies start to join, more arrows join their own; more pops of energy as bindings break; the sound of metal clashing on metal. Truly there are so many venatori here.
They free the last of the captives and they start to move to retreat.
There is a calm, in which there’s no one left to fight and no adrenaline rushing through their veins and nothing to siphon from and then that’s when it happens.
It was the wetness they’d felt first. A damp that brought with it a chill on their borrowed disguise. The stinging came next, and then, an understanding as they stared at the red on their fingertips.
Their side was very very wet with something that felt like potential.
Blood. It’s not one of the Venatori’s nor one of the Dalish. And there’s a lot of it.
They caught Nyx’s eyes, and put a hand not holding their side on their shoulder.
“Help.” They uttered, as their vision went strange, as their knees simply gave up carrying them, and they collapsed into the spirits waiting arms.
They fall into step next to Ezra, but it is different now with Nyx's new powers, they have more things to watch, more to take care of and more everything. They want to believe that is the reason they don't notice at first; the reason they don't notice really at all.
Only when they see Ezra, their hands holding in blood on their side, a small ‘Help’ calling to them. It stops their breath. They move quickly to catch Ezra in their arms, holding them close. Arlathan Forest doesn't need or deserve to take Ezra's blood. They should not be another tally in the land's bloody history.
He looks at Protection and the mage who looks so much like her. Protection can see him now, and he’s aware of that. He holds out his hand and presses it to the mage’s wound in a way he can only manage with all of the anger and the injustice and the fear and the blood.
The air is filled with the smell of burnt flesh and blood as the wound is burnt shut and the mage hisses in pain, but cannot pull away.
He stares at Protection for a moment longer.
The Sun’s servant approaches and his head does not turn but he sees him, and the servant’s clothing ignites and him along with it.
They stare at the other spirit. He looks like Ezra, but not quite. They feel him burn Ezra's wound closed. Rage. He is a kind of rage. The Rage they felt before, an old rage. They are stuck for a second, remembering the Rage that hurt them and lead them to Ezra.
Burning flesh fills the air and brings them back to the here and now. The venatori are burning, this rage is with them. “You've been with them, protecting them, helping them.” They see some of their family coming to them. “We have to get them back to the lighthouse.”
Ezra's mouth fills with ash and that they are conscious enough to know it doesn't come from Nyx. They turn to see their own face, or- sort of their face? A younger face staring at them silently.
Gratitude/Appreciation/Thanks
They feel warm, but also cold as they see Beck and Kalais and Del approach.
They feel tired but they know it's not- true tiredness and that they cannot sleep here.
He nods to Protection and steps back to where he can be felt but not seen. It’s easier this way. He would rather see than be seen.
He will follow the Protection Who Is Not His Servant and the Mage Who Is Not Her as he always has.
They Mage Who Is Not Her has Protection and does not need him now, but- he is, it is not that he is needed. It is that he wants-
There are still servants of the sun trying to follow their retreat. He witnesses them. He judges them. And they burn.
"The magic breaks around them both, their connection to each other prevailing over anything that Elgar'nan tried to ply them with."
Legit got teary-eyed. Love them both so much. Don't understand how I missed the launch
This was insane considering I'm getting eye surgery next month, but my hyper-fixation wouldn't let this go.
A prequel/adjacent comic to @lunammoon and @so--whoonos ' fic, A Rage Brighter than the Sun , set before the Blood of Arlathan questline. This is a mix of my own head canon and various AU's.
It definitely isn't perfect, but I had a lot of fun experimenting with new angles and poses that I never would have used otherwise.
This comic is read left to right. Please click on the pictures if you need a clearer image.
Kesper's character design is based on Dragon Age Inquisition's Bandit King concept by Matt Rhodes.
romaincrisis
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
gracieabrams
discoholicmusic
dailybridgerton
amandla
yousharknotpass
