#Embedded Riting

[somewheres-woods]

A part two to Auhta's story.

Gender neutral reader.

I did not accidentally post this before it was ready...

Not proofread.

Part One.

The day you brought back a Quatza-Rij with Auhta, everything changed.

To bring a Quatza-Rij down and present it to the clan elders was a tradition, a rite of passage to adulthood in yautja culture. Typically, you had to prepare the Hunt in groups of three. Not two unprepared Youngbloods getting ambushed by the beast.

Which made your accomplishment all the more impressive.

A worthy pair of warriors the two of you had made.

You were certainly unprepared for the change in behaviour the yautja showed you after bringing home your kill. No longer did they stare at you like you were the weakest link, keeping their distance and eyeing you like a tragedy waiting to occur.

Even the looks given to your master had changed. She had always been considered odd, true, but you absolutely noticed how her chest would puff up in pride when her peers would glance her way. They had called her foolish for taking in a human to mentor. Looked at her as if she was mad.

Now, their eyes held respect.

She saw something they couldn't see in you.

The respect given to you was now becoming embedded within your master.

You weren't exactly treated like royalty, but you were now seen as an equal. Your fast thinking had secured you a spot within the clan. As an honourable Youngblood, just as worthy as the rest of your peers.

However, that didn't change your habits.

Growing up in this clan had felt borderline isolating. Growing up with other yautja whelps left you feeling like an outcast.

The whelps had always played rough and tumble, but any attempt to join in would leave you injured. Their claws and jaws not made to play with soft meat.

You still have some scars from your childhood.

You knew that they never meant it.

They would always give you such strange looks when you would instinctively yelp and cower away. It didn't get any better as you got older. Eventually, they would begin leaving you out. The influence from the adults bleeding into their pups.

You were different.

Smaller.

Weaker.

You were prey being raised amongst predators.

You eventually learned to occupy yourself. Reading books, learning to craft tapestries, helping your master manage medicinal herbs, and even hunt for small rodents to practice your pelt crafting.

And old habits die hard, apparently.

Even as you had proven yourself, you still kept to yourself.

Others would be more open to approaching you whenever you were in the camp, a fact that nearly had your heart beating into overdrive, but for the most part they didn't make an effort to become your friend.

Except for...

"Human."

You pricked yourself with your sewing needle as you flinched hard at the sudden voice directly next to your ear. You hiss as you place your index finger in your mouth, soothing the wound as you turn your head.

Not by much, though, or else you'd risk brushing your face directly against his.

Auhta chuckles heartily, his eyes crinkling as his upper tusks click together. He had been sitting directly behind you, angled so that he could look over your body to observe what you were doing.

You didn't even hear him enter your master's cave. Let alone sit down that close to you and watch you for an unprecedented amount of time.

You should've played closer attention to your surroundings instead of allowing yourself to be so absorbed in your task that you left yourself vulnerable.

Perhaps that was the feeling of safety you had associated with this cave. Feeling so safe in your master's company that you tuned the world out, trusting your master with your vulnerability.

Now that you think about it, she wasn't even here anymore. She must have left before Auhta arrived, or else she would've chased the Youngblood off before you even noticed him.

Auhta had something of a mischievous reputation.

His entire pack of friends did.

You often saw them manhandling each other around in the mud. A few sudden tackles always seemed to catch you off guard whenever you walked by. Auhta being the most physically involved out of them all.

"It's polite to announce your presence when you're in someone's home." You sighed, their eyelids drooping in exasperation. You watched as he tilted his head, his amber eyes holding a curiosity that not many his age would dare to indulge in.

Out of self-respect, of course.

Auhta seemed content by the amount of respect he had already garnered.

"I did. You were not listening." He chuffed in response, leaning his shoulders back as he adjusted to a more comfortable position. Before ultimately deciding that slouching forward was better. "What are you focusing on?"

You turned your head back down towards the fur draped over your lap. You placed your forearms under it, lifting it up for his appraisal. Once you heard his rumble of approval, you let the pelt flop back down on your lap.

"Do you need something?" You respond, looking over to see if he had any injuries that needed attention. None.

Though, he definitely seems to require attention of some sort.

You didn't know how to politely tell him to leave you alone.

It was just so foreign to have a yautja pay such rapt attention to you. To willingly choose to spend his time by your side.

"You are going to the contest, yes?" He tilted his head, dreadlocks swaying with his movements.

You were tempted to refuse on the spot.

Your clan enjoyed hosting small contests within the heart of the camp. Many use them as opportunities to display their raw strength to the rest of the spectators. The wrestling was separated by experience, not by weight class. A smaller opponent might outsmart a bigger one, but an Elite and a Youngblood would be unfair. Many Youngbloods did attempt to challenge an Elite or a Blooded, but oftentimes, they would be knocked on their asses faster than they could think. Leaving them with more than just a bruised pride.

Once upon a time, you once wanted to be part of these competitions... but you learned rather quickly that trying to beat a yautja in a battle of brute force would spell more than just a few bruises. You can't even count on one hand how many times a yautja had broken your bones.

Leaving you to almost loathe these contests out of envy.

"No—"

"Yes." Your master's voice echoed in the cave as she hauled a giant fish over her shoulder, dragging it deeper into the cave. She snapped her jaws at Auhta, who took his time in getting up. His hand enveloping your shoulder in a silent promise to see you later.

You get up once he leaves, the pelt falling to the floor before you approach her workbench, frowning at the smoke coloured Elder who snorted back at your defiant look.

"You have avoided these contests long enough. I did not teach you to avoid your problems." She utters bluntly as she grabs a cleaver, pulling the blade down the fish's belly to gut it. She didn't allow you to argue any further, only stabbing a small carving knife on your side of the workbench.

.

.

.

Despite your best efforts to slow down the process of gutting the fish to prolong the inevitable, your master still managed to drag you out of the cave towards the camp. The twin suns having long since disappeared over the horizon, shrouding the forest in a cool darkness that had you gripping your fur cloak tighter.

The heat was unbearable during the day, but nights were not that much better.

There was a large gathering of your clan, all circled around the heart of the camp to watch. Roars and rumbling laughter echoed everywhere, almost making your eardrums bleed with the intensity of it all. It had been a great many cycles since you last attended one of these competitions.

You had forgotten how loud it was.

You were practically shoved out of your thoughts as a group of young whelps pushed past you to see the contest. Despite them being young, they were still around your height.

But before you could get trampled any further, you felt a hand on the back of your tunic, lifting you up like a small cat to sit on top of a large rock. Your master pulling her hand away once you had adjusted yourself properly, not even looking at you.

You followed her stormy coloured gaze, witnessing the final fight of the competition.

Between a Blooded and... was that Auhta?!

You snorted in amusement at the thought of the cocky Youngblood getting his ass handed to him. Then again, he did have good reasons to be cocky. He was on the bigger side for a yautja, not just height wise, but his thicker mass and muscles were certainly something to be desired.

However, to your utter shock, Auhta appeared to be winning?

It was nothing short of impressive to see him take on a Blooded warrior and win. Everyone else seemed to think so as well. Though, the Blooded seemed less than thrilled to be humiliated in front of the entire clan.

Auhta roared as he beated his chest with his fist, the rest of the clan following suit to cheer on his victory. The Blooded yautja weakly limping away from the crowd in defeat.

Your master had been the only one not to bellow in celebration, her eyes trained on Auhta. Assessing him the same way she assessed you once.

"I have no doubt that he shall be an Elite one day." She commented in a prediction, leaving you reeling at the compliment. This was the highest form of praise coming from her.

Heavy footsteps snapped you out of your stupor as you saw Auhta approach, his chest puffed out to display the long, deep claw marks along his torso and arms. Proud to display each and every cut like badges of honour. He looked up at you, his mandibles clicking together softly as he reached his hand to you.

...

Did he want something? You didn't have anything right now... other than a few small bones you kept on your person for decoration. Did he want one of those?

You remember, as a child, that you would read books about monarch's offering their knights a handkerchief to display their favour.

This line of thinking seemed logical enough for you as you broke off a string around your neck, offering the tooth of a great serpent you had taken down with the help of your master. You reached down to place it in his hand...

Only for him to simply grab your hand instead. Ignoring the offered trophy.

He pulled your limb down, his touch gentle yet firm as he placed the back of your hand down between his brows. His eyes closed as a deep purr rumbled from his chest.

Your other hand held onto the edge of the rock, keeping yourself from tumbling down face first.

All these eyes watching your public display of affection, watching you and Auhta with intense scrutiny. Yet the Youngblood had no shame. Outwardly displaying his close bond to the human. You felt an unpleasant heat rise to your cheeks as you pointedly avoided looking at any other yautja.

A small breathless laugh escaping you.

Taglist [OPEN] — @nerdylawyerbanditprofessor-blog , @distinguishedprincesstrash , @gremlinartstudio , @me753 , @juuuuno-o , @badbye666 , @yoonsilly , @mei-simp , @theclownkisser , @strawberrybl1ss , @pink-sunrise-56 , @the-shark-named-sharon

[chthonic-sorcery]

🚩🚩"Witch/Pagan" community PSA 🚩🚩

Goêteia is not evil, you dipshits.

I'm so sick of these neo-pagans getting all their information from Tumblr, Pinterest and TikTok.

Goêteia is literally just the Greek term for magic, for sorcery, which were one and the same.

Ancient Greece didn't have the word "witchcraft" it had Goêteia, and then later mageia, where we get our modern term magic from, although mageia was a misappropriated term from Zoroastrian priests or Magi.

It's so funny seeing baby witches claim Goêteia to be evil on one hand, then on the other worshipping Hekate, literally the goddess of Goêteia. The goddess of sorcerers and necromancy.

It screams puritanical morality policing. It's such a christian-centered way of looking at ancient religion.

Y'all need to open a damn book.

Goêteia was described as a "lesser" form of magic (mainly in the later Medieval period, roughly starting around the 8th century,) not meaning any less powerful, just simply the easiest or "closest" thus "lower" magic to achieve. This ability to more easily achieve success in magic was later taken and used by christian theologians to paint goêteia and Goêtes as "lesser practitioners."

There does seem to be little difference between Theurgy and goêteia as well,

Surprise!

Both Goêteia and Theurgy sharing the same goddamn workings through evocations of gods, the animation of statues, mediumship or what could be considered "divine possession" having a god or spirit speak through you, the use of iynx wheels / iynges, and mystery rites.

The only 'real' difference Theurgists claim, is that they "don't practice secularly/for selfish reasons" but supposedly rather to become closer to the divine. It's a nice sentiment, but total bullshit, because even in the Theurgic doctrine the Chaldean Oracles they bind the goddess Hekate to do their will.

Additionally, Theurgists had a more Neoplatonic belief, they essentially viewed a singular Oneness as supreme, the emanation from which all things return, a concept which was picked up by early christian theologians and is likely why while Goêtes were demonized in the later centuries mainly by early christians and christian philosophers, Theurgists on the other hand were seen as "pure" and "holier" despite Theurgical and Goêteic practices being pretty much exactly the same down to the tools and incantations.

(Agustine of Hippo for an example of these theologians, who wrote in "De civitate Dei contra Paganos", or "On the City of God Against the Pagans" how all "pagan" (non christian) gods and beliefs were secretly agents of Satan and evil, here to trick humanity into sin and that paganism, essentially any non christian faith, must be stopped–

He also wrote about how sorcerers/magicians (Goêtes) were charlatans, tricksters, that magic and sorcery were merely tricks of an invisible opposition to the divine and how only god could hold such supreme power. These ideas still seem to be deeply embedded into christian faith, particularly Orthodox and Evangelical, today.)

Practitioners of goêteia, the Goēs, was also understood to have the ability to initiate souls into mystery religions, or, in other words, to ensure through his superior knowledge of the Underworld and its workings that the souls under his care would receive preferential treatment after death, an easier way to paradise, such as the Orphic Hymns.

This likely also helped "other" the Goēs, as most practitioners of magic, of goêteia, of these mystery cults were made up of societies "unwanted" or marginalized people, such as women, foreigners, immigrants, the poor, the disabled, and the elderly. Early goêtes were described as being Thessalian (primarily women, particularly described as "old or decrepid") or. ethnically, not considered "fully Greek" to many of the era. Many critiques and fears of goêteia come from this "otherness," the fear the ruling classes of Greece had of groups they continued to harm, they feared the power they held within these mystery rites and practices.

With reliable accuracy from these critics, goêtes were (perceived to be) moral transgressors, who operated from the fringe of society in a private mago-mystical setting, offering their service for coin.

Or, in simpler terms, the Greeks were just really fucking racist

which is nothing new.

In fact, because goêteia itself is a synchronization of mainly Egyptian and Jewish magic, the Greeks and later christians went extra-hard into villifying it because they saw these people as lesser, as barbaric.

We have to understand where the fears and judgements of these critics were coming from, and continue to remain impartial. The ruling elite feared these practices because they feared losing their power, especially rich Greek men, and those early christian philosophers who saw everything outside their own faith as lies, manipulations, or tricks from "the Opposition" as well as the extremely racist and ethnocentric beliefs they held.

[eternalmneme]

From the survey I did you chose Veiling as the next post! So this post will be about that, I'll explain veiling in ancient Greece. This is done for helping begginers or who wants to start veiling! Enjoy💛

Understanding Veiling in Hellenism, Why Some of Us Choose To?

If you've been exploring modern Hellenism, especially through devotional or reconstructed practice, you may have come across people mentioning veiling: covering their heads during ritual, prayer, or in the presence of the gods.

Veiling in Ancient Greece, Was it a thing?

In modern Hellenic polytheism, veiling is often seen as a personal devotional choice. But in ancient Greece, it was a culturally embedded ritual norm, especially for women (and in some cases for men) with very specific symbolic meanings attached to public and sacred life.

In ancient Greece (particularly in Classical Athens), women's clothing often included long, draped garments like the peplos or chiton, often paired with a himation: a large rectangular shawl that could be pulled over the head as a veil.

While women did not necessarily wear a veil at all times, covering the head in public and in sacred spaces was seen as a sign of modesty, self-respect, and honor, especially for married women or those of high status.

In religious rituals, veiling was extremely common particularly when:

Approaching a deity, especially in temples

Making sacrifices or offerings

Participating in processions or festivals

Entering sanctuaries or sacred precincts

Observing mourning rites or funerals

Engaging in cults: Like Eleusinian Mysteries

Veiling in these moments meant:

• Purity and piety

• Distinction between sacred and mundane

• Submission to the divine order

• Reverence in the face of divine power

For instance, women who served as priestesses of goddesses often veiled during sacred rituals.

Curiosities :)

Greek vase art from the 6th-4th centuries BCE often depicts women with himation veils drawn over their heads during:

Weddings

Funerary scenes

Religious rituals or processions

Scenes involving deities

But there were also in literature! Such as:

•Euripides and Sophocles both describe female characters covering their heads in grief or when entering temples.

Plutarch, in Moralia, comments on veiling as a gesture of reverence and humility before the gods.

In Homer's Odyssey, Penelope draws her veil across her face when appearing before guests - a sign of modesty and status.

Veiling for Chthonic and Ouranic deities

The type of deity being honored could influence the practice:

When honoring Ouranic (sky) deities like Zeus or Apollon: veiling was a sign of respect and presence, like preparing yourself to be in a temple.

When honoring Chthonic (underworld) deities like Hades or Hekate: veiling could signal spiritual protection, humility, and ritual separation from the everyday world. This is especially true for funeral rites, where veiling helped draw a visible line between the living and the dead.

Veiling for Men, was it a thing?

When people think of veiling in ancient Greece, they usually imagine women with their himation drawn over their head during ritual or mourning.

But men also practiced veiling, though in more limited and context-specific ways! So if you're a man you can still veil if you want!

One of the most common contexts in which Greek men veiled was during mourning and funerary rituals.

Covering the head was a visible sign of grief, ritual mourning, and respect for the dead.

It also acted as a form of ritual purification and separation (the veil helped symbolically distance the mourner from death-miasma and the chthonic forces associated with it)

In funerary vases and reliefs, male figures are sometimes shown with cloaks drawn over their heads, especially during the prothesis (the laying out of the body) and funeral procession.

Just like with women, this veiling was not about modesty, but about marking a threshold moment.

Men also veiled during certain chthonic (underworld-related) and mystery cult rituals. These included:

Chthonic Offerings: When making offerings to underworld gods (such as Hades, Persephone, Hekate, or the Erinyes) veiling was sometimes practiced as a gesture of humility, protection, and reverence.

The act of covering one's head before a chthonic deity helped emphasize ritual seriousness and separation from the profane.

It was an acknowledgment that the practitioner was stepping into the realm of death, shadow, and hidden power, and thus needed to show restraint and respect.

In these rites, veiling might also help shield the self spiritually from unseen forces.

"Mystery Cults" (Eleusinian Mysteries): Although exact details of mystery initiations are intentionally secret and thus partially lost to us, evidence suggests that veiling was a part of initiation ceremonies (and this applied to both men and women).

But what about today? How can we veil?

I will now say only some of the ways to veil. There are a lot of methods, some are still used today some not. I'll say both. I'll explain these methods: himation, kekryphalos, kredemnos, and hair-related styles like the krobylos and korymbos. There are more styles as I said, like Sakkos, Mitra, Stephane, Ampyx, Calyptra, Calantica, Peplos (when used as a veil), Diadema (sometimes included as part of sacred headwear)

Himation (luátiov)

-What was it? A large rectangular cloak worn over the shoulders, usually by both men and women. It could be draped over the head as a veil.

-For what it was used? Drawing the himation over the head was a primary form of veiling in ritual contexts, especially for prayer, libations, funerals, and temple entry.

-What is the modern use? The himation-style veil is the most commonly reconstructed type today. Modern Hellenic polytheists and pagans use scarves, shawls, or wraps in a similar fashion: draped over the hair and shoulders during prayer or rituals.

Kekryphalos (кекрфалос)

-What was it? A hair net or snood, made of fine fabric, silk, or mesh, often worn close to the scalp to confine the hair.

-For what it was used? Worn primarily by women, especially married women, in both daily life and formal appearances. It was used to cover and contain the hair (symbolizing modesty, respectability, and control).

Types: Ornamental (made with gold or purple silk) or hidden under an himation or kredemnos.

-What is the modern use? Some Hellenists who veil regularly may use kekryphalos-inspired coverings (like headwraps or hair nets) for discreet veiling, especially in public or when combining daily modesty with ritual preparation.

Kredemnos (knõeuvos)

-What was it? A wide, band-like head covering, often embroidered or decorated, worn across the forehead and sometimes over the hair.

-For what it was used? Frequently depicted in statues and vase paintings of godly or noble women. It was associated with status, modesty, and sacred femininity.

-What is the modern use? Rare today in literal reconstruction but aesthetically inspiring for ritual attire. Headbands or ornate wraps may evoke the kredemnos style in festivals or devotional events.

While these are all considered veiling, the next ones (Krobylos and Korymbos) are considered hairstiles. I did these two because they are more simple to do even in our times.

Krobylos (kpúßulos)

-What was it? A specific hairstyle: the hair was twisted into a low chignon or bun, often at the nape of the neck, sometimes enclosed in a net or covered by a scarf.

-For what is was used? Common for married or respectable women. The hair was kept tidy and controlled (symbolic of ritual order, especially for priestesses and women in public sacred roles.) It may be worn under other coverings like the kekryphalos.

-What is the modern use? Still relevant today (many women and femme-presenting practitioners choose neat buns, braids, or low chignons as part of their ritual preparation, especially when veiling). The idea is to treat the hair as sacred (not hidden, but honored! This very important!)

Korymbos (kópupßos)

-What was it? A high bun or topknot, often worn by priestesses or women in sacred roles. Hair drawn up and possibly covered with a small veil or band.

-For what it was used? Associated with goddesses and priestly purity.

-What is the modern use? Rarely used by name now, but the concept survives in how modern practitioners prepare for ritual with neatly arranged or tied hair, often beneath a head covering.

I hope this post helped you understand what was veiling and how important it was for ancient Greeks!Of course, I need to be specific, veiling is NOT a must or necessary for Hellenism. Dont force yourself if you dont want to do it!

[astra-ravana]

A Guide To Magickal Names

“The Name is the Word, and the Word is the Will.”

The History and Occult Roots of Magickal Names

From the twilight of ancient priesthoods to the shadowed circles of modern covens, the use of a magickal name has endured as a sacred rite of passage. In ancient Egypt, priests adopted hidden names known only to the gods. In Greece and Rome, initiates took new names upon entering mystery schools. Even in early Christian Gnosticism, secret names of power were uttered in rites to awaken divine sparks.

In the grim days of the witch trials, names became shields—aliases to protect one's identity from persecution. Yet behind this guise, magickal names always held a deeper purpose: to declare the soul’s rebirth upon the path of power.

The Power of the Name

To name is to claim. To name with intent is to shape reality. The magickal name is a spell in itself: a sigil woven from sound, meaning, and will. It becomes a mask and a mirror—both concealing and revealing.

Empowerment:

• Your magickal name is your chosen self, free of mundane bindings and societal labels. It is the spirit clothed in its true title.

• It helps focus your will, anchoring your magick in identity. When you invoke your magickal name, you invoke your deepest current of power.

Protection:

• A magickal name can shield your mundane identity from spiritual and psychic intrusion.

• It acts as a boundary, separating the profane from the sacred. Spirits and energies know you by the name you give them, and this name grants you dominion in the unseen.

Names as Living Spells

Names carry vibration and intent. In Qabalistic tradition, names are numerically charged (via Gematria) and hold divine archetypes. In Thelemic thought, one’s True Will is embedded in the formula of the name, consciously or unconsciously.

Your magickal name is your word of power, a compact spell that resonates with your path, strengths, spirits, and purpose.

It should:

• Reflect your magickal current (death, transformation, lunar energy, chaos, wisdom, etc.).

• Be distinct and sacred—not something you casually utter.

• Hold personal meaning, whether derived from myth, dreams, visions, or gnosis.

Choosing or Receiving a Magickal Name

Some witches choose their name. Others receive it in dreams, trance, or ritual. A magickal name should never be rushed. It may take time to emerge, much like a familiar spirit.

How to Discover Your Name:

• Meditation and Introspection- Ask, "Who am I becoming?" "What archetypes walk with me?" "What symbols have followed me through life?"

• Divination- Use tarot, runes, or pendulum to explore name fragments or themes.

• Dream Work-Set the intention to receive your name in sleep. Record symbols and sounds that appear.

• Scrying or Automatic Writing- Enter trance. Let syllables or words come. Don’t judge—some names may feel alien or wild at first.

• Astrological or Numerological Construction-Choose a name whose number aligns with your birth chart, life path, or desired magickal vibration.

Living with the Name

Once chosen, baptize the name in ritual. Declare it to the spirits, the elements, and the powers you serve. From then on, use it only in sacred work—unless you're in a tradition or community where names are spoken among initiates.

With time, the name may evolve. You may shed one name and take another, just as the serpent sheds its skin. This is natural. You are a work in progress, and your name is a living glyph that grows with you.

Examples and Symbolic Structures

• Luna Corvina – “Moon Raven” — lunar wisdom, shadow flight.

• Azariel Nocturne – angel of fire and harmony in darkness.

• Thornshade – guardian of wild, liminal spaces.

• Seraphina Lux – burning seraph of divine light.

• Malphas Vex – a rebellious echo of daemonic command.

Some practitioners even use multiple names:

• An Inner Name- Known only to you and your gods.

• A Coven Name- Known to fellow witches.

• A Public Name- For writing, art, or spiritual leadership.

You are the word made flesh. The name you wear in the circle is your sigil, your spell, your crown. Speak it with reverence. Whisper it into fire and fog. Let it echo through the veil and mark your place among the stars.

“Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law.”

— A name chosen in Will is a sword of spirit.

[asherheed]

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡ secret little rendezvous / xiao x gn!reader, 4.4 lantern rite spoilers!

xiao waits for you by the cliff nearby pervases's temple.

the night is cool against his skin and as he gazes at the sky, watching the bright glow of xiao lanterns and the stars, he pictures your existence and smiles at the thought of your likeness to the ones littering the night.

he wonders for a moment, if you weren't going to show up. his pessimism almost always gets the best of him, and despite the evening merriment, even his demons refuse to rest.

eyes closing as the wind caresses his face, he feels the darkness inside him creep at the corners of his mind, seeking to cease the fluttering of his heart at the thought of you.

give in, the chorus of evil voices whisper in his ear. give in and be free.

and he almost does, if not for the sound of barbatos's flute; almost does, if not for the memory of a fond dream where he can dance without guilt amid a sea of flowers.

give in, they hum, but xiao refuses to. not when he feels your presence nearby. not when you smile at him like that and he feels his chest tighten at the sight, his lips curving softly in return.

he glances at you, illuminated by the soft, orange glow of the lantern, and forgets to breathe. his fingers brush against your skin while you both hold it and warmth travels across his body, his fingers tingling at the touch.

when you both let go of the lantern, the weight on his shoulders disappears and his mind quiets as his eyes follow the lantern flying up towards the clouds.

even though he will never be free of his shackles, this moment will eternally be embedded in his memories. the gentleness of your touch, the kindness of your smile, and your presence that makes him feel worthy of being treated tenderly, xiao vows to cherish them.

no matter what.

[cullenbluewrites]

Reasons Characters Don’t Appear in your Fic.

Ways of NOT featuring characters in your fanfics, because sometimes they are unnecessary to the current plot you’re writing, and you need a convenient excuse for them to be absent.

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

⁠☞ They are occupied with the canon storyline

Whatever they are canonically meant to be doing at the time. Boring, but logical. Whatever media you are currently writing a fanfiction about, if a character is unavailable, consider what they would canonically be doing at the time. This can vary from the actual canon plot, to a habit/routine featured in the story.

Nightwing: anyone seen Tim? Kinda need to borrow him right now.

Batman: currently on Patrol, he won’t be back for a few hours.

Nightwing: ah right, yep. Forgot. Jason?

Batman: Currently with the Outlaws. Bizzaro says hello.

⁠☞ They are off on their own fanfiction adventures.

Character not appearing in the fic? It’s because they’re currently on their own Fanfiction cliche adventure right now and are therefore unavailable. You can stick to the classic tropes or get creative. Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, time travel etc… take your pick.

Optimus: has anyone seen Prowl? I’ve looked everywhere but I cannot seem to find him.

Jazz: oh yeah, saw him earlier. Said he was in a time loop and couldn’t escape it yet. Apparently he got my help before and wouldn’t need it this time.

Optimus: …not questioning it. You wouldn’t happen to know where bumblebee is either?

Jazz: currently trapped in a cave in with Starscream, pretty sure they made a truce while they’re in there

Optimus: is it going to stay a truce?

Jazz: unlikely, both of them sounded pretty flustered over comms. Might get… interesting.

Optimus: oh Primus, not another cross-faction romance

⁠☞ By virtue/cause of Plague

They’re physically unable to participate. Whether it is illness, injury, disease etc. They have a doctors note from you the author allowing them to not participate in the plot right now.

Harley, on the phone to Nightwing: Heya deep fried Wings! what is up??

Dick: (projectile vomiting into a bucket and groaning).

Harley: ooooh not you apparently. Ok I’ll go ask a different bat-babie for help, I’ll send ya a get well card later okay??

Alfred: that would be appreciated Ms Quinn.

⁠☞ They appear, but consistently invoke the rite of ‘Fuck off I’m busy!’

Their appearance is essentially limited to cameos. You can do whatever you want with what they’re “busy” with, as long as they’re so involved in it they are incapable of participating in the plot.

Ironhide: hey Jazz, you speak to Ratchet?

Jazz: sorta. He threw a wrench at me and yelled ‘FRAG OFF IM BUSY’, so we’re doing this thing without him.

Optimus: did the wrench hit you?

Jazz: I would not be standing here if it did, that thing is embedded in the wall now

Prowl: hm. Terrifying.

Meanwhile Ratchet: (hanging a sign on the meat door: ‘do not disturb, see the wrench’)

⁠☞ They’re the Guy in the Chair

They never appear, but it’s heavily implied they have assisted/are currently assisting in some way offstage.

Batman: three Lexcorp trucks will be heading this way in 15 minutes, based on Lex Luthor’s recent communications we can safely assume his involvement in this. Be ready

Hal: wait, time out, how’d you know? And communications??

Batman: Oracle hacked his email, and has been tracking the trucks via satellite.

Hal: is Oracle the god of computers? …can she fix mine?

Batman: …probably. I’ll ask.

⁠☞ Dead(?)

The angst option is that you actually kill them off. The funny options are: faked their death, dead to the character you’re writing about, they’re just ‘Dead Tired’, or they’re ‘Dead’: Sanka from Cool Runnings style. The latter two can be used with ‘by virtue/cause of plague’

Thundercracker: just got off comms with Starscream. Looks like he will not be joining us.

Acid Storm: oh boy, I see that grimace, what did he say??

Thundercracker: I asked him, ‘you dead?’ And he responded ‘yeah man’ in a very defeated and pained tone. Probably best to just leave him be.

Slipstream: no problem, I’d rather not get shieked at for the rest of this accursed stakeout.

⁠☞ Witness Protection

Shit hit the fan for that character and they are unavailable as a result. This could be serious, as in the character is in actual witness protection/gone into hiding/etc, or comedic, as in they have screwed up and are hiding from everyone as a result.

Signal: uhh, weren’t Nightwing and Spoiler supposed to show up for this mission? Where are they? Running late?

Robin: if only it were that simple. Im afraid that they have currently gone into hiding, and neither are ready to surface as of yet.

Signal: oh no, are they alright?! Is there an emergency I haven’t been told about yet?!

Robin: no, the fools simply painted Father’s cape and Hood’s helmet neon pink and apparently did not think the consequences through.

Signal: ah. They’re doomed.

[matthew2641]

"They know."

The entanglement between Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter is one fraught with manipulation, empathy, and a gradual dissolution of moral boundaries. Among the many manifestations of this dynamic, few are as structurally and thematically potent as the phone calls between Hannibal and Garret Jacob Hobbs in Aperitif, and Will to Hannibal in Mizumono. Although temporally and circumstantially disparate, these moments are deliberately interwoven, functioning as temporal markers in the evolving narrative of their mutual ensnarement. By examining the layered substrata embedded within these interactions, we discern the cyclical nature of influence and manipulation that constitutes the linchpin of Hannibal’s ontology: wherein power is neither imposed nor seized, but transacted—an unspoken recognition of each other’s latent capacities for violence, empathy, and control.

In order to grasp the profundity of both circumstances, there must be an understanding of the motivations that precipitated them. Hannibal’s call to Garret Jacob Hobbs, though executed with pragmatic brevity, belies a far more intricate set of intentions than initially suggested. At this stage in the narrative, the dynamic between Hannibal and Will is embryonic, subsisting on clinical curiosity—a regimen of dispassion Hannibal had grown accustomed to maintaining within the structure of his professional life. However, Will’s exceptional capacity for empathy was an anomalous force disrupting the measured architecture of Hannibal’s world, compelling him to consider avenues of a far more intimate nature. He saw in Will not merely a mind of peculiar brilliance, but a mirror—a potential companion. A conception potent enough to stir the abyssal ache of loneliness lurking beneath his polished exterior. This metaphysical hunger did not seek communion through the banalities of camaraderie, but the language with which he is most conversant: brutality. Crucially, this longing is filtered through Hannibal’s inability to engage with intimacy in any customary sense. Those loved by Hannibal are transformed, Abigail, Will, and even Alana endured respective reshapings under his hand. Love, as he conceives it, is not an act of gentle affection, but of sacramental violence—of devouring, refining, and rebirthing.

The phrase, "They know," offered under the pretense of courtesy, serves not Garret Jacob Hobbs, but Hannibal’s design. Affording Hobbs all the information necessary to ensure that his reckoning would be one of ferity, Hannibal sets the stage for the inciting act of Will’s initiation. Merely witnessing atrocity was insufficient—Will, no stranger to bloodshed, had to be implicated in its logic for the grimmer recesses of his psyche to resurface. The murder committed in the wake of the call is not merely an act of violence but a rite of passage—a trial by blood marking Will’s induction into the realm of existential violence Hannibal inhabits. 

By the second season, the perilous symbiosis between Will and Hannibal has undergone an irrevocable shift, with Will now occupying a position of greater understanding and, to some extent, complicity. No longer a nescient pawn in Hannibal’s artifice, Will found himself reshaped by betrayal, incarceration, and the slow insidious seep of Hannibal’s influence—beholding his former confidant with tragic appreciation. What was once a relationship predicated on deception and power now throbs with an unsettling intimacy, of knowing and being known in a way that strips pretense to the bone, heedless of the ruin it invites. And so, as the loom of Hannibal’s retribution tightens its threads, Will acts in yet another betrayal of his espoused ethics, warning Hannibal with the very words that heralded his undoing: “They know.”  

These mirrored phone calls do more than establish a warped parity; they elevate betrayal into an act of profane devotion. Superficially, the phone call suggests mutual recognition, a begrudging respect of each other’s prowess, their intellects so utterly interwoven that opposition and alignment have become indistinguishable. Yet, beneath this veneer of mutual acknowledgment roils an emotional undercurrent of unbearable complexity. Will’s call is not a simple warning—it is a moment of existential confirmation. Betrayal, in its conventional sense, implies a sundering. Though, in the case of Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter, betrayal is the mechanism that binds them. The call provides more than just a warning, it’s a gesture of terrible, inexorable recognition. Granting Hannibal something far more ruinous than treachery: understanding.

There is an aching irony in Will’s final call, a cruel paradox woven into the fabric of their bond. He, who has been both victim and agent of Hannibal’s machinations, now mirrors his adversary so exactly that the distinction between captor and captive collapses into irrelevance. In this fleeting moment, Will is not simply playing a part in the narrative Hannibal has orchestrated; he becomes its co-author. His warning is an unspoken confession, a testament to their enmeshment. Whatever semblance of love remains between them has been flayed to its barest form, pulsing with raw, excruciating knowing. Similar to the ouroboros, they are both devourer and devoured, their betrayals spiraling into one another in an endless recursion of destruction and genesis. There is no resolution, no terminus to their dance—only the certainty that in wounding one another, they are made whole, bound ever tighter in the embrace of ruin.

[alsadeekalsadouk]

Mythical Animals on Romans coins:

The presence of animals and religious beliefs on Roman coins reflects the intertwining of cultural symbolism and political propaganda in ancient Rome.

Animals on Coins as Symbolism of Power, Animals depicted on coins often represented strength and sovereignty.

Cultural Significance : The portrayal of animals like horses or mythical creatures such as Pegasus served to connect emperors with divine or heroic narratives, enhancing their legitimacy and authority.

Religious Beliefs/ Animal Sacrifice, Animal sacrifice was central to Roman religious practices, believed to appease the gods and ensure societal harmony. The rituals involved specific procedures and were deeply embedded in their religious life, reflecting the Romans' obligation to maintain proper rites (religio) to avoid divine displeasure.

Integration of Beliefs The incorporation of animal motifs on coins can also be seen as a reflection of broader cultural shifts, particularly during the transition from paganism to Christianity, where the understanding and significance of animals evolved. #archaeology #history #ancient #art #Caesar #ancienthistory #archaeological #rome #italy #roman_empire #roma #heritage #roman_republic #archaeologylife #Orichalcum #Roman_mythology #italia #medallion #romancoin #romanarcheology #romanancientcoins#aureus #denarius #dupondius #follis #antoninianus #sestertius #fils #alsadeekalsadouk #الصديق_الصدوق

[quitealotofsodapop]

I like to think Wukong doesn't give his cubs their geode shards until they're 'of age' in his eyes. In the case of MK that's after they defeat Azure. During the celebration afterwards he calls MK out from the water to hand him a small silk pouch, seemingly very serious for what's supposed to be a party. Realizing what is happening MK is in disbelief at first.

Wukong: Here, you've proven over the past year you've earned this, kid.

MK: A bag? *sudden realization* Wait... Mom! Are you serious!? Is this really-

Wukong: It is.

Noodle Gang: *notices the strange interaction*

Mei: What you doing?

Tang: *curious as well only get excited when Macaque explains its a Rite of Passage for stone monkeys*

+

omg gosh!!!

MK finally getting to hold onto his pendant at the end of S4 is so cute! Throughout the series he's been tackling issues relating to growing-up and taking responsibility, so after everything thats happened with the Brotherhood; Wukong deems MK finally ready.

I feel like MK's stone egg had lots of citrine embedded in it like Wukong's, perhaps with a few yellow amethysts in it, or a tigers eye. Either way MK's pendant shard is bright, orange-gold, and looks like a ray of sunshine (like it's holder).

The Noodle Gang and Bull family immediately quiet down when they see the serious but joyful looks on the monkeys faces. Bull is dancing in his hooves - he's finally seeing his Xiandi's calf reach his rite of passage!

Pigsy starts crying cus he's second-hand proud of his fave delivery boy. Tang is gibbering excitedly. Mei does a quiet little cheer for her bestie. Even Red Son has to admit MK's earned it.

MK wears it with pride.

+

And the imagery of Azure Lion, so angry by Wukong's refusal to rejoin the Brotherhood (and by extension Him) and warped by his own unstable view of the King, that he rips Wukong's marriage pendant from his neck.

Wukong gasps, clutching his neck. Azure couldn't have! He knew what it meant to him and Macaque!

Before Wukong could even reach to get it back, he was encased in the Scroll.

I wonder what would hurt more; Azure dropping the pendant to the ground and crushing it underfoot? Or keeping it as a trophy? As the JE's power warps his mind further, he may even see it as a "proof of conquest" over the King.

Either way, Macaque is furious when he finds out what Azure did with the pendant. He pointedly smells the hair and gem of the one given to him by Wukong when they were engaged - using the scent to find his mate in the Scroll. And if Wukong's memories are fractured like those of the Noodle Gang? A certain dance and story may be required to remind the King of the hundreds of years of joy him and his Warrior share.

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Cyd Charisse (The Bandwagon, Brigadoon, Singin’ in the Rain)—LEGS LEGS LEGS I would sell my soul for the legs of Cyd Charisse - she oozed style and glamour and sex appeal!! And she could DANCE! She was dancing next to the greats - Gene Kelly, Fred Astaire but they are never who you're looking at because why would you when you can look at her. I will only sit through too long ballet breaks for her. If there was any woman who you could call sex on legs it was her. These dances are everything to meeee (she comes in at the minute mark) and this dance too of course is iconic. In the words of Fred Astaire 'When you've danced with Cyd Charisse you stay danced with'

Suchitra Sen (Harano Sur, Chaowa Pawa)—Suchitra Sen! She had a 25-year career in Bengali films, and was at the height of popularity for a solid two decades as half of the wildly beloved pair of Uttam-Suchitra, who were practically the entire romantic genre of Bengali films by themselves. She acted in literary adaptations, romantic comedies, (melo)dramas and inspired-by-current-events films. She was the first Indian actress to receive an international award at the Moscow International Film Festival. In 1978, after the release of her last film (a box-office flop) she pulled a Garbo and put herself out of the public eye completely. She made no appearances, gave no interviews, refused awards, all of it. She didn't even show up for her daughter's or grand-daughters' debuts! She was taken for funerary rites in a covered hearse! The glamour! The mystery! That blinding smile!

This is round 2 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Suchitra Sen:

Not to take away from her costars in Devdas (1955), but the great Indian cinematic tradition of Tragic Romantic Yearning would not, I argue, be what it is without Suchitra Sen's performance in that film. I root for things to turn out better for her every time, even though I know how things are going to go.

A Bengali cinema icon. Liked crows (per Gulzar, "It was an astonishing sight. The crows used to pick at the grapes from her hand").

Linked gifset

She once rejected Raj Kapoor's movie offer (one of the most successful actor and director at the time). She was quoted saying, “In men, I don’t look for beauty. I look for intelligence and sharp conversations. I had refused Raj Kapoor’s offer almost immediately. He came to my residence offering a lead role and, as I took my seat, he suddenly sat near my foot and offered me a bouquet of roses while offering the role. I rejected the offer. I did not like his personality. The way he behaved – sitting near my foot – did not befit a man.”

Legendary poet, lyricist, director and writer Gulzaar had this to say about her "Glad that my ‘Sir’—that’s what I call her— got the Dada Saheb Phalke award during her lifetime. Contrary to people’s perceptions, Suchitra Sen is an extremely warm and very very friendly person. I adore and respect her. But she has the right to choose her friends. Surely she’s justified in keeping away from every Tom, Dick and Harry. She’s the only example of such quiet dignity in show-biz. That’s why the media compares her with Great Garbo. Suchitra Sen is my Sir. I’ll explain. During the shooting of Aandhi she started calling me Sir. Everyone in Kolkata calls her Madame. Since I’m her junior I requested her not to call me Sir. But she insisted. (We always converse in Bengali). So I call her Sir and she calls me Sir.”

Linked musical number [won't let me display embedded for some reason]

Cyd:

Photos do not do Cyd Charisse justice, unfortunately, because she is at her hottest while dancing, which she was exquisitely good at. Just go watch her first number in Singin' in the Rain, in that green dress; nothing I could say here will be more convincing that that.

She had amazing legs, and she knew how to use them! You probably know her best from the dream sequence in Singin' In The Rain. She was such a stunning dancer, and all her dance scenes are hard to look away from.

Dancing in the Dark clip:

She's an amazing dancer and my favorite from the period. Here's her and Fred Astaire in the Band Wagon:

I just like a woman who's there to be really incredibly good at dancing.

One of the most talented female dancers in Hollywood history, but what sets her apart from other competitors for that title is that she...umm...well let's be blunt, she was the dancer who put sex into it. The one who said "Hey, you know that A+ leg tone that naturally develops from doing this for a living? Why don't I let people see that? Like at every opportunity?" She reportedly insured her legs for five million dollars after hitting it big, which just goes to show that fame makes you crazy. It should have been ten million.

Arguably the Best female dancer of her time, she supposedly insured her legs for $5 million dollars. Stole the show whenever she had a dance number, even if she went uncredited. Musicals started to go out of fashion so unfortunately she didn't have as many big roles as she should have, but those she did are unforgettable. The Broadway Melody number in Singin' in the Rain - the green dress!

She could pirouette in pointes or tear it up in taps. Fred Astaire called her "beautiful dynamite" and wrote, "That Cyd! When you've danced with her you stay danced with." Gene Kelly partnered with her three times. Her legs were (reportedly) insured for $5 million in 1952 ($57.8 million in 2024 dollars)! Everyone in this poll will be iconic, but for raw physical grace, Cyd is up there with the best.

Legs for days, beautiful dancer in the most iconic scenes of Singin in the Rain. She's glorious. As some guys sung to her in It's Always fair weather, 'baby you knock me out!'

Incredibly, Cyd Charisse only started learning to dance as a rehab exercise to strengthen her body after a childhood bout of polio. She was in high demand as a dance partner, Fred Astaire called her beautiful dynamite and said "When you've danced with her, you stayed danced with". She was one of a few leading ladies to dance with both Astaire and Kelly, declaring them both delicious. Kelly apparently was stronger, while Astaire was more coordinated. She also said her husband would always know who she had been dancing with because Kelly left her bruised, while Astaire didn't leave a mark. She's better known for her dance numbers today, but she was a leading lady in her time! Her Scottish accent in Brigadoon leaves a lot to be desired, but compared to the other actors in the movie, it's almost good. She appeared in The Harvey Girls alongside Judy Garland and Angela Lansbury in her first speaking role, but she really burst onto the scene with Singin' in the Rain and her infamous Broadway Melody Ballet number with Gene Kelly (no one could handle a length of fabric like Cyd Charisse). She was brought in because Debbie Reynolds wasn't really a dancer and Kelly was notoriously a stickler about his Vision. After that she starred opposite Astaire in The Band Wagon, which was a bit of a flop but created some enduringly incredible dance numbers. She went on to star in a number of MGM movies, and was one of the last of the Studio era stars to remain on contract. Since we've got up to 1970, I'm including her opening routine in The Silencers (1966) to show just how long she was making a splash - she's into her 40s here and still a siren:

and of course, the iconic Broadway Melody Ballet -

[dark-corner-cunning]

The Virtues of Sacred Woods: Embracing the Magick of Trees

Note To Reader: As we find ourselves in the heart of summer, journeying along the southern road of the crossroads here in Appalachia, we embrace the virtue of earth and the magick of Old Mother Green Cap. This post is woven from the threads of traditional witchcraft, physical witchcraft, and my own path. As always, take what resonates and leave the rest. Feel free to make up or create your own correspondences and virtues as you see fit.

What is a virtue? In our witchy world, a virtue is a beneficial quality or power of something, a word whispered from the metaphysical lips of existence. It's the hidden essence, the subtle energy, the magick that pulses through the veins of the natural world. When we speak of virtues, we're invoking the spirit and energy that dwells within every tree, every branch, every tool crafted from nature's gifts.

Among the myriad stick-formed tools in the Traditional Craft of Cunning, two stand as pillars in our practice: the Wand and the Stang (or Staff). While their virtues are distinct, their roots intertwine deeply with the ancient woods from which they were born. Let us briefly explore these sacred tools, for within their grain lies the power to shape our craft and connect us to the hidden currents of the world.

-The Wand: Conduit of Power-

The wand, slender and elegant, is a faithful companion to the cunning practitioner. Its primary virtue lies in its ability to direct power and energy, much like a conductor's baton orchestrating the unseen forces around us. Wands are used to banish unwanted influences and spirits, sweep away negativity, and conjure helpful entities from the ether. When we cast a working circle, the wand traces the boundary, marking a sacred space or container where magick can unfold.

Each wand, depending on the wood it is crafted from, carries its own unique virtue. A wand of oak might offer a fiery virtue of strength, wisdom, power, protection, or aid to solar rites and magick… while one of willow could provide a watery virtue of emotional healing, strengthening love, divination, enchantment, enlightenment, or aid to rites and workings of the Moon. The wood whispers its secrets to us, guiding our hand and amplifying our intent. Thus, the wand becomes an extension of our will, a bridge between the mundane and the magickal.

My "Red Serpent" Wand: This wand is directly linked to the serpent energy of the land. It is made from Oak and has a Dragon Blood Stone, Snake rib, and Blood embedded into it. I use it as an extension of my own willpower and life force. I usually bury it under a Full moon to charge when "Sprowl" is at its peak.

-The Stang: Pillar of the Worlds-

The stang, often fashioned from a forked staff, holds a different yet equally potent virtue. It can stand as a representation of the Horned One, the dualities of nature, and the power that flows from earth to sky. In its form, we see the concept of the World Tree, a sacred axis that grants access to the virtues of both the upper and lower worlds and those that lie at the crossroads.

In ritual workings, the stang is a steadfast companion. Its presence anchors us, grounding our energy and connecting us to the land. When we walk the paths of the wild, the stang serves as a tool to gather and store land energy, the elusive "sprowl" that breathes life into our craft. It becomes a beacon, drawing the virtues of the earth and sky into our rites and rituals, where they can be harnessed and directed.

My Stang that I have been slowly working on for a few years now. It is made from Oak and the forked ends have Clear Quartz in each end. It has the Web of Wyrd Rune on the front and the symbols for each element on the back. I mainly use my Stang during laying and conjuring the crossroads for rituals.

-The Dance of Wood and Witch-

In the dance of wood and witch, we find our path illuminated by the virtues of our tools. The wand and the stang, though different in form and function, both serve as conduits of the ancient energies that flow through the natural world. They are not mere objects, but living entities that resonate with the heartbeat of the land.

Some practitioners favor keeping several wands, each made from different kinds of wood to suit various purposes. Yet, many find solace in the singular presence of one main stang or staff, a trusty ally that carries their spirit and intention.

As we continue to explore the virtues of the different woods, let us remember that our connection to these tools is a sacred bond. Through them, we touch the spirit of the trees, the whispers of the wind, and the silent strength of the earth. They are our guides, our protectors, and our allies in the timeless craft of cunning.

-The Virtues of Woods-

Note: This list is but a glimpse, for the world is rich with countless species of trees. Here, I focus on trees that dwell in my own corner of the world and the ones I know. These are mainly just the virtues of the wood and bark (not the leaves, flowers, seeds, or fruit). I highly recommend you embark on a journey to discover and list the trees within your local area, letting their virtues reveal themselves to you. Also, please take caution of any poisonous trees.

Alder: Defensive Magick, Strength, Leadership, Bravery, Divination, Healing, and Wind & Weather Magick

Apple: Love, Healing, Friendship, Divination, Garden Magick, and Harmony

Ash: Healing & Regeneration Magick, Sea Magick, Communication, Knowledge, Wisdom, Travel, Aids workings of Spirit, Passage Between Worlds, and is often the wood chosen for a Stang.

Beech: Wisdom, Knowledge, Focus, Meditation, Wishes

Birch: Purification, Creativity, Willpower, Initiation of Inception, Birth & Fertility.

Blackthorn: Baneful, Associated with Bucca Dhu/The Devil, Blasting, Defensive Magick, Setting Boundaries, Toad Magick, and Rites of The Dark Moon.

Cedar: Cleansing, Protection, Wards, Divination, Summoning, Consecration, Prosperity

Chestnut: Clarity, Focus, Justice, Encourage Longevity

Crepe Myrtle: Glamour Magick, Fertility, Youth, Peace, Money

Dogwood: Wishes, Protection, Health, Wisdom

Elder: Protection, Exorcising Illness, Spirit Conjuration, Blessing

Elm: Protection, Divine Feminine, Healing, Fae Magick

Gorse: Purification, Conjuration of Fair Weather, Discovering, Protection, Fertility & Love

Hawthorn: Associated with Bucca Gwidder/The Green Man, Dealings with Spirit Folk, Fertility, Enchantment, Wards, Charm, Spirituality, and Fishing Magick. Folklore suggests not using Hawthorn as a staff as it may employ ill luck upon walking journeys.

Hazel: Wisdom, Luck, Fertility, Wishes, Divination, Dowsing Wands, Inspiration & Visions

Hickory: Legal Matters, Protection, Protection, Wisdom, Leadership, Acquisition, Power, Wholeness

Holly: Aids Rites of Death/Rebirth, Exorcism, Defensive Magick, Potency, Logic, Power Transfer, Protection

Linden: Creativity, Enchantment, Enlightenment, Truth, Healing

Locust: Enforcing Boundaries, Binding, Defensive Magick, Enchantments, Wood and Thorns used to make pins for Baneful Magick, Appalachian Association with European Blackthorn Virtues.

Magnolia: Fidelity, Love, Hair Growth Magick, Marital Happiness

Maple: Love, Luck, Longevity, Money, Travel, Cleansing, Communication

Oak: Strength, Power, Protection, Wisdom, Longevity, Endurance, Doorways between Realms, Solar Magick, Potency, Associated with The Red Serpent.

Palm: Fertility, Focus, Potency, Divination, Purification, Protection

Pine: Strength, Protection, Healing, Prosperity, Exorcism, Wisdom, Increase of Power

Poplar: Spirituality, Change, Rebirth, Summoning, Wealth, Willpower, Witch Flight

Rowan: Protection, Guarding, Defensive Magick, Warding, Necromancy, Quickening, Conjuring Visions, Lifting Curses, A staff of Rowan protects while journeying.

Sumac: Cleansing, Healing, Creativity, Focus

Sweet Gum: Healing, Spirituality, Enchantment, Leadership

Sycamore: Ancestral Wisdom, Divination, Prosperity, Strength, Endurance

Walnut: Cleansing, Healing, Focus, Insight

Willow: Moon Rites & Workings, Emotion Healing, Love, Fertility, Divination, Change, Wishes, Enchantment, Spirituality, Wards

Witch Hazel: Chastity, Protection, Emotional Healing

Yew: Death Mysteries, Ancestral Wisdom, Transformation, Change, Renewal, Baneful, Necromancy

[porcelainseashore]

Hunter: You Want It Darker

Another session of Hunter, another case of reality mindfucks your cell so bad that... well, let's just say that Domino effect is gonna be glorious.

Kudos to my ST for being a master as usual at building up tension and an unsettling atmosphere from day one. What makes matters worse is that we're supposedly a bunch of experienced hunters who have been sent in to Bismarck, North Dakota (technically, Ruso, the middle of nowhere) to investigate another cell that went dark in January on assignment, but we're slowly losing our minds and behaving like ants on fire. Yes, imagine this -> 🐜🔥🚨

A compilation of instances that have caught us off-guard include:

Airport staff and weather reports indicate a rapid drop in temperature and a storm incoming, but outside it's an Indian summer. Meanwhile, the car thermometer registers a completely different number.

People we interact with (including our contact!) repeat weird sentences out of the blue that they don't remember saying. "Tick tock, time's a wastin'." Gaslighting 101, much?

Electronics turn on and off by themselves. Someone knocks on the door of Lola's hotel room, but no one's there.

The radio emits ominous messages or talks to us—well, mostly Björn—"the face" of our group who is currently having a complete meltdown, hurrah!

At a nondescript shop in rural Ruso (meaning it's the only building we've seen for miles) where the other cell were suspected to be hiding out at, there's a presence, a void shadow, but the place is empty. Inside, there's a plaque hanging above the frame of the main door, which states: "Happy trails! Go freely and leave something of the happiness you bring, neighbor!" 🧛 ALERT??

After much mundane investigation, we broke open a locked up darkened room, and like jack-in-the-fucking-box found two headless corpses, their limbs broken off, neatly folded into each other within a travel trunk.

Downstairs, the shopkeeper turns up as if nothing has happened. Carl, our group's "muscle" exchanges pleasantries to disarm him, but the moment Carl asks why there's a dismembered body, the shopkeeper says, "Because you put it there." / "I kept the room warm for you. I was worried you weren’t going to come back. Took you long enough." / "Did it hurt when he folded you into the chest?" And of course, he switches back to normal afterward.

Later, those corpses turn into mannequins.

There's an electrical light switch that's not attached to any light source, but its wiring extends and seems embedded into the very foundations of the house.

Björn hears the radio talking to him: "She broke the seal. We are the error. We have to go back. Time is folding in on itself. (Something) god machine." Carl and Lola (we, the players, were separated into different voice chats!) are not privy to this and think he's going mad.

Eventually, both Björn and Carl hear a deeply distorted voice between the static (that our ST so lovingly played a recording of on stream to freak us out). "One lock, one breach. Tick tock, told you not to look, but here you are again. Are we having fun?" The radio breaks down.

While jostling with the shopkeeper, his head abruptly explodes, showering Björn and Lola in blood, viscera, and bone shrapnel which cuts into their faces.

Oh, and our car is gone. Someone drove it away while we were busy playing "he said, she said." Along with no phone reception.

At the end of the session, I joked that because we reached breaking point several times in the game, and Lola has the Castigation rite of Hellfire but with no corresponding ability of how to control it (I purposely built her as a chaos starter), she would be the epitome of Carrie, covered in blood and burning the whole place down in flames. My cellmates replied, "Who knows, maybe Lola actually did that in another iteration... or a warp in time." 👀

To ramble any further would be a never ending essay and I feel like I'm not doing it enough justice! The way the ST introduces these elements is so sudden and unexpected, we're genuinely creeped out, doing double-takes, and going "what in the actual fuck?"

GG, my friends 🤘

Dividers by @rattenprince

[witchofthesouls]

IDW/MTMTE fic idea,

A cultural exchange is proposed in the Council of Worlds to show a little bit of each other in good faith:

Cancer shows its deep militaristic culture in its oldest tradition: a dance competition. A no-contact sport where partners' tests constantly test each other’s skills: flexibility, speed, reaction time, strength, and coordination. A violent, vicious whirling to the rhythm that's both entertainment and discipline.

No one was surprised by Velocitronians setting up a race track in the city, but this particular style emphasizes acrobatics, flair, and efficiency as speedsters parkour through the infrastructure. This kind of race allows teams who will be judged on collaboration and creativity as many utilize immense drops to act out iconic or playful scenes. One pair had a full gamestation set up in freefall.

The Devisen showed off their food culture, which is dominated by molecular gastronomy. They enjoy playing with properties and compositions of ingredients. Thermal sense is a very popular technique among the locals.

The Eukarian tribes had settled with an art exhibition. The Scale Walkers shown off pottery with fascinating grooves and whorls with patterns of their planet. The Fur Walkers had submitted bone carvings ranging from delicate jewelry of native fauna to intricate designs recreating battles. Guests were able to interact with Cloud Walker furniture: elaborate hanging seats embedded with different textures, designs, and compartments. The Fateweavers sent beautifully woven, silky smooth fabric, each one with its own specific geometric design. The Wave Walkers' exhibit was done in a dark room where visitors watched a reconstruction of how marine life reacts to their sonata. Twinkling jellies, haunting kelp forests, the wild explosion of color from massive reefs, dancing phantomish creatures, and synchronized schools of fish.

Earth demonstrated a surrealistic fashion show based on Marissa Faireborn's observations on what Cybertronians focused on.

The Camiens had invited everyone to come enjoy a sacred rite that embraced all aspects of Solus: a widespread, drug-enhanced sex festival and revel at a monstrous bon fire.

[candlelightreader]

Last rant to process:

Creative choices are meant to be about the art. The art is meant to be about the story. The story is meant to be about characters following narratives that are embedded within their histories and that show development, growth, and coherence.

In other words, it can be sad, shocking, outrageous, or whatever you like, and if it follows the foundations already established, it will feel right and you will be right there with the characters. If aiming for realism, then it is a monumental fuck up if you can't adhere to neither the patterns of real life nor those of your own universe/characters. Realism doesn't mean documentary. It means you are making sense within pre-established boundaries.

Moreover, you create more questions than you answer...

With Athena reliving her worst nightmare decades later, something she only just got over just this year, what is the purpose? As I already noted somewhere else, what you keep saying about this Black woman not deserving happiness and love and having to simply lose over and over is telling. I would take a divorce where she for once has agency in the matter than this.

The same with Chim losing a loved one on the job all over again in a way that lets him feel guilt over it, but for what? For what artistic reason would you insert such angst when he already revisited this guilt and trauma with Albert and during his weird fever hallucinations?

And Bobby dying despite finally wanting to live is not the true issue. It is just done so badly! It is an afterthought! It is just a little side plot in both the episode he dies and the one where he is bid farewell, rather than a monumental event that it would be. The not making it happen during a series finale makes it especially odd. (Hence the opening for the idea that it is fake or at least will be fumbled enough for people to exit stage left and never return for 9, I guess. I know I'm peacing out.)

But as if that was not enough, you took him away from the home and love he found, back to Minnesota? Why? It's just so very cheap and narratively empty. We never even saw him visit those graves. But, most of all, you mean to tell me the man who was suicidal and who knew his job was very dangerous and who had enough close calls over the years to know this intimately did not leave a will!?? You telling me Athena the cop who almost got killed by a suspect and Bobby her fire captain husband did not already speak of what they wanted with regards to burial and last rites? Also, after him literally quiting over the medal, you're telling me he would have approved of the fanfare funeral and not made it a requirement that he get a simple funeral? Mr. I'm just a public servant himself? Give me a break!

Finally, I don't care how, but you get all the people who played a part in someone's life to their funeral! This is how it works in the real life you are trying so very hard to emulate. People show up to support a family and friends, no matter how far or near they are to the deceased! For Chim, where was Albert? How about the Lees? For Athena, where was Elaine, Rick, and Lou? What about colleagues she's known for decades? Where were the 911 dispatch staff/friends who know Maddie and Chim just lost a major person in their life in a horrible way? Where were the priests Bobby spoke to during his time in LA, particularly the hot priest?

And if you can't have them show up, because of course you probably can't get the actors, you give a damn good reason. You at least show flashbacks of all the lives he touched or you show photographs! You show his life! Oh and his Minnesota chief who supported his move to LA would've been there, even his his crew completely turned their backs to him. His new sponsor after Wendell, where were they? His sponsorees? Like, he had a bigger life than just his death two minutes ago!

And I have not even gotten into the badly written storyline for the fire fam. Acting out of character because a disaster befell you is one thing. But this was just dry. Chim got some sort of look, but the others just were... there. Bad directing and writing? And, there was no need for fucking Gerard. Would've taken Brad over that racist, sexist, homophobic fucker who never apologized to anyone by the way. And you speak of Tommy but he ain't even visible so what's the fucking point? Oh and forget the parents. His mom and brother who they made a whole fuss introducing don't even have a fucking line?

If you want me to believe this, whether it is real or fake, it is just mediocre either way. If real, it's just a major let down. If fake, it is clumsy, silly, and has no pay off.

I'm sorry to overrant but it is helping me process the frustration.

(Edited for typos)

[manyminded]

gonna play friendhsipt est sicn ei finally finish all my finals hehehe so exciitng for this..lets see what this fruit (u) rall pasisonate abt

I woke up with 11 asks in my askbox. im excited, and will compile them here. Hii my trashbin. The break in indents means it’s a different ask, sometimes I will add commentary. I just want to say I’m so happy I’ve infected someone with friendship test - it is genuinely one of my favorite games ever.

they say it! thye SYA THE FRIENDSHIP TEST!! (kind of hehhee)

"still! panic a little! our test deserve it" way before yaaaa

woah..new skill already>?!?!??!!! heck yeah!

i think im already in lvoe witht he pink rabbit...rmeind me of me....hehe

fun fact EXE (said pink rabbit) is the character that the creator themselves relates to the most :3 bnuuy… I won’t spoil much but know you’ll love the ending

okay so the choices i make r significant and will affect the text...itneretsing...

at the dark roo/\/\ rn...i \/\/ant to \/\/rite every quote of the greens /\/\onitor diagogve's and stape the/\/\ on my \/\/alls -ve & cubi

Hii Ve & Cubi 2. I know this game has so many hard hitting lines that I need like embedded into my skin forever

I THOVGHT THOSE ROCKS \/\/ERE GLASSE

FVN does not SVCKS!!!!!!!!!!!!!

fun is a great character

im jsut picking rando/\/\ choices tbh...like SUPA rando/\/\ bc i always do that in games lately lolz, im at the qvestionaire and i \/\/wanted to pick /\/\y friend is /\/\y fav thing in the \/\/orld bvt i give the/\/\ /\/\y fav thing instead hrhhrhr going for \/\/hats \/\/rong & svpport I ACCIENTLALY PICK BE /\/\ORE ANNOYING LMAO \/\/ORK 2GETHER <3 OKYA FINISH THAT...I LVOE FRIENDS \/\/HO HATE EACHOTHER YAY

THEY ARENT FRIENDS!!!!!!!!! sorry … but yeah I get that, I don’t have a pc so I watched the playthrough on YouTube, I was backseat gaming the whole time like “grrr those are obviously the wrong options!!!1!!”

alright alright i tried 2 sent /\/\roe asks but couldnt im at the part \/\/here \/\/ere leaving \/\/ \/\/aterbottle!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! this ga/\/\e fvcks!!!!/pos <- i invent the oppposite \/\/ord of svck its fvck hehehhe!!!!! i like this ga/\/\e s/\/\

I like this game 4ever and ever too… smiles. Every time I see my waterbottle I go “:o… waterbottle… waterbottle friendship test…”

[80svintagejunk]

Coda

AN: This will be the first ever tumblr page I've opened. I've created stories on other platforms but I decided to make the switch to Tumblr as I like the formatting and organization. I'm still figuring it all out though. Also, this is not a reader insert so sorry if that was what you were looking for. Slowburn, maybe. longer chapters in the future.

Word count: 1.1k Masterlist Series Masterlist

CW: Childbirth, and character Death.

The dim glow of the hearth inside the makeshift birthing room illuminated the faces of the women gathered around Kaius Otani. Clad in their beskar armor, they had removed their helmets, revealing features weathered by years of battles and survival. They were safe to do so in the privacy and circumstance of a new life. Their hands, skilled in warcraft, now worked gently and diligently to guide Kaius through the treacherous journey of childbirth. The air was thick with tension and the faint scent of antiseptic herbs, mingling with the sweat that beaded on Kaius’ forehead.

Kaius gripped the edge of the low cot, her knuckles white as she let out another strained cry. One of the elder women placed a steady hand on her shoulder, whispering words of encouragement. “Stay with us, Kaius. You’re strong, and so is your child. Trust in your strength.”

Outside the room, Din Djarin stood motionless, his beskar armor glinting faintly in the firelight of the camp. He had paced earlier, every scream from within slicing through his composure, but now he stood rooted, fists clenched at his sides. The traditions of the Children of the Watch dictated that this was a moment for the women, a sacred rite he was not to intrude upon. But the sounds of Kaius’ pain tested his resolve with every passing second.

He gazed at the roof of their sanctuary hidden in the sewers of Nevarro, he could almost hear the rain pouring from above, a stark contrast to the fire burning in his chest. He had never imagined a life like this—a family of his own, a child. Din had once been a man of solitude, bound only by his creed and his ship. Then Kaius had entered his life.

They had met on Nevarro, where she worked as a mechanic, her hands perpetually smudged with grease and her sharp wit cutting through his stoicism like a vibroblade. At first, Din had paid her little mind, seeing her as just another person passing through his orbit. But Kaius had a way of embedding herself, bit by bit, into his life. She had insisted on tagging along as a “ride-along mechanic,” half-joking that someone needed to keep the Razor Crest in one piece. Over time, her laughter, her annoying quirks, her bad jokes, her resourcefulness, and her loyalty had become constants in his world. What was supposed to be a short-term agreement, turned into a lifelong partnership. Love had taken root, slowly but surely, and Din found himself unable to imagine life without her.

But love came with complications. Din’s adherence to the Children of the Watch meant that Kaius, an outsider, could not truly be his unless she embraced the creed. She had vowed to take on the ways of Mandalore, enduring years of trials and proving herself worthy to wear the armor. When she finally donned her beskar helmet, Din had promised himself to her, heart and soul. Their union had been a quiet, unspoken joy, their love woven into the fabric of their shared battles and quiet moments aboard the Razor Crest.

Now, five years later, their child was about to be born, and Din had never felt so helpless. The muffled voices from within the room were rushed and laced with an edge of panic that Din didn't fail to miss, followed by a piercing cry—the sound of new life. Din’s heart leapt, but the silence that followed gripped him tightly.

An elder Mandalorian woman emerged, gesturing for Din to enter. The elder ushering him in held a look that wasn't common when life had just been brought into the world, it was twisted with worry. He stepped inside, his heart pounding. There, on the cot, lay Kaius, her face pale and glistening with sweat, but her eyes bright like a flame, enduring love. In her arms was a small bundle swaddled in soft fabric. The baby’s cries had subsided into tiny whimpers, and her little face was scrunched in the universal distress of the newly born.

“Din,” Kaius whispered, her voice weak but steady. She looked up at him, a faint smile gracing her lips. “Come meet our daughter.”

Din approached, his steps hesitant, as if taking another step would hurt her in some way. He knelt beside the cot, his visor reflecting the soft light. Kaius shifted slightly, holding the baby up for him to see. Din removed his gloves with trembling hands and reached out, his fingers brushing the soft, warm cheek of his child.

“She’s beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

Kaius’ smile widened, but it faltered as a shadow of pain crossed her face. Din’s helmet turned sharply toward the elder women, his voice firm. “She’s lost a lot of blood. Can you—”

Kaius’ hand grasped his wrist, silencing him. “Din,” she said softly. “Raise her. Make her strong. A true Mandalorian. She’ll need you.”

His throat tightened. “Kaius, don’t talk like this. You’re going to be fine. We can—”

“Shh.” She looked down at their daughter, her gaze tender. A weak smile pulled at the corners of her lips like nothing was wrong. “Kelara. Kelara Djarin. Doesn’t it sound lovely?”

She repeated the name, her voice soft as a lullaby. “Kelara Djarin.” A light giggle escaped her lips, even as her strength waned. “Din, take her.”

He hesitated, but the look in her eyes left no room for argument. Gently, she placed the bundle into his arms. Din cradled his daughter, his visor tilting down as tears slipped silently down his face. The child stirred, her tiny hand curling instinctively around his finger.

Kaius leaned back into the pillows, her breaths shallow but peaceful. “I love you,” she whispered. “And the life we built. It wasn’t long enough, but… I’d choose fifteen years with you over an eternity with anyone else.”

Din’s voice broke. “Kaius…”

Her gaze softened, her eyes closing slowly. “Kelara will have a great father.”

With those final words, Kaius’ body relaxed, her spirit slipping away. Din stayed kneeling beside her, cradling their daughter as grief and love warred within him. He wasn't sure which emotion out of the two was winning in that moment as the tears spilled down his cheeks. He leaned down, pressing his forehead against hers, the cold beskar meeting her cooling skin.

“I’ll protect her,” he whispered. “I’ll make her strong. I swear it.”

As the wind above their hidden sanctuary blew, the whistling song was almost akin to Kaius' spirit singing one last song. Now, the story of Kelara Djarin began—the next generation of the Mandalorian. To Din, this night would burn a hole in his heart, the day he lost one to gain one. —