#♆ interactions.

[ditipatri]

Stolas is a Great Prince of the Underworld and a powerful daemon mentioned in Ars Goetia and Pseudomonarchia Daemonium. According to these grimoires, Stolas appears to the magician as an owl and teaches the arcane art of astronomy, the knowledge of herbs, and the value of precious stones. He is a mighty companion to a mage that wants to learn more of the craft and art of demon work. 

Stolas is a daemon I am personally close to, and owe a lot to for helping me in my path. I’d like to speak on some offerings that one can make for Him as well as a simple ritual to invoke Him were you to want it. 

Note: All suggestions are based on just my experience. Don’t take it as a guide.

These are some non-poisonous plants and herbs I can suggest for Prince Stolas: 

⋆ Asafoetida ✩ Basil ⋆ Bergamot ✩ Black pepper ⋆ Cassia ✩ Clove ⋆ Fennel ✩ Verbena ⋆ Licorice ✩ Star anise ⋆ Sage ✩ Agave ⋆ Jasmine ✩ Barrenwort ⋆ Blackberry ✩ Dark opal basil ⋆ Dusty miller ✩ Fern ⋆ Lady's mantle

Stolas is a daemon governing poisonous plants, which is why I will enlist some. Do NOT eat those and avoid touching them without first learning whether or not it’s safe. Do NOT let your pets eat these.

✩ Aconitum Napellus ⋆ Pyracantha ✩ Amaryllis hippeastrum ⋆ Gypsophila ✩ Morning Glory ☾ purple/pink ☽ ⋆ Wisteria ✩ Delphinium ⋆ Sweet Pea ✩ Horsetails ⋆ Golden Star ✩ Moonwort ⋆ Star Grass ✩ Hostas ⋆ Coleus

Precious stones are said to be Stolas’ field, which is why I find them very important in invoking Him as well as routinely approaching Him:  

🜃 Papagoite quartz 🜁 Star rutilated quartz 🜃 Kunzite 🜁 Dioptase 🜃 Space peridot 🜁 Meteorite pieces 🜃 Crystals shaped to resemble the 7 Planets 🜁 Crystals for each of the 7 Planets:

☿ Clear quartz ✦ Volcanic rock quartz 『 Mercury 』 ♀ Brown jasper ✦ Serpeggiante 『Venus』 ☉ Lapis lazuli ✦ Sodalite / Blue calcite 『 Earth』 ♂ Spessartine garnet ✦ Hematite coated quartz 『Mars』 ♃ Tiger’s eye 『Jupiter』 ♆ Cat’s eye ✦ Tanzanite 『Neptune』 ♄ Red jasper ✦ Citrine 『Saturn』 ⛢ Angelite ✦ Larimar ✦ Aquamarine 『Uranus』 ♇ Black onyx ✦ Hematite 『Pluto』

Many of the objects I’d like to suggest are related to the art of astronomy. You do not need to get expensive telescopes or other tools, you can get very cheap ones as well:

🜙 Spyglass 🝐 Telescopes 🜙 Astronomical clocks 🝐 Armillary spheres 🜙 Celestial sphere 🝐 Alembic 🜙 Astrolabe 🝐 Quill 🜙 Lenses & oculars 🝐 Small alchemy bottles 🜙 Alchemical scales 🝐 Richly textured fabrics 🜙 Feather crafts 🝐 Coins 🜙 Jewelry with precious stones 🝐 Metalcraft 🜙 Metal dice 🝐 Pendulums

I have to make it clear that all of these objects are to be acquired ethically. Body parts of roadkill, those you found on the ground or in a forest, or perhaps ones you already own will do.  Do consider the laws of the place you live in before picking up roadkill.

🜥 Bones of owl prey: mice, rodent-like mammals, rabbits, birds, squirrels 🜛 Skin of snakes and lizards 🜥 Eyes and body parts of frogs 🜛 Tails of lizards 🜥 Owl pellets 🜛 Owl claws, skulls, and feathers

While Prince Stolas can be a great companion and ally in the field of academics, you can do simple, daily things with and/or for Him, too. Here are some of my ideas: 

✧ Having your own garden of poisonous plants is a great idea to honor Him. Do not have it out in the open unless you can secure access to your property so no animal or human can accidentally hurt themselves by interacting with your plants.

༓ Feeding birds whenever you have a chance to might appease Him, as He is represented as a great owl. 

✧ Jewelry making might be a good idea. You can make jewelry for or with Him, offer it up after, wear it, charm it, or devote it to Him. 

༓ Stone polishing is one of the high-skill tasks I’d like to offer. While you do need special equipment and skill to do it, if you can safely learn this craft or already know how to do it, it is a good way to interact with Stolas. 

✧ Investing into arcane arts and practicing alchemy in a safe way is a great way to bond with Stolas, as He’s said to be a Scientist and Alchemist. 

༓ You could buy a very cheap telescope, if your funds allow you to, and watch the night sky to try and memorize the stars as well as generally learn more about astronomy.

✧ In addition to stargazing, you can create a star map journal, pages on astrology or astronomy for your book of shadows if you have one, or a magical side journal to keep track of Lunar phases, planetary movement, and properties of the celestial bodies. 

༓ You can create a list of personal correspondences of planets and their properties to deepen your understanding of Arcane magic.

✧ Learning how to tell time or location by the stars. 

༓ While this might take some time to master, you can communicate with Stolas through stargazing. Twinkling of the stars and celestial movements could be tracked and recorded to further identify them with certain responses you and Him agree on. 

✧ Having a journal on herbalism or precious stones could further your communication with the daemon. You can invest into learning more of your region’s native plants and stones to localize your craft, too. 

༓ Creating devotional objects with bones or ethnically acquired animal body parts or investing into bird taxidermy, if you can afford it. 

✧ You can craft more objects, too, including pendulums or other magical tools you’d like to use in your demon work. 

༓ Numerology is sacred to a lot of daemons, so creating personal number sigils, mandalas, numerical codes, and otherwise number-based magic tools would not be out of realm of possible devotional activities for Stolas. 

✧ Drawing Him personal portraits, sculpting busts, or otherwise depicting His image is a good way to honor Him. 

༓ And lastly, you can do simple offerings for Him where you place the objects you want to give Him in a bowl, which can include fruits, nuts, and otherwise foods that He prefers. 

Everyone’s approach with demon work is going to be different. This ritual isn’t mean to be universal, but I believe it’s a relatively simple beginner level rite that everyone can do as all the materials involved in it are easily accessible. Be aware of fire safety rules. 

For this ritual, you’ll need something to write with, a piece of paper, a bowl (preferably tin), herbs of choice, and a pendulum (optional). It’s preferable you start doing this ritual after sunset. 

On the paper, draw Stolas’ sigil, whether it’s one you personally made for Him or one from Ars Goetia. I will not be linking it here, as I am not to invoke Him, but you can access the grimoire in the list of my sources.  After the sigil is drawn, wrap your chosen herbs you’ve picked to represent Stolas in this piece of paper. You can activate the sigil in any way you’d like prior: by looking at it, smearing your saliva or other fluids over it - this is up to you. You can chant during this process, call out for Him, or simply think of Him.

After that is done, place the wrapped sigil in the bowl and leave it, preferably under moonlight, or underneath the stars if outside, for the night. Before sunrise, discard the sigil by burning it in the bowl or, if you can’t burn it, tearing it apart and placing it in the bowl. This specific ritual is designed for burning or tearing of the sign, but if you can incorporate your personal means of sigil work here, feel free to. 

While the sigil is burning, or while it’s in the bowl, you can optionally use pendulum for spirit communication with Stolas or simply call onto Him. Either way, if you feel that the ritual has been accepted by the Prince, you’ll feel His presence soon. 

Sources in my pinned. 

[malefic-advantage]

✨infographic and descriptons of certain astrological aspects✨

pictured are Venus ♀, Jupiter ♃, Saturn ♄, and Neptune ♆

with Venus closest to the Earth out of these planets, when describing aspects it's typical to say both "Venus is square Saturn" and "Venus is square Jupiter", regardless of what sign each planet is in.

this helps simplify aspects between planets while we're talking about them! below are some quick descriptions of the aspects pictured above;

conjunction: the conjoining of two or more placements, typically about 5º or less from each other, where their energies are blended and nearly indistinguishable from each other the closer they are together. a major aspect

semi-sextile: placements are 30º, or one sign, away from each other, where they are constantly forced to learn from each other. often given the term of "too close for comfort", you know that you have to interact with them... but there's something that just irks you... a minor aspect

semi-square: placements are 45º from each other, where they seem tethered together but an invisible string. this is more of an outwardly experienced aspect, so something in your life affects your internal processes, generally in the form of tension of competition/combat, the solution is compromise. a minor aspect

sextile: placements are 60º from each other, and living their best lives together. this aspect is extremely harmonious because the different elements and modalities between the two signs is balanced by the fact that they're either both diurnal (fire/air) or nocturnal (earth/water) signs! working together is a breeze and a good time, a major aspect

quintile: placements are 72º, or 1/5 of the zodiacal wheel, away from each other. a combination of creativity, imagination, and action, this aspect points to talents and skills and being able to truly make something out of them. a minor aspect

square: placements are 90º from each other, forming one side of a square. these placements are literally always fighting and need to learn how to compromise, they will have the same modality (unless it's a strange case and a wide orb) so they go at things the same way, this is an internal struggle. a major aspect

trine: placements are 120º from each other, forming one side of a triangle. these placements are cut from the same cloth, being the same element and all, and work with each other so easily its actually effortless. in the past, this aspect was compared to the devil, because it made things so easy that it encouraged 'laziness'. a major aspect

sesquiquadrate: placements are 135º apart, or a square and a half. this is a much easier to ignore aspect in life, making it's lesson even more persistent and difficult, leading to stubbornness when in avoiding what's the true cause of the issue. again, its about compromise, as is both the semi-square and square aspects. a minor aspect

bi-quintile: placements are 144º apart, or one side of a pentagram. this aspect depicts an extreme interest or innate talent of the combination of placements involved, this energy can be used to drum up solutions to persistent issues and is generally a really good thing! a minor aspect

quincux: placements are 150º apart, giving it a very similar vibe to the semi-sextile, even as far as their symbols! uncomfortable and typically unpredictable, this aspect depicts two pieces of the chart that rarely come together, if at all. however, the signs of the placements involved may be more similar than previously thought... a minor aspect

opposition: placements are 180º apart, half of the chart. this aspect can be both good and bad, the placements involved are the in signs that are same modality, and are both either diurnal or nocturnal, however they are different elements, and so they're oriented towards different aspects of life. very confrontational, always manages to come up, divisive in nature. a major aspect

i hope that was interesting and made sense!!

[kxllerblond]

♥ ☆ ❀ ♆ (hi hello <3 we've just started to have them interact kinda and I'm open to anything / wanted to hear your thoughts maybe)

ship meme. / accepting

Sobs because I'm also open to anything. Hmmm ok ok.

So with Dama being a witch tech, that instantly gets her a better chance at a platonic or family dynamic right off the bat just because he tends to get along better with them in a business sense and with a frequent enough interaction that can lead to either route. Like Clark is >:( with anything else supernatural but if I had to name the top two species/groups he's most likely to get along with it's witches/warlocks && shapeshifters.

Then, obviously, if you manage a platonic dynamic with him that makes it easier to get to a romantic route with him. I don't see them as anything antagonistic besides like vanilla banter and rivalry in a sense, nothing like legit murder each other.

I think if I had to suggest potential dynamics I'd say either a classic bantering besties to bantering lovers or they just stay bantering besties or we end up with squabbling siblings against the world. Just depends on how their interactions go and what vibes we're feeling. :)

[fatallyfalling]

Bitter Water 0.02 ~ ♆

“ I’d rather choose death than a life with blood on my hands.“

{{ Finnick Odair x Reader }}

{{ previous part || next part }} {{ masterlist }}

warnings: typical Hunger Games violence/trauma/themes, language, blood, injury, insinuation of forced prostitution, enemies to lovers, slow burn, Finnick is a bit of an ass, thoughts/mention of death, nightmares, etc

{{ word count }} 3.6 k

{{ outfits }}

{{ prompt }} The train ride to the Capital is underway, tensions run high as anticipation for the Games increases. A certain peacock continues to test your temper and self-restraint as well.

{{ a/n }} I promise Finnick gets more than one line this time and there’s more talking than exposition :”) Finnick also leans pretty heavily into his “golden rich boy” attitude when interacting with reader. They very obviously dislike one another haha but anyhoo, Mags communicates through hands gestures and writing with few whispered words here and there >&lt;; Enjoy!!

Mags kindly showed you to your personal room once you no longer felt as if you were suffocating and could stand. Your mentor was endearing, if not doting, though she hadn’t said two words during your ordeal. You didn’t mind. You probably would’ve been unable to say anything coherent, you realize, giving a weak, raspy thanks before she left. The door slides closed with an industrial “Click”. An exhausted sigh slips from your lips as the aftermath of your episode weighs down.

You hadn’t experienced an episode that fierce in a long while. A couple months at least. The white-hot throbbing from the wound at your temple is worse than ever. The dried blood caked to the side of your face itches.

After a moment or two of leaning against the cool metal, catching your breath, you manage a turn and take in your room. It’s not nearly as extravagant as the dining car or sitting room, allowing a sign of personal relief. Everything was a rather gloomy palette of neutral grays with accents of that deeply stained wood again. The room is small considering the size restraint of the train cars. Only a twin-size bed and side table occupy the space, a small wardrobe is built into the wall, and a narrow door you can assume leads to a barebones washroom.

Your knees nearly give out beneath you as you barely kick off your boots and stagger into the small connecting space. Trembling hands fumble to find the sink but quickly grip the cold onyx porcelain. Another shaky inhale goes in and out through your nose before you dare to peer in the silver mirror.

You looked like shit - to say the least.

Flyaways of hair had come down across your forehead again, not to mention the small cut above your right temple, already turning a gnarly mixture of purple and red. Blood was caked down your cheek, movements of muscle under your skin causing the crimson streaks to crack and flake off. Your sage-colored ensemble had drops of blood around the collar, along with newly formed creases and dust smears from hitting the concrete in the auditorium. There was even a rip at the hemming from your fall.

You didn’t want to know what your aching knees or bloodied hands looked like.

The icy running water felt like heaven on your burning skin. You work quickly to remove the blood as best you can, albeit traces remain in the nitty gritty gaps beneath your fingernails. You tried to remove the blood from your collar, but there was still a faded red tinge mixing with the green as you gave up on trying. Your knees were scraped but not as bad as your temple. The soap smelled nice, at least - like roses.

Back then, the smell didn’t make you want to vomit like it did now.

You didn’t leave the small washroom for a while, leaning against the closed door while slowly sliding to the ground and curling in a heap on the tiled floor. The room fell silent at the absence of running water and your occasional frustrated grunt. All that was left was the muffled hum of the moving train and the occasional mechanical whistle or whirring of the industrial beast that held you captive. You tried to focus you’re breathing.

Deep breath in, hold for three.

Deep breath out, hold for four.

Repeat.

You repeated the exercise till you no longer felt like screaming or throwing something. If you stepped out of line violently, it would immediately fall back to your family. You couldn’t allow that. You’d rather be in front and take the brunt of whatever punishment the Capital deemed fit than put those horrors on them. You had to keep going.

You had to survive.

But how? You didn’t know much about physical combat besides a few things your father had taught you for self-defense. Knowing your way around a body of water wouldn’t even matter if there was none in the arena. Your skill set focused more on your wit, knowledge of certain herbs, determining edible water life, mending sails or nets, and ensuring two rowdy toddlers ate their vegetables.

Maybe you could make it by hiding and outlasting, but that felt like a coward's way out. The chances of surviving that way were slim to none. Your only other option was to fight, but the thought made you nauseated all over again. Hiding it was, then. You could only hope there was something useful in the ugly maw of death that awaited during the Games.

You didn’t leave your quarters the rest of that evening.

You eventually managed to crawl out of the washroom and onto the plush bed outside. You all but sunk into the feather-stuffed mattress and the soft blankets, but it felt wrong. The way your throbbing head melded to the pillow felt too clean. Everything felt too sterile, and you were sullying that cleanliness with your “District filth”. But a part of you didn’t care. If you were to die in the coming weeks, why not leave your mark- your stain.

Why not rub a bit of beach sand and salty seawater into every crevice of this damn place?

If you had to perform for the Capital, be their prize-winning salmon, then so be it. You’ll perish out of pure spite if you have to. But you wouldn’t go down without a fight. That bitter promise burned through the thrumming in your temple.

You will not die.

Your sleep was fitful. Honestly, you couldn’t decide whether to consider the night you had a form of sleep at all. No matter how inviting the plush materials of the bed were, you didn’t catch a wink. Flashes of your twin siblings and your father suffering as a consequence of your shortcomings plagued your mind in too vivid horrors. There were a few instances when your eyes shot open with a scream tearing from your throat. At one point or another, you couldn’t stand the bed any longer and locked yourself in the tiny washroom for the rest of the night.

There weren’t any windows, so you kept the lights on, although dimmed for ease on your bloodshot eyes. You cowered in a corner behind the glass shower door, staring blankly ahead. The water from the overhead faucet felt like pinpricks of ice. You were drenched to the bone, your clothes weighing heavy, and the skin on the pads of your fingers had shriveled from the water. You were trembling terribly, but the frigid water was calming. You always found water grounding. Running to the sea on your breaks from the shipyard, wading ankle-deep in the sea foam, and digging your toes in the wet sand. Some mornings, you’d sneak out. Making the long trek to the short cliffs to dive from for a brisk morning plunge. It felt like freedom to be in the water.

It felt like home.

But the water didn’t feel like home right now. The ice-cold downpour of the shower only reminded you that you were still breathing, still alive. The water rooted you to your huddled place on the slick tile, solidifying your grip on reality and the fact you weren’t anywhere near the sea and you weren’t anywhere near your home anymore. You may never see District 4 or the ocean again. Hot, salty tears mixed with frigid water in an oddly satisfying combination down your cheeks. The tears were silent as they streamed.

You weren’t sure how long you sat under the water, but the sudden, aggressive banging on the washroom door registering in your thoughts was a perfect reality check. Scrambling in surprise, you managed to shut off the shower head, slide the glass door open, and make contact with the sliding door handle. All while only slipping once on the wet tile.

Your name was cut off mid-shout as you shoved the door open to stare into bewildered sea-green eyes. Water was already pooling at your feet and dripped onto the originator of all the yelling. The boy had changed his clothes, opting for an ivory tunic, slim-fitted brown pants, and matching brown boots. The look on his face made him an open book as his eyes roved over your soaked form. A smug expression contorts into his features, making his dimples stand proud and a crinkle forming at the corners of his eyes.

“Why are you all wet?”

“None of your business.” You state bluntly before trying to close the door in his face. Your attempt is in vain, however, as Finnick moves to block the opening with his arm and shoves the door back open. “It is when I’ve been out here, knocking, for thirty minutes. I think I’m owed some kind of explanation, at least.” He huffs, crossing his arms over his chest while his boot moves to keep the door open.

“I don’t spill secrets to pretty Capital Peacocks.” You seethe, venom lacing your tone as you throw a pointed glare toward the boy.

“Aw, you think I’m pretty? Go on,~” Finnick all but purrs. You inhale sharply through your nose as you debate if slapping that stupid cheshire smirk off his face is worth it. His pointed, too-white teeth glint in the dim light, and your eye twitches. “Just leave me alone.” You scoff, shoving past the boy and stalking toward your bed. Water trails after you in puddles on the floor. A damp handprint clings to his clothed chest where contact was made, but you don’t notice as your face plants onto the plush blankets below.

“I was sent to get you up, you know. I’m not just here for kicks. Besides, you already missed lunch.” Finnick drawls, an irritation threading through his voice as he tilts his head at your face-down body. “Go away.” You groan. Your voice is muffled, but you don’t bother to move as the bedding grows damp beneath you. “I can’t leave until you get up.” The victor scoffs. You hear footsteps and the sound of a drawer being pulled before multiple pieces of fabric are thrown at your head. Your face snaps up at the assault, glaring hotly at the bronze-haired boy. “What are you doing?” You seethe, earning an eye roll as a response. “Change.” Finnick orders. You simply burn holes into his skull for a minute before he rolls his eyes again and turns away to face a wall. With a few incoherently grumbled profanities, you swipe the clothes and pad back to the washroom.

The articles of clothing thrown were a simple navy blue long sleeve and inky loose fitted bottoms. There was a pair of black crew socks as well. Slowly, you strip the waterlogged ensemble from your body, your shivering only worsening as the cold air kisses your skin. You quickly towel yourself off before slipping the fresh clothing on. The pants are lightweight linen with a drawstring, allowing easy adjustment, and the top is a soft stretch cotton that hugs your torso and arms.

Upon emerging from the washroom, you spot the Capital’s Darling still facing the wall. “You didn’t have to stay like that.” You quip, tucking damp strands of hair behind your ears before hugging your arms around yourself. The room was still cold. “With that glare of yours? I started to wonder if the Games would start early~” Finnick teases, a smug expression still capturing his tanned features as he turns.

“You’re insufferable Odair,”

“Hm, I’d like to think of myself as…charming~” The amused lilt in the Darling’s voice has your eyes narrowing again and blood simmering. “Uh-huh, keep telling yourself that.” You murmur, hugging yourself tighter as a shiver runs through you. “Word of advice? Catching a cold won’t do you any good in the arena.” Finnick drawls, his head cocking to the side while quirking a brow. Your glare turns to daggers, and the boy raises his hands as if to surrender.

“Just saying,”

“I don’t need your advice,” You snap back, not appreciating his teasing in the slightest. “I wasn’t trying to get sick. The water helps...” You offer an explanation enough. There’s a falter in Finnick’s demeanor at your words. Maybe it was the flicker of a crease between his brows, the sudden deep inhale he took, or the tightness that appeared in his shoulders, but you immediately take note of the change. It felt like peeking behind a screen, but as quickly as it appeared, it vanished, Golden Boy charm snapping back into place.

“Let’s go, they’ve waited long enough.”

You follow the bronze-haired boy back through the hallways of the moving train to the dining car. Everyone is already seated as you arrive, causing your ears to turn red in slight embarrassment. You quietly slip into your seat beside your District partner with Finnick across from you again, and Thatcher clears his throat, “Nice of you to finally join us.” the escort’s tone is filled with irritation, but you simply keep your eyes trained on your hands folded in your lap. There are scabs on your palms from yesterday, and traces of dried blood still hide in the crevices of your nail beds.

“This evening, we shall arrive in the Capital. As I so graciously explained yesterday, we’ll have to move swiftly. Once we step off into the station, our wonderful Tributes and their respective mentors shall be whisked away by their stylists in preparation for the opening ceremonies and Tribute parade,” Thatcher’s voice strains on the word “wonderful” and you feel your blood simmering again at the sarcastic remark. They explain minor details concerning the parade procession and more miscellaneous rules and expectations for the Tributes. Your brain feels less like mush today, thankfully. But your ears don’t tune into the spiel,till they mention the victor sitting across from you.

“Mr. Odair, our dear Capital’s Sweetheart, will be departing from us the remainder of your stay in the Capital due to having business elsewhere in the city.”

“As long as he’s not bothering me, that sounds great,” You quip internally with a flickering glance across the table. Finnick shifts in his seat, only his eyes glance at Mags. The mentor’s facial expression doesn’t reveal anything. But her eyes glint with something like worry. “Odd…” You think before averting your gaze back to the lecturing escort. “There will be lots of cameras once we arrive, so I suggest you all look your best. At least one of you has cleaned up already,” Thatcher mentions with eyes peering at you in an up-and-down motion. It’s your district partner’s turn to shift in their seat now. You merely roll your eyes and look back down to your hands.

The escort continues their lecture for a few more minutes before suggesting, “We should leave our tributes to discuss strategy with their mentors. Come with me, Mr. Odair. We have details to discuss of our own.” with that, Mags reaches out and gives a squeeze to Finnick’s hand, a small smile on her lips and in turn receiving a tight-lipped smile from the boy as he stands and leaves the dining car to follow Thatcher.

Once the two are gone, your gaze falls to Mags, who motions with a gesture of her thin hands to follow her. Your district partner and their mentor have already begun discussing in harsh whispers, leaving you to suppose there’s no room for alliance. Standing, you quietly pad after the elderly woman into a sitting room you partially recognize from yesterday.

You take places across from one another in the deep, royal blue velvet armchairs without a word. An inkling of awkwardness whispers through you, but part of you can’t help feeling calm around the mentor. Mags offers you a small but sweet smile, giving a few hand gestures you chalk up to asking how you’re doing. “Not well…I didn’t sleep…” You frown, and your mentor gives a sympathetic expression in return. She understands as she leans forward to place a hand on your knee. You manage a meek smile before continuing the conversation.

“I’m terrified, honestly…I-I don’t know the first thing about fighting. I don’t know if I could even stomach hurting, let alone kill another person… but I can’t die. I-I have to get back to my family.” Your eyes are pleading as you wring your hands together out of anxiety. “And I know hiding isn’t the best option, but it might be easier than fighting…” You continue to vent between rambling off apologies for said venting, but Mags doesn’t stop you. Your mentor sits patiently and listens. That sweet, caring expression and comfort in her eyes never leave. She knows you’re scared. She’s been a mentor for numerous years, and she’s done this every year since her victory in the 11th Hunger Games. She understands your concerns better than anyone could.

Once all your emotions and fears are laid on the table, you manage to list off your skills. Mags takes notes on everything in a small notepad she found in a side table drawer. She gives a few hand gestures to insist she’s listening as she writes in a small, curvy font.

Net weaving (hunting & gathering)

Sewing/Sail mending (could be good for stitches if necessary)

Minimal herb/Root knowledge (gathering)

Swimming

Able to lift/pull/push own body weight

Nimble/good climber

Swift runner

Basic self defense combat

Knowledge of edible water-life (hunting & gathering)

Good witrh a knife

The two of you spend the next couple of hours defining uses for the skills you already have and figuring out how to amplify your strongest ones. You mostly spoke while Mags listened, but occasionally, she’d murmur a short, barely audible response. Otherwise, everything was conveyed in hand gestures or writing. You found a good technique for understanding each other. She even taught you a few hand signals of your own to utilize. You started to feel like you might have a chance of at least not dying immediately during the initial “bloodbath” in the arena.

“Thank you… for being kind to me..”

You start after a beat of quiet. Your mentor gives that sweet smile again as she moves to wrap her arms around you in a gentle but warm embrace. That feeling of safety washes through you again, and hesitantly, you return the embrace before you separate.

The sky has started to dim from bright blues to soft oranges and pinks with hints of purple. An announcement is made for the evening meal. It was quite a lovely sight, but you still preferred the sunsets you saw while sitting on the summits of rocky cliffs back on the coast of District 4. This was just another ghostly reminder of home. You let Mags lead you back to the dining car. There’s light conversation instead of silence this time. It feels nice to be able to talk with and trust someone. Even though the circumstances of your meeting were rather grim.

Thatcher gives another lecture between phlegmy coughs throughout the meal. You are uninterested in the food, opting to poke your fork around your plate. Fearing you might be sick by the familiar anxious knots twisting in your stomach the closer you got to the Capital. There were more tunnels as the train sped towards the city. You weren’t a fan of the flashing lights. During one of the longer tunnels, you find yourself shrinking back into your chair from the shadows.

“Scared of the dark?~”

Finnick drawls from across the table. His bronze waves are backlit by the flashing tunnel lights causing his pointed, too-white teeth to all but shine under the lights as his lips pull back in that stupid cocky smirk of his. Your ears burn red as the other table members turn to view the interaction. “No, I don’t like being confined,” You snap back, crossing your arms over your chest and squaring your shoulders back in your seat as light floods the car upon exiting the tunnel. “You say that, but you’re about to be trapped in an arena to fight till only one of you is left alive for the entertainment of all of Panem,” Finnick quips, cocking his head to the side as his smirk gets wider. “ Sounds pretty confining if you ask me,” You know he’s instigating. Picking a fight to see how you’ll react and if you’re all bark and no bite. The problem is, you do bite.

“At least I’m not confined to a Capital that favors pretty Peacocks for killing innocent children.” The viciousness you usually keep on a tight, tight leash lashes out and snaps. And you don’t care to try and stop it.

“I’d rather choose death than a life with blood on my hands.”

Your venom hangs heavy in the air as you glare at one another. Mags is trying to gesture and de-escalate the situation, but you place your hands flat on the table and stand, pushing your chair back.

“I think I’ve lost my appetite.”

With that, you turn and storm back to your quarters with heavy footsteps. Barely hearing Thatcher's snide comment on your “Blasphemous outburst.”

That claim was the last thing you said to the 65th Victor as you hoped you’d never see his face again.

{{ taglist }}

@emerald-09 @reader-bookling123 @finnickodaddy @thehairington86 @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts @avoxrising @meri-soni-meri-tamanna @whens-naptime

[astrognossienne]

more about midpoints

Also worth noting; midpoints are really activated through aspects; if you have a natal planet that aspects a midpoint, there is an effect.

Instead of the two planets involved in the midpoint relationship, there are three distinct components represented in a midpoint aspect, which is known as a midpoint picture.

For example, let’s assume that the sun is exactly in between (the midpoint of) mercury and Neptune. This midpoint relationship is best expressed in equation form as:

In the above example, the sun is the Focal Point, Mercury/Neptune is the midpoint, and this resulting three-way interaction is known as the midpoint picture. The Focal Point occupies the position between a midpoint. The midpoint picture describes in astrological shorthand how the Focal Point connects with, is merged with, and is coloured by the meanings of the other two planets or points.

To interpret this,

Focal Point (what can be accomplished)

= (”can be accomplished through”)

1st planet/2nd planet (how it can be accomplished)

So, using the above example, I interpret this midpoint picture as:

The native’s life purpose and ego definition ( ☉ ) can be accomplished though thoughts and ideas that are communicated ( ☿ ) by using symbolism, imagination or fantasy ( ♆ ).

Coincidentally, Jim Henson (creator of the Muppets), Thomas Edison (inventor), John Lennon (idealistic yet caustic former Beatle), Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (classical composer), and Walt Disney (cartoonist) all share this particular midpoint picture. Also, the famous sexual revolutionary and aristocrat Marquis de Sade happened to have it as well. It’s fascinating to see how this interpretation resonated the same for all six men, albeit in completely different ways and through different mediums.

[wickcdlcvelys]

nerissa. | i am not a girl; i am a storm with skin. | tag dump.

♆ history. | see me not for my beauty; see me for the natural disaster i am.

♆ development. | you used to be alive now you’re almost mythic.

♆ ask memes. | never apologize for burning too brightly.

♆ interactions. | i can and i will.

♆ summer court. | i was not made to be subtle.

♆ musings. | i am not a girl; i am a storm with skin.

♆ visage. | darling your looks could kill.

☼ ooc. | ali talks.

☼ ooc. | ali makes things.