#Three Smiths Statue

[wolfie-wolfgang]

A week in Helsinki

In September 2022, after a wonderful time at the Sibelius Festival in Lahti, I stayed on in Finland for another week and moved to Helsinki, a place that everyone I know who has been there to told me that I would love it. I did. I love the way it manages to be a capital city with all the things that I expect from such places – good facilities, interesting buildings, art galleries, a concert hall…

[andhumanslovedstories]

A code status is what you want the hospital to do if your heart or breathing stops, and we've got two basic options: full code which means we do EVERYTHING and Do Not Resuscitate or DNR which means we do less than everything. There's like little add-ons like intubated or not intubated, or blood products or no blood products, but that's basic gist of it. Do you want us to try everything we can to save your life or if your heart stops, is that it? And then we take that information and put it in your chart and make it very prominent in case we need to find it quickly in an emergency. Jane Doe, 72 years old, DNR. John Whatsisname, 49 years old, full code. Like that.

Anyway I'd like to propose a third code status that we'll call "DNR!!!" This is when you not only don't want heroic measures to extend your life, you are so excited to die. I thought of this recently when getting report on a patient, and the day nurse talking to me was like, "Alice Smith, 80 years old, DNR and she will tell you that herself." And I was like, "I don't think code status is gonna come up organically," and the nurse was like, "It won't, but she'll tell you anyway." And then I introduced myself to the patient, and like three minutes in as we're talking about pain meds, she goes, "and by the way, when I'm dead, I'm DEAD. Don't be bringing me back! Every woman in my family has lived past 90, and I'm here to break that tradition! NO one needs to live that long, and I certainly don't, and frankly it's indecent for me to have made it this far. God willing the reaper will come for me any day now. I would never take actions to make him come sooner, but I'm not moving that fast and he is DAWDLING. Disgusting. No work ethic these days. And don't bother with a grave, just chuck me out the window and let the birds at me."

And I'm like "so is that a no to the tylenol"

And she was like "oh no, I'd love some tylenol and a warm blanket too. Now look at me. I've done everything I could possibly want to do in this world and quite a few things I didn't want to do, and personally I don't think I should have to keep doing things. I'd also love a cranberry juice."

Anyway. DNR!! I'm sorry to say she made it through the night completely unscathed.

[crimsntwlip]

“i said i love the smiths” | mattheo riddle x reader

pairing: mattheo riddle x fem!reader

warnings: kinda short, mentions of alcohol, readers status not mentioned, reader is a slytherin, soft fluff?

summary: slytherin is throwing a house party, to which you desperately want to stay in your room but get dragged downstairs by your friends. you end up on the couch, next to mattheo, who was also stuck in the same situation . 🐾

a/n: this imagine is inspired by the my fav 500 days of summer scene 😭😭!!! if you have no clue what im talking about you can watch it here! pretty cute scene :> but enough of that!!!!

masterlist | posted: 11/15/23 | part 2

you looked at yourself in the mirror, staring out the outfit you wore for the party you swore you wouldn’t go. that was until your 2 closest friends, elenoise and augusta, begged for you to join them. i mean fully begged, down on their knees begged, to the point where you just finally agreed to end this madness.

you could see the both of them through the mirrors as they wore a smug expressions behind you as they sat on your bed. you groaned, having second thoughts, “do i really have to go?” you sighed. to be fair, your friends knew you weren’t really a social butterfly, i mean you’d rather just stay in bed with headphones in blasting music while reading.

but of course, your friends thought you needed to go out and experience more stuff while you were in hogwarts. which brought them here, dragging you with them to some stupid party.

“yes!” they exclaimed in sync, “we’re doing this for you, trust, you will be thanking us later,” elenoise grinned as augusta nodded next to her. you only huffed, feeling defeated.

as you three begin to make your way downstairs, the smell of alcohol hits your nostrils as the loud music blasts. you make your way through the crowd, and you already regret coming. you look back, expecting to see your two friends following behind, only to find them gone, lost somewhere in the crowd. you sighed, rubbing your sweaty palms against the fabric of your pants anxiously.

you made your way through the overcrowded space as you spot an empty space on a couch that was in the corner of the common room, making you sigh in relief. you sat down, your nerves finally calming down as you observed everyone. It was only then that you heard the faded music of your favorite band, the smiths, lingering next to you. causing you to glance over your shoulder, revealing mattheo riddle, looking bored out of his mind as music blasted through his headphones.

you only glanced at him before you hesitantly start trying to make convo. you weren't friends with him, but you knew of him, i mean who didn't know him?

you gave him a small smile as you saw that he had finally noticed your quiet presence. you took this opportunity, "the smiths?" you start off, your index finger pointing up towards his headphones. but with his music still blasting in his ears, he doesn't hear you. he glances at you and gives you a small "hi" before he turns his gaze back away.

but you continue to try again anyways. you lean in slightly closer, paying close attention to confirm that it was the smiths. "i love the smiths," you say with a serene smile as mattheo turned his attention towards you. "sorry?" he asked, pulling his headphones down to his neck to hear you clearer.

"i said i love the smiths" you state once again, causing mattheo stare at you in awe making your smile slightly grow. again, you hesitantly speak once again, "you've- you've got good taste in music," you complimented. "you like the smiths?" mattheo asks nearly cutting you off, you grow shy and nod muttering a small "yeah" before you sang along to the music that was still blasting around the star-struck boy's neck.

"to die by your side is such a heavenly way to die- i love em." you grinned, glancing around the room once again. mattheo kept his gaze on you, but before he could say anything else, your friends came along. "(y/n)!" one of them exclaimed, "we were looking for you everywhere!" they said, taking your hand and dragging you with them, leaving the boy alone once again. you glanced back to see mattheo still staring at you in awe, making you giggle and turn back towards you friends.

"holy shit," a smitten mattheo mumbled as he watched you disappear in the crowd.

a/n: lmk if you guys want a part 2 or if i should make this into a series!! i enjoyed writing this 🤭 <33

[gyutarling]

WRAPPED ᯤ

your boyfriend of 2 years, choi beomgyu, dumps you out of nowhere! oh, and did i forget to mention that he's also a rising indie musician? now you're left with a broken heart, and a spotify streaming history full of his songs. this year's spotify wrapped should be interesting...

♯ — beomgyu x gn!reader ⋆ fluff ⋆ crack ⋆ angst ⋆ non-idol au ⋆ social media au ⋆ exes to lovers ⋆ inspired by this tiktok

warnings! — profanity, self-deprecating humour, kys/kms jokes, dirty jokes, specific warnings tba for each chapter

status — started 09/12/23, possibly irregular updates. send an ask to be added to the taglist ^^

featuring : MIDwest emos ⋆ male manipulators

PLAYLIST ᯤ

one — spotify wrapped release (suicide postponed!!)

two — suicide postponed BACK ON!!!!!

three — elliott smith?? like from the smiths????

more tba!

[inklessletter]

The first time Steve hears Eddie singing that song, it's nothing but a absent-minded humming while he's doing something else. Writing something down, he thinks, for the campaign, probably.

Steve knows that song, that's why he smiled when he heard the soft, muffled tone falling out of Eddie's throat. Steve's heard Will singing it, and it's so painfully Jonathan, that song wears his signature all over. Maybe it's because it's The Smiths, and The Smiths is Jonathan.

Steve holds a smile and keeps himself busy, away from Eddie's eyes, because of course, that's what he does. No need to cause a scene, he could go on with his day without Eddie asking him "why are you smiling like an airhead?" Nah, thank you very much.

It's not his music scene, but Steve admits that it has been a favourite since it came out. It was just so goddamn relatable. He first heard it when Nancy dumped him, and sometimes, when he was working at Scoops, he could hear that song coming from the rock station Robin liked, coming from the backroom. No surprise she likes that song too.

Those were dark times for him. Summer job at Scoops, that is. It was a disappointment after another; no university, no high school anymore, no girlfriend, no status to hide after, no friends but the kids he drove all around Hawkins (and yet, three weeks away from Dustin, who was the only one who actually went to see him without asking for anything in return), the most embarrassing dry spell and having absolutely zero idea of what to do next. And that song just randomly filled the air and he indulged himself for two minutes to sulk on his own misery and he felt surprisingly less depressed right after.

So, yeah, that song holds a special meaning for him, a soothing balm for his broken heart, a good nostalgia from his darkest period.

And it comes back to him, from Eddie's voice, and it comes to stay the rest of the day. The rest of the week.

It makes him sad. A good sad, Steve guesses.

He's not really better than a couple years ago, but he's less scared, which is undeniably a victory.

He lets out a sigh and walks away from Eddie, leaves him there, happy and focused and begging.

Steve comes to notice that Eddie sings that song a lot, and he's making it his business not to ask, not to sing along, not to say or do anything that may reveal that Eddie's version of that song is becoming so fast the best he's ever heard.

The day the older side of the group go to see him play with his band, and at some point, he just sits and grabs an acoustic guitar and sings it, that one song, the world turns around. It's hard to keep a straight face, and to breathe regularly. A prayer, a begging in form of ballad, the room is in respectful silence, or if there is any background noise his brain makes the greatest job ignoring it.

Feels Robin's hand slipping through his palm and lacing fingers, but he doesn't look at her.

He can't.

His lips, disloyal and treacherous bastards, shape the last sentence of the song.

Lord knows it would be the first time.

The last chord fills the negative space and the bar noises are there again out of the sudden, and some of his friends are shouting nice things, and Eddie is graciously discarding the acoustic guitar and grabbing his sweetheart again and Steve is hoping to go unnoticed when he wipes his face in a quick movement.

He knows Robin sees it, but she says nothing, merciful and elegant.

The gig goes on for a couple of more songs and it's far too soon when Eddie is there, letting himself fall on the stool next to him, all pleased and content and full of black smudged eyeliner and Steve knows he has to say something to him, so he opts to go with, "I really like that song."

It doesn't need any more saying, because Eddie grins and fucking bites his bottom lip, and looks at the floor like it's the most interesting thing in the world, leaning on the bar next to Steve, and Steve knows, he just knows Eddie knows which one he's talking about.

"Yeah. I bet you do."

He doesn't tease, doesn't go with the rancid bUt YoU lIsTeN tO tEaRs FoR fEaRs In YoUr CaR aLl tHe tImEeE shit like the kids like to whine. He doesn't pretend not to know which one he's talking about. Steve smiles at him, buys the guy a beer.

"So, Robin told you? About, uh, about the song."

He tries a bit too hard to look unaffected, but the label of his cold beer bottle has seen better days. Steve feels Eddie going still and turning his head to face him, wielding such soft, almost pitiful expression that makes Steve's inside go still, lungs not working, muscles tense, blood frozen in his veins, and somehow scalding in his cheeks. He dares to look at Eddie, who whispers, "She did not."

The time stops, or so Steve thinks, when he turns his head to look at Eddie, not really moving an inch.

The question goes unspoken.

The answer is one second too long of both their gazes taking residence in the other guy's lips.

And the song comes alive in Steve's mind, and his lips move again.

So for once in my life

let me get what I want

Lord knows, it would be the first time

[theweeklydiscourse]

It’s not Nara Smith who bothers me, it’s the people who suddenly develop an allergy to critical thinking the moment anyone points out that she’s a tradwife influencer.

Many people get aggressively defensive when you point out that she’s making money off of her TikTok account and selling a curated image. When people defend their uncritical consumption of her (and other influencers) content, they’ll talk about it as though her TikTok account is merely a hobby that shows her everyday life. They’ll say that we should respect her right to choose that lifestyle and that it just so happens to win her popularity and monetary gain.

“But feminism is about choice isn’t it? What ever happened to letting people enjoy things?”

No, feminism isn’t about choice and that’s why you learn about the harmful consequences of choice feminism in literally any introductory gender studies course. That mindset does absolutely nothing except uphold the status quo and discourage thinking critically about our choices and the societal factors that influenced them.

It’s no coincidence that this particular image of a beautiful, visibly affluent young woman with three young children is gaining popularity in our current political and cultural climate. It’s no coincidence that more and more influencers are buying into this specific image of the homemaking wife while obscuring the invisible labour that goes into such a task. It’s not surprising that in a time where women’s economic anxieties are growing, that the leisurely affluent lifestyle of an influencer homemaker is becoming increasingly popular.

[rorytunes]

A tag game! I was tagged by @inflammatory thank you so much this was very fun! (I know I say this at the end of the post but I'm very sorry if I tagged you against your will, I get so scared) Last song: It was, when I first saw this, Don’t Want To Know If You Are Lonely by Hüsker Dü, but at time of writing it’s Christian Brothers by Heatmiser/Elliott Smith

Favourite colour: I don’t know and this has plagued me for a long time. I’m going to say either the colour of a Polar Blue PRS Silver Sky, or a navy blue that’s so dark it’s almost black, like the sort of colour I’d use to paint a night sky in Year 7.

Currently watching: I haven’t been watching a lot for the past week or so but on a slightly wider timeframe, Rushmore and Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.

Spicy/savoury/sweet: Spicy in a heartbeat. Dreaming of wasabi peanuts as we speak

Relationship status: Never once before in my life but I have what, three different crushes at the moment? Too busy on the guitar grind to think much about them though

Current obsession: The Sandman comic. Making playlists (my March playlist is almost 8hrs long and I am so pleased with every single song on it). Benevolent Wikipedia editing. Neglecting schoolwork. Iced matcha. And of course the insatiable investigations of music history. Also obsessed with playing This Charming Man on guitar

No pressure tags, I always get scared tagging so I hope you don't mind: @danexist @finch-kid @martitheevans @beachghoulz @strangebrew and all the other mutuals I didn't mention for being deeply scared, and anyone else who wants to join !!

[multifandomimagin3s]

Them as Dads - 141 + König

Requested by Anon

Fluff, hints of angst

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon's childhood was, to say the least, horrific.

No child should have had to experience when he went through.

Those experiences have stuck with him all his days, emotions buried deep down to a point where he doesn't feel them anymore.

There's a distinct divide between Ghost and Simon - and since he's considered legally dead, he has no reason to drop his mask anymore.

Needless to say, when he found out he was going to be a Dad, he short-circuited.

Didn't even say a word, and just left.

Of course he felt guilty for it, and he knew that what he did was wrong, but he needed to think.

The last time he had even been around a child was his little nephew...

And that tragic part of his past truly was the final nail in the coffin for him.

He was terrified of being like his own Father.

He did eventually come back but for the duration of the pregnancy, a cocktail of emotions swirled in his stomach.

The day he held his child for the first time, he was stunned.

This tiny little human, with their little button nose and - his eyes.

He grew angry - angry at his Father, and by extension the World.

How could anyone bring something so small, so fragile, so perfect any harm?

Needless to say, he's a very protective Father.

If any of the Team were to meet the baby, he probably wouldn't even let any of his comrades hold them.

Maybe Johnny - but that's at a push, and he'd be hovering around him the whole time like a shadow.

He'd be soft for his child - but he'd try to be the strict parent, teaching them to be ready for whatever the world may throw their way.

If he had a daughter, would let her paint his nails - would sit there still as a statue, watching with soft eyes at how her tongue stuck out of the side of her mouth in concentration.

Speaking of, regardless of the child's gender - boyfriends / girlfriends / significant others would absolutely be interrogated before they even step a foot through the door.

"Who the fuck are you?" "You're 16?? Cunt, you look 30!"

It would essentially be like that scene from Bad Boys 2 - Soap would definitely be Will Smith in that scenario, accepting no criticism~

Would try to be there for every life event and would feel a deep seated guilt if he couldn't because he'd been deployed.

Overall, from day one, he'd made a promise to himself that he wouldn't let history repeat itself - he'd give his child everything he ever wanted growing up and more.

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

I can see him as a chill Dad.

He wouldn't let his child get away with murder, but he would be good cop 99% of the time.

Would absolutely spoil them rotten - they would have to so much as look at something they liked and he'd get it for them.

It would be his Mother that would have to try and get him to reign in the spending a bit.

Also carries the baby around in one of those baby carriers across his chest.

I think he has a big, close-knit family so the child would have a ball playing with all their cousins of mixed ages.

If he had a son, definitely tries to style his baby hairs into a little mohawk with gel.

Lets his kids express themselves however they want.

They want to dye their hair? He's driving them to the shops to get the supplies.

They want a piercing? As long as they're old enough, he's fine with it - and if they want him to go with them for moral support, he's already in the car.

I think the only think he'd be awkward about would be periods.

He'd try to be helpful...but he's not great at handling it.

C/N: Dad, I got my period.

Johnny: Oh - OH! Okay, that's - that's fine...ehh...do you...do you know what to do with it...or?

I can also see him just running into a shop in an absolute panic - asking the store clerk for assistance because he doesn't even know what he's looking for.

Returns home with three massive bags of supplies.

He'd be supportive with whatever they wanted to do in life - if they wanted to go to University, he'd help them with their application; if they wanted to get a job, he'd be helping them look for vacancies, driving them to their interviews; if they wanted to join the military however...he'd be reluctant, but he would never discourage them for pursing anything.

The only thing he'd have an issue with...is if his daughter got a boyfriend.

He'd not be as...hostile as Ghost, but the silent threat is always lingering in the air.

If anyone ever hurt his child, he can switch from fun-loving Johnny to Sergeant in the blink of an eye.

Captain John Price

That child has this man wrapped around their finger from day one.

Would give them the world if he could.

Would never smoke his cigars anywhere in the vicinity of them, and would hide them out of reach - especially during the curious toddler stage.

I can see him cutting up their grapes into smaller pieces, paranoid that they'd choke otherwise.

Has dozens of photos of them wearing his hat - even got them a toddler version of his own because they liked it so much.

Doesn't matter how old they are, they're still that little smiling baby in his eyes.

So needless to say, he's very protective.

Doesn't threaten potential partners - he doesn't need to, he's a Captain in the military, so nobody would be so stupid as to try and hurt his child.

Only brings the child on base when he knows that only people he can trust are there - ie. the 141 taskforce.

Follows the toddler as they waddle around, waving happily as they pass people - Soap ends up joining the little adventure since the little one took his hand and he didn't have the heart to let go.

Speaking of, despite not being given the official title, Soap becomes Uncle Soap the moment he claps eyes on Price's child.

Gaz too - he sent Price the photos he took of them wearing his sunglasses, a beaming smile on their face.

It came as a shock to everyone when they saw the child approach Ghost.

It even shocked Ghost when the child made eye contact with him - and didn't cry. Instead, they smiled, tugging on the leg of his trousers to be picked up. And, even more surprisingly, he did.

Price never has to worry about keeping his child safe - because god help whoever tried to hurt them when they have 4 highly trained SAS soldiers coming for them.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

He’d be one of those young, cool Dads.

Buys himself and the little one matching shoes.

Also matching outfits are the thing, especially during the toddler stage.

His kid would be the drippiest kid in the playground.

FaceTimes and calls home whenever he can when he’s deployed, seeing their little smiley face just makes his day so much brighter.

When he’s home he’s more than happy to spent chill days just watching cartoons with them on the couch, making pillow forts - he probably enjoys it more than the kid to be honest.

I reckon he’d struggle to actually parent the child, and would rather be their best friend than an authoritarian figure - ironic, considering he’s a Sergeant.

So it would probably be up to the child’s Mother to reign him in when he’s being a bit too soft or blasé.

Helps his kid build the best Minecraft house.

Loves being able to bring the child on base, showing them off to the Team.

Price secretly loves having the little one around, and they’re often found chilling together in his office.

Would absolutely spoil them - whether it be new toys, sweets or anything they wanted, he’d get it for them without a doubt.

Uncle Soap once spiked up the little one’s hair to match his own mohawk - Gaz wasn’t mad about it at all, and thought it actually looked cool as fuck.

If he had a daughter he would definitely sit down and learn how to do little braids in her hair.

Would also let her put little clips and bows in his hair, painting his nails to match.

He’d just be so soft for his child.

König

When the child was little, Konig was absolutely terrified that he would end up accidentally hurting them.

They were so small, barely even taller that his knee when he was standing, and all he could think about was what if he accidentally stood on their little foot or walked into them without noticing.

So, most of the time, he carried them around.

Would read books to them at bedtime, teaching them German and English to the best of his ability.

I don't think he'd wear his hood around them often, preferring his child to see his face rather than two eyes surrounded by black cloth.

Was genuinely surprised when they didn't cry after seeing him with it on; their little hand touched the cloth before breaking out into a sunny grin, "Dada!"

He probably cried a little bit after that.

He didn't have the greatest time growing up - so I think if his child ever got bullied, he would struggle to compose himself.

In his eyes, his child was perfect, so for anyone to go and make them feel bad about themselves - or worse yet, make them cry, it makes him see red.

Doesn't go and threaten the child - he'd not cruel. But the sight of a giant, masked man looming over all the other parents at school pick-up is more than enough to put the fear into anyone who had been picking on his kid.

Would probably teach them how to fight and defend themselves from a young age - he wouldn't always be around, due to deployment, so it gave him some peace of mind knowing that they would be able to defend themselves.

[warrioreowynofrohan]

After a reread of Persuasion, I’m thinking about how it relates to Austen’s character types discussed in this post. It stands out from S&S, P&P, and Mansfield Park in not haveing a ‘charming rake’ type as the main male antagonist, but instead a reserved, intelligent, courteous, cold-blooded and selfish man. There is no counterpart to Willoughby, Wickham, or Henry Crawford.

Instead, if Mr. Elliot is a counterpart to any of the characters in Austen’s other novels, he feels like a dark mirror of Darcy. They are both reserved; both (at least at the time of the main plot of the book) place a high value on social status, and look down on commonness and vulgarity. However, while Darcy’s arrogance makes him rude, Mr. Elliot has impeccable manners; and where Darcy in has strong principles and treats the people for whom he is responsible well, Mr. Elliot is a hypocrite and, though voicing good principles, is in fact cruel and uncaring to those who are dependent on him. Mr. Elliot is, really, the type of person that Wickham portrays Darcy as being. The other thing that brought this comparison to my mind is Mrs. Smith’s description of the friendship between her husband and Mr. Elliot, which very much recalls the one between Bingley and Darcy (as an additional note, both Mr. Smith and Bingley are named Charles):

From his wife’s account of him she could discern Mr. Smith to have been a man of warm feelings, easy temper, careless habits, and not strong understanding, much more amiable than his friend and very unlike him - led by him

I think this all goes with one of Austen’s common themes, and one that is especially important to Persuasion - the importance of not marrying in overmuch haste and without good knowledge of and, at a minimum, respect for your partner. Darcy is decidedly not like Mr. Elliot in character - but at the time if his first proposal, for all Elizabeth knew he might have been.

And on the flip side, Frederick Wentworth is not like Willoughby or Wickham - but given the short time Anne had known him when he first proposed, he might have been, and Lady Russell certainly sees that danger. He is, at that time, daring and charismatic, but not prudent, having saved none of the money that he won in his naval career. There’s also another reference to the ‘charming rake’ type in that, like Henry Crawford, he for a while courts two sisters, the elder of whom is attached (though, unlike Maria Bertram, not engaged) to another man. In Wentworth’s defence, he isn’t aware of the latter, and isn’t trying to make them both fall in love with him, just being his (naturally charming) self, and keeping his eyes open for who he might like to marry; and he very nearly gets himself badly entangled and, later, freely acknowledges that as his own fault. Really, Wentworth has elements of all three of Austen’s main male character types, and is the better for it. (Anne herself has, I think, the most in common with Elinor Dashwood in being the only sensible and intelligent person in her family, and in being very perceptive, and with Fanny Price is being rather quiet and imposed upon.)

On the whole, this combination of characters makes the book feel less on the side of intelligence and judgement, and more on the side of a warm and open heart, in making for happiness, whereas S&S and P&P focus more strongly on the need for ‘sense’ and intelligence. Intelligence may well be a necessary quality for a truly good marriage, but it is not a sufficient one, not when it is combined with a cold and selfish heart.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Rev. 22:20 - Chapter Three: Pray

Warnings: Talk of religion, angst, sexually suggestive language. Word count: ~2.5k

Summary: The novice deals with Aemond's presence in the sept.

Main series masterlist.

Author's note: I do not have a tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications to be updated when I post a fic. Community labels are for cops.

She cries all the way to King’s Landing, the words of her father echoing in her mind.

“Be grateful your fate does not lie with the Silent Sisters.”

Keeping her tongue in her head is a small mercy. She’ll be stripped of her House name, her status, her possessions, everything she has ever known is being taken away, all for a life in service of the Seven.

Her family aren’t even particularly pious, they just don’t know what else to do with her. Not now, anyway.

She sobs, head bowed as her father delivers the news with a withering sigh. She feels as though she is being treated as a matter that must be dealt with, a task to be struck from a list.

“I am your daughter!” She wants to scream. Instead she says nothing, helpless to the dissolution of her familial ties, forced to watch as the foundation of everything that makes her her crumbles away to nothing.

The Septa that is there to greet her upon her arrival is cold and stony faced. She spares but a mere glance around the vastness of the city that sprawls out around her, her senses jarringly alight from the sights, sounds and smells that are so different from home, before she is ushered inside.

The modest building hosts a series of simple, sparsely furnished rooms, which house the Septas not in service of noble families. Each room has a narrow single bed with a Seven Pointed Star above it, nothing more, no space for personal effects, not even a window to the outside world. This is home now, and it feels desolate.

She is stripped of the clothes she has travelled in, they are taken away and she never sees them again, the final remnants of her identity cast away, much like she has been.

Her hair is washed and her skin scrubbed raw, an act that feels as though it is as much to punish her as it is to cleanse her. She is grateful at least that the robes she is given to wear aren’t scratchy, though much more drab than what she is used to. She is not given the seven coloured cord to tie around her waist, or a pendant. It will be a year until she earns those.

Training begins in earnest. Gone are the days of lazy mornings breaking her fast on lemon cakes and honeyed wine. She is woken before the sun has yet to rise, forced into prayer, before being given a watery looking bowl of what she assumes was once oats.

She is tutored on every matter of the Seven. Considering she has never been especially religious, she learns fast, the rod that the Septa brings down upon her knuckles each time she falters or makes a mistake ensures that. By the end of the first week their names irreversibly etched into her brain, the throbbing in her hands serves as a harsh reminder.

Maiden, Mother, Crone. Father, Warrior, Smith. Stranger.

She is allowed nowhere near the Sept for the first six months of her training. The work she is given is back breaking and mind numbing. Washing robes, sweeping floors, preparing food, by the time evening prayer arrives each day she is too exhausted to think. She wonders if the reason that Septas are so devout in their beliefs is because they have been broken down to be too tired to ponder anything else.

Though she adapts quickly to her new way of life, she clings to her anger like a lifeline. It is the only thing she has left that is truly hers, it stokes the fire within her that means she is able to face the monotony of each day. It prickles at her insides as she spoons the tasteless broth of her evening meal into her mouth, resentful of the fact that at the same time her family are hundreds of miles away feasting on roasted meats and freshly baked bread.

Over time, thoughts of her old life fade, but her anger remains the same. When she bows her head in prayer she does not offer up thanks to the Seven, but questions why they have allowed her life to come to this.

She is taken aback by the sense of gratitude she feels when she is finally permitted to enter the Grand Sept. She feels wonder at the way the sunshine streams through the windows, the shadows the icons cast from its light are long and imposing. The vastness of the expansive, echoey space offers a sense of freedom that the confines of the sleeping quarters do not.

It is with quick realisation that she finds it is simply appreciation of the change of scenery, her relief short lived as she is put to work once more sweeping floors, replacing spent candles and tidying up after people that have come to worship.

She is tasked with the duty of taking daily confession, an important stepping stone in her training towards becoming a Septa. There is a part of her that swells with pride at taking on the additional responsibility, it is tangible proof of the fact that she is advancing, recognition of her hard work and ability to memorise and apply the prayers and scripture she has been taught.

It is not until she is actually inside the box that she realises that this is simply further torment. If she is lucky, she will sit through the mild mannered, yet inane ramblings of smallfolk with nothing better to do. If she is unlucky, and frequently she is, it will be someone who leans too close against the partition, the stench of stale ale upon their breath making her wish they’d thought to chew some sage before entering.

The rules for while she is in the Sept are strict. She must never venture beneath, it is where the dragons nest and is out of bounds to her. She must never speak to those that come to worship, unless they speak to her first.

She is told that the Queen enjoys visiting once a week. On the days of her visit, she must not stare, or disturb her prayers and remain silent unless asked a question.

The first time she is ever present for Queen Alicent’s weekly prayers, she does exactly as she’s told. She keeps to herself, moving about the chancel, replacing the spent candles with fresh ones.

She can feel herself being watched and tries her best to ignore it, though in her periphery she sees the tall, silver haired figure dressed in black, knelt beside his mother. She can tell from the patch that covers his eye that it is Prince Aemond.

She wonders why he stares at her so intently, feeling herself grow hot and uncomfortable beneath the intensity of it. Is she doing something wrong? Could she expect a scolding from one of the Septas later regarding some perceived slight?

It annoys her that if she is not permitted to stare, the same rules don’t apply to him. She is not in a position to challenge it, however, so simply continues her duties under the weight of his scrutiny.

When they finally finish their prayers and turn to leave, she chances a glance upwards in their direction. Her breath catches in her throat when she meets the piercing gaze of the One Eyed Prince. She feels like an animal caught in a snare with how he looks at her, yet she finds herself unable to look away.

Lingering beneath the hunger of his gaze is something else, she recognises it, she has seen it in herself. There is anger, white hot and tempestuous, it stirs unrest within her. Unable to bear it any longer, she finally looks away. And then he’s gone.

She pushes Aemond from her mind for the rest of the week. A spoiled Prince is the least of her worries, especially when getting to the end of each day feels like such a colossal effort. Yet each night as she drifts to sleep, her dreams are haunted by the intent behind his unwavering stare. It frightens and excites her and she awakens with a pounding heart and stickiness between her legs.

The following week, the morning of the Queen’s usual visit, she is plucked from her usual duties by a Septa who tells her she is to meet with the Queen. When she’d usually be sweeping the stone floor of the Sept, she is being scrubbed with the same intensity she was upon first arriving in the capital.

There is no time to think of who will be checking and replacing the candles, as she’s guided towards the Queen. Kind brown eyes and a warm smile greet her, though it is clear that this is a conversation that will be about her, rather than one she’ll be included in.

She stands very much on the sidelines while the Septa and the Queen discuss her various attributes, she simply nods and smiles, feeling like she is livestock being displayed at a market.

A shiver runs down her spine when the feeling of being watched returns and when she bows her head, sparing a glance to the side, he’s there again watching her. He hovers by a pillar, his posture rigid, eye fixed upon her unblinkingly.

His gaze is more heated than before, and she’d feel frightened were it not for the two women standing beside her. He looks as though he wants to devour her, and his mere presence renders her unable to concentrate on the rest of the conversation between the Septa and Alicent.

She’s grateful when the Queen takes her leave, assuming Aemond will have gone with her, yet the feeling of unease never fully leaves her. She can still feel his presence, it’s like an apparition that shrouds her every movement.

When it is time for afternoon confession, her fluttering nerves have quieted somewhat, replaced by the feeling of obstinate boredom that accompanies listening to the trivialities of the smallfolk.

She settles into the booth, a shadow passing over the partition as someone seats themselves beside her.

“Blessings be upon thee,” she greets them, “are you here to confess?”

They draw in a hesitant, nervous breath. “Y-yes, I am here to confess.”

His voice unnerves her, it is soft and saccharine, yet there is a sinister edge to it, like being coaxed to one’s death on the dulcet notes of a lullaby. She pushes the thought from her mind, trying her best to remain calm.

She has been trained for this. It is not uncommon for people to feel shame or apprehension when making a confession. She does her best to encourage the man, keeping her tone soft. “Then unburden yourself to me, and be cleansed of your sins.”

Another pause. She allows him a moment to collect his thoughts.

“I-I covet what my brother has, and I am resentful that as first born he is given everything and squanders it.”

Not particularly scandalous, she offers up simple advice, hoping it will be enough to sate the man seated on the other side of the partition. “You must pray to The Smith for the strength to overcome your jealous nature.”

She is surprised that he doesn’t immediately get up and leave. Most usually give thanks and make a swift exit, believing themselves to be absolved of their sins. He remains seated, and she hears him speak again.

“I harbour ill intent towards my nephew. I have never forgiven him for taking my eye. I wish for his in exchange.”

She cannot help it, but she gasps. There is only one man in all of Westeros whose eye has been taken by his nephew - it is a tale told in hushed tones in every feasting hall from Oldtown, all the way to White Harbor.

Prince Aemond sits beside her, the same man that has gazed upon her with hunger in his seeing eye. A partition is all that separates her from him.

Is this a test? Will she get into trouble if she does not treat him as she does everyone else?

“Pray…pray to the Father for the wisdom to accept the justice you will never receive, and to the Warrior to have the valour to forgive such a slight.”

Why won’t he leave?

“I have been having lustful thoughts…about a woman, a novice from this very Sept.”

She swallows thickly, her heart hammering wildly against her ribcage, closing her eyes as she draws in a steading breath.

I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.

“I imagine taking her virtue on the very altar to which the people of King’s Landing offer up their prayers, I think about how she’d feel writhing beneath me as I rut into her, I–”

Her breath escapes her in a whine, fear and exhilaration heating her blood, causing her pulse to race. She feels trapped, this isn’t fair. 

“P-please…” Her voice is trembling, her breathing ragged.

She startles slightly when, abruptly, he stands and leaves without a word. She feels bewildered, dizzy, unable to comprehend what she has heard. Was he playing a cruel joke on her?

She has little time to ponder on it as another person steps into the confession booth not long after Aemond has departed.

The rest of the day passes in a daze, it feels surreal. Perhaps she imagined it? She has grown used to a life of monotony, perhaps this is her mind’s way of creating excitement.

For another week, Prince Aemond plagues her dreams. This time it is more than just his stare she sees. His words come to her, clear as day, “I have been having lustful thoughts”, yet when she turns to look, his words are coming from a looking glass, and it is only herself she sees.

She is quietly surprised and, deep down, a little disappointed, when the day of the Queen’s visit arrives and this time it is not Aemond that accompanies her. A young, fair haired woman with a dreamy look about her hovers by Alicent’s side, her posture slouched. Alicent’s daughter, Princess Helaena, she assumes. She wonders where her younger brother is today. 

There is quiet relief to be found in the absence of his oppressive gaze, yet she cannot help the sense of dread that settles into her gut, there is something foreboding about the lack of his presence.

She has a feeling, something in her bones, that tells her he’ll appear to her today, she just isn’t sure when. As the day presses on, impatience takes over her, a restlessness guides her actions as she goes about her daily tasks, a feeling of yearning, fear, anticipation.

Hope has all but left her when she retires to bed that night, changed out of her robes and into her nightgown, settled beneath her blanket. She is about to snuff out the candle when a flash of silver hair shifting in the shadows of her doorway catches her eye.

“I knew you’d come,” she whispers quietly.

[alphynix]

Crystal Palace Field Trip Part 3: Walking With Victorian Beasts

[Previously: the Jurassic and Cretaceous]

The final section of the Crystal Palace Dinosaur trail brings us to the Cenozoic, and a selection of ancient mammals.

Image from 2009 by Loz Pycock (CC BY-SA 2.0)

Originally represented by three statues, there are two surviving originals of the Eocene-aged palaeotheres depicting Plagiolophus minor (the smaller sitting one) and Palaeotherium medium (the larger standing one).

The sitting palaeothere unfortunately lost its head sometime in the late 20th century, and the image above shows it with a modern fiberglass replacement. Then around 2014/2015 the new head was knocked off again, and has not yet been reattached – partly due to a recent discovery that it wasn't actually accurate to the sculpture's original design. Instead there are plans to eventually restore it with a much more faithful head.

These early odd-toed ungulates were already known from near-complete skeletons in the 1850s, and are depicted here as tapir-like animals with short trunks based on the scientific opinion of the time. We now think their heads would have looked more horse-like, without trunks, but otherwise they're not too far off modern reconstructions.

There was also something exciting nearby:

The recently-recreated Palaeotherium magnum!

This sculpture went missing sometime after the 1950s, and its existence was almost completely forgotten until archive images of it were discovered a few years ago. Funds were raised to create a replica as accurate to the original as possible, and in summer 2023 (just a month before the date of my visit) this larger palaeothere species finally rejoined its companions in the park.

Compared to the other palaeotheres this one is weird, though. Much chonkier, wrinkly, and with big eyes and an almost cartoonish tubular trunk. It seems to have taken a lot of anatomical inspiration from animals like rhinos and elephants, since in the mid-1800s odd-toed ungulates were grouped together with "pachyderms".

———

Next is Anoplotherium, an Eocene even-toed ungulate distantly related to modern camels.

(Apparently the sculpture closest to the water is a replica of a now-lost original, recreated from photo references in the same manner as the new Palaeotherium magnum. I can't find a definite reference for when this one was done, though – I'd guess probably during the last round of major renovations in the early 2000s, at the same time as the now-destroyed Jurassic pterosaur replicas?)

Anoplotherium commune is a rather obscure species today, but it was one of the first early Cenozoic fossil mammals to be recognized by science in the early 1800s. Depicted here as small camel-like animals, the three statues are positioned near the water's edge to reflect the Victorian idea that they were semi-aquatic based on their muscular tails.

Today we instead think these animals were fully terrestrial, using their tails to balance themselves while rearing up to reach higher vegetation. Their heads would also have looked a bit less camel-like, but otherwise the Crystal Palace trio are still really good representations.

———

Next is a sculpture that's very easy to miss in the current overgrown state.

Who's that peeking over the bushes?

Going all the way around to the far side of the lake reveals a distant glimpse of the Pliocene-to-Holocene giant ground sloth Megatherium.

A better view of the Megatherium | "Tree Hugger" by Colin Smith (CC BY-SA 2.0)

Fossils of Megatherium americanum had been known since the late 1700s, but the 1854 Crystal Palace statue was still one of the first life reconstructions of this animal. Its anatomy is actually very close to our modern understanding, depicted with correctly inward-turned feet and sitting upright to feed on a tree with its tail acting as a "tripod".

However, we now know it didn't have a trunk-like nose, but instead probably had prehensile lips more like those of a modern black rhino.

Something weird also appears to have happened to the Crystal Palace Megatherium's hands. Early illustrations of the sculpture all consistently show it with the typical long claws of a sloth, but today it's missing its right hand and its left has only a strangely stumpy paw – suggesting that at some point in the intervening 170 years there was an unrecorded crude repair.

———

And finally we end the trail with three Megaloceros, the Pleistocene-to-Holocene "Irish Elk" that's actually neither exclusively Irish nor an elk.

A closer look at the second stag and the doe.

There was originally a fourth giant deer sculpture in this herd, a second resting doe, but it was destroyed sometime during the mid-20th century. The stags also initially had real fossil antlers attached to their heads, but these were removed and replaced with less accurate versions at some point by the mid-20th century.

One of the stags' antlers suffered some damage in 2020, ending up drooping, and since then one antler has either fallen off or been removed.

In the 1850s Megaloceros giganteus was thought to be closely related to deer in the genus Cervus, and so the Crystal Palace reconstructions seem to be based on modern wapiti – specifically in their winter coats, fitting for ice age animals – since both the stags and the doe sport distinctive thick neck manes.

The stags from the other side.

We now know Megaloceros was actually much more closely related to modern fallow deer, and so probably resembled them more than wapiti. Cave art also shows that it had a hump on its shoulders, and even gives us an idea of what its coloration was.

———

…But wait!

There's actually one more thing.

A small statue sitting on the far side of the deer herd, missing its ears, and seemingly representing a Megaloceros fawn.

Except it's actually something very different and very special.

Ceci n'est pas un cerf.

Some recent investigation work revealed some surprising information about the Crystal Palace mammal statues – much like the nearly-forgotten large Palaeotherium, there was originally an entire group of four small Eocene-aged llama-like Xiphodon gracilis that had disappeared from living memory.

There was also no historic record of a fawn with the giant deer, but instead a suspiciously similar-looking sitting sculpture is illustrated among what we now known are the four missing Xiphodon in early records.

An 1853 illustration of the sculpture workshop. The four Xiphodon are shown in the center, directly in front of a Megaloceros stag and doe. (public domain)

Somewhere in the late 19th or early 20th century three of the Xiphodon must have been completely lost, and the remaining individual was misidentified as a fawn and placed with the giant deer herd.

———

Rediscovering a whole extra species among the Crystal Palace statues is exciting, but it also demonstrates just how much of these sculptures' history has gone completely undocumented. 

The mammal statues especially seem to have suffered the most out of the "Dinosaur Court", being often overlooked, neglected, disrespected (at one point the Megatherium was inside a goat pen in a petting zoo!), and subjected to cruder repairs. A total of five original statues are now known to be missing from this Cenozoic section – the original large Palaeotherium, the three other Xiphodon, and the second Megaloceros doe – compared to the two pterosaurs lost from the Mesozoic island.

Hopefully the excellent recreation of the lost Palaeotherium magnum is the start of a long overdue new lease of life and conservation attention for all of the Crystal Palace sculptures. It was disappointing seeing them all in such an overgrown state, and with signs of ongoing disrepair in places such as the plant growing out of the big ichthyosaur's back.

But there has been some resurgence of interest and public attention in the Crystal Palace sculptures over the last few years, so with any luck these historic pieces of early paleoart will survive on to their 200th anniversary and beyond, to keep on reminding us of where things began and how far our understanding of prehistoric life has since come.

[sotwk]

Apart from being the Crown Prince of the Woodland Realm, Mirion Thranduilion is best remembered in his realm’s history for two things: his ferocity and devotedness as Protector of the Realm, and his skill as a master bladesmith.

With talent unmatched by any other Elven weaponsmith remaining in the Third Age, Mirion designed and personally crafted armor and weaponry for the soldiers of the Woodland Realm. His first-hand practical knowledge of armed combat (aided further by the battle expertise of his father) gave him an elevated understanding of how to design weapons that were both functional and efficient while still being beautiful works of art.  

Although Thranduil’s sword is the most recognizable weapon in the history of the Woodland Realm, Mirion’s personal sword would be judged the strongest blade. Both were designed and made by the Crown Prince, and although they were forged from the same rare material, they were two very different swords crafted for different purposes and fighting styles. 

On one hand, Thranduil’s sword is lighter, more beautiful and elegant, and made for speed and single-handed wielding. 

On the other hand, here are SotWK AU headcanons regarding…

Gwaedhang: the greatsword of the Crown Prince of the Woodland Realm

Mirion’s sword was named Gwaedhang, Sindarin for “Iron Oath”.

It is 78 inches (198 cm) long--just 2 inches shorter than Legolas! 

It weighs 10 pounds (4.5 kg), which is extremely heavy for a combat blade. 

In contrast to all the other weapons he made, Mirion kept the design of Gwaedhang’s blade simple, bearing only an inscription--his personal oath to his people, written in Silvan: “Until my last breath, I will serve.”

Gwaedhang’s black-blue steel blade was made from a very rare ore sourced from the deepest mines of Khazad-dûm a thousand years before its fall. 

It was forged in Khazad-dûm by Mirion in TA 1035, in collaboration with the best dwarf-smiths and King Durin V himself. 

The greatsword took nearly five years to complete. 

It draws its power from the union of Elven and Dwarven knowledge, the strength of the unique black alloy developed from the rare ore, and Mirion’s Noldorin “magic”--supernatural crafting abilities that he was born with, and that grew under the guidance of his mother.

Gwaedhang is sharp and strong enough to slash through virtually any substance without being damaged or losing its edge. Although never tested, it is also believed able to withstand the most extreme heat, including dragonfire. It is considered indestructible. 

Gwaedhang is so large, heavy and dangerous, only three people ever wielded it in combat: Mirion, Thranduil, and Turhir. Mirion alone had both the strength and sufficient practice to use it single-handed on the battlefield. (And yes, the fact that the sword is named “Oath” also symbolizes the weight of the oath of duty Mirion took upon his shoulders.)

When Mirion fought with Gwaedhang, he was known to effortlessly cleave in half grown spiders and monsters with one stroke, and behead a line of orcs in a single swing.

Upon Mirion’s death, the sword became a treasured heirloom of the realm. It is displayed publicly as part of a memorial statue honoring the late prince, and the Elves of the realm continue to come there to pay their respects.  

Want to learn more about Mirion? Mirion Headcanon Masterlist

@creativity-of-death I'm sure you don't remember anymore, (and I can't blame you!) but this post was written as a LONG-delayed response to your Ask in my Headcanon Ask Game. A Lannister SotWK always pays their debts, and I'm trying to prove that! ;)

OTHER USEFUL LINKS:

Introduction to SotWK

Main Headcanon Masterlist

[teencopandthesourwolf]

WEEKEND WIP

from my current derek pov sterek wip with the working title of 'RED RAG TO A WOLF'

.

He knew it was there the moment the sliding door to his apartment clicked shut; the moment everybody left. The pack hadn't even made it down the old service elevator when Derek sensed it, scenting the spicy-sweetness that clung to the cool air, stubborn as a fever—and far too strong considering the loft's now-empty status.

Granted, he didn't know exactly what ‘it’ was yet, only that something of the kid's had been left behind.

He spotted it as soon as he turned around.

Derek breathed in, deeply, and anger flared brightly in his gut. He was fuming at just how damn happy that warming scent made him, and how it seemed like he now had his very own aromatic keepsake just to fucking prove it.

This was bad.

Dangerous.

Rooted to the spot, Derek cautiously eyed the innocuous folds of red spilling over the top of those stupid pillows Stiles had talked him into buying, his teeth and fists clenching (along with his heart).

They'd bumped into each other a while back—quite literally—in Bed Bath & Beyond when Stiles had turned a corner wearing those stupid lime-green headphones, and slammed right into Derek.

There'd been an excessively loud exclamation of, “What the shit?” and then, “Derek?!” as Stiles removed the headphones and nestled them snugly around the base of his long, pale neck, Bigmouth Strikes Again by The Smiths still appropriately blasting through them.

Stilinski had then cracked up and whooped like a hyena for almost a full minute straight, apparently at the mere notion of Derek's presence in the store.

“You? In a place like this? But Der, you're like, a werewolf, dude! A creature of the night!” he's said, and had punctuated the assessment by curling his bendy body into a ridiculous monster-esque mime, crossing his wide eyes and letting his tongue loll out of the side of his mouth as he’d gargled his own spit in some sort of supposed gnarly roar.

Just as Derek had been considering how Stiles sounded a bit like a traumatised washing machine, the kid had burst into yet more fits of mocking laughter, doubling over this time while wiping his mouth with the back of one hand and clutching at his side with the other.

What was so hilarious about someone needing to buy a toilet roll holder was honestly still a complete fucking mystery to Derek, but whatever.

At the time, he'd wanted to howl and snap his jaws at the kid for his sass. But Derek's general rule of thumb these days was to try his level best to not get so uptight about the more inane concepts that weaved in and out of Stiles Stilinski's baffling brain on a millisecond-to-millisecond basis, nor to give him any fuel for his ever-burning Sourwolf fire. So he'd nonchalantly raised an eyebrow and given back as good as he got by saying, “Which means what, exactly? That I'm only supposed to shop at PetSmart at three AM for my monthly supply of rabbit flavoured kibble?” and told himself not to dwell on it.

Then instead of doing the decent thing and leaving Derek the hell alone to get on with his Saturday afternoon, Stiles had proceeded to follow him around the store because the Beacon Hills Friendly-Yet-Hyperactive Neighbourhood Sheriff's Kid was just kind of excessively infuriating like that.

Stiles had disappeared for a moment, then reappeared and proceeded to thrust a shopping cart towards Derek, insisting Derek needed it for the random shit he’d started selecting from the various displays and unceremoniously dumping into the wire basket on wheels; random shit he was also insisting Derek needed. Derek proceeded to remove all unnecessary items right after Stiles dropped each of them in, the kid either not caring enough to challenge him on it or simply none the wiser amid his animated spiel about someone named, “Marie frickin Kondo, man!”

Apart from the pillows.

Apparently, Derek didn't hate the super-soft (if stupidly named) ‘Wolf-Skin’ material covering the particular pillows Stiles had picked out for him when the puzzling human had gasped and crowed, “Oh my God, Derek, can you believe they're named Wolf-Skin? They are totally perfect for you! And even more importantly: They spark joy, dude!”

Whatever the fuck that meant.

.

[thrashkink-coven]

Hi all,

Welcome to the last part of my 2024 altar tour! 4/4

What a year it has been! I have learned so much and made so many new friends! My altar has always been a reflection of my psyche, seeing it’s beauty reminds me of the beauty that exists within me. :)

So this is my final little work space where I do pendulum magick and tarot readings. There is a devotional mug to Lord Lucifer which I use for our morning coffee chats. There is also Lucifer’s devotional dragon statue, as well as the dual scrying mirror for him and Faviel.

There is a normal mirror and a statue of a pharaoh’s tomb. The board which the flowers and offerings are placed on dawns Faviel’s sigil and candle. To Faviel I have offered a palm stone, flowers, an acorn, smoky quartz, some black earrings, and some grubs.

Beside him is my pendulum in a selenite charging bowl along with my pendulum mat.

The black and white image you see was a piece of art I made for Archangel Jophiel after he gifted me a vision a year or so ago. I use it whenever I’m reaching out to him.

Beneath my altar is some space for storage where I keep my larger cauldron, mortar and pestle, larger candles, etc. There is also my stand where I keep my broom, fire poker, and shovel. My witch broom is wrapped in a protective seal. I use it to sweep ash from my prayer mat.

And finally, here are a few of the books I have in my collection that have greatly greatly aided me in my craft. Remember to do your research my dears!

The Arbatel of Magick- First English edition 1633, new edition 2013, edited by Earl Marwick

Healing with Form, Energy, and Light- Tenzin Wangyal Rinpoche

Gods and Goddesses- Hallam, Elizabeth

The Lesser Key of Solomon- S.L MacGregor Mathers and Aleister Crowley

The Dictionary of Alchemy- Diana Fernando

The Art of Angels- Howard Loxton

Backland’s Book of Spirit Communications- Raymond Buckland

Transcendental Magick- Éliphas Lévi

The Greater Key of Solomon- S.L MacGregor Mathers

A History of God- Karen Armstrong

A Dictionary of Angels, Including Fallen Angels- Gustav Davidson

Making Talismans- Nick Farrell

The Sixth and Seventh Books of Moses- Johann Scheibel

The Egyptian Book of the Dead

The Rise and Fall of the Nephilim- Scott Alan Roberts

Buckland’s Complete Book of Witchcraft- Raymond Buckland

Candle Burning Rituals- Raymond Buckland

The Complete Book of Black Magick and Witchcraft

Green Witchcraft, Folk Magick, Fairy Lore & Herb Craft- Ann Moura

The Book of Forbidden Knowledge, Black Magick, Superstition, Charms and Divination- First Edition 1910s Johnson Smith & co. New Edition 2016 edited by Earl Marwick

Three Books of Occult Philosophy- Henry Cornelius Agrippa

and of course, The Holy Bible- New Living Translation.

I have many other books in my collection on tarot and astrology in my living room, but these are the books that have had the greatest impact on my craft. Here are a few of those other ones:

Love Potions- Tatania Hardie

The Book of Destinies- Jane Struthers

The Crystal Bible 2- Judy Hall

The Tarot Bible- Sarah Barlett

The Wicca Bible- Ann Marie Gallagher

Cunningham’s Encyclopedia of Magical Herbs- Scott Cunningham

Magic and Medicine of Plants- Reader’s Digest

The Power of Birthdays Stars and Numbers- Saffi Crawford and Geraldine Sullivan

The Witches’ Goddess- Janet and Stewart Farrar

The Witches’ God- Janet and Stewart Farrar

•••

I wanted to end this tour off with my reading material because I want to emphasize how important it is to understand that “magick” is not just “stuff”.

I really enjoy all of my magical tools and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with having and wanting pretty things or an aesthetically pleasing altar. In fact I believe aesthetic and care are acts of love in themselves. Don’t ever let someone shame you for wanting to decorate and indulge in the aesthetics of your craft.

But please do remember that our greatest magical tool is our minds, our senses, and our experiences- our brains. Remember to read read read lots of material from many different sources. Contemplate honestly on everything you read, hear and experience. Do not take everything you believe today as a fact, do not box yourself in to anything. (Maybe that’s the Luciferian in me speaking lol)

Learn how to do magick alone, without any tools. My magick is not my stuff, although my stuff greatly aids me in my magick. Does that make sense?

Thank you so much for reading! I look forward to growing and learning so much more this year! :)

Blessed be!

[ganondoodle]

some random ideas for the totk rewritten project

krog (korok) seeds

i think i found a way to include krog seeds even if i reintroduced bags for expanding your inventory- what if the krog seeds are redeemed for the amiibo sets and maybe a few new things? that way you are not forced to engage with krog puzzles if you are tired of them and its not essential either, you can choose what armor set you want instead of being "surpised" by the same link hat three times in a row for fighting your way through the depths (like i was lol)

considering im rewriting the krog forest to be like a minidungeon with a unique miniboss and boss AND you start the quest for restoring the master sword there i think that this is acceptable

what if one of the expensive rewards was a krog armor set that includes the mask from the botw DLC but adds two more pieces, its effect could be to turn invisible as the krogs are to most people; considering how they are not invisible to everyone it could still work with important NPCs still seeing you AND you could run through monster camps without them chasing you if you just want to get through without you attacking them- since its expensive you gotta gather alot of krog seeds to buy it meaning it wouldnt make encounters much easier bc you have to fight alot of monsters before being able to afford it anyway and the effect is removed once you attack an enemy .... or maybe once you are spotted you can stand still and the effect restores itself nhfkjdnkjfdk

food + storage

to raise the difficulty a little i thought about bringing bottles back, they are physical items this time with a limited number and are able to store medicine and soup that has no expiration date; personally i like cooking tho so i want to keep it, maybe with the effect of being a bit more limited in number and, while not spoiling completely, it loses some of its effectiveness over time

how you use them im not yet sure, either the same way in inventory (which i think i will go for since i dont want to change it that drastically and with the added balance of limitation i think that is still fine) or on some kind of item wheel you can set yourself like in skyward sword

there are bags you can find as bigger items that will expand your weapon, shield or bow inventory slots, perhaps a small bag gives you one and a big one two slots- it would be a bigger and different reward for exploring or quests and fills the spot for inventory expansion

theres a chest in links house (i thought maybe links house is still links but they built onto it so zelda has a place to stay as well, like a bigger/double house) that can hold armor sets if you dont want to keep carrying all of them around but dont want to sell them either

repairable weapons through zelda

weapons still break but are full weapons again, i found the excuse of them all being useless now through the cataclysm ... somehow for some reason a pretty blatant way for forcing you to fuse stuff bc its literally the only viable thing to do, but i like the idea of inventing new weapons with materials; to balance it out and give you an incentive to help out your friends i figured that at first weapons still break, but in each region is a smith that can teach zelda (who is your companion in this rewrite) how to repair weapons of a certain type (zora, spear, goron, two handed, rito, bows, gerudo, one handed-- perhaps it is a longer quest of idk .. bringing certain weapons to those smith or similar) which she can do anywhere outside combat;

how broken the weapon is determines how much extra material she may need to do it- im still working on it but i got the idea of the status of the weapon being symbolized in three stages, fine, damaged and broken; damaged is the one that needs less material to fix up, broken costs more- a broken one might still occupy an inventory slot but is unusable or very very bad damage wise, you can throw it away either manually or when you try to pick up a new one you can choose if you want to swap it out (just like they did with stuff from chests in totk .. idk why they didnt add that to in game weapons lying on the ground too) or choose to keep it and repair it once you are out of combat

arrow types

i dont like the menuing in totk for the arrows ... it was one of the most frustrating things to deal with (especialyl bc it sorted your inventory too??? when you used the sorting in the quick menu???) so i wanted to change that a little, havign to go into the quick menu everytime for each arrow i find tedious too, so;

there are more arrow types but they are craftable with arrows and materials, you can craft them in bulk out of combat (the typical types from botw -fire,eletric,ice,bombs- but then add those confusion ones, wind, the cloudy shroom thingy, poison .. perhaps a few more if i can think of more but not too mayn to not clutter it again)

enigma stones function

i wanted to change how enigma stones function somewhat, they dont "enhance" the ability of the champion/sage (i still wanna call them chmapions bc thats what they areeeee) it allows them to link an ability of theirs to link without the orginal champion having to be present or dead, the stones come in set of two each and function somewhat like a magic communication between the player and the champion, once you obtain the second piece its embedded into links shiekah arm prosthetic (also something of my rewrite) and allow him to call upon their ability at will through a second selection wheel

ranch ruins

the ranch ruins i wanted to be rebuild (bc thats cool and i thought restoration was a theme? lol) and maybe you help rebuild it proper and as thanks you can put your horses there to roam around all at once when not taken out to ride, not a big gameplay thing but a neat quest with a rebuilding thing of a building we havent seen in its prime and a neat addition of letting you see all your horsies at once :)

(totk rewritten project)

[lady-phasma]

My sister is finally watching House of the Dragon and one thing that continues to be brought up in our discussions is Matt Smith's acting through microexpressions. We're going to go back and discuss this shot, but I wanted to make the gif for it and post some of my thoughts about what makes it an incredibly important skill to have have especially for tight close-ups. Many actors have emotive faces (and many actors are better or worse than Matt), but this stands out as an example every time I rewatch episode three.

I slowed the gif to 90% speed just to make it a little easier to see how Daemon's emotions are conveyed since we can't pause gifs. The original clip is 5 seconds (the gif is appx 6 seconds) and there are three distinct emotions expressed in this short amount of time.

Although most of us will know the context, here's a brief reminder: Daemon has just read the scroll from Viserys denying him assistance against the Triarchy. Daemon turns his back on the gathered army and leans on the table.Then the shot cuts to this extreme close-up.

Daemon's first expression is communicated by looking off to a distant point and is contemplative. He is thinking about the contents of the letter, processing the information.

Next, he glances downward, expressing disappointment, which then transforms into a smile. This smile is peculiar and I can't come up with a single word to describe the emotion. It is the feeling of "why am I even surprised? I should have expected this." Mild humor mixed with confirmed (and disappointing) expectations. It also borders on resignation. I stopped the clip here, but the next instance is when he lets his rage out by beating the messenger with his helmet.

So why is this important? Character development doesn't only occur through dialogue, plot, or large actions. Yes, the action Daemon chose next develops his character immensely, but this tiny shot shows how he came to that action. Daemon, like every character in the series, has complex emotions that we don't always see without repeat viewings. Here, Matt does an excellent job of explaining what the current status is of Daemon's relationship with Viserys. As well as Daemon's frustration at always having to do everything himself (in his mind at least), and this helps the viewer understand why he goes after The Crab Feeder alone.

Moments such as this in any film/series are subtle enough that we often don't know that we have even noticed and interpreted them. However, we often do it in real time and it makes our experience of the characters and stories that much richer.