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eilidh-eternal · 6 months

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You learn the truth

Part of the Metanoia series | Part 1 | Masterlist | Ao3 |

Thank you @gemmahale for reading this monstrosity and helping me fine-tune it <3

“Sergeant. How copy?”

Simon looms over Johnny in the team room, sidled up to a sagging couch that’s seen better days, and when he lifts his derelict gaze from the battle-worn photo in his hands he’s met with pinched brows, sloped granite, and folded arms. Worry, in the staid manner he’s come to expect from Simon.

“Solid, Lt,” he answers dutifully, devoid of his usual ebullience, and with a tenor forged from damascus and flint.

Simon rounds with a languid gait to the opposite cushion, stained with something dark, iron-rich and oxidizing in the loose weave, and lowers himself down beside him. Holds out a gloved hand. Johnny obeys his silent command and relinquishes what might just be the most valuable thing he owns. Deposits it gingerly in his waiting palm.

“How’s she doin’?” he asks, smoothing out a crease in the portrait.

“Started school this past year. Whole head taller than last ye saw her. Still carries that damn bear ‘round the house, too.” Takes his tea the same as Simon, according to Isobel.

“Better that than the bloody mask.”

“Aye. Better, that,” he agrees, and a ragged breath saws out of his lungs when he sinks back into the sun-bleached nylon.

“And your pet?” Simon passes the photo back and Johnny tucks it reverently back into his breast pocket, folded neatly and pressed close to his heart—where it belongs.

“Isnae ‘mine’,” he drawls, somnolence roughening his voice despite the afternoon sun pouring in through the concrete window. “Stubborn thing, too. Hasnae been answerin’ her phone.”

“That what’s got you mithered?”

“Worried,” Johnny corrects, and Simon folds his hands across his midsection, settling back alongside him with a throaty grunt and the echo of artillery fire in his bones, popping and cracking beneath the weight of his battle-worn body.

“All the same, innit?”

“Not with her. Not when she…” He toys with a clip on a canvas belt loop, rough fingers tracing the burnished amalgam of iron and carbon, and for a moment, he feels your skin. Metallic beneath his touch, chilled by the wind, precious and perfect in his hands. “You an’ her are cut from the same cloth. Dinnae care much for sharin’.” Even when you should.

You keep him up at night, itinerant thoughts always finding their way through the morass of post-operative lassitude back to you. Wondering what you fill your days with. If you still linger by the window in the placid hours of the morning with a steaming, ceramic mug warming your hands, marking the passage of time by the melting of the ice. If the final snow of spring has laced the wild cherry trees along the row with pearl-drop blossoms and an almond sillage. If you’ve seen the picture he managed to take from the ramp mid-flight, on transport to Laswell’s station, mareel lea of clouds undulating beneath a star-flecked velarium.

Thinking about all the things he said, and the things he didn’t, before he left. Burning with the memory of you, pressed flush against him; soft and warm and safe in the lambent halo of his arms. You felt like his in that moment, and he lies awake, breathing in char and soot from the moreish conflagration ravaging his chest, staining his throat a fuliginous shade of black with each serrated exhale.

He might have told Simon—if the big bastard weren’t rattling the ballistic glass in his sleep.

You’re standing in the pasta aisle, staring at the selection of boxed macaroni, and you’re drifting further and further into an endless, atramentous night.

Funny, you think, when the sun and stars live next door. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. None of it was supposed to be this way. Stars don't fall from the sky. But meteors do. And now… now you have to crawl out of the crater at the bottom of a pitiless ocean, navigate the upheaval of silt and abysmal detritus, and search for the surface without the gilded hand of the sun to guide you.

You should have stayed away.

Isobel would choose the box with the cartoonish bear. Johnny would make a joke about bears liking porridge, not cheesy noodles. You toss it in your basket with the rest of your ready meals, soggy cardboard already weeping condensation, and battle the undertow to the queue at the till.

You should have left them alone.

“Beautiful day, today is.” They don't know that the stars have gone nova. That the ossified remains of the Earth creak and settle in the brumal gloaming, caliginous and desolate. They can’t hear you, pounding on the ice, desperate for apricity in a nuclear winter.

Now you’re the one who’s alone.

“It is,” you lie, and the effluvium of ozone burns your lungs. Cauterizes the hemorrhaging, pulpy mess you call a heart, languishing in the frangible cage of your ribs.

Free divers can hold their breath for 10 minutes at a time. You wonder how long you’ll last trapped beneath a frozen mantle.

It snowed again, the morning Johnny left—pillowed the earth in anticipation of your fall—but several weeks of sleet and freezing rain has turned the pavement into a patchwork of slush and ice that mimics the glacial floes in your veins. Your wellies don’t have the same grip as proper snow boots. Crampons are better suited for the climb ahead. Neither are very practical for a quick trip to Tesco, though. Would look quite odd, standing on ice cleats in the pasta aisle.

The same can’t be said of the car park. With your canvas tote clutched close to your side, you pick your way through fissures of lingering snow. Opt for trickling streams of runoff rather than attempting to balance on the slick pavement. It’s slow going. Tedious. The lingering wind of last week's squall whips at your exposed skin. Lashes and bites, pumping a gelid venom into your veins, and the blackening, gangrenous bits of your mangled heart feel numb. Numb enough that you don’t immediately recognize the car parked next to yours. Twin sets of eyes, stratified ice, rich with moraine, watching from the windows. You don’t realize how the world suddenly feels too bright, staring up through a polynya, until you glimpse an aureate complexion and charcoal hair, silver-streaked with ash and tied up in a loose pony, emerging from the driver's seat.

Fenella MacTavish is a star in her own right. Has a gravity to her that demands to be felt and heard. The pull of your name on her lips drags you through the hole in the ice and dangles you there. Bait for something bigger. Hungrier. And she does it all with a friendly face, a cordon of coronal light woven into a beaming smile—aimed at the fallstreak hole that’s been punched through your sternum.

“Ye’re a fair way from home, lass.” The divisional line of the Baltic and North Sea, from the feel of it. Or maybe somewhere off the coast of Shetland. It doesn’t really matter. Dread still percolates down your spine and you blink against the sudden shock of the sun emerging from the clouds, lurid rays burrowing into your retinas.

“Better prices for produce on this side of town,” you hedge, and she looks pointedly at the sharp protrusions of box corners against canvas, faultline of her brow erupting with skepticism.

“Thought Tesco’s all have the same prices, more or less,” she reasons, and you watch the way she leans against the D pillar, arms folded and braced against a hiemal wind that tousles loose strands of hair about her face. A similar image of Johnny from several weeks ago effervesces to the surface of your memory and you shove it down. Drown it in the brine that spumes on roiling white caps.

You answer with an indolent shrug and make to step around her, slipping your hand in a fleece-lined coat pocket in search of your keys, but like the other MacTavishes you’ve come to know, Fenella has a propensity for prying questions.

“Have ye heard from Joh—”

“No,” you say before she can speak his name, gloved fingers curling around the worn canvas strap across your shoulder like it’s a lifeline. Trying to pull yourself away from the hole in the ice, procellous waves lapping hungrily at your feet where she dangles you from artfully strung words. It’s not technically a lie. Even if there’s a novel's worth of texts from him that have gone unopened and unanswered. “I have—”

“Come have dinner wi’ us,” she volleys back. Guts the wretched desiderium curled at the back of your throat, backed into a corner and hissing at anything that comes near. Coaxes the dolorous, indignant want festering in your chest into the light.

You want Johnny and his ribald jokes. Want him to look at you the way he looks at Isobel when they walk together. To hold your hand inside the pocket of his coat when you both forget your gloves on the way to pick her up from school. Remind you to leave work at the door. Shut your laptop and close the manuscript. Give yourself a break and come watch some mind rotting show with him and Isobel on the couch. Curl up in a tartan blanket, woven with his family's colors, and pretend you aren't falling asleep with your cheek pressed to his shoulder. Want to bake with Isobel and chase Johnny from the kitchen. Read to her on the nights he’s away, out at the pub on Main with friends from work. Be there, sleeping on the couch with Isobel, waiting for him to come home from assignment.

You want, and the teratoid it’s become circles with the porbeagles. Has teeth and a consciousness all it’s own, shredding through sinewy trepidation and tearing through every layer of adamantine flesh that you wear like armor. Stripping you down to the bone and sucking on the treacly marrow.

There’s no reason why you can’t. Johnny’s said as much. Made it patently clear when he all but tucked you into his jacket with him and let the warmth of sun-chapped lips bleed into your algid skin that night on your stoop. But there’s a picture in the livingroom of the townhouse next to yours that clamors each time you pass it. A ghost, bound to this plane by molecules of ink on photo paper, materializing at your back and whispering words of doubt from the umbrage. Telling you to leave. They aren’t yours to have.

You feel rime creeping up your legs, briny sea spray turning denim stiff in the darkening carpark. The sun is sinking, varicolored sky unfurling against the plumage of clouds and an austere snowscape, and it casts shadows across the city, long as the list of reasons you shouldn’t.

“Tomorrow night,” she presses, “roads ‘round here get a tad dodgy after dark wi’ the ice an’ all.” Her eyes drift to the ice surrounding your feet. Stare for a moment, like there are memories trapped there.

You’ve found your keys. Found them several minutes ago, and have been toying with pressing the panic button. Manufacturing some way out of this conversation. Your toes are numb, too. Whether it’s from standing in a river of runoff or Fenella’s snare, swaying precariously and staring down into the gaping maw of repressed desire, you don’t know. But you do know that you can’t stay here. Can’t keep staring at this woman who looks like Johnny and pretend you don’t want to know everything about her. Him. Them. That you don’t want to go to dinner with her and Isobel because you miss them.

“Tomorrow,” you begin, “I have a meeting. Have to stay late.”

“Tomorrow’s Friday,” she counters. “Bell stays up late to watch Still Game wi’ me. Sure she wouldnae mind waitin’ an hour tae have a friend join us fer some stovies.” You can see Isobel in the car behind her, twisted around in her car seat to watch the two of you, and your heart lurches in your chest. Gnashes and snarls at the web of lies you’ve woven around it, glittering trip wires disguised as a safety net.

Don’t get too close. Don’t get attached. They’re not yours. This will never be your family.

‘Go!’ it wails, and her eyes beg you to stay.

When you finally find your footing again, you take a step towards your car. “I’ll think about it.” Move carefully between cracks in the ice. “See if I can get the meeting moved up. Isobel should keep to her schedule.” Keep your eyes up. Don’t look at the monster she’s dragged out of you.

Fenella nods like you’ve agreed. Either chooses to ignore your feeble attempt at a polite refusal or twists your words into reluctant acceptance as she fishes her phone from her vest. Hums as she taps away at the screen, and you feel the echo of it when your own phone vibrates in your pocket beside your keys.

“We’ll see ye tomorrow night, then.” She smiles, wide and machiavellian, before she severs the snare and watches you plummet. Slips into the warmth of her car as you plunge through the hole in the ice and it freezes over once more. Chum in the water.

Staring at Fenella’s address on your phone screen effects a sinking feeling in your stomach. Drags you down to that abyss again, only this time, you aren’t alone. You weren’t alone before—not really. You’d just denied the truth of what was clawing its way through your chest. Couldn’t face what its existence means.

You stare until the screen goes dark, and then stare some more, until the oven timer chimes and you wade through your kitchen to silence it. Produce a hot pad from an adjacent drawer to pull a cardboard tray of lasagne from the rack, and nearly drop it when the chiming starts again.

Your phone vibrates on the table behind you, Johnny’s name lit up across the screen. Calling.

‘Won’t be able to use my phone a lot, but I’ll call when I can.’

The awful thing in your chest shudders in answer.

Every muscle in your body tenses. Aches to open the line. Grab it with both hands and pull. Drag yourself from the depths of your self inflicted misery and bathe in the ardent warmth of his smile. You want to talk to him. Want to hear that gravel rich timbre and your name rolling off the escarpment of his tongue.

But should you?

Should you even try to be something you aren’t? Something you never thought you could be. Would want to be. Should you—?

“Bonnie? Ye there?”

Oh, fuck…

“Yeah… I’m here,” you breathe, and it’s not salt water but kerosene that fills your lungs. Burns with self-loathing and penitence as it commingles with ozone. “Johnny, I—” Your voice pitches, teeters on the precipice of trepidation and want, and crumbles away with the marl.

You’ve been ignoring him. Ignoring how you feel. Absconding yourself in your abnegation and rotting on the ocean floor, too afraid to swim. To look for the light. Afraid of falling even further.

And all of that want comes pouring out of you now. Out of the hole punched through your chest when he left. In a briny deluge down the berm of your cheeks when he shushes you. From puncture wounds, perfect impressions of serrated teeth, sunk to the bone. Not letting go.

“I know, sweet girl. I know,” he soothes, palliating and emollient, but the breath you take scrapes against your throat, coarse with sand and silt. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too, Johnny.” You thought it would hurt, admitting it. That the jaws would clamp down and you would scream and kick and fight. You were so heavy, full to the brim with want, that you mistook it for that leaden, sinking feeling. Thought it was drowning you.

“Bell said she saw ye today. That ye’re goin’ to visit her tomorrow?” There’s hope in his voice, nestled in the colluvium that tumbles from his lips and settles at your feet.

“Yeah,” you decide then and there. “I am.”

The MacTavish home isn’t what you thought it would be, limewashed stone tucked at the end of a winding, gravel lane, cradled by the tussock and sedge of a heathland and perched on the slope of a shallow vale. Double paned windows cast a genial glow onto the drifts around it, tenuous peaks capped in flakes of gold, and a scintillant lamp floods the walkway, salted cobble, free of the ice your tires struggled to navigate on the narrow streets of Old Kilpatrick. The door is a bathic blue, nearly the same depth as the lacuna between stars on a moonless night, and a boar-head knocker greets you, impeccably polished silver despite its exposure to the elements. Your hand halts halfway to the ring that dangles from gleaming ivory tusks and hangs surprised between yourself and the refulgent star across the threshold. Everything about Fenella and her home is bright.

She ushers you inside, pulling you by a handful of billowing cashmere into the foyer, and promptly defoliates you of the flailing garment and congruent scarf wound around your neck, taking your bag and hanging it from a brass hook beside your coat. “Bell, come an’ look who’s here!” she calls down the passageway, and a brontide reverberates through the hardwood and soles of your shoes. A storm rattling the foliage of a coppice in the thick of Summer.

Isobel shrieks, effusive in the manner of her excitement, when she rounds the corner from the doorway to the left and catches sight of you, teddy forgotten and swiftly discarded in favor of launching herself down the wide hall. You rock back when she connects with your leg, sinking her hands into layers of chiffon, pleated at your waist and cascading to the buckles of your flats around your ankles.

“Ye made it!” She wears a t-shirt many sizes too big, sleeves billowing around her and the hem rolled and tucked up inside with a knot that presses against your shin. The cracked, peeling numerals 141 are barely visible, on her left side just below her breastbone, and her surname is printed just below, peaks and plateau of the M and T rising above the cloud of your skirt bunched up in her arms. Her hair is loose, curls tumbling just over her shoulders in an unruly race to the wide crew-collar of her shirt, and the smile she beams up at you is blinding. Disorienting. Burrowing into your brain in search of a home. Looking for its carbon copy, etched in a memory of Johnny, sitting on a wooden chair in a kitchen that mirrors yours.

A timer chimes, echoing off smooth plaster painted with a whisper of green, sage and seafoam, and an eclectic collection of frames maps a rich family history from the front door down the length of the passageway,

“That’ll be dinner,” Fenella announces, a hand coming to rest between your shoulders and another delving into her granddaughter's curls. “Bell, show ‘er where tae wash up.” She herds you both forward, and your stomach knots with budding nerves.

“Can I help with anything? Setting the table?” you offer, attempt to make yourself useful, and she tuts her disapproval.

“Nae, jus’ wash up wi’ Bell. Dinner’ll be on the table when yer done.” She slips by the two of you, disappearing down the passageway and to the right while Isobel fits her hand into yours and leads you through the door she came from.

There’s a sideboard adjacent to the washroom, and while Isobel scrubs the days mire from her nails you cast your attention to the portraiture above it. Echoes of a convivial home, filled with family during the holidays, outings in the city, and school portraits. Johnny’s service portrait hangs front and center above a shadow box, pin board nearly full with brassy medals and gaudy ribbons. Years younger and clean shaven, he looks boyish and bright-eyed, even with the army drab and neutral expression. But there's a familiar tilt to his mouth, permanently skewed in an inveterate smile, and a whisper of laughter in the gentle slope of his shoulders, not yet filled out with the corded muscle that’s become so familiar. Several inches to the right and many years later, he appears as you know him now. Dark shadow of stubble, interrupted by the stitchwork that created the twisting scar on his chin, and—

The bulk of his body is curled around a young woman, dark cloud of curls concealing her face, buried in the hollow space beneath his jaw, but the swell of her belly is obvious in her profile. Isobel’s mum.

“Yer turn!” Isobel lilts from behind you, but you remain rooted to the polished hardwood, staring at a ghost, and wait for the rebuttal.

They aren’t yours. This isn’t your family.

Budding nerves blossom in the loamy pit of your stomach, creeping along spiculated vines towards the moldering gaps between your ribs, and your heart stutters in its crumbling cage alongside the starving, pacing creature you call want.

Forget them. Leave.

You wait, and wait, and wait—and it never comes. The ink doesn't wail, the frames don’t rattle, and there is no voice whispering over your shoulder.

There is a darling girl, tugging at the fabric of your skirt and the mess of snarled threads around your heart, picking apart the tangled web you’ve been lost in, and she guides you through the fray to the washroom basin.

“Ah spoke wi’ Johnny this morn’,” Fenella begins, reaching across the table to wipe at the broth dribbling down Isobel’s chin. “Said ye finally had a chance tae talk.”

“Oh. Yes, we did.” You don’t tell her how Johnny did most of the talking, took your sniveled apologies for avoiding his messages and buried them in the colluvium. Caught you, from a world away, and lowered you gently to the earth when you fell apart in your kitchen. “He sounds well.”

“Aye, he does. Havnae heard ‘im like that since Kirsten died.” She leans back in her chair, half-finished bowl of stew all but forgotten. “Those two… och, they were a right pain in my arse. Where one went the other followed, an’ made twice the trouble for their Mam.”

The revelation glues to your brain, tenebrous and viscid.

“Has he told ye about ‘er, his sister?”

“She saw the picture in the passageway,” Isobel chimes in, babbling around a mouthful of roast potato.

Their Mam. The picture in the hall. Johnny’s sister. The ghost next door.

“He’s mentioned her once before.” You drag your spoon through cooling beef and potato, breaking up the congealed, starchy mass, and try to do the same with the memories that tangle themselves together in your head. “He told me about his wife; that she passed two years ago. I— He never said his sister passed as well. I’m so—”

“His wife?” Quicksilver brows fly towards the inky peak of her hairline, bewilderment etched in the incredulous slash of her mouth, lips drawn tight. “Johnny’s ne’er wed, lass.”

Your hand stills but your heart rattles, throwing itself against baleen bars, and the pinpricks of teeth, gnawing at the fallstreak hole in your sternum, threatens to crack your ribs open at the dinner table. “Isobel’s mother—”

“Is his sister,” Fenella finishes for you.

“Then, Johnny… Why didn’t Isobel’s father raise her?”

Fenella casts a furtive glance in Isobels direction and finds cordierite eyes staring back at her over an empty bowl, gleaming with a startling discernment. “Stay here,” she motions towards you, and plucks Isobel from the chair between you, balancing her on a broad hip. “All done, Bell? Let’s get ye settled in the den, hm? With Ghost?” Isobel clutches at her shirt for balance, dips her chin in agreement, and Fenella takes her from the dining room, leaving you alone with the savage things in your chest.

Sister. Never married. Niece.

It percolates through gray matter. Drips from the roof of your mouth, nauseating and saccharine, and when you swallow you feel the drop in your stomach like an iron weight. Wilted petals and desiccated vines withering. A febrile joy laced with bile bubbling up your throat; sickly cocktail of absolution and compunction.

There was never a ghost trapped in a picture frame. No headstone inscribed with the MacTavish name and the words ‘Loving Wife and Mother.’ Every poisonous word whispered in your ear came from the devil on your shoulder, sowing demurral and rooting it in reproval, and the roaring in your chest, thundering pulse in your ears, screams yes.

The muted playing of fanfare from the TV cuts through the cacophony in your head, and Fenella’s voice allays the discordance. “She knows more than she lets on.” A sigh filters through her nose with a ‘hum’ and she slides into the chair Isobel occupied previously. “She misses him. Misses him like a wean misses their Da.” Misses him the same as her Mum. Gone somewhere she can’t follow, a place kept secret from her, with no way to know when he’ll be back. If he’ll come back.

The unpleasant realization of that very real possibility scrapes down your spine, whetted talons screeching against corrugated bone.

“Johnny’s the closest thing Bell’s ever had tae a Da,” she elucidates. “They used tae work together, ‘fore Johnny joined up wi’ the Task Force. Passed selection the same year.”

“She—Kirsten—met him through Johnny?” She nods, smiling, but the curve of her mouth has a mournful edge.

“She did. Johnny brought some lads round for Hogmanay one year. Took his sister out wi’ ‘em tae the pubs. Said she took one look at Aaron MacAndrew handin’ ‘er brother his own arse at darts and knew she’d marry ‘im. Did so, the following year. Hardly made it another ‘fore she told us she was havin’ Bell.” The memory of her daughter brightens Fenella’s eyes. Bottled lightning, bouncing off maldivian blue glass. “We were all excited. ‘Specially Johnny; couldnae wait tae meet his niece. Brought home gifts for Kirsten and the wean from every tour and couldnae go to ASDA wi’out buyin’ another teddy or romper.”

“Did Johnny and Aaron tour together?” She nods solemnly.

“Few weeks after Kirsten had Bell they left. Got their orders a month earlier, an’ Aaron… He didnae let Johnny tell Kirstin ‘til after she had the wean. Didnae want her tae stress.

“They were tae be gone three months, so Kirsten stayed here an’ I helped wi’ Bell. Went a while ‘fore we heard anythin’ from Johnny. Said things got hairy. Had tae go dark. Stay hidden. We didnae know why ‘til he called again an’ said he was comin’ home early, but naw Aaron. Naw ‘til he was the only one tae come off the plane.”

Laughter trickles in from the den, pooling in the hollow silence that yawns between you and Fenella. “I…” you try, but every word you string together with the next frays around the knot in your throat.

“She was angry wi’ him for some time. Aaron had died weeks before he called, an’ he kept it from ‘er. Didnae want tae tell her on the phone. Wanted tae be there when she found out.” She shifts her weight in the chair. Leans forward to fold one arm over the other on the table. “Johnny took it hard, too. Losin’ his mate an’ then his sister. None of us saw her for the better part of a year after he died, an’ Johnny took the blame for it. She wouldnae see him. Didnae come ‘round for holidays. He thought if he made ‘imself scarce she might come out her shell, so when he heard from a Captain he used tae serve under, ‘bout the Task Force an’ the longer assignments that came wi’ it… He packed ‘imself up an’ off he went. Was another year ‘fore they finally saw one another. Never knew what was said between the two of ‘em, but they were close as ever afterwards. Right up ‘til she passed.”

“And she listed Johnny as Isobel's next of kin.” Fenella nods, bottled lightning limned with a silvery tide. “I… I’m so sorry. About Kirsten, Aaron, bringing it up— I shouldn’t—”

Despite the tears tracking down her cheeks, Fenella shakes her head. Smiles, and reaches across the table to clasp your hand in hers. “Ye dinna need tae apologize, lass. I should be thankin’ ye, really.” You try to pull away but her hand tightens around yours.

“Thank me? I haven’t—”

“Done anythin’? Lass, ye’ve done more than ye know. He talks about ye. Every time we go tae lunch. It’s ye, an’ Bell, an’ how excited she always is tae see ye. How he thinks she might fancy ye even more than he does. And he smiles. You brought that back.”

And fuck, if that isn’t everything you hoped for. To know that he smiles for you. Because of you. It alchemizes the iron in your stomach to lead, bathed in acid and leeching an acrimonious guilt into your bloodstream.

You ignored him.

Pulled away, just like his sister did.

And Fenella is thanking you.

Midnight settles over the MacTavish home in a mantle of crushed velvet and embroidered stars. Fenella insisted that you stay after dinner. Spend some time with Isobel in the den.

That was several hours ago.

Curled in the corner of a chenille couch, you sit with Isobel pressed to your side, head pillowed by the masked bear she clutches in her sleep.

“Someone’s finally tuckered out,” you muse, brushing an errant curl away from her face. “I should head home. Let the two of you rest.” Fenella stands from her chair beside the couch and maneuvers around the coffee table in the dim light of the TV.

“It’s late,” she rebukes. “I’ll naw have ye out at this hour. Stay the night. Ye can take yer rest in Johnny’s old room.” Fenella croons as she peels Isobel out of her cocoon of blankets and hoists her up into the cradle of her arms. “C’mon Bell, let’s show the lass where she’s stayin’ the night.”

“The roads really aren’t that bad, I— I should be able to make the drive just fine,” you insist, but the admonition in the gaze she levels you with quashes any further argument.

You follow, albeit hesitantly, from the den up a narrow flight of stairs, and hope that she can’t hear the tremulous rattling of your breath behind her. She deposits Isobel, teddy and all, in a colorful room, shelves overflowing with picture books and bins piled high with teddies and toys, tucks her snug beneath a hand-sewn quilt and leaves her with a peck on the cheek to guide you into the room across from hers.

She rifles through a chest of drawers, scratched pine and chipped lacquer, stood up against the wall opposite a wrought iron bed, draped in purples and greens that bring thistle to mind. “Ye can wear some of Johnny’s old things. I’d give ye somethin’ of mine but, well… I think ye’d be more comfortable in this.” Tracksuit bottoms and a pullover. She leaves it on the bed as she moves to where you hover near the doorway. “Washroom is just down there, on the right,” she directs, pointing to the far end of the hall. “An’ I’m just across the way if ye need anythin’. See ye at breakfast.”

With you and Isobel settled in your respective rooms, she ambles off to her own, door clicking shut softly behind her, and you’re left staring at Johnny’s clothes. On Johnny’s bed. In the bedroom where he grew up. Wondering how—if at all—you’ll be able to sleep tonight.

©️Eilidh-Eternal.2024 ~ The intellectual property of Eilidh-Eternal is not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or use with AI technologies.

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lucifersgurl444 · 9 months

Text

Elemental Stones

Earth 🌍

-Agate (Not blue)

-Apache Tears

-Apatite

-Aventurine

-Boji Stone

-Orange Calcite

-Carnelian

-Cats Eye

-Diamond

-Flourite

-Granite

-Iron Pyrite

-Jade

-Jasper(Not red)

-Jet

-Malachite

-Morion

-Moss Agte

-Onxy

-Petrified Wood

-Rutilated Quartz

-Rhodinite

-Ruby

-Salt

-Staurolite

-Smokey Quartz

-Sugilite

-Tiger eye

-Tourmaline

-Unikite

Air 💨

-Amethyst

-aquamarine

-azurite

-beryl

-blue lace agate

-carnelian

-chalcopyrite

-chrysocolla

-chrysoprase

-citrine

-diamond

-flourite

-hemitite

-kyanite

-lazurite

-moldivite

-opal

-pearl

-snow quartz

-sapphire

-silver

-sodalite

-topaz (blue)

-tourmaline (blue)

-turquoise (blue)

-vivianite

Fire 🔥

-amber

-beryt

-bloodstone

-calcite (gold)

-carnelian

-citrine

-coal

-diamond

-flint

-geodes

-gold

-jasper (red)

-lorimar

-obsidian

-peridot

-pumice

-quartz (smoky) obsidian

-rhodochrosite

-sunstone

-topaz (yellow) peridot

Water 💧

-alexandrite

-aqua-aura

-auricalcite

-beryl

-calcite (green

-chalcedony

-diamond

-dioptase

-emerald

-jacinth

-jade

-jet

-kunzite

-lapis lazuli

-magnetite

-moonstone

-onyx (black)

-opal

-quartz (rose)

-river rock

-rock crystal

-sardonyx

-topaz (blue)

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greenwitchcrafts · 1 year

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October 2023 witch guide

Full moon: October 28th

New moon: October 14th

Sabbats: Samhain

October Hunter's Moon

Known as: Blood moon, drying rice moon, falling leaf moon, freezing moon, migrating moon, moon of the changing seasons, shedding moon, ten colds moon, winterfelleth & windermanoth

Element: Air

Zodiac: Libra & Scorpio

Nature spirits: Frost faeries & Plant faeries

Deities: Apollo, Astarte, Belili, Cernunnos, Demeter, Hathor, Herne, Horned God, Ishtar, Kore, Lakshmi & Mercury

Animals: Elephant, jackal, ram, scorpion & stag

Birds: Crow, heron & robin

Trees: Acacia, apple, cypress & yew

Herbs/Plants: Angelica, apple blossom, burdock, catnip, pennyroyal, sweet Annie, thyme & Uva ursi

Flowers: Calendula, cosmos & marigold

Scents: Apple blossom, cherry & strawberry

Stones: Amethyst, beryl, obsidian, opal, tourmaline & turquoise

Colors: Black, dark blue, Dark greens & purples

Energy: Artistic works, balance, creativity, harmony, inner cleansing, justice, karma, legal matters, mental stimulation, partnerships, reincarnation & uncovering mysteries or secrets

It is believed that this name originates from the fact that it was a signal for hunters to prepare for the upcoming cold winter by going hunting. This is because animals were beginning to fatten up in preparation for the winter season. Moreover, since fields had recently been cleared out under the Harvest Moon, hunters could easily spot deer and other animals that had come out to search for remaining scraps. Additionally, foxes and wolves would also come out to prey on these animals.

The earliest use of the term “Hunter’s Moon,” cited in the Oxford English Dictionary, is from 1710. Some sources suggest that other names for the Hunter’s Moon are the Sanguine or Blood Moon, either associated with the blood from hunting or the color of the changing autumn leaves.

Samhain

Also known as: All Hallow's Eve, Ancestor Night, Feast of Apples, Feast of Sam-fuim, Feast of Souls, Feast of the Dead, Geimhreadh, Hallowmass, Martinmass, Old Hallowmas, Pagan New Year, Samana, Samhuinn, Samonios, Shadowfest & Third Harvest

Season: Fall

Symbols: Apples, bats, besom(brooms), black cats, cauldrons, ghosts, gourds, jack-o-lanterns, pumpkins, scarecrows & witches

Colors: Black, gold, orange, silver & white

Oils/incense: Basil, cloves, copal, frankincense, gum mastic, heather, heliotrope, mint, myrrh & nutmeg

Animals: Bat, boar, cat cattle & dogs

Stones: Amber, anatase, black calcite, black obsidian, black tourmaline, brass, carnelian, clear quartz diamond, garnet, gold, granite, hematite, iron, jet, marble, pearl, pyrite, ruby, sandstone, sardonyx, smokey quartz, steel & tektite

Foods: Apples, ale, beef, cider, corm, fruits, garlic, gourds, grains, hazelnuts, herbal teas, mushroom, nettle, nuts, pears, pomegranates, pork, poultry, pumpkin pie, sunflower seeds, thistle, turnips & wine (mulled)

Herbs/plants: Acorn, Allspice, catnip, corn, dittany of Crete, hazel, mandrake, mugwort, mullien, oak leaves, pine, rosemary, sage, straw, tarragon, thistle, wormwood & yellow cedar

Flowers: Calendula, chrysanthemum, deadly nightshade, rue & fumitory

Goddesses: Al-lat, Baba Yaga, Badb, Banba, Bast, Bebhionn, Bronach, Brunhilde, Cailleach, Carlin, Cassandra, Cerridwen, Copper Woman, Crobh Dearg, Devanyani, Dolya, Edda, Elli, Eris, Erishkigal, Fortuna, Frau Holde, Hecate, Hel, Ishtar, Kali, Macha Mania, Morrigan, Nemesis, Nephthys, Nicneven & Rhiannon

Gods: Arawan, Baron Samede, Belenus, Coyote, Cronus, Dagda, Dis, Hades, Loki, Nefertum, Odin, Osiris, Pluto, Woden & Xocatl

Issues Intentions & Powers: Crossroads, darkness, death, divination, honoring ancestors, introspection, the otherworld/underworld, release, visions & wisdom (of the crone)

Spellwork: Divination, fire magick, night magick, shape-shifting, spirit calling & water magick

Related festivals:

• Day of the Dead- (Spanish: Día de Muertos or Día de los Muertos) is a holiday traditionally celebrated on November 1st and 2nd, though other days, such as October 31 or November 6, may be included depending on the locality. It is widely observed in Mexico, where it largely developed & is also observed in other places, especially by people of Mexican heritage. Although related to the simultaneous Christian remembrances for Hallowtide, it has a much less solemn tone and is portrayed as a holiday of joyful celebration rather than mourning. The multi-day holiday involves family and friends gathering to pay respects and to remember friends and family members who have died. These celebrations can take a humorous tone, as celebrants remember funny events and anecdotes about the departed.

• All Saints Day- is a Christian solemnity celebrated in honor of all the saints & martyrs of the Church, whether they are known or unknown

Activities:

• Dedicate an altar to loved ones who have passed

• Boil a simmer pot to cleanse your space

• Have a silent dinner

• Light a candle for your loved ones & yourself

• Decorate your house and/or altar

• Release negative energy & cleanse your with a ritual bath

• Pull tarot cards to see what may be in store for you ahead

• Cleanse, clean & de-clutter your space

• Leave offerings to the Fae

• Journal & reflect on your accomplishments, challenges & everything you did this year

•Go on a nature walk

• Learn a new form of divination

• Have a bonfire with your friends and/or family

• Carve pumpkins

• Express yourself creatively through art, music, ect

• Visit a cemetery & help clean off areas that need it or to visit a family member/ ancestor & leave an offering

• Hold a seance

• Bake spooky treats & bread as offerings

• Refresh your protection magicks, sigils & rituals

Samhain is a Gaelic festival on 1 November marking the end of the harvest season and beginning of winter or "darker half" of the year. Celebrations begin on the evening of 31 October, since the Celtic day began and ended at sunset.

This fire festival is celebrated on October 31st & is considered the Pagan New Year. It is the first Sabbat on the Wheel of the Year, a cross-quarter festival & the third (final) harvest festival of the mundane year. This is the time when the veil between the worlds of the living & those who have passed is the thinnest, which allows greater communication between the two

Some believe this is the time of the Goddess's mourning of the death of the God until his rebirth at Yule. The Goddess's sadness can be seen in the shortening, darkening days & the arrival of cold weather

Sources:

Farmersalmanac .com

Llewellyn's 2023 magical almanac: practical magic for everyday living

Wikipedia

Llewellyn's Complete Book of Correspondences by Sandra Kines

A Witch's Book of Correspondences by Viktorija Briggs

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lullabyes22-blog · 4 months

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Snippet - Back to the Salt-mines - Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Where are you, Silco, and what is happening?

That's When Everything Went Wrong. mp3

tw: violence

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Snippet:

Silco turns to catch a world-eating fist that tints the moon pink and puts the stars into a pinwheeling tizzy as blood sprays from between his gritted teeth.

The impact sends him reeling backward across the rutted dirt path of the narrow ginnel between two crumbling brick-and-mortar buildings.

The mining settlement edging the Deadlands is a scratch-assed ramble of taverns, brothels, and flophouses, with a handful of grocers thrown in for good measure. Barely any streetlights. The moon—a whitish crust dangling in a sky so speckled with stars you could scoop them like diamonds and stick 'em in your pocket—is enough to delineate the way.

Not Silco's way.

He's navigated his way out of darker spots. Uglier ones, too. This is just a pitstop—one of the dozens when a man drops off the slope of civilization and descends with dizzying speed down into the depths. He's been here three weeks: long enough to get his bearings and learn the rhythms of the nightlife, which is a heartbeat away from a hellhole. Mostly hard-knuckled brawlers and hard-eyed whores, and that's just the locals.

The miners themselves are the meanest of the bunch. Daytime, they slink around the edges of the settlement in greasy overalls, faces gritted with coal-dust and their teeth stained black with Benzedrine tabs. Nighttime, they shed their clothes, scrub off the grime, and devolve into beasts.

Small wonder Silco feels right at home.

A pair of rough hands seize the lapels of his scuffed leather greatcoat and slam him into the alleyside wall. Silco's skull bounces off the greasy bricks. The world strobes in and out. Fragments of memory flap like a snipped-off film reel. The flying comet of Vi's fist, and the sweet suckerpunch of Jinx's smile, and the slow-motion collision of her body walking away, and the explosion of loss that left him cracked like a halved mirror.

Seven years bad luck, Silco thinks, and nearly smiles.

Except it's blood bubbling up his mouth and spilling past his lips. It tastes like candied cherry and lit dynamite.

It tastes like a second chance.

The fist wallops him in the jaw. Silco's head snaps sideways. Red-streaked saliva sprays. The alley and the moon-blasted sky spin into a nauseating riot of color.

(Look, Jinx.)

(Look at the fireworks.)

As he reorients, his eyes lock on the hulking brute who'd felled him. A Vastayan with the face of a gargoyle: a granite slab of a forehead, a bashed-in nose resembling a rotting squash, and a mouthful of fangs so jagged that Silco's tempted to keep them as souvenirs for cracking nuts. A set of horns curling down his temples, and a shag of oily seaweed-green hair, complete the picture of something dredged up from the bottom of a stagnant bog.

Maybe he was. The stench wafting off him is ripe enough for fishbait.

"You're dead, you little rat," the brute roars, flecking Silco's face with spittle.

"Aren't we all?"

"You ain't dead yet. I'll make you wish you was."

Silco smiles, and it hurts. The scar tissue disfiguring the left side of his face has gone tough as pig leather for days in the blistering sun. Smiling only deepens the cracks: the seams around his ruined eye socket resemble the webwork of an eggshell about to crack.

A fortnight ago, the local barmaid had shrieked in horror when he'd flashed a sideways grin at her. He'd asked her if she'd like him better if he was a chem-baron with a closetful of silk shirts, pressed slacks and a hundred-gold-piece pocketwatch. At that, the silly bint had burst into tears.

He's had his fill of tears.

"Sil!" The bint's got a voice on her: high and strident. "Sil!"

He hasn't had his fill of the bint, though. Pearl's her name; her honest-to-gods name. Not a tart by any stretch. Just a hard-bitten lass with a heart big as the sky, who'd taken pity on the ragged stranger with the ruined face. Thirty-seven, so she's not exactly a spring chicken. But there's something fetchingly fey about her walk—all dark swinging hair and coltish legs and a pert little bottom that jiggles when she does that high-stepping run off to the drygoods store to fetch his smokes in the evenings. All of it topped off by a tongue so talented that the gods would've made her an angel if she didn't curse like a harpy.

Silco's not picky. He's never been one for piety himself. But he's spent plenty of nights in that narrow bed of hers, devising a dozen fiendish ways to make that clever tongue pray to whatever gods are listening.

"Please! Let him go!"

She's praying for real tonight. Too bad the wrong god's answered.

#arcane #arcane league of legends #arcane silco #silco #forward but never forget/xoxo #forward (never forget)/xoxo #arcane jinx #jinx #arcane zaun #zaun

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foggysilverfeathers · 7 months

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Hermit Permit Masterlist

! This is a WIP due to not every hermit’s video being out yet !

! This is also not yet up to date with any trades, please let me know if any have happened that aren’t on this list !

Bdubs:

Cub: Nylium, White Glass, Amethyst, Purple Terracotta, All Horns, Prismarine

Doc: Magma, Blue Glass, Dirt, Blaze Rods, Pots and Sherds, All Dyes (and flowers)

Etho:

False: Totems, Saddles, All Nether Plants, Glow Lichen, Pink Terracotta, All Concrete, JOKER

Gem: Clay, All Nether Bricks, Yellow Glass, Moss, Tridents, All Coral

Scar: Orange Glass, Light Grey Wool, Cyan Glass, Black Terracotta, Bricks, Sand and Gravel

Grian: Leads and Bundles, Red Sand products, Campfires, All Ice, Mushroom Blocks, Iron and Gold

Hypno: Grey Glass, Cobble, Lava Buckets, Green Terracotta, Coarse Dirt, Tough Stuff (e.g obsidian, ender chests, etc.)

Jevin:

Impulse: Brown Glass, Brown Wool, Grass, Light Grey Terracotta, Red Terracotta, Quartz

Iskall: Purple Glass, Horse Armour, Cut Grass, TNT, White Terracotta, Rockets (flight)

Joe: White Wool, F Tier Books (e.g Bane of Arthropods), Black Glass, All Leaves, Nametags, Oak and Birch Logs

Keralis:

Mumbo:

Pearl: Mossy Cobble, Magenta Wool, Purpur, Bone Blocks, Grey Terracotta, All Templates (i.e armour trims)

Ren: Rails, Lily Pads, Light Grey Glass, Diorite, Honeycomb, Conduits and Beacons

Skizz:

Joel:

Stress: End Rods, Coal, Light Green Glass, Blue Terracotta, Deepslate, Packed Mud

Tango:

Beef: Dripleaf, Book and Quill, Basalt, Light blue Terracotta, Shulkers, Warped and Crimson Stem

Wels: Light Blue Glass, Red Glass, Stone, Magenta Terracotta, Blackstone, Redstone #2

XB: Cyan Wool, Black Wool, Ferns, Cyan Terracotta, Granite, All Food

Xisuma: Lime Wool, Grey Wool, All Bucket Mobs (e.g Axolotls), Rooted Dirt, Yellow Terracotta,

Zedaph:

Cleo: Red Wool, Soul Sand and Soul Soil, Hay bales, Orange Terracotta, Lime Terracotta, S Tier Books (e.g Mending)

#ravenrambles #hermitblr #hermitcraft #masterlist

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paveworld · 2 years

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Black Pearl granite

Misty black pearl granite is a natural stone extracted from the depths of the earth. This igneous rock originates from magma and boasts a high percentage of quartz and feldspar, giving it a distinct and exquisite appearance. If you seek an outdoor paving solution that's both durable and stylish, misty black pearl granite paving might be the ideal choice for you. This natural stone is not only visually appealing, but also incredibly resilient and robust, rendering it suitable for high-traffic zones such as patios, walkways, and driveways.

Our black granite is among the sturdiest natural stones accessible in the market, and misty black pearl granite is no exception. It is tremendously robust and can withstand harsh weather conditions, heavy foot traffic, and even vehicular traffic. Misty black pearl granite is a stunning natural stone that can add a touch of sophistication and refinement to your outdoor area. Its deep hue and subtle glittering effect make it a fitting option for modern or contemporary designs.

As the top supplier of misty black pearl granite, we offer a versatile natural stone that can be used for a variety of outdoor applications, such as patios, walkways, driveways, and even pool surrounds. Misty black pearl granite paving is an elegant and sturdy option for any outdoor area. Its dark color and subtle shimmering effect make it a superb choice for modern and contemporary designs, while its strength and low maintenance requirements make it a practical solution for high-traffic regions. If you're in search of a long-lasting and chic option for your outdoor paving, misty black pearl granite is certainly worth considering.

#Black Pearl granite #black pearl

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luxurysystems · 2 months

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Lux I'm sorry, I gotta put another one into your head for my own sanity:

Ted has been trying to get Bounty Hunter Irwin's attention for weeks through casual "accidental" encounters and gifts dropped at the office of his legal job (only served to make Irwin incredibly edgy cause he does like his legal job and he's not looking to get caught because some rich asshole is making a fool of himself) and EVENTUALLY Irwin agrees to a meeting with him. Just one single meeting with the caveat that if he's still not interested afterwards, Ted will leave him alone forever.

The meeting is held at that black granite & volcanic rock table you reblogged and Ted is obviously trying to impress Irwin with his wealth, but Irwin's been playing this game long enough for net worth to just mean numbers to him and bigger numbers are just small numbers with more 0s.

It takes a little talking, but Irwin does eventually agree to be Ted's personal bodyguard/hitman. Everyone has a price, after all

"You know why I'm here."

Irwin's voice seemed to echo in Ted's lavish penthouse suite. The two sat on opposite sides of a black granite table- the perfect setting for a polite conversation, or an interrogation...

Ted held a lowball glass in his hand, swirling the spirit inside around a couple of ice cubes. He needed to play his cards right otherwise everything he built here in Florida would go to waste. The last thing he wanted was to be dragged back to Nebraska....

Lifting his eyes from his glass Ted matched Irwin's gaze which remained fixed on him, unwavering, bordering on unnerving. Ted pushed his tongue against the side of his cheek, which he slid across his bottom teeth, ending with a devious smile...

Irwin, statuesque in nature when he's on the hunt, barely fidgeted once he sat down. When he entered the suite, his eyes darted around initially. Ted was no slouch in displaying how wealthy he was based on the decor. Seeing his reflection on the floors admittedly impressed Irwin for a fleeting moment.

He looked at Ted's smile- it had no effect on Irwin. Those charming, shining pearls were no match for the payoff he was about to receive once he captured Ted.

"I do." Ted began. "And I know how much he's offering you."

A silence followed, broken only by the sound of Ted flicking his glass.

Irwin wasn't too sure why he was dragging his feet in nabbing Ted. In fact, the job so far was incredibly different from the others he accepted in the past. Normally, by this time Irwin should be stuffing Ted in the backseat of his car, gagged and bound. His reward would be wired into his account once he phoned his client back... instead, there he sat.

Breaking the silence again, Ted spoke. "I knew I had a month-- maybe that's pushing it, but I knew he'd send someone eventually. And by God, he sent the best.."

Irwin's eyes widened slightly.

"I just...had to see it for myself. Sorry for stopping by your office a couple days ago, multiple times. And for the floral arrangement. And for the Rolex--"

"Stop." Irwin interrupted. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Your choice."

Ted took a sip from his glass, swallowing hard as the strength of his top shelf choice burned on the way down. He couldn't help but chuckle, stunned that his plan was working...

"The mere fact that you are giving me a choice in the matter is telling." Ted observed.

A bead of sweat started to form on Irwin's brow. He's right, why did he even give Ted a choice? Irwin was begging for his body to make a move, to get this over with, and yet he sat there...

"Listen, I'm not new here." Ted continued as he sat back in his chair. "Did my homework on your whole shtick, too. 2 days for research; 2 days for scoping out the place; 2 days for planning and gathering supplies; and on the 7th day.....you come a-knockin'. 1 week. That's what you tell your clients. That's what you guarantee."

A second bead of sweat started to form on Irwin's brow. The first having made its way down towards his chin.

"Did I throw a wrench in your plans when I presented myself to you multiple times? Has your prey ever done that before, Irwin, try to know you?"

Irwin inhaled sharply. His chest started to feel unbearably heavy. Irwin wasn't expecting this---for once he couldn't think of anything to say.

"Like I said, I know how much money he offered you. I know because that's how much he has left!" Ted started to break into laughter near the end. His rosy cheeks started to have an effect on the bounty hunter. "Seeing all of those ones and zeros at your desk job and then being rewarded with more ones and zeros in the form of bundled crispy bills after doing a dirty job like this...must be tiring, huh?"

Again, silence. Irwin's mind started to race.

"What are you getting at?" Irwin finally asked.

Ted leaned in, his hands clasped as his elbows rested on the table. "I want you. Plain and simple."

"You want me to work for you?"

"Not 'for me', 'with me'."

Irwin gulped. The heavy feeling in his chest turned into a warm, almost vibrating sensation. .....with him....how foreign and affectionate those words seemed. How intoxicating...

"Feel free to refuse." Ted remarked as he sat back, fully relaxed in his chair. "If you refuse, well I'll tell you what, I'll go with you like a lamb to the slaughter. No questions asked. You'll get your payment and you'll never see me again."

"And if I accept?"

"Well, I'd pour you a drink."

The corners of Irwin's mouth started to lift.

"I'd like that."

#money inc #money inc x vice city au #asks #lux.doc #WHOOPS it turned into a little fic again!!!!!!#*dmx voice* y'all gon make me LOSE MY MIND over this AU (affectionate)!!!!!#And irwin's price was............i'll leave it up to y'all

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sgalleria80 · 20 days

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Pearl Black Granite

Pearl Black Granite has a wide range of uses; it can be applied to Kitchen Countertop, Backsplashes, flooring, walls, stairs and risers, Bathroom vanities, wall cladding, Tabletops and desktops, and many more.

#Pearl Black Granite

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andrea-cliffe · 2 years

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Elements in Witchcraft

There are four concrete elements in modern witchcraft. Earth, air, fire, and water. It is heavily debated if there is a fifth element, spirit. Because of this, I will not include spirit. In this post, I will talk about each element’s correspondences, tools, virtues, astrological signs, and much more.

Earth

Earth is the first element I will write about. This element keeps you grounded and energized. In order to connect with Earth, it is advised to spend more time in nature, garden, keep plants in your home, and practice grounding and meditation.

Direction: North

Time: Midnight

Season: Winter

Colors: Greens, Browns, and Other Earthy Tones

Tools: The Pentacle, Salt, Dirt, Wood, Plants, and Flowers

Crystals/Minerals: Emerald, Tourmaline, Granite, Bedrock, Jasper, Peridot, Amethyst, Iron, and Lead

Herbs/Plants: Cedar, Cypress, Magnolia, Primrose, Sage, Oak, and Ivy

Astrological Signs: Taurus, Virgo, Capricorn

Virtues: Staying Grounded, Patience, Truth, and Reliability

Air

Air will be the second element I talk about. This element helps you to keep a clear mind and find inner wisdom. In order to connect with Air, it is advised you feel the breeze, hang wind chimes, start a creative project, and journal.

Direction: East

Time: Dawn

Season: Spring

Colors: Yellow, Gold, Pink, and Pastels

Tools: Feathers, Wands, Incense, Brooms, and Bells

Crystals/Minerals: Topaz, Amber, Citrine, Agate, Tin, and Copper

Herbs/Plants: Acacia, Anise, Aspen, Clover, Frankincense, Lavender, Lemongrass, Myrrh, and Pine

Astrological Signs: Gemini, Libra, Aquarius

Virtues: Intelligence, Practicality, Curiosity, and Creativity

Fire

Fire is the third element I will talk about. This element helps with courage and strength as well as passionate affairs. In order to connect with Fire, it is advised you light candles, exercise, go on adventures, and do things you are scared of or passionate about.

Direction: South

Time: Noon

Season: Summer

Colors: Red, Orange, White, Violet, and Black

Tools: Candles, Athames, Swords, Daggers and Light

Crystals/Minerals: Fire Opal, Ruby, Garnet, Red Jasper, Bloodstone, Tiger’s Eye, and Brass

Herbs/Plants: Allspice, Basil, Cinnamon, Juniper, Cardamom, Onion, Peppers, Thistle, and Poppies

Astrological Signs: Aries, Leo, Sagittarius

Virtues: Courage, Enthusiasm, Willpower, Action, and Strength

Water

Water is the last element I will write about. This element keeps your intuition sharp and aids in emotional health. In order to connect with Water, it is advised that you take baths, drink teas, visit a large body of water, watch the rain, or go swimming.

Direction: West

Time: Dusk

Season: Fall

Colors: Blue, Silver, Turquoise, Navy, and White

Tools: Shells, Different Types of Water, Seaweed, Hag Stones, Chalices, Cups, and Cauldrons

Crystals/Minerals: Aquamarine, Blue Fluorite, Topaz, Tourmaline, Lapis Lazuli, Pearl, Mercury, Silver, and Sodalite

Herbs/Plants: Aloe, Apple, Chamomile, Gardenia, Jasmine, Lemon, Lily, Lotus, Moss, and Rose

Astrological Signs: Cancer, Scorpio, Pisces

Virtues: Compassion, Love, Flexibility, Forgiveness, and Understanding

#witch #witchcraft #witchblr #witches #grimoire #book of shadows #baby witch #beginner witch #information #element #elements #correspondences #elements as a witch #learn about the elements #elements are important guys #elements :)

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tears-of-amber · 1 year

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Episode TWO of “Nobody Asked, but I’m going to explain some niche mineral fact”.

Larvikite is not a type of moonstone. It is wrongly labeled “black moonstone” or “Norwegian moonstone” by certain sellers, but actually it’s granite. Correct names for Larvikite are “Blue Pearl Granite” and, of course, “Larvikite”. It is a granite with small grey-blue flashes in it. Here is what real Larvikite looks like ⬇️

Ok, now here is black moonstone ⬇️

Black Moonstone is part of the feldspar family, which is why it gets confused with Larvikite who is also dark in appearance because Larvikite is compromised almost entirely of feldspar. But it still is different in its appearance (subtly) and it’s exact composition. Amazonite is also part of the feldspar family, but nobody is confusing it with Larvikite because of the color differences. -Velvet 🌹

#witchcraft #witch #witchblr #spirituality #crystal healing #crystals #crystal #larvikite #minerals #rocks #crystal+witch #crystal witchcraft

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ultfan · 4 months

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aesthetic.

what are your muse’s aesthetics? BOLD any which apply to your muse! remember to REPOST! feel free to add to the list!

[ COLOURS ] ~ burgundy. red. crimson. scarlet. maroon. mahogany. copper. amber. chocolate. brown. tawny. tan. bronze. brass. orange. gold. saffron. yellow. chartreuse. spring green. lime. mint. green. olive. forest. turquoise. teal. cerulean. blue. navy. cobalt. periwinkle. indigo. pewter. plum. purple. magenta. fuchsia. lilac. lavender. pink. coral. peach. ivory. cream. white. silver. grey. smoke. charcoal. ebony. black. pastels. vibrant. matte. metallic. muted. dark. light.

[ BODY ] ~ mutations. claws. fangs. wings. tails. feathers. webs. spikes. scales. fur. stripes. spots. freckles. acne. bruises. scars. scratches. gashes. lashes. wounds. amputations. burns. brands. teeth. gums. tongues. lips. beards. mustaches. cheeks. noses. ears. eyes. eyelashes. eyebrows. hair. heads. neck. shoulders. collar bones. arms. elbows. wrists. hands. fingers. breast. back. ribs. abs. belly. hips. curves. butts. legs. thighs. knees. shins. ankles. feet. toes. nails. sweat. spit. tears. blood. heart. stomach. lungs. liver. veins. guts. bones. spine. muscle. skin. feline. canine. masculine. feminine.

[ WEAPONS ] ~ bites. fists. sword. dagger. spear. arrow. bow. crossbow. hammer. shield. poison. guns. axes. throwing axes. whips. knives. throwing knives. pepper sprays. tasers. machine guns. slingshots. katanas. maces. staffs. wands. powers. magical items. magic. rocks. mud balls. bombs. missiles. boomerangs. lethal pets. lasers.

[ MATERIALS ] ~ metal. gold. silver. platinum. pewter. titanium. iron. steel. copper. bronze. brass. tin. bismuth. diamonds. pearls. rubies. garnets. sapphires. emeralds. jade. peridots. alexandrite. opal. topaz. jasper. quartz. rose quartz. smoky quartz. amethyst. citrine. fluorite. amber. malachite. turquoise. lapis lazuli. sodalite. pyrite. labradorite. moonstone. petrified wood. wood. paper. parchment. hemp. canvas. burlap. oils. skin. muslin. rayon. faux. wool. fur. lace. leather. skins. suede. corduroy. silk. satin. chiffon. velvet. denim. linen. cotton. charcoal. clay. stone. rocks. flint. asphalt. brick. granite. marble. dust. rust. glitter. sand. dirt. mud. smoke. ash. carbonate. rubber. synthetics. nylon. polyester. plastic. glass. porcelain. bone. shells. coral.

[ NATURE ] ~ grass. leaves. trees. bark. flowers. roses. daisies. forget me nots. tulips. lavender. petals. thorns. seeds. hay. roots. ocean. pond. river. stream. waterfall. creek. meadow. forest. desert. tundra. savanna. rain forest. tropical. jungle. marsh. moors. swamp. plains. hills. highlands. caves. underwater. coral reef. beach. waves. space. clouds. mountains. fire. lava. ice. frost. water. air. earth. rain. snow. wind. moon. stars. sun. heat. cold. steam. lightning. sunlight. moonlight. dawn. dusk. twilight. midnight. sunrise. sunset. dewdrops. shadow. tornado. hurricane. water spout. thunder. hail. twisters. humidity. dryness.

[ ANIMALS ] ~ birds. penguins. eagles. owls. falcons. vultures. hawks. swans. parrots. parakeets. doves. pigeons. ducks. robins. cardinals. blue jays. bluebirds. blackbirds. crows. ravens. magpies. mockingbirds. flamingos. ostriches. seagulls. albatross. peacocks. condors. finches. pelicans. chickens. geese. quail. bats. sheep. cows. buffalo. deer. hedgehogs. elephants. horses. giraffes. cats. lions. tigers. pumas. cheetahs. jaguars. foxes. dogs. wolves. coyotes. bunnies. mice. rats. monkeys. apes. bears. pandas. polar bears. snakes. iguanas. chameleons. alligators. crocodiles. turtles. lizards. frogs. toads. whales. dolphins. fish. sharks. stingrays. octopus. lobsters. crabs. bugs. spiders. ants. moths. butterflies. flies. maggots. roaches. ladybugs. beetles. cicadas. dragonflies. fleas. termites. leeches. worms. snails. mosquitoes. werewolves. unicorns. pegasus. dragons. dinosaurs.

[ FOODS/DRINKS ] ~ pepper. salt. sugar. honey. syrup. caramel. candy. bubblegum. mints. candy canes. gumdrops. lollipops. chocolate. vanilla. cinnamon. ice cream. cake. cookies. brownies. biscuits. pie. tarts. lemonade. soda. champagne. wine. brandy. rum. whiskey. vodka. tequila. sake. beer. soju. gin. crema de cacao. cocoa. latte. coffee. tea. spices. herbs. fruit. apples. oranges. lemons. cherries. strawberries. blueberries. raspberries. cranberries. watermelons. cantaloupes. bananas. coconuts. grapes. kiwi. pomegranates. tomatoes. vegetables. potatoes. cucumbers. carrots. turnips. onions. leeks. celery. broccoli. cabbages. lettuces. roots. nuts. white meat. red meat. raw meat. veal. pork. chicken. beef. venison. fish. lobster. oysters. pizza. ambrosia. pasta. sandwiches. soup.

[ HOBBIES ] ~ music. piano. flute. woodwinds. whistles. drums. guitar. cello. synthesizer. violin. lute. harp. fiddle. harmonica. trumpet. brass. singing. composing. folk. classical. bluegrass. blues. jazz. big band. pop. country. rock. punk. metal. electronica. hip hop. reggae. ska. rap. vinyl records. cassettes. cds. soundcloud. itunes. spotify. art. sculpting. pottery. painting. watercolour. drawing. pastels. charcoal. sketching. graffiti. printing. inking. collecting. fighting. martial arts. self-defence. boxing. fencing. sumo. wrestling. jousting. paintball. lazer tag. duelling. hunting. fishing. climbing. weight lifting. training. sports. football. football (usa). rugby. baseball. cricket. lacrosse. volleyball. basketball. tennis. badminton. skating. cycling. sailing. rowing. hiking. running. gymnastics. dancing. ice skating. hockey. reading. writing. cooking. sewing. acting. photography. video games. horseback riding. gardening. smithing. shopping. traveling. movies. theatre. libraries. books. magazines. playing cards. poker chips. chess. dice. science.

[ STYLE ] ~ nudism. perfume. cologne. piercings. tattoos. henna. body paint. war paint. make up. lipstick. mascara. eyeliner. eye shadow. powder. beauty marks. blush. nail polish. lingerie. fishnet. pantie-hoes. socks. stockings. leggings. long johns. under armor. corsets. sports bras. bustles. camisoles. blouses. button ups. tunics. vests. waistcoats. leather jackets. ponchos. sweaters/jumpers. hoodies. skirts. jeans. kilts. breeches. scarfs. cravats. ascots. belts. sashes. gloves. heels. sandals. platforms. tennis shoes. penny loafers. jordans. slippers. boots. cowboy boots. rain boots. army boots. armor. justaucorps. trench coats. capes. cloaks. burqa. suits. tuxedos. kimonos. saris. sun dresses. gowns. jewelry. earrings. nose rings. lip rings. tongue piercings. belly rings. gauges. eyebrow rings. necklaces. pearl strings. leis. bracelets. bangles. cuffs. watches. friendship bracelets. rings. pendants. lockets. broaches. boutonnieres. pocket watches. cuff links. hats. crowns. circlets. flower crowns. helmets. hijabs. turbans. baseball caps. cowboy hats. brocade. doublet. gorget. bracers. masks. cowls. braces. glasses. sun glasses. eye contacts. pyjamas.

[ MISC ] ~ balloons. bubbles. candles. battle. war. diplomacy. peace. money. power. clocks. photos. mirrors. pets. diary. fairy lights. madness. sanity. sadness. happiness. optimism. pessimism. loneliness. family. friends. assistants. co-workers. enemies. loyalty. smoking. drugs. kindness. love. sex. hugs. duality. sin. lust. greed. wrath. envy. sloth. gluttony. pride. virtue. chivalry. honour. piety. charity. diligence. chastity. gentleness. aggression. romance. hatred. grief. pity. success. bitterness. sorrow. joy. fear. anger. good. evil. relativity. vampirism. sapphism. life. birth. time. death. illusion. silence.

#a lotta the gems n stuff are based off symbolism #representing good/bad luck #plus fortune and hope #♡₊˚ 🍀・₊✧ » ic : dash game ─ 𝘞𝘐𝘓𝘓 𝘛𝘏𝘐𝘚 𝘉𝘌 𝘎𝘖𝘖𝘋 𝘓𝘜𝘊𝘒 𝘖𝘙 𝘉𝘈𝘋 𝘓𝘜𝘊𝘒.ᐣ ❞#♡₊˚ 🍀・₊✧ » ic : aesthetic ─ 𝘏𝘖𝘗𝘌 𝘚𝘏𝘐𝘕𝘌𝘚 𝘉𝘙𝘐𝘎𝘏𝘛𝘌𝘚𝘛 𝘐𝘕 𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘋𝘈𝘙𝘒𝘕𝘌𝘚𝘚 𝘖𝘍 𝘋𝘌𝘚𝘗𝘈𝘐𝘙. ❞

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