I carry a capacity to love that is all-encompassing and filled with depth. I don’t ever want to be with someone that I can’t love as intensely as I have the potential to. Don’t deny my love. You won’t find it elsewhere.

I would do about anything
I would even learn how to love

5 Magickal Suggestions for the Winter Solstice

As the darkest portion of the solar year approaches the northern hemisphere, the life energy around us sinks into sleep beneath the Earth and the air chills as creatures descend into hibernation or fly south for the winter. At this time, when the nights lengthen and the winds bite, magick is more accessible to those who may have struggled during the summer months as the walls between our world and the next stay quite thin after Samhain, until the springtime come Ostara. 

During this time, many hold Yuletide feasts or family gatherings, and spells and rituals of all kinds that encompass the hidden, the magickal and the feminine are performed as the Goddess’ power rules over the Earth whilst the God sleeps. Here are a few winter tips and ideas to keep your hand into the magickal game as you stay warm this coming new year.

  1. Bake healing spells into sweet spiced buns and other foods, and share them out at Yuletide and other Winter festivals. We all know that with the rise in the usage of heaters and the increased close proximity to each other as we stay indoors over winter, sicknesses spread like wildfire during the winter months. Spread healing magick through your loved ones by baking warm, welcoming winter foods filled with spellwork to keep illness at bay this year. Elderflowers are strongly antiviral and a common ingredient in certain foods and drinks (especially in the UK), and ginger helps fight nausea. Cinnamon stimulates your sinuses, and a combination of lavender and passionflower will calm the body better than any synthetic sedative, and aids in achieving and maintaining restful sleep. 

  2. Full moons are strongest during the winter months, so try using them to super-charge your crystals and tools. Moon-charging and washing are common practices amongst those of us who use tools, substances and crystals in our workings, and Winter moons are stronger than Summer ones as the Goddess is at the height of Her powers during this time. Use this to your advantage and perform some truly excellent winter workings with your new charged tools!

  3. Hold a Solstice bonfire to call the sun back from his sleep, in the footsteps of the traditional Witches and pagans who practiced rites at these most important times of the year, the Solstices. At such times the natural cycles are beginning anew, and through honouring the sun as he begins his return to full strength over the coming Spring and Summer, we may call down the sun’s strength into our lives for the next year to come.

  4. Promote some new seasonal mythologies to break the monotony of Santa Claus and his reindeer. As fun and jolly as the Fat Man is, Santa Claus, Sinter Klaas, Father Christmas, Old Man Winter, Saint Nicholas or whomsoever you choose to bring into your home as your solstice god of the year are all fairly old-hat at this point. Whilst many honour these individuals through longstanding heritage, most people simply continue the traditions they were taught as children. Well, I recommend coming up with your OWN seasonal myths to whisper to children as you cuddle up in your warm beds. Tell children about the Solstice Fairy, a tiny little thing who flies a sleigh pulled by magical bumblebees and brings presents and sweets to those who’ve been good. Tell them about the Snow-trees, great tall pine trees that grow up from the clouds and when they lose their leaves in winter they fall to earth as snowflakes. Of course these are just stories, but what is Santa other than a story we all agree is “acceptable”? Why not make your own this year; it’ll be more fun, and far less commercial! 

  5. Use the power of the coming new year to fuel spells for promoting change. As the year turns over into the new one, there’s a huge amount of mental energy focused towards the coming year, and what’s going to happen as our lives shift into the new period coming. Use this power in new years eve rituals to power spells for change in the new year - it’s more effective than resolutions, after all!

Have a blessed Solstice, my Northern siblings!

– Juniper

Last Chapter Update

Whoo. My week has been packed and I am very tired and ouchy. I also just spent the last hour and a half doing some major Home organizing and crunched  some numbers according to my plot outline:

There are 57 drawings remaining; 27 of those are absolutely essential and must be included in the last chapter. I just counted my drawings and I have 30 (almost 31!) finished.

Which brings us back to my original claim back in August that the last chapter would have 60 drawings (31+27 = close enough). The drawings that aren’t essential would be adorable and funny, but I think I will have to omit them since… Since I don’t want to post the last chapter in 2021.

Soooooo according to my calculations, since it takes me about 4 days (14-24 solid hours) to complete one drawing, it will take me 108 days to finish the last essential 27…. AKA, 3.5 months. Factoring in family dinners and other distractions, I’ll round up to four months. So…

New estimate: Chapter 18 will be posted in late June.

A few have already started proclaiming their disapproval/lost interest due to the time I’ve spent already. I really want you, my beautiful and kind readers, to know that it pains me dearly to delay the last chapter as long as I am, but I’m adamant about ending Home right. These drawings are very warm, colorful and detailed, and it will wrap up everything in the best, fuzziest, happiest way.

Thank you for your endless patience ♥

fic editsWhether Clouds or Clear Skies (ao3) by @onewasturning​ - E, 25k

“You, young Harold, are a baker among curry houses and vintage clothing stores,” Louis says, and it forces a bark of surprised laughter out of Harry.
“I’m a— sorry, what?”
“Harry,” Louis says, “last night I had an experience bordering on profound.”
“You’re making it sound like you did something sexual with my muffin,” Harry says.

Louis gets into the habit of stealing baked goods while Harry’s busy keeping tabs on the weather.


Beauty is undefinable in language. It’s something that you see when you see it, or you feel when you feel it, or you hear when you hear it. It usually encompasses all five of the senses. It can’t exist without it being a somehow sensorial experience. But, I don’t think it’s quantifiable. Nothing is really quantifiable. Nothing is certain in love and friendship. We all try to understand these things.

Okay, so I’m glad 2016 is over, but I have just one all encompassing New Years Resolution for everyone:

Don’t be passive this year. Don’t sit by and watch atrocities happen, content in being able to morally object things but then only hoping for and expecting someone else to make it better. We can all agree the world has faced many tragedies this past year, that a lot of bad things have happened, and maybe you did your part, maybe it was out of your control, but the fact of the matter is we can always do something to help the world and ourselves a little everyday. We can apply for that scholarship, email that job representative. We can step in when things are going bad instead of only filming it.  We can volunteer for causes close to ourselves. We can call our  local government representatives so that our discontent is actually heard and has a snowball chance of being taken seriously. 

2017 is going to suck as bad as 2016 if we let it. With the people currently coming into power, it’s not the time to sit by and simply be upset. It’s the time to do something. 

We are not going to let this year go bad without a fight. 

(I am SO sorry! I didn’t see this until recently even though it was sent a few days ago omg,, here’s “did you think I forgot” + nurseydex!)

Dex couldn’t believe it, the fucking irony of it all. Nursey was the opposite of Dex in many ways, laid back and composed in a way Dex would never be. Where Nursey was all soothing words and precise phrases, carefully crafted emotions that made Dex feel things he would never understand, Dex was wires and callouses and loud, blunt syllables forced through gritted teeth. Dex was harsh and hard, every move he made conducive to fights and outburst. Every emotional he felt was blinding, all-encompassing

The irony wasn’t, necessarily, that Dex had fallen blindigly, all-encompassingly in love with someone who made him see red, someone so fundamentally different from him; the irony was–

“You’re what?” Dex exclaims, fork poised halfway between his tray and mouth. Mashed potatoes sluice off his fork and splatter against his chicken.

“It’s not just lobster, man, I’m allergic to all shellfish.” Nursey says, as if Dex could even fathom not eating shellfish on a regular basis.

“You’ve never had a lobster roll.” Dex wheezes. “That’s a fucking shame, Nursey, how–just, god.” Chowder is eyeing him inquisitively.

“Bro, it’s just lobster.” Chowder says and Dex gasps.

Just lobster? This, coming from the person who probably thinks the best chowder comes from the Bay Area?” Dex exclaims. Nursey grins and knocks shoulders with the goalie next to him.

“Well, it kind of does.” He laughs and Dex groans.

“God, god, I can’t even deal with you right now. I need to…I need to process this.”

Months later, Nursey is in his home–his childhood home–sitting in the kitchen with his mother and older brother while Dex finishes cutting slices of french bread for dinner. Dex’s mother keeps trying to offer Nursey these bacon wrapped scallop things and Nursey, face pinched with a nervous smile, declines for the fifth time. Dex turns, exasperated.

“He’s allergic to shellfish, mom.” And if Dex thought he was surprised at the news, nothing could prepare him for the gasp that fell out of his mother’s mouth. After Nursey leaves Maine, a few days later, the issue of Nursey’s allergy isn’t really brought up again.

Keep reading


wow… it’s been 13 years. where do i even begin to say how proud i am of how far dbsk has come? as changmin once said (i paraphrase, since i can’t find the exact interview) that being together for 10 (and more) years was an accomplishment by itself, regardless of the number of fans they had or the number of awards they had won. that the fact that they could make people happy around the world was rewarding in itself, and their long journey was fulfilling in itself.

honestly, this gifset is not enough to encompass all that you have done. whether one considers the numbers above small or big, according to me, you have accomplished so much more than just your awards and milestones. i think you have shown your fans the true meaning of working hard and not giving up, no matter how many obstacles fall your way. from the start, you’ve had a tough journey and yet you’ve persevered. being broke, having sasaengs, having anti-fans, having practically no audience in a foreign country, being lonely in a foreign country, broadcasting at the weirdest timings, having an insane schedule, splitting up, dealing with more anti-fans, almost not returning as a duo, losing huge amounts of fans, amongst so many other things. and yet, all of you have come out stronger and better. 

even with those difficulties, you have strived to show the best of you to us, and there has hardly been a moment you have not made us proud. so, be it as five or two, thank you for carrying the name of ‘dong bang shin ki’ far and wide across the world. thank you being such a huge part of what k-pop is today, and thank you for giving your 110% all the time, even though you know you don’t have to. thank you for everything in the past 13 years, and here’s to many more to come. 

gifs are from: the latest tour, with: live tour 2015
compilation of statistics can be found here.

As a woman who has had an abortion, the whole “pro-choice isn’t pro-abortion ” line is frustrating and hurtful.

Being pro-choice IS pro-abortion. And pro-adopting out and pro-parenthood. It encompasses all those choices.

Yeah, anti-choicers try to reduce the pro-choice message by using pro-abortion. But abortion has been stigmatized far worse than the other choices. We need to show our support.

I’m pro-abortion, because that IS part of being pro-choice. And that doesn’t make me ashamed.

I finally watched the Homestuck credits and… wow, that’s depressing. A lot of the individual events are lovely, but… overall, while it makes more thematic sense now, it makes very depressing thematic sense.

They never escaped sburb. Sburb is all encompassing. It is, perhaps appropriately, an ouroboros, and the best you can hope for is a brief reprieve before you have to close the last timeloop and go back to the fight that will create your enemy.

deliver us from evil

(credence/graves; tw: child abuse, manipulation and weird religious imagery)


Our Father, who art in Heaven.

When Credence is twelve years old, he begins to dream of darkness. It’s all encompassing, a heavy thing that presses down on his shoulders, makes him hunch over to hold the weight. Ma beats him every day to fix his posture, but it’s the one thing that she gives up on.

You have evil in those bones, she hisses at him, and Credence thinks of the darkness, thinks of inky smoke spreading out from his hands and mouth, and agrees.


Credence is fifteen the first time a man tries to put him on his knees. He says to him, that mouth, you could do filthy things, and Credence doesn’t understand, takes a step back, and another, and another, until the man is crowding him up against the wall and-and.

Credence doesn’t remember the rest. Just that suddenly he’s home, and Ma asks him why he smells like smoke and burnt flesh. 

Credence takes off his belt.


When he turns eighteen, Credence considers leaving. Briefly, for about a minute, before Modesty asks him for help with something and he knows he can’t. When he closes his eyes, he feels nothing. He sees nothing. Just black, just smoke curling out from deep inside his chest. There’s a writhing, living thing inside him, snarling to get out.

Lead us not into temptation. 

He’s eighteen when he kisses a boy for the first time, savagely, like he wants to rip whatever is inside him out and breathe it into the other boy. Dirty, filthy, evil in those bones, he hears, and he wants to yank the thoughts out of his own head.

He wants to bleed. 

He lets the boy go and wipes his mouth.


Credence is twenty when he meets his first witch. She’s slim and pale but her eyes are like fire, and her mouth speaks a language he’s heard in churches and mass. When she says them, the air moves, Ma freezes, her eyes bulging. Credence is shivering and he can feel blood dripping down his back. 

Pater noster, qui es in caelis.

The witch kneels down to look at him. “Are you alright?” she asks, but Credence can’t seem to answer.

sanctificetur Nomen Tuum. 

The witch, Tina, leaves. Nobody seems to remember what happened except for him. When he sleeps, the black thing wants to eat him up.

Sometimes it does.

adveniat Regnum Tuum.  


He’s still twenty when he meets the eyes of a magnetic man in a long coat and a face too handsome to be on this side of Union Square. The thing inside of Credence spreads and settles deep in the hollows of his throat, almost like it’s purring, and his breath catches. He looks away.

Deliver us from evil.

The man is back the next day, and the next. On the fourth day, he takes a pamphlet, his hand touching the back of Credence’s scarred knuckles. His vision whites out for a brief moment and when he comes back to himself, the man is gone.

The veins along his wrists are black. Ma beats him again that night.


The man with the magnetic eyes talks to him five days later. “What’s your name, boy?” he asks.

“Credence, sir,” he says. “Barebone.”

The man looks at him for a long moment. “Credence,” he says. His voice skitters up Credence’s spine, like a living thing, and settles into the hollows of his ribs. 

Give us this day our daily bread.

“I want to talk to you more about this, boy,” the man says, cocking his head to the side. “You can call me Mr. Graves.”


Credence is twenty-one when Mr. Graves tells him he’s a wizard. Something inside him already knew. Something inside him wonders if he could fit the hollows of his bones into the spaces of Mr. Graves’ body, if he could be consumed by him and never get out.

And forgive us our debts.

Mr. Graves asks him for help in finding a child, a child with something inside of them. What if I’m that child, Mr. Graves? he doesn’t ask. I have something inside me that wants to get out. It eats and eats and it’s so hungry, Mr. Graves. I’m so hungry. 

Of course, Mr. Graves,” Credence says instead. Thy will be done.

You’re a special boy, Credence,” Mr. Graves tells him. His broad, warm hands cup the back of his neck and Credence sways, the heat of them like a brand, seared along his skin. Please, he thinks. Pleasepleaseplease.

Mr. Graves releases him, and Credence lets out a gasp. “I’ll see you again tomorrow, my boy,” he says, and he’s gone.

Credence presses his forehead to the cool wall, sucking in the stale air. Please help me.  


Credence is twenty-one and three weeks when Mr. Graves gives him the necklace. It feels hot against the skin of his chest, hidden under his clothes. His palms sweat, thinking about the way Mr. Graves had cupped his cheek, hands rough and calloused, the way they’d lingered, the way the blunt nails had scraped, just a little, along his jaw. 

His tongue feels swollen and thick in his mouth, from hunger, from pain, from that bone-deep emptiness in his body. 

Our father, who art in heaven, (Please help me.)
hallowed be thy name. (Mr. Graves.)
Thy kingdom come, they will be done, (I’m so hungry.)
On Earth as it is in Heaven. (It’s so hungry.)


Credence is twenty-one and three weeks and one day when Mr. Graves presses a thumb just under the hinge of his jaw and he lets out a whimper before he can stop it. 

“Oh, my boy,” Mr. Graves says, voice soft and deadly. Credence’s lips part, his heart in his throat, that thing spreading relentlessly throughout his body. He can feel smoke start to waft off his fingers. But then–then.

It’s a hard kiss, a mean one, but Credence fists his hands in that coat and makes a soft, needy noise, feels it curling in the back of his throat. The thing inside him stretches languidly and purrs, and Credence’s toes curl in his boots. 

Lead us not into temptation.

Mr. Graves lets go, he presses his thumb to Credence’s swollen lower lip, his dark eyes predatory. “What a special boy you are,” he says softly. “Bring me the child, and you and I can do much more than this.”

Deliver us from evil.


Credence is twenty-one and four weeks when he kills his Ma.

Credence is twenty-one and four weeks when Mr. Graves slaps him, calls him pathetic, a stupid squib of a boy.

Credence is twenty-one when his eyes go white and his lips curl into a snarl and he lets the thing inside him swallow him whole. 

Credence is twenty-one when he hears Mr. Graves say, a miracle, a wonder, when he sees him fall to his knees, his eyes wide and awed.

Credence is twenty-one when he hears Tina, her voice soft, gentle.

Credence is twenty-one when he sees bright light and suddenly feels nothing at all.