god will guide

8

NUMBER NOTHING’S GUIDE TO IDENTIFYING BANDS- PART III

Power Metal

  1. Can’t wait to see how fast this gets reposted :)
  2. I can’t wait to see how many people complain about inaccuracies :)
  3. Specifically the fact that there are ‘symphonic’ or ‘gothic’ metal bands in here but you know what suck my ass it’s not the worst thing to happen in these guides trust me
  4. I am NOT LINKING this one to the other two because they happened a long time ago and I Am Embarassed.
  5. I hope this makes some people happy :)
Another 15 Things that you could put in your BOS/Grimoire/whatever you call it.

I decided to write another of these lists…. I really do hope they help someone.

1.       The chakras – do you use them? Write about it? Research them

2.       Your magical ethics – what do you believe you should and shouldn’t do? It’s all well and good following others rules, why not come up with your own?

3.       Myths/legends – are there any myths or legends revolving around deities you work with or even just like? If so how about popping them in your book.

4.       Folk tales – do you live in an area with a rich folk tale history? Do you believe in the folk lore? Are you a traditional witch who works with the lore of the land?

5.       Cord/knot magic.

6.       Names of each full moon.

7.       Photos of your altar.

8.       Family traditions – do you have any traditions with your family? Do you on the first day of spring go for a walk with your parents every year? Or do you visit a loved one who has passed in the cemetery on their birthday?

9.       Views on the afterlife – do you have an opinion on what happens after we die?

10.   Deities to call upon – if you work with deities, but do not have matron/patron why not write a list of the deities that you can call upon for different situations.

11.   A table of smudges – I cleanse my home every month or so (I have spiritual activity here) I have a table that says when I have/need to cleanse my home again, and notes on what happened.

12.   Herbal growing – if you grow your own fresh? write about it.

13.   Making your own cleanse/smudge sticks – a how to.

14.   Colour correspondences.

15.   Nature correspondences – especially things that are local to your area, that you could potentially use in spell/ritual work.

So you want to talk to spirits?

Here are my suggestions and ways of going about doing so!

Talking with spirits is a clairaudient a way of learning to hear them through your mind. It is something learned, not something that just happens (unless their is a brain imbalance or you have a serious spiritual awakening). It takes months to practice, and it’s safe to give it time to develop like any human skill. 

Warnings:

It’s important to understand that you’re human and vulnerable to spiritual harm. I advise reading this and practicing at least one of them before any communication with a new or unfamiliar spirit. You should also master these techniques first and learn about chakra healing before trying to talk with spirits. Know yourself as a spiritual being first. 

Step One: Clear Your Mind

  1. Find a quiet place, where you won’t be interrupted. Silence your phone, unplug, lie or sit down.
  2. Get comfortable. You want to minimize physical discomfort.
  3. Focus on your breathing or practice any other techniques to clear your mind. This is the first step to any meditation.
  4. Some ways of clearing your mind are to focus on breathing (the sensation, including the chest, throat, mouth, sound, etc); and to observe your thoughts and swipe them away, like clearing a tablet screen, chalkboard, etc (keep doing this until it’s a blank space). 
  5. Don’t worry if some thoughts filter in. Just breathe or swipe them out. We’re human, we think. Thinking won’t ruin your chances of hearing a spirit. 

Step Two: Contact the Spirit

  1. Ask politely something like this (modify if needed): “[Spirit’s name], I wish to be blessed with your presence, if it is in my best and highest interest. I have cleared my mind for us to communicate and I will wait here for your response.”
  2. Wait. Just keep breathing and don’t seek anything. When you hear a spirit, you’ll be surprised at the “volume” of the thought. It will just sort of hit you, or you know something was said that you didn’t think. You don’t need to seek their voice, just stay still and internally present. 
  3. Be confident! You can hear and you probably are just waiting for the spirit. It’s a good idea to ask a couple, or to address your guardian. Then you’re more likely to get a response.
  4. Once getting a response, ask if they are [spirit’s name]. You want to make sure you’re talking to the right person! It’s also a safe thing to say “if you are not _____, please leave, unless they directly instructed you to communicate with me and you are here in my best and highest interest.”

Considerations and Tips:

  • Not all spirits will respond. The higher up the spirit, the busier they are. It’s really dependent on why you are communicating and who you were in a past life. 
  • Some spirits are sassy as hell. Brace yourself.
  • Sometimes the spirits won’t leave, and they can be distracting in your day (but you can shut off your hearing just by intending to).
  • Some spirits like new friends. Prepare yourself for a relationship in case the spirit is seeking to know you. They have feelings too! 
  • Don’t forget to be cautious before contacting every new spirit. Better safe than sorry!
  • Trust yourself. If you’re meant to hear, you will. If not, try again tomorrow. 
  • You probably won’t hear a distinct voice for every spirit. Some people do, but most just intuitively know who they’re talking to. Spirits have the same “voice” as your own thoughts a lot of the time. 

Feel free to ask me any questions on my blog! Here is also a list of all the spirits I know. 

The actual world’s biggest solar farm-in-the-shape-of-a-panda

There are quite a few news stories being written regarding the world’s largest solar farm that is, incidentally, in the shape of a panda. Based in Datong, China, many have shared the above image of the 100MW farm from Panda Green Energy (come on, go with it) which, despite the appeal, is just an artist’s rendition. Snopes managed to acquire a drone shot of the actual farm, below.

Next, the Materials World blog will tell you Father Christmas isn’t real, take the Tooth Fairy to task, and proving the non-existence of God (QED) before vanishing in a puff of logic.

me after spending several hours in a video game doing things in some ass-backwards inefficient way that somehow just barely lets me progress, refusing to look at a guide: god damn…. im the fuckin king of games

anonymous asked:

I know you probably have a lot of requests with the gods and monsters - but would you ever do an Ares based one?

Zeus’s mistress Io remains in her form of a cow, guarded by Hera’s servant Argus, and Hera is content.

She will remain in that form until her death. Hera hopes that lying with her husband was worth the sacrifice.

Zeus won’t speak to her, unwilling to admit the cow is actually his lover and ensure her death, and equally unwilling to stand against his wife to try and rescue her. Hera has him just where she wants him, and it can’t last, it never does, but she intends to enjoy it while it does.  

Then Artemis comes to her, gold and fierce. She never flinches away from her queen, staring her in the face as if she is nothing more than another of her huntresses. If Hera did not hate her for being her husband’s daughter, she thinks she might actually like the girl. “Io has a destiny,” she says, “you must let her go.”

“I don’t care for her destiny,” Hera says idly, “especially when that destiny involves getting with my husband’s child.”

“She is to give birth to a new line of kings,” Artemis hisses, “to be the wife of a death god, to be mother goddess of a whole new people. She is not meant for us. You must let her go.”

“I am Hera,” she says, “I am Queen. I must do nothing.”

Artemis growls, hand twitching for her bow, but Hera only raises an eyebrow. Let the girl try. There are few that can stand against her, and the huntress is not among them. Artemis lets out a low breath and says, “Do it, my queen, and I will grant you what it is you most desire.”

“Some peace and quiet?” Hera asks.

“A child,” she answers. “Let Io go, let her fulfill her destiny as a goddess of the Black Land of the Nile. If you do that, I, the patron goddess of childbirth, will personally use every ounce of power I possess to ensure you conceive and deliver a child of Zeus.”

Hera’s eyes narrow, “Neither my power nor his has ever been able to achieve this. What makes you think you are any different?”

“We all have our domains,” she says, “just as you cannot command the sea, just as your husband has no power over the art of weaving, so can I ensure a healthy child when you could not.”

She taps her fingers against her throne. They call her a mother goddess, though she’s raised no children. Hephaestus may be her precious son, but he doesn’t know that it was not her that threw him from Olympus. Very few people know that. And she didn’t raise him regardless, that honor belongs to Hecate.

A child, of her and Zeus. A child she can raise.

“I accept,” she announces. “You may take her, and Zeus may fulfill her destiny.” She leans forward, brings the oppressive weight of her power to the fore and lowers the pressure of the air until Artemis is left shivering. “Know this, Patron Goddess of Childbirth. If Io births a son of Zeus before I do, I will travel to the Black Land of the Nile and slay her and her children with my own two hands. Not even Hades will be able to put her back together again.”

“Yes, my Queen,” Artemis says, unable to keep her teeth from chattering.

~

Hera is true to her word. She allows Hermes to think he’s tricked Argus and to steal Io away. She pretends to be outraged at the audacity, at the pure white cow traveling to the sands of the Nile.

Artemis is true to her word. Hera lies with Zeus, like she has so many times before, and a child grows inside of her. One day she stands before her husband and brings his hand to the swell of her stomach, “This is your child.”

Something almost like happiness steals across his face. She forgets, sometimes, that they hate each other only as much as they love each other. After so much time together, many would think it would be one or the other. They simply opted for both.

Artemis is there during the birth, her easy confidence more comforting then Hera will ever admit. Delivering Hephaestus was easy compared to this. She screams and cries and Hestia’s hands on her shoulders are all that keeps her from collapsing and begging someone to just cut the child from her. She doesn’t think she can die in childbirth, not with Artemis between her legs. She wishes she’d thought to ask before this began.

But she does not die. Her son is born, just as healthy and beautiful as Hephaestus was. “Well done,” Artemis says softly, placing the squirming child into her arms.

Zeus touches her hair and kisses his son’s forehead. “We shall call him Ares.”

“Very well,” she agrees, so tired her eyes struggle to stay open.

She hands her son to Hestia, and finally allows sleep to take her.

~

Ares grows into the spitting image of his father. Same copper-red skin, same silky black hair. Her husband keeps it short, but her son lets his grow long. The minutes Hera spends every morning brushing his hair are among her favorite.

He has an eager smile and a soft heart. Hera doesn’t know where he got it, since it’s certainly not from her or Zeus. Demeter tolerates his bumbling after her, though any time Kore attempts to meet her cousin Demeter’s temper frays. Poseidon allows Ares to explore the depths of the sea with a minor sea god acting as his guide. Apollo plays for him, and Artemis teaches him to hunt. Zeus’s lightning doesn’t burn his son, and when storms rage he takes Ares to the top of Olympus and teaches him to throw lightning bolts.

Hera selfishly does not allow Ares to go to the underworld. She knows he would be safe there, that Hades would protect him as he protected Hephaestus, but that’s precisely why she won’t allow it. They got to raise one of her sons already. It pains her to share Ares with them now.

He is happy, and kind, kinder than anyone would expect a child of her womb to be.

“He must choose a domain,” Zeus rumbles, watching Ares shoot arrows with perfect accuracy.

“He is a child still,” Hera says, “let him remain so for a little longer.”

“If he does not choose a domain,” Zeus warns, “one will choose him. We are gods. We must be gods of something.”

She flickers her gaze at him, and he scoots an inch away from her. “He is a child, and for now a child he will remain. We are not Demeter. We shall not thrust the responsibilities and power of a deity on a child who is not prepared for it.”

Zeus disapproves, but says nothing more.

Her son will be the god of something patient, something soft. The god of lost children, of heartbroken suitors, of forgiveness. Something where his gentle heart will aid him instead of hurt him.

She traded her happiness for power. She doesn’t regret it. But Ares doesn’t need to do the same – she’s the most powerful goddess that still walks the earth. He’s her son, and he’ll want for nothing she can provide.

~

Ares is almost fully grown, long hair reaching his hips even braided, and the strength of his limbs is such that he can keep up with Artemis on her most vigorous of hunts, that he can throw his father’s lightning bolts halfway across the world.

He’s been to every place, and met every god of the earth, sea, and sky.

Except for one.

 It’s not hard to find the volcano. He’s strong enough and old enough to take care of himself, and his mother does not worry when he says he’s going to the earth. But he did not tell her where, precisely, on the earth he was going.

He has strong legs.  It’s easy for him to climb to the top of the volcano. He’s almost made it there when something grabs his shoulders, stilling him. He turns, and stares into a single large eye. “What are you doing?” the cyclopes growls.

“I’m looking for Hephaestus,” he says, “He’s my brother.”

“My master has many brothers,” the cyclopes says.

Ares shakes his head. He is not the product of his father’s fling with a sprite or mortal. “I am Ares, son of Zeus and Hera. Just as Hephaestus is. I came here to meet my brother.” The cyclopes hesitates. He asks, “What’s your name?”

“Brontes,” he answers, surprised.

“Brontes,” he smiles, “I just want to meet him. I’ve never met him before. I won’t linger.”

There’s a moment where Brontes looks conflicted, and Ares tries to look as unassuming as possible. “Fine,” he huffs, “but don’t get angry at me if he dips you in lava.”

“That would be fun,” he says brightly. Lightning doesn’t burn him. So far the only thing hot enough to cause him pain is Hestia’s fire. He probably could go swimming in lava.

Brontes looks at him as if he’s slightly unhinged. He just keeps smiling.

~

There are more cyclopes underneath, and bright glittering machines that Ares can’t even begin to wrap his mind around. “Who are you?” someone demands, and a hand grabs his wrist and yanks him away from a boiling vat of lava that he’d been peering into.

He looks up at a man taller and broader than he is. He has skin almost as dark as the obsidian of his volcano, but lighter eyes. They are the color of dark amber, of molasses. “We have the same eyes,” he says happily.

Hephaestus releases him instantly. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Why not?” he asks, “The mortals talk of you. No one else will. But you’re my brother, right?”

“You shouldn’t be here,” he repeats, “Does Zeus know where you are?”

He shrugs, taking a step closer. His brother takes a step back. He wonders if he’ll have to treat Hephaestus like a spooked horse.  “Father doesn’t keep track of where I am. Mom know I’m on earth.” Hephaestus flinches, small enough that he almost doesn’t notice. “We have her eyes, you know.”

He can’t stop starring at Hephaestus’s skin. They do not work like mortals – Demeter, Hestia, Zeus, and Hera are all different shades despite coming from the same parents. But – Ares looks so much like his father. Kore looks like Demeter. Yet Hephaestus looks nothing like their father. He can see their mother in him, in the eyes and shape of his jaw, even in how angry he is right now. He looks like Hera does when she’s about to lose her temper, lips pressed into a thin line and the careful stillness of his shoulders.

“I wasn’t trying to make you angry,” he says plaintively, “I only wanted to say hello.”

Unlike their mother, Hephaestus lets out a deep breath and seemingly all of his anger along with it. “I’ve been avoiding you.”

“Why? You don’t even know me.”

Hephaestus kicks him lightly in the shin, the pretty gold and copper of his metal legs catching his eye. “You have legs, and I do not. Hera did not throw you from Mount Olympus as she threw me.”

Ares looks hard at his brother’s face. The stories say his mother threw her son away for being ugly, but he seems just as handsome as any other god Ares has seen. His features are strong and chiseled, and he supposes that could have looked unattractive on a baby, but –

– his mother loves him. Hera loves him with a ferocity only matched by her temper, she loves him at his most mischievous and irritable, loves him when a stray thunderbolt sets Demeter’s hair on end, loves him when even Artemis and Apollo have grown tired of his antics, loves him when Athena can tolerate no more of his questions. He is her son, and so her love comes without conditions.

He doesn’t think Hera would have loved his brother any less just because of how he looked.

He also knows that if he tries to say that, it’s likely Hephaestus will push him into a lava pit.

“Well, that’s not my fault,” he says, “If you don’t want us to be brothers, can’t we at least be friends?”

Hephaestus’s face softens. He looks like their mother then too.  He crosses his arms, “You can’t tell your parents.”

Our parents, he thinks but doesn’t say. “Obviously. Where did you get so many cyclopes?”

The last remnants of his brother’s stern façade shatters as he throws back his head and laughs.

~

Ares is very near maturity, more adult than child, and his father constantly pressures him to choose a domain. He usually quiets with one sharp glance from his wife, but the fact remains that it is time for Ares to take his place among the gods of the pantheon, to have temples in his name and worshipers like a proper deity.

He doesn’t really want any of that.  He wants to continue hunting with Artemis, learning with Athena, building with Hephaestus.

His brother lets him help out in his workshop sometimes, if he’s very careful and does exactly as he’s told. Otherwise he sits on a table, legs swinging, and watches his brother work and tells him about what he does in the time in-between visits. He talks about their mother enough that Hephaestus doesn’t flinch at her every mention, which Ares can only consider an improvement. Sometimes Brontes will stand beside him and they’ll eat sweet buns together.

Unfortunately, all things, good and bad, must come to an end.

~

There are two giants, Otus and Ephialtes, who grow tired of hearing of the golden boy of Olympus, who grow jealous of his kindness and his beauty.

These two giants sneak onto Mount Olympus in the middle of the night, sneak into Ares’s room, and kidnap him. They’re not stupid enough to attempt to kill him. Instead, they stuff him into an urn, and seal him inside. Ares rages and fights, uses every trick he can think of to break out his prison, but none of them work.

Stuck at the bottom of the urn and seething, he can’t help but think that if he’d listened to his father and chosen a dominion he might be strong enough to free himself. But he didn’t, so he can’t, and instead he waits.

And waits.

And waits.

Days turn to weeks turn to months. He knows they’re looking for him. He knows his mother will tear apart the whole universe attempting to find him if nothing else. But – what if they can’t? What if he’s stuck in this urn for the rest of eternity?

In his darkest moments, his sorrow turns to rage. He is a god, son of Hera and Zeus, how dare they do this to him?

Then, one day, the urn opens.

Hermes peers down into it, then his face splits into a grin. “We’ve been looking for you!” He reaches down and hauls Ares out, and for a moment all he can do is blink at the glaring sun. Then his vision clears, and he sees they’re in the midst of a battle. The giants are fighting against the gods, against his parents, against the twins, against his brother. It’s bloody carnage, but – he can’t help but feel touched that all these people came looking for him. “Almost everyone offered to help find you,” he says, “but Hera didn’t want to draw too much attention to ourselves trying to sneak into their territory.”

No sooner has Hermes finished speaking than a giant barrels into his mother with sickening snap. Her shoulder slopes at a grotesque angle, but it hardly even slows her down.

“I have to help,” he says, a desperate urgency filling him. They came to help him, and now they’re getting hurt. That’s never something he’d wanted.

“Ares, wait!” Hermes calls out as he goes hurtling toward the battle. He doesn’t wait. Fighting on the ground can only do so much good, they’re strong but they’re outnumbered one hundred to one. He darts to Artemis, twisting around the bodies she’s throwing over her shoulder. “I need your bow!”

“Ares!” she says joyously, then, “What?”

“Trust me,” he says, “give me your bow.” A giant comes running towards them. Artemis flips him over her shoulder while continuing to stare at him in confusion. He’d be impressed if he wasn’t so worried. “Artemis, please!”

She hands over her bow. She moves to give him her quiver of arrows as well, but he’s already moving away from her. Next it’s to his father, who’s hurtling lightning bolts towards the swarm of giants crowding him. They’re deadly, but only so effective at close-range. He grabs a sizzling lightning bolt right from Zeus’s hand, the only being on the planet who could do that and survive, and keeps running. “Get clear!” he calls out over his shoulder. “Everyone move!”

He runs up past Hermes, needing to get to high ground for this to work. “Get everyone off the battlefield,” he says to Hermes. “Now.”

Hermes pulls a face, but by the time he makes it to the top of the mountain, the gods have shaken off most of the giants, are far enough away that he doesn’t have to worry.

He can do this. He’s Ares, the son of Hera and Zeus. He’s been trained in archery by the great huntress herself. He breaths in, and strings his father’s lightning bolt like an arrow. He pulls it back, breaths out, and lets the lightning bolt fly.

It lands in the middle of the battlefield full of confused giants. With a great clap of thunder and a burst of light, they’re all gone.

All that remains of the traitorous giants is a crater.

The gods are approaching him, his mother at a limping gait that makes his chest ache. Zeus gets to him first, grin stretched wide as he grabs him by both his shoulders. “My boy! That was magnificent!”

“Thanks,” he says. The smell of charred flesh is in the air, and it makes his stomach roll.

They kidnapped him. They stuffed him in an urn for over a year. They hurt his mom.

That doesn’t mean he enjoyed it. He never wants to do anything like that ever again.

“This was destiny,” his father says enthusiastically, and Ares has no idea what he’s talking about. “This is what you’re meant to do, son.”

He stares. He hopes it’s not.

The other gods are still at the bottom of the mountain. Artemis and Apollo each have one of his mother’s arms slung over their shoulders and are helping her up the mountain. Hermes and Hephaestus aren’t far behind.

He’s never seen his father look so proud of him. There’s a leaden pit in his stomach he can’t explain.

“In honor of my son’s great feat,” Zeus booms, his voice carrying across air, speaking with the voice of the king of the gods so his words become law, so they spread to every corner of the world, “I declare him Ares, God of War.”

Ares can’t breathe.

This isn’t what he wanted.


gods and monsters series, part xvii

read more of the gods and monsters series here

How to find your Totem Animal

Everyone has an animal, bird or fish which holds a special meaning for them. This is not necessarily a pet or even a domestic animal; it could be foreign or even mythical

1. Take a walk in the woods just before dusk. Take the time to look at the trees and plants, to inhale the scent of the woods and listen to the sounds around you. 

2. Find an old tree and sit down beneath it. Close your eyes and lay your hands flat on the soil on either side of you and take a few deep breaths. 

3. Ask the Goddess to send you your Totem animal. 

4. Open your eyes and pick up the first thing you see lying on the ground near you. Take this home and place it under your pillow for three nights and your Totem animal will come to you in your dreams.

5. When you know what your Totem animal is, remember to look out for it in the world around you and to acknowledge this gift of the Goddess each time you see it

XV. The Devil - Power of possession, manipulation but also vitality, strength, creative power, sensuality, humor
Anubis - God of the dead, mummification, guide in the underworld, the one who weighs the hearts

So. Hello, Reyes, you shady bastard.

I went crazy with the symbolics. I mean. There is too much of it in this character and I couldn’t resist. The tarot, his past, his … call it present/possible future. Mixed all of it together. I know that Anubis isn’t really the representative of the Devil, but. I just went for it anyway, because the card suits Reyes’ character too well. <3

Also no, I certainly didn’t think I’d dust my old Book of the Dead off to look for references for a scifi fanart. Aka I was looking for the goddamn heart, because I had no idea how to draw it. Hahah.

Imagine Loki hiring you as his manager while he slowly takes over Midgard again. You are to manage his PR, his daily schedule, and you also are his guide to everything Midgardian. He doesn’t make it easy for you, though. He causes trouble, doesn’t listen to your advice very often, and in general, annoys and intimidates you. He is the God of Mischief after all, and you are the nearest target available to him. You suffer through his antics because he pays well and also, you don’t know what might befall you if you refuse him. He is kinda scary after all.

However, slowly, his mischief towards you becomes more intimate in nature. Your attempts at dating suffer weird setbacks, you aren’t allowed any leaves, and Loki crowds your personal space way too often. You have no idea how to deal with this side of him, but he sure knows how to push all your buttons. Secretly, you like the attention, as you do find him devastatingly attractive. But you desperately want to keep everything professional and try to ignore it. It all comes to a point where he grows strangely possessive of you and you can no longer push it under the rug. And then, one fine day, you find yourself in his embrace, seduced and compromised, wondering how the hell did you end up here.

anonymous asked:

tell us about holster when he played for the schooners!

oh my god. thank you. i will literally talk about this anytime, anywhere.

his nickname is holt and sometimes holtzy and he’s actually SO RIDICULOUS. people don’t really know what to think about him because in postgame interviews he’s grumpy and pretty serious and like, obviously tired with 0% patience to talk to reporters who ask him the same question over and over and over again

but

the schooners have an AMAZING social media presence - think the canadiens youtube videos and the snapchat of the detriot redwings. people get to know the players incredibly well, and holster goes from this grumpy rookie to this lovable dork who DESTROYS at movie trivia and is always singing in the background of snapchats from practice. they mic him up during a game and it’s pretty much him singing ‘under pressure’ and quoting TV shows.

greatest hits include:

  • from it’s always sunny in philadelphia:
    • “I don’t know how many more seasons in the NHL I’ve got left. I’m gonna get weird with it.”
      • people get real emo about this one after he’s injured
    • ”It’s like, do I listen to the linesman who’s gonna blast me in the ass, or the referee who’s blasting my ass?” 
    • after a check: “wildcard!”  
    • on his way to the penalty box: “later, boners.”
  • from the office:
    • when he’s asked a particularly stupid question after a game: “wow, i wish i had prepared something to say. god guide you in your quest”
    • “Ref, you ignorant slut”
    • when a penalty is reversed: “how the turntables”
  • from arrested development:
    • at various points throughout his career “steve holt!”
    • once again during an interview: “I don’t understand the question and I won’t respond to it.”
      • this is his crowning achievement.

there’s a youtube video of him that’s called “every time birkholtz looks into the camera like he’s on the office” and it’s a beautifully edited compilation of game footage and sure enough he does the jim face when he’s sitting in the penalty box, before face offs, when he’s on the bench, literally ALL THE TIME. no one knows how he always manages to track the camera

tumblr loves him. i don’t make the rules ok. he’s always quoting tv shows and musicals and grows up literally in front of people and i’m not saying ransom has a sideblog dedicated to him but he honestly might