the silent energy

Ravenclaw Headcanon

Ravenclaws don’t like when they have to do more than they think they do, so when they see the Gryffindors waving around their wands more than necessary, they just get tired for them.

The Fixed Signs - Static Symphony 
Taurus, Leo, Scorpio, and Aquarius

Time stops when the cosmos is fixed. The fixed signs anchor the middle of each season, the world was spinning, weather was changing and in all of the chaos they became stationary. The fixed signs can experience the still moment in time, hibernating during the peak of the season when its radiance is most potent. Taurus is spring’s fixed sign, when the roots touching the bottom of the earth begin to shoot, when life has stopped for just a short moment so we can appreciate the beauty. Leo is summer’s fixed sign, a literal hotplate that emits solar light, the striking display by the heated summer sign, sitting high and fixed in the sky emitting beautiful, although burning light. Scorpio is autumn’s fixed sign, the season when the leaves begin to fall and prepare for a wintery death. In this way the Scorpio reflects the dying art of the season, anchoring down so profusely that she experiences the melancholic daze of the fall. Aquarius is the winter sign of the fixed signs, in between the two supernals of Capricorn and Pisces, stilling her environment with sterile intellect so wisdom becomes frozen like the snowflakes she immerses herself in. The fixed signs can be unrelenting and likely self ruling. They are attached to their own convictions because they have spent so long in still reflection. Their nature is largely stubborn and difficult to compromise with, but this is because they commonly develop remarkable faith in themselves and their own beliefs. They identify strongly with their convictions, so they cannot be flippantly mutable and simply change the mind. It’s a representation of their very being. The fixed mind is hidden by a thick valley, it sinks into the hollows so every mineral of truth, wisdom, and authenticity can be extracted. This can create a captor situation, because the individual can feel so bound, trapped, unable to breathe, and incapable of releasing the fixed energies. Fixed energy must be released harmoniously with intention and mindfulness, a conscious sublimation from an internal source of energy that easily accumulates and contaminates. The fixed signs experience frustration and temperamental reactivity. They can feel too full of energy and over excited until the state of anxious, and then become overly lethargic and self isolating. This is why their energy must be released with intention, or they often become trapped by compulsion and addiction, because a fixed sign will always return to what they know works. Fixed people are capable of substantial inner development and wisdom. They can develop an intimacy with everything, that becomes a mutual exchange of energy, this is why fixed individuals can be surprisingly sensitive socially and become easily drained. The fixed essence contains immense energy that Taurus directs through the body, Leo directs through the heart, Scorpio directs through the intuition, and Aquarius directs through the mind. Reflection and taking care of the body is important in fixed signs. Imbalanced energy can reap havoc on the physical form causing aches, illness, and tiredness in Taurus, heart palpitations in Leo, premenstrual and menstrual symptoms in Scorpio and iron or anaemic problems in Aquarius. The forceful and yet silent fixed energies express uniquely through each element. The earth in Taurus emphasises the fixed qualities so she immerses deeper into nature and her physical body, sinking down sensually. The fire in Leo is enduring with fixed energies, it’s a fire that burns bright, burns hard, and never burns out. The water in Scorpio becomes frozen emotion as it becomes trapped, often expressing itself through intense and prevailing emotional conditions. The air in Aquarius becomes static in motion, like she catches the idea as it falls from heaven and fossilises it with the intuitive functions of her mind, never missing a frequency. 

-C.

[art: kurt rykovich]

I guess I haven't done a master post in a million years as well

All of the post below and any new posts will be archived in stsathyre.tumblr.com/paganposts.

-St.

New Posts:

Energy Manipulation

Empath/Empathic posts

Magical Theory and Practice

Tech and Urban witchcraft and polytheism

Living the Life

Elements Series (Quick Reference Link)

Ascension

Personal/ Lokean Posts

Unexpected Reaction

Brett x Reader


NSFW


A/N: I like all the ideas coming from you, they inspire me so much, @lazyneonmonster. Probably bc they’re mainly based on Brett, but wth.

_


Brett toss his arm around your shoulders as you lean back on the couch, scrolling through social media on your phone. He peeked at your screen from the corner of his eye and saw how you absently stopped by some ridiculous posts just to snicker and then scroll forward.

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katchyalater  asked:

#11 + Bellarke if you are so inclined

kiss meme #11- ‘we’re actually being kind of silly for once’ kiss (this entire drabble is silly tbh)

ao3!

“If you keep glaring at everything like that, you’re gonna have wrinkles before you’re thirty.”

Bellamy ducks his head, a rare grin darting across his face as he catches his girlfriend in his arms before she can stumble into the wall.

“It’s called ‘supervising’,” he corrects her primly, and Clarke just leans forward to blow a wet raspberry against his cheek. He can smell the alcohol on her breath and smothers another grin in her hair. “Someone needs to make sure you drunks don’t injure yourselves,” he says, pinching the soft skin of her hip where her shirt has ridden up.

“It’s called ‘being a stick in the mud’,” she shoots back before pulling away and taking his hands in hers. “Come dance with me.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t dance.”

“Don’t or can’t?” she asks, hitching an eyebrow.

“Don’t,” he replies, brushing a hand over her exposed shoulder. “But don’t worry, you’re dancing enough for the two of us,” he adds on with a smirk.

It was the understatement of the year.

Clarke, when given the correct sugar to alcohol ratio, is a notoriously bad dancer. She’s a ball of energy, enthusiastic spins and flailing limbs, a danger to anyone within a five foot radius, and Bellamy finds it absolutely adorable.

(Although, that may just be because he finds everything Clarke does absolutely adorable. She’s his girlfriend, he’s allowed to think that.)

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The Trickster's Mate Ch 1 (GabrielxReader)

Summary: After grooming Gabriel’s wings, Castiel accidently lets a secret spill…

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: None

Author’s Note: I got the idea for this from an imagine (from the blog @supernaturalimagine) and​ it would not leave me alone until it was written. I do have more chapters and will try to update them on here fairly quickly. Any kind of feedback would be greatly appreciated! I love hearing from the readers!


Rubbing your eyes, you stumble your way towards the bunker kitchen, only a few dim lights guiding your way. A stubbed toe, and a newly frozen pair of feet later, you had finally made it to the kitchen to get a bottle of water that your parched throat demanded. Easily twisting the cap off and chugging half the bottle, you instantly felt better and, unfortunately, more awake. Exhaling slowly, you make your way towards the main area. Maybe you’d watch some Hulu or something until you felt sleepy enough to go back to bed.

As you walk out of the kitchen, you immediately almost collide with a body. “Gabriel?!” you gasp, eyes widening slightly. You didn’t even know that he was in the bunker. The last time he hung around was about a month ago, and he had been gone since then. It wasn’t unusual to see him around, but it was odd that he was just wandering through the bunker at night. Even Cas watched TV if he happened to stay.

“Hey,” he grumbled, looking strangely irritable. Absently, he reached behind him to scratch at his back. He was in a nice pair of jeans and a dark shirt, and his hair was slightly disheveled.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, trying to inspect him in the dim light.

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anonymous asked:

Could we get our precious boy just kinda slow dancing in the living room with his gf and being heckin cute pls n thanks

A/N: this is the song that i thought of when i was writing this piece of shit right here 


The vacuum drowns out the sound of the radio playing on the coffee table as you maneuver around it, finding dirt and ashes in almost every corner of the small living room. You wonder how it managed to get in the places it did as you continue to clean, pushing and pulling the vacuum over the carpet. Absentmindedly, you begin to hum along with the tune that plays on the radio while focusing on the task at hand.

The noise had woken him up, but he doesn’t mind as he knew exactly who it came from. Tired steps make their way from the bedroom into the living room before he rests most of his weight against the door fame, letting out a yawn that brings sleepy tears to his eyes as he licks his dry lips. Hooded eyes watch you lovingly as you clean, a smile creeping upon his lips as he acknowledges your early morning energy, silently wondering where you were able to get it from. He stays like that for a while, as you haven’t seemed to notice his presence until you finally finish, turning off the loud device as you position it to stand tall. You meet his eyes when you turn around to find the cable, a smile upon your lips similar to his own. He pushes himself off of the doorframe as he makes his way over to you with long strides.

Warm large hands find yours as he looks down at you before closing his eyes to press a tender kiss upon your forehead. You blush at the gesture, letting your head fall forward to rest on his chest as his chin rests atop. His hands part from yours only to loosely hold each waist as he begins swaying side to side. You close your eyes as he sways with you, his feet a little clumsy as he wasn’t the best dancer, but you don’t mind. The moment is pleasant as is his presence and the two of you continue that way until the song finishes.

anonymous asked:

Sorry. I realized now I wrote 17. I meant 38. (“Please talk to me”)

So, here is the second one (since the prompt cited is the same one as in your first ask), this has been agony to write. I hope it will be more pleasant to read it … Thank you for sending me this!


Letting go

She tried to act normal, and if he hadn’t known her as well as he did he would probably have fallen for it, he had to give her that. She was excellent at pretending - they had all witnessed her leading the entire town of Alexandria by their collective noses with her soccer mom act right up to the moment when she had dropped it to save the sheep from the Wolves.

But he did know her as well as he did, so for him, falling for it was never an option. She was putting up a perfect front, but he saw right through it, saw the pain and the self-loathing and the conviction that she was a despicable human being - when he knew, right down to his bones, that all she did was never for her own gain but only ever to save or protect others, even if it cost her dearly.

That after all that had happened, after all the world had thrown at her, she would still never raise a hand against anyone in anger but only in self-defense, or in defense of others.

That she was motivated by compassion above all things, and that this was what was tearing her apart right now - compassion, and being forced by it to kill human beings, didn’t go well together.

Two weeks had passed since she had returned for the first fight and moved back into the house of her family that same day, into the room next to his. He could hear her crying herself to sleep every night, could hear her sighing every morning upon waking up as if the weight of the world were settling back on her shoulders - when all she had done was fight by their side so her family would survive the war against Negan.

And there was, of course, that one thing that she still hadn’t talked to him about, that wound she was still hiding from him, the one she had carried ever since her time with Tyreese and the two girls.

He felt that all of these things - having to kill again, facing the graves of her family both here and at Hilltop, and whatever it was that had happened to her on the road between the fall of the prison and their reunion at Terminus - were conspiring against her once more, harming her, hurting her.

Every day since she had decided to stay at Alexandria instead of returning to the Kingdom after the fight, he had seen her cooking, baking, tending to the tomatoes and beans and whatever, always keeping herself busy, always making sure that everyone else had whatever they wanted or needed - but never taking care of herself, never taking time to reflect, to grieve, to heal.

And the burden she was carrying, he saw, wasn’t getting lighter just because she was, again, choosing to ignore it.

He cornered her when she was coming in with a handful of small potatoes, grown on the patch behind the house, soil under her fingernails from carefully digging them out with her bare hands so as to avoid cutting them with any tools she might have used instead. She was pushing the door closed behind herself with one elbow, and just at that moment he moved out of the hallway, careful not to physically crowd her - he didn’t want to stress or intimidate her, after all.

As Carol looked up and met his eyes, he saw the sorrow and, strangely, guilt before she put her mask in place again, trying to hide behind it, as if they weren’t able to all but read each other’s minds.

Daryl held out his cupped hands and she automatically handed over the potatoes. Side by side, they walked down the hallway and to the kitchen where she washed her hands and he began to rub the soil off the potatoes and got out a peeler.

They worked in silence for long moments, but it wasn’t as comfortable as it once would have been. He felt the tension radiating off her, saw her stiffening whenever he inched closer to her while working, heard her breath hitching when he brushed her back with his forearm once as he leaned around her to reach for the towel.

Twice, he noticed her pausing in her work, her hands stilling, resting on the countertop for a moment, before she drew in a deep breath and continued dicing the onion on the cutting board in front of her.

She couldn’t go on like this, he knew. She had been on the verge of breaking in that house at the Kingdom, after staying away from her family for more than a week, and fighting again, even against murderers and rapists, would have her in a bad place again, blaming herself for everything that happened, even stuff that in no way whatsoever could possibly be her fault.

Putting his potato cubes into the pot sitting between them, he checked his fingers for potato peel and then, after finding them clean, he slowly and carefully reached out for her shoulder, wary of spooking her by touching her too suddenly. Carol froze instantly, but he didn’t pull back his hand. Instead, he gently took the knife out of her stiff fingers and then guided her through a turn on one foot, almost as if they were dancing.

She didn’t look at him, keeping her head down as if still concentrating on her onion.

“I know you still don’t wanna talk about what happened, I get it.”

His voice sounded loud in the quiet house. It was gravelly with disuse - he wasn’t speaking much to anyone. He noticed her breath catching for a moment when he spoke, but then she pressed her lips together and tried to appear unfazed again.

“‘m not much of a talker myself, so I know where you’re comin’ from. There’s stuff you don’t wanna share, stuff you can’t share.”

The vast landscape of all they had gone through, both before and after the apocalypse, opened up between them, countless hours days weeks months years of fear and panic, untold nightmares, tears and screams both held in and shared with an uncaring world.

Carol felt again the solace of Daryl sitting silently on the counter of the RV after they had “found” Sophia in Hershel’s barn, the only one to never offer platitudes over this greatest and most painful loss of her life, the only one to never judge her for grieving the way she had, and still was. If anyone could understand …

“Please.” His voice was barely a whisper now, the words felt more than heard. “Talk to me. Let it out. I’ll listen, just listen, I won’t tell anyone.”

For a few heartbeats longer, she held it in, held herself together against the wave of pain that had been building and building inside her ever since she had heard that devastating sentence - “Nobody will want you back there.” -, hoping to postpone this just a little longer, to pretend for a few more hours or days, but the look in his eyes was like a lance that went straight to her heart.

The pain surged, the wave crested and broke, and she let go of it with a sob that tore itself free from the deepest, darkest place within her, the place where she was hiding the things she no longer wanted to talk about, hear about, think about. The place where a girl’s hand was dripping with the blood of her kid sister. The place where her own trembling hand aimed a gun at the girl’s head from behind and then pulled the trigger.

Outwardly, there was no buildup. One moment she stood there, seemingly unmoved by what he’d said, unwilling to take his offer. The next, tears welled in her eyes and her lips began to quiver as she supported herself against the countertop with one hand, gasping in a lungful of air as if against a crushing pain in her chest. Her free hand came up to cover her mouth, fingers trembling, and she stood there, drowning in sorrow, consumed by guilt, all alone.

Unthinkingly, his hand on her shoulder pulled her in and he held her, cradled her against him, one arm around her back, one hand caressing her arm, her shoulders, her hand hanging limply by her side, his thumb gently stroking away the tears running down her face as she told him about Lizzie killing her younger sister while she had been away with Tyreese for just five minutes, just five minutes that had cost a little girl her life, had cost two little girls their lives, and it was all her fault, she hadn’t been there when Mika had needed her most, when Lizzie had needed help and support, and she had failed not just them but also their father who had trusted her enough to ask her to take care of them on his deathbed.

Horror settled into Daryl’s stomach as he listened to her describing Lizzie’s blood stained hand, the knife dangling from her fingers, the girl’s empty eyes clashing with the elation on her face as she had predicted her sister’s return as a walker that would no longer have to live in fear of this world. His heart broke for Carol as he imagined her trying to banter with Lizzie as they were looking for flowers to give to Mika when she “woke up”, trying to keep the girl calm and unafraid during her final moments before raising the gun and firing it.

He couldn’t imagine the guilt she had been feeling over this, or how she had managed to live with it all this time without any support, without anyone telling her that she hadn’t done anything wrong, that she had had no way of helping Lizzie and therefore had no choice, or they would all have did as well, Tyreese, Judith, herself.

Because she had believed, all this time, that she didn’t deserve help, that she was an unfeeling, uncaring, heartless monster and didn’t deserve to be forgiven for what she had done. That she had to shoulder this guilt alone, for the rest of her life, without anyone helping her carry it.

She was trembling against him, silent now, all her energy spent, and he could feel her tensing up again, bracing herself for him to push her away from him in disgust - for what else could he possibly feel after this?

“’m sorry,” he whispered, voice shaking. He tried to imagine having to shoot a mentally ill child that was a danger to herself and everyone around her, but his mind balked. The very idea was horrifying - and she’d had to do it, and live with it.

His shirt was wet where Carol was leaning into him, and he was surprised when he felt tears on his own face as well - he didn’t know when he’d started crying. He kept holding her, one hand stroking her back very gently so she would feel him being near her, and know that he was not going anywhere because of her confession.

“How could I … He trusted me to keep them safe!” Her voice hitched on the final word, and her shoulders began to shake again under his hands.

“Was nothin’ you coulda done, there’s no help for that kinda thing anymore.” Dinner forgotten, he led her to the kitchen table and helped her sit down. She was trembling like a leaf now, maybe expecting to be thrown out again, abandoned, told that nobody would want her here. Smoothing her sweaty hair back from her face, he leaned down to kiss her forehead.

“Did what you could, what you had to, to keep the rest of ya safe, keep Judith safe. You did nothin’ wrong.”

Tentatively, since he had never done anything like this before, his hand went down to pick up hers, resting in her lap, still wet with her tears, and pulled it up until he could breathe a kiss onto the hand that had held the gun and shot a little girl, both acknowledging what she had done and reaffirming his love for her despite what had happened.

“Ya saved three lives by takin’ one, and I’m glad you did.”

His kiss felt unreal to Carol, as did the sense of weightlessness growing inside her since she had told him about Lizzie - no, since she had decided to tell him when the pain of it all had overwhelmed her. Surely he couldn’t be serious - surely he believed that she had failed those two girls, just like she had failed her own?

But his hands were moving to her shoulders now, finding the knotted muscles there, and he carefully started to massage the tension of months of guilt and sorrow out of her, his body heat soaking into her clammy skin and her rock hard muscles, trying not to hurt her as his thumbs stroked out the kinks in her back and his hands found opportunities again and again to just caress her.

Every single touch, every movement was meant to reassure her, comfort her, and his unconditional love for her flooded the emptiness she had been carrying inside her all this time, filling her, giving back all the things she had believed she didn’t deserve anymore. Friendship, support, love.

After everything, Daryl still loved her.

She leaned back into him and closed her eyes, at peace.

#Caryl

#Caryl fan fiction

#Daryl Dixon

#Carol Peletier

#LD writes fan fiction

#❤️

anonymous asked:

M!A: The ghost of Chara has to follow Petals around for 2 days. Chara can't touch anything or anyone but can communicate with people.

…No, no why would you do that?! The child looks horrified by the idea, they’d worked so hard to keep Chara away!

But, against their will the hazy form started to appear in the air beside them, the shape of yet another child coming into sight. They could almost be a twin to Petals in everyway besides hair color and skin tone, along with-

- the eyes.

A sharp red gaze peers around with a calculating look, before a cruel smile appears on the ghosts shadowed face.

Well well, finally free of my prison~? Seems you didn’t hide me well enough, partner.

Chara is open for questions and interactions for the next two days.

anonymous asked:

You don't mind drawing a little cute Emil for my best friend, do you? :>

Thank you for the ask fam =3= How is this?

(Gotta tie that hair back so you don’t, you know, light it on fire or anything.)

Try to be more like an owl, wind turbine

Originally posted by brunafogacci

Owls are notoriously silent predators. On the leading edge of their wings, these raptors have comb-like bristles on their feathers. The bristles break up sound waves and prevent the telltale swoosh sound of an incoming strike. Meanwhile, the downy feathers on the underside of the wing and the owl’s legs soften air pressure, adding to the quiet. End result: Mouse did not see it coming.  

Originally posted by cxo-vfx

Wind turbines, however, are not so stealth—they disturb their neighbors, be they human or animal. Scientist Nigel Peake, who studies fluid mechanics, might have the answer: Make turbine blades more like owl wings. Peake’s team added evenly spaced fins across an airfoil and put the imitation owl wing in a wind tunnel. It worked, cutting noise down by a factor of 10. It turns out that adding fins to blades might also help generate more energy, because the wind farm could spin the turbines faster without worrying about making more noise. The scientists are now working with a wind turbine manufacturer to test their idea out. So owl wings result in more rodent snacks, fewer stressed fish, fewer edgy squirrels, fewer complaining humans, and less coal burned—they’re quite the invention. 

The light of the moment becoming a memory—
that was their subject: as if the present
could be haunted by its own nostalgia.
Or perhaps that wasn’t the subject exactly.
And a desolate sweep of beach reflects
only an afternoon when no one was there.

All of these places look emptier
than they were: unmarked,
unfulfilled, atremble. “Spirit of repose,”
"silent energy of nature"—that’s the way
you could think if you believed
the landscape was more than a mirror.

Lawrence Raab, from “The Luminists,” Paris Review (vol. 41, no. 153, Winter 1999/2000)

Falling Out, Falling In (Ch. 1) | Zen/Hyun Ryu x Reader

RATING: Teen | GENRE: Angst/Drama/Healing/Friendship
SUMMARY: You catch Zen cheating on you, and you try to recover from the shock as he tries to mend your relationship.

Initially, you’re not too sure just what it is you’re looking at. …No, that’s a lie. You know full well what it is you’re looking at, but your heart, wanting to save you from the pain, tries to vehemently deny the scene before you. But you can’t. Not when it’s staring at you straight in the face, and your rationality doesn’t give a fuck about how you feel and you quickly start to become aware of what this is.

The room is quiet as you stand there, staring at the two figures on the bed as they stare back at you. Your eyes glance over to the scattered clothes on the floor before bringing them back up to what was supposed to be your faithful boyfriend and the woman he’s hovering over. For a moment, you can’t believe that of all people you find Zen to be cheating with—you flinch slightly from those thoughts, never thinking that they would ever have to cross your mind—it’s Echo Girl. The same woman who nearly ruined Zen’s career before. But here she was, very much ruining the relationship you thought you had with the actor.

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