this can be taken so many ways

Absorbing Energy

Absorbing energy can be a very useful energy technique that will be able to help you in your craft by allowing you to take energy from many different sources, so that you can use that energy in your energetic working. This process will allow you to target a construct that you desire, and pull in its spiritual energy, so that you will be able to use it to empower yourself, and to continue to keep yourself energized. Once taken into your being it will be yours to do with, and we’ll be able to be used in any way that you see fit. This technique is also helpful at keeping at bay energetic burnout, because it allows you to recharge from other objects around you through the act of taking their energy into you.

Absorbing energy steps:

  1. Before you do this process you are going to want to center, and ground like every other form of energy technique.
  2. The first thing that you are going to need to find is some form of construct, or entity that you wish to take the energy of. This should be a form of energy that you wish to take into you, that you believe will not cause you any negative problems by taking it into your being. Constructs that are good for this are things such as crystals, and herbs, because they usually hold very helpful energies that can be absorbed into you without causing problems.
  3. Next you are going to want to hold your hand next to, or pointed at the construct, so that you can allow your powerful hand energy centers to be close to the energy that you want to take into your being. This will allow the energy-absorbing process to go more smoothly. Absorbing energy can also be done at a distance, or can be done by resting your hand upon the construct. Once your hand is in a proper comfortable position you will be then able to go on to the next step.
  4. Now we are going to start the process of absorbing energy by visualizing the energy of the object flowing upper arm, and into the rest of our body. By visualizing this we will be sending out an intention that will allow are desire to manifest, and control the energy to move. Keep in this focusing state for a while, so that the energy can have enough time to work its way up your arm, and into your body allowing it to be completely absorbed. Once you feel more energized or  that you have accomplished, and absorbed what you need to you can cut off the connection at any time by breaking away your focus, and removing your arm.

Can I just say that Season 3 already feels so fresh and new and sort of like the start of a new era for the show???

From the way it’s been shot with its cinematic feel through to the different locations we’ve already been taken to seriously highlights just how restricted we were last season to the inside walls of Kara’s apartment and the parameters of the DEO… all but screaming ‘breakout season’.

There are so many different storylines intertwining and slowly building up to what is shaping to be an epic season arc. I am so invested in this Reign backstory and the CatCo shake up is exactly what was needed after Season 2 failed to give it a time of day. We’re seeing so many hat tips to Season 1’s winning formula, with the return of the Danvers sister dynamic being one of them… I also didn’t think I’d be on board with the whole James/Lena ship, but I’m 100% all for the back and forth and obvious tension.

But the thing I am absolutely LOVING is watching Kara find herself and rediscover who she is outside of her relationship with Mon-El. One of my favourite things to watch is a strong and put-together character become vulnerable and lost. Her development this season is something I’m really looking forward to, especially with Mon-El’s imminent return and just how much that’s going to affect their relationship and dynamic.

I have no Idea how many people know this but its a life saver

Start off with a crappy scanned/phone taken picture like so

Mess around with the SAI Filters, I usually go color deepen all the way to the left then mess with brightness and contrast until I find a good balance I like, then to top it off with a copied layer on multiply to make the lines darker

Click what I boxed off and the magic has already happened

you now are left with a clean lineart layer that you can color underneath to your liking : 0 Hell you can even color your lines however you want as well for a colored lineart

Ilvermorny Headcanons

- There are more witches than wizards, it’s very common that in a pair of siblings the girl would have magical abilities and the boy would not
- Due to history there aren’t many white southern wizards or witches
- Wifi
- Wizard memes
- Really weird food combos that students from around the continent introduce
- Students can do some crazy shit to alcohol and weed
- Some students study to be a specific type of elemental wizard or witch, for instance, storm, fire, earth, wind, water, electricity wizard/witches
- Healing spells could be referred to as the dark arts
- Wizard fairs/amusement parks
- Halloween is lit, and some students will dress up in regular clothes like a no-maj or as a stereotypical witch
- Lit parties in general
- One Math, English, No-maj history, and Science course are required to graduate, and don’t need to be taken in a particular year
- Quidditch can get really violent
- Magical baseball, football, and volleyball
- There’s multiple ways to travel to ilvermorny; trains, trams, sky trams, vans, airplane, bus, sometimes older students car pool there etc…
- Pigeons and crows can be used instead of owls and are sometimes kept as pets, with the occasional hawk
- Besides birds, toads, and cats students can also bring rodents or fish. And only service dogs or dogs with special permission
- Wand making is a very common practice since there are so many witches and wizards in North America
- School wide debates on what celebrities or historical figures are wizards or witches
- School newspaper/news
- There’s a Starbucks, wizardbucks, inside the school and it always has pumpkin spice latte on the menu
- There are a few shops within school grounds, a small convenient store, ilvermorny merchandise store, wizardbucks, music shop, smoke shop (only for last year students, in the 90s all the last year students signed an official and magical petition to get one), and your daily wizard supply store (wand tools, books. broom tools, cauldrons, potion bottles, etc..)
- There are so many students they’ve had up to five quidditch teams for each house
- Lots of online shopping
- Lots of wizard music (wizard beats)
- There’s a drive-in movie theater behind the school
- Off school grounds, a few miles into the nearest town there’s a secret club/bar just for witches and wizards
- Assemblies are crazy
- Arranged concerts
- As of 2017 the attitude towards no-majs has changed drastically, not exactly ideal, but much closer
- It’s not uncommon for a wizard or witch to go into a no-maj job/career
- There is a four year required class on the real history of natives to North America
- A persons culture is always taken into consideration and very seriously when it comes to dress code, ceremonies, or anything needed
- Each year has two advisors and each house has a counselor
- The school is under extreme protection due to the occasional no-maj finding out about them and threatening to burn the school down. Although they are not killed for this, just their memory is
- Some students like to use crystals
- There’s a gym and a pool (hidden swimming pool) in the school
- Inside the library there’s an entire section dedicated to maps
- There have been peaceful protests
- There’s about ten greenhouses
- The kitchen takes up an entire floor in the school
- None of the common rooms look alike, and the dorms within are all different
- Students are taught home ec without using magic at first

After the Parade

“Hush,” he says.

Above them, Cabal ships drag thick black smoke across the flickering twilight, and flames rise from the Tower. Legionnaires scour the streets, seeking out the cries of the wounded and afraid.

“Hush,” he says again, as the child starts to sniffle, and he pulls her into the shadows cast by an apartment block as a patrol makes its laborious way past. He was made to protect, made to serve, but he feels clumsy now; the hand on her shoulder is almost larger than her head and she has no armor to protect her bruised and burned skin from his rough gauntlets. When he tries to wipe the tears from her face he worries that he will be the one to break her.

He followed her screams, just as the Cabal did. He had no rifle to kill the Legionnaires that would have silenced her; dispatched the first one with his boot-knife but was not quick enough to catch the second unaware. It is dead, but his chest-plate is cracked and burned and the thing that eats the Traveler has also eaten his Light.

She is wearing yellow. A summer dress, for a celebration. When he offered her his gore-spattered hand she took it at once, and did not look back at the splayed and broken limbs visible beneath the rubble around her as though she knew there was no one left to wait for. He brushed dust and chips of concrete from the tight black curls on her head, and when she tried to smile her gap-toothed smile at him despite it all he knew that he would die the second death to save her.

They pick their way through dust-covered streets and alleys, one grimy hand holding his armored fingers, the other wrapped around the silent shell of his Ghost. He told her to keep it safe, and she clutches it to her chest with an intensity that would do any Titan proud.

To those behind the Wall, love and service. To those outside it, fury and fire. He is young: the Order’s maxim has never meant much to him, but here at the end of an Age he feels each word burning in his chest and he wraps his Mark around her shoulders like a cloak, like a little Hunter, to keep the nearness of the night from her as best he can.

When they hear the distant bursts of gunfire he waits until the chatter fades, then leads them in a different direction even though it gives him hope to know the City is still fighting. Perhaps if he ran to the violence he would find weapons or more Guardians, but he will not risk it. And so hours pass as they slink across the city, and as slowly as his wounds force him to move she still takes ten strides for every one of his. She has only one sandal, silver leather wrapped around a tiny leg, but he thinks that a single piece of armor is better than no armor at all.

He finds a battered pulse rifle in a street that leads to a square, tries not to wonder where its owner went. The magazine is full, but it is all he has and there is no Ghost at his shoulder to synthesize ammo. He bends to pick it up, never letting go of the hand that holds his own, just as a troop of Legionnaires turn the corner in front of them.

He pulls the child behind a crumbled wall. Waits one heartbeat, two; no slug throwers roar in response. Even so, they are between him and the direction he has lead, and he doubts he has the strength to cross the City again.

Love and service to those within. Fire and fury to those without.

The Legionnaires do not notice, but neither do they move on. More join them, and they begin to spiral out in all directions, continuing their search. It will not be long before they find him and the child. A narrow street, once hung with banners but now collapsing from the rooftops down, will lead her west, to the walls, away from Cabal patrols - as long as there is a distraction.

He lifts her chin as gently as he can.

“You have to run,” he whispers. He is bad at whispering. “I’ll keep you safe.”

“That way,” he says when she stares at him in silence, pointing with his outsized hand down the shadowed street.

He gives her a delicate push, points again. She blinks, once, then toddles into the dark, Ghost held close as though it will protect her. Perhaps, if there is a way to undo this disaster, it someday will.

He props the rifle atop the ledge, lifts his visor and sights with naked eye. There are so many, he thinks, and then bites back a laugh - there are only eight.

Love within. Fury without.

The rifle barks. One Legionnaire dies and the others spin in confusion, firing in the direction of his cover. He ignores them, squeezes the trigger again. And again. And again.

Love within. Fury without. Love within. Fury without. Love within. Fury without. Love within -

Something tugs his arm. He looks down into the eyes of the little girl, and pure terror finds him.

“I said run,” he growls, but she does not, her face set in a scowl. He shakes his arm and she does not let go.

A micro-rocket bursts against the barricade and he ducks, throws his body over her, sprays the rest of his bullets in response. The child buries her head in his cracked armor, her frail body shaking.

Never has he been so afraid to die.

He feels a fool. He tosses the rifle down, wraps one arm around the child and pulls her close. With the other he slams his visor shut. He takes a deep breath, and then another, and when at last there is a break in the constant fire he lurches to his feet, lifts the child to his chest, and runs.

It is hard, so hard, to move full Titan-plate without his Light to drive it. His body aches. Something inside is probably broken, and he does not know how long it takes a body to heal without a Ghost.

A slug hits him in the back and he stumbles but his armor holds, and he sprints down the street where he tried to send the child, the sound of jump-packs following behind. He ducks his head and cups himself around his charge, makes himself as big as he can, plows across the debris-choked pavement. The girl begins to cry again, though to his ears it is not the sound of fear but of fury, and before long he is roaring with it, and the two of them roar together down the long, narrow street as explosions scatter bits of ruins that once were homes. He does not know where he is going, knows only that he must go somewhere, that he will not stop until the child is safe or his legs no longer work; that when he has nothing left he will throw her from him and tear the Cabal apart with fists alone, Light or no.

He has stopped counting the impacts. Every step is a knife in his chest. The Legionnaires must be close but he does not turn, lest the shield that is his body fail. He can feel himself slowing, a sensation that fills him both with wonder and despair, but he cannot force himself to let her go despite his promise. Something cracks against the back of his leg, and he is too tired and too hurt to correct. He lands heavily on one shoulder, slides ten grinding yards, arms still wrapped around the child. At the very least, they will have to rip him apart to get to her. Maybe, if he dies quickly, they will not notice her at all.

Gunfire interrupts his thoughts, along with the sound of footsteps and the roar of Cabal. Hands grab him, drag him out of the street, but still he does not uncurl. He sees Hunter cloaks, Warlock robes, a Titan mark.

“Hush,” he tells the child, head still tucked close, while they cower in a doorway and around them Guardians fight.

“Hush,” he tells her, over their surprised cries of pain.

“Hush,” he tells her, over and over, until at last all is silent and he dares to lift his head and stand.

He helps the child to her feet, and though he leans against the doorway it is her tiny hand in his that keeps him upright. He looks around at their saviors: most are near as bruised as he is. They nod their heads, pat him on the back, and he opens his mouth to ask for forgiveness, for leading the Legionnaires here, but a Hunter shakes her head as though she knows what he will say.

Two Guardians lie dead. Truly dead. One Hunter, one Titan wearing the Mark of the Gatewatch. He waits the half-second for their Ghosts to revive them, feels sick when they do not rise. He swears that he will learn their names and add them to the Order of the Pilgrim Guard.

Someone makes cooing sounds and tries to take the child, tries to give her water, but she refuses to let go of his hand, refuses to surrender his Ghost. For a moment they stand there, all seven of them in a circle around her, and it is as though a different light has risen to bond them all.

They need ships. Weapons. Food, maybe. The child, at least, must eat. The Hunter offers water again, and he wonders how many new scraps of fabric she has taken for her cloak. A different Titan, this one wearing the Mark of the Six Fronts, hands him the dead Hunter’s rifle - then looks down at the child, still clinging to his hand, and passes him a sidearm instead.

They turn their backs to the Tower, and continue their slow march to the western wall. Perhaps they will find supplies along the way. If not, so be it - they are still Guardians, and they will save what light they can.

Love within. Fury without.

The Cabal have no word for ‘retreat.’ Soon, they will learn that the Guardians have none for ‘mercy.’

Words: @themothyards

Art: @artdailybykitty

fanaticfandomfaun  asked:

I am a huge fan of your style! It's absolutely lovely! How long have you been drawing and how did you develop your own style?

 ive been drawing my whole life! (always an odd question for me bc like…. yall stopped drawing after kindergarten? what did you do all day??)

as for developing style, my biggest piece of advice is just! keep! drawing! its been a bit hard to follow my own advice lately because my depression keeps fucking up my motivation and for the first time in my life i just dont feel like drawing, at all, ever. but if youre having similar motivational issues or if youre just starting out and you just arent feeling satisfied with your art, dont give up! the less you draw the harder it will be! i have a personal policy (that i dont actually remember to follow) where even if i dont want to, even if i hate how it looks, i have to draw at least once a day every single day. i swear it will improve your work if you do this. its hard, i know, i havent been doing it, but follow my advice not my example! (honestly im the embodiment of that quote “I give myself very good advice, but I very seldom follow it.” by Lewis Carol)

the other piece of advise i have is honestly…… steal art. 

“gasp! but Kate,” you say, “stealing art is bad and wrong!!” you say, “i know because of all those ‘art theft is bad and wrong’ posts i reblog!”

look. thats not what im saying, im not telling any of you to try to pass anyone elses art as your own, or use other peoples art without their credit. dont to that its bad and wrong. what im saying is LOOK at other peoples art and copy what they do. copying other peoples art styles is how every artist has learned for centuries. i started out drawing myself as a powerpuff girl or as a pokemon character just like everyone else. hell, i used to straight up print out and trace drawings i found on deviant art, which is a perfectly viable way to learn styles (muscle memory) so long as you dont try to pass it off as your own work then honestly its not stealing.

for example recently i was trying to draw these cat characters i had come up with, and i could not for the life of me draw these cats they were just turning out so ugly,

so i was like “well fuck this, i just need to find a simpler style” and by some kind of MIRACLE, while i was looking up drawings of cats i stumbled across this one blog, daily cat drawings. and it was like, holy shit this is it this is the exact style i need to draw my cats in. so first thing i did was try to follow some of their drawings exactly, not tracing but the closest you can get by sight. 

this is one of dailycatdrawing’s drawings:

and this was my attempt to copy it:

after i felt like i kinda had it down i drew that athena. NOT based off of any one of dailycatdrawing’s pieces, but still using the basics of their style. after that i felt confident enough using this style to draw the rest of my cats and they turned out great! naturally i had to draw hermes again because i couldnt just use such a blatant copy of another artists work, and it turned out even better than before!

which proves my earlier advice about how every single time you draw youre improving! its also important to note that even if you try to copy an artists style exactly you will probably never have it perfectly, and thats a GOOD THING! because it means that you arent truly stealing someone elses work, youre just using it as an example of ONE WAY a drawing can be good. by paying attention to MANY artists styles you can use all of them together to make your own unique style! even trying to copy dailycatdrawing’s style to a T i still ended up using elements from other artists and my own experience to change the style just enough to make it personal. looking at hermes’ face you can tell ive unintentionally taken some inspiration from lackadaisy’s art style, another artist i really admire. 

this turned out way longer than i meant it to, sorry, i always get so caught up in explaining things when people ask for advice. hopefully this helped someone!

I keep seeing annoying thinkpieces say that Cap was rejecting the very idea of external oversight of any kind, which— no he wasn’t?? Even remotely??

He was basically saying that he wouldn’t be comfortable signing something unless there was a system of checks and balances in place that would prevent The Avengers from becoming “Winter Soldier Death Squad: USA Edition”. (Yes, I know he didn’t know about the deathsquad at that point. But he’s done his homework on US military policy. His concerns are not unfounded.)

Remember what Bucky said about his former co-workers? “Their most elite death squad. More kills than anyone in HYDRA history, and that was before the serum. They speak 30 languages. Can hide in plain sight. Infiltrate, assassinate, destabilize. They can take a whole country down in one night, you’d never see them coming.” Steve is asking for assurances that whatever governing body gains control of the Avengers won’t decide to use THEM that way— and, in fact, won’t even THINK of them that way. I think that’s part of why he becomes so furious whenever people refer to Bucky, Wanda, Thor, and Bruce as “weapons” instead of people. When you talk about a person as BEING a weapon, you have taken the first step towards using them AS a weapon.

In fact, in many ways, I feel like CACW was basically Watchmen: Redux, but the version Zack Snyder refused to make. The central question is the same: who watches the watchmen?

In Watchmen (book more than movie), the answer is not “no one.” The answer is: different people/groups (and yes, sometimes no one) at different periods throughout history. But remember when the group watching the Watchmen was the US Government? Because when the US Government was in charge, after the Keene Act (cough Sokovian Accords cough), the Watchmen had the option of either retiring, or accepting orders to destabilize foreign governments and commit mass slaughter, all in the name of “keeping order”. AKA, literally what the Winter Soldier Deathsquad in CACW were built for. Remember, Hydra’s #1 goal is “order”, but an authoritarian order that they get to decide and enforce.

In CACW, I don’t see Steve saying “The Avengers are perfect and no one can tell us what to doooooooo!” He knows perfectly well that they are not infallible (see A:AoU). But he also knows that on the ground and in the field, things go FUBAR and you have to restrategize and do the best with what you have at the time. One of Cap’s superpowers is his instinct for strategy in battle (clearly serum-based, since pre-serum Steve Rogers’ favorite strategy was “spend entire life running into brick walls both metaphorical and literal”). He is asking: will the Accords allow him to use that power? Would he be allowed to use his own judgment? Would the rest of his team? INCLUDING Tony? When Tony flew the nuclear bomb up into the sky-hole way back in The Avengers, he was essentially violating the will of the government agency that decided to nuke NYC, because he saw a way to stop the invasion without causing the deaths of millions. Would the policies of the Accords allow him to make that decision (or a parallel one) in the future, or would he be arrested and locked up for violating his “contract”?

I mean, sure, in the midst of the initial discussion, Peggy dies, so Steve bails, and then all the Bucky stalking starts up and Steve is all “I WILL BURN DOWN THE WORLD FOR HIM, SEE IF I WON’T”, so the initial conflict gets ratcheted up about a million times, but the central question of “who gets to be in charge of these superpowered weirdos, and what does being in charge really mean” still runs through the whole plot. It runs parallel to the question of Bucky’s culpability. When you are turned into a weapon and used as a weapon, are you to blame for the destruction that follows?

I keep seeing the conflict framed as this—

TONY: We need to be held accountable!
CAP: No we don’t!

But I don’t see that at all in the actual movie. I see this—

TONY: We need to be held accountable!
CAP: Accountable to whom? And what does being held accountable mean?

[feelings-based punching breaks out, no one ever answers Cap’s implied question, Tony himself finds out that being “held accountable” means being shoved into the nautical oubliette where you get de-powered and possibly beaten for the rest of your life, T’Challa proves that his government is the only one that should be trusted to be in charge of anything]

think about how keith and lance must lay in bed together. the conversation fell flat and they’re tangled in each others arms. they don’t speak - they don’t have to. think about the way keith plays with lances fingers, threading them with his and watching them fit together perfectly. lance is watching keith watch their hands and he’s so taken aback by the fact that this boy right here… this angry, reckless, unrelenting boy can come so undone during the time they spend together. 

somehow he just can’t believe that this same boy who always dives in headfirst, fists flying and throat screaming… is soft. just for him.

Once Finn found a poem Poe wrote about him.

Context: I ran a Jade Regent campaign, and due to some minor plot changes I made, I sent the party into a small detour into a haunted house previously owned by the house of Sugimatu. Basically artists. This followed.

GM (Me): You find a small wand with an integrated scroll case among a pile of portraits.

Wizard: I try and identify it *Rolls High*

GM: You happen to activate it while fumbling with it, and it suddenly feels as if there’s now a scroll inside the scroll case. You open it and find a painted portrait of yourself.


GM: Its basically a selfie stick.

Wizard: I take the wand and crush it under my boot.

GM: WHAT?! Why would you…? You just broke some poor young princess’ priceless selfie stick! She took that on hikes and everything with her girlfriends for scrapbooking!

Wizard: The world wasn’t ready for this kind of magic, there are too many ways this power can be abused!

Druid: I would have taken it and shoved it up my ass and taken a photo.

Needless to say, I broke down after this; I’m not sure if I was laughing or crying. Probably laughing so I wouldn’t cry.

And I still have the mug.

fortheluvofmerlin replied to your photo “Sometimes the sunlight hits my hair juuuust right and I am so fucking…”

-wants to hear story like we’re BFFs despite having only found out about this blog two weeks ago- -sits on seat’s edge- -big eyes- Yeeeeeesss?

So, as some of you know, husband and I long distance dated over the ocean for almost a decade before we were able to be together for keepsies. It was an…interesting, period of time. I certainly got to see more of the world than I ever thought I would, and I also learned I was capable of far more than I ever gave myself credit for. Like travelling 4000+ miles on a plane every six months despite a severe fear of flying, which I still possess to this day. But I also learned something else as well, which is that love is like tea. It can be dark and sweet, light and floral, invigorating, soothing, warm, cold, sometimes even bitter. But when you’re down and out, there’s no better feeling than the knowledge that for at least the next ten minutes, you can cradle warmth between your hands, take a sip of respite, and the rest of the world can go fuck itself. 

Other British people know what I’m talking about, trust me, love is like tea.

But Love is also a choice. Oh hormones and attraction play a part in it sure, but those won’t see you forty years down the line once the excitement of infatuation dwindles. Heck it might not even see you four. But love, to us at least, is a conscious decision to say “this is the person(s) I love, sometimes it will be hard, sometimes we will annoy each other, but for now, every day, one day at a time, I choose to be with you until such a time that I do not or cannot.”

Not terribly romantic I admit, and doesn’t quite roll off the tongue the same way as “till death do us part”. But when you’re staring down the barrel of a 14-hour flight and your valium hasn’t kicked in and the only thing playing on the tv embedded into the chair in front of you is static, it’s oddly comforting to know you still think it’s worth it. 

Anyway, I was flying over here to spend three months with him, living in his apartment. We reasoned that we should try and spend more time together than an odd week here and there if we were going to make a big decision soon about whether or not to carry on seeing each other, or whether or not we should part ways amicably and save ourselves the hassle of immigration (and they say romance is dead). So I quit my jobs, upped sticks and moved in with someone I’d only ever met ten times before, but was pretty certain I was deeply in love with but needed to be certain I could live with. It was fun, and we soon found a domestic rhythm to our lives that we hadn’t even realized we’d been desperately missing until we had it.

And then the time came for me to go home and the night before I tried to smile over the dinner table like I wasn’t being suffocated by the weight of a tangible grief and impending loneliness pressing in around me, and the rising sensation in the tips of my fingers that if only I could reach out and push back hard enough, I could slow down time and have one more minute with him.

Later that night I went to bed with my laptop and watched movies while he sat up, scribbling at his computer desk. I didn’t pay it much heed, this was fairly normal for our routine. As much as we like each other’s company, we are fairly independent of each other. We had to be, given the nature of our relationship. And secretly I was glad to have some time alone to cry and collect myself before he came to bed.

The next morning I woke up, and for a brief moment was so happy to find him beside me, before I remembered I was due to get on a flight in six hours, and it could be another year before I saw him again. 

But I got up, tried to hold myself together and because I wanted to email my friend who was picking me up at the airport, reached for my laptop. Which was when I found, this:

[A flashcard covered in hearts and a little sun which reads:
Morning My Dear Let Us Play a Game (Which May Seem Queerer) Find Me In The Spot Where Your Face Is Clearer, Walking Down Our Only Hall Will Get You Nearer, Helo oh Help I seem To Be Stuck in the…]

“Mirror doesn’t rhyme with nearer!” I shouted as he ran into the kitchen, happily picking up my little card because I secretly loved the little poems he would leave around the apartment for me, scribbled on scraps of paper, in the fog of bathroom mirrors and wedged between books.

“It does if you’re American.” was all I got in return, before the kitchen door shut and I went off in pursuit of the rest of my poem. So I grabbed my phone so I could take pictures and post them on LJ later because I thought it would be cute and worth keeping, toddled off to the bathroom, opened the medicine cabinet and:


[A flashcard covered in balloons which reads:
Hidden Under the Letter Horde, Here You Have Fought Many With Bow and Sword, Word, Work and Play This Place Adores, Goodness I will be Found Under the…]

For a brief horrible moment I thought he actually meant the never ending mail pile on his side of the office, which had become a common point of contention for us, but then the rhyme clicked in place and I realized he was referring to my Lord of the Rings archer character and I ambled off to the computer desk in the main room.

Snapped a pic for posterity and lifted it up to find:

[A flashcard covered in little flames which reads: It Is So Dark And Hot In This Cove, Here I Can Only Wish For A Sight of A Cookie Grove, Find Me Quick so I Can Flee Like An Animal Drove, It Is So Dark and Hot In This Evil…]

“Honey…oven doesn’t rhyme with drove!”


“…yea okay get out my way”

[A flashcard which reads: Crap! I have Moved, What A Disgrace, Now I seem To Be In A Vast Knowledge Base, Words Upon Words Which None Can Be Erased, Come Quick I Am Hiding In The Top Shelf of The…]

At this point I was starting to become aware that this was not my typical poem hunt, and not just because there was so many of them, but because he was adamantly staying out of my way, barricaded in the kitchen. Nevertheless I turned to the book case,

said “FUCK” because all those shelves were double stacked, and began digging. And there, hidden in a copy of Terry Pratchett’s Feet of Clay on the page that reads “Words In The Heart, Cannot Be Taken” was…

[A flashcard with no decorations that reads: Yay! You Have Found Me, I Shall Cry WHOOPEE! I Knew You Would Do It All You Needed Was Tea, And Now I Must Say I  Love You More Than I Could Ever Foresee, Fiona my love, will you marry…]

And that’s when I turned round and he proposed with a mug of tea.

We were apart for another year after that. But it’s now been eleven years since we started dating, and with the clarity of hindsight, I’d do it all again.

Today, after the murderer of Philando Castile is free and clear, the county released this horrendous dash cam video of the execution of Philando.

This video, combined with the video taken from inside of the car, was more than enough to convict this man for murder. But this is America - where officers can murder people at will. And yet so many people will view this video and think or say nothing more. Where the concern? Oh I get it, this doesn’t affect your race, class, or religious systems the way it impacts others. How is this country great when you kill minorities so indiscriminately? This is just another one of the many lies they tell themselves to feel more important and bigger than they actually are.

Legal lynching. 2017.


The top photo is as bad as the damage should be if a fire breaks out in a tower block (no injuries in that particular fire). The bottom photo of Grenfell Tower is the result of cladding with a material which in Germany is put in the same category as unprotected wood. With the final death toll likely to be in the triple figures the silence from so many really is deafening. The way the powers that be have reacted has been frankly outrageous. The lack of care they’ve shown was also what led to no action being taken before the fire despite residents raising concerns over risks numerous times. What can you expect when the residents/victims are poor and mostly non-white? The silence is deafening…

1. You look at a map of a city you’ve never been to.
You see patterns and street names and they tell you nothing. The map remains dead, the city unknown.
2. You go to the city you’ve never been to.
It becomes a city you know.
3. You look at a map of a city you’ve been to, but have left behind. As you look at the map, you remember.
You are looking at nostalgia. You walk through street names and remember the taste of cake in the café whose name you forgot, but you remember its yellow walls and comfy chairs. A square is no longer four lines on a map, but an open space with people and statues and laughter and a fountain in the center. The monotonous, two-dimensional blue that indicates an ocean turns into postcard memories, so many shades of blue and green and the smell of salt and fish. The famous building with the famous name that everyone knows is now a personal experience, it is yours and yours alone in a way that will never make it anyone else’s. A billion feet have walked these (now familiar) paths and two of them were yours. You can trace the steps you have taken and you remember feelings and colours and strangers who offered you a smile. There is the hostel you slept in, there is the river you crossed so many times, there is the corner where you listened to the most amazing street musician. You fondly whisper street names that you had trouble pronouncing when you first spoke them, clumsily. You connect dots, and they turn to images in your head.
The map is alive, the city an old friend.
4. The map you look at is always the same; the perception is different. It is you who has changed.
—  p.s. // every time i look at a map I have a feeling that is hard to put into words

5 Ways To Identify & Heal Your Insecurities

Insecurities are created by fears that are derived from the ego and they can make us do terrible things. Fear of abandonment can be the root of domestic/sexual violence, fear of the truth can cause us to live a life of lies and fear of the unknown can keep us trapped in our comfort zones. Here’s how you can identify & heal your own insecurities:

1. Meditation - be present with yourself. When you’re completely present with yourself and you’ve learnt how to quiet the mind you can begin asking yourself important questions such as “why did that person annoy me?” 

These questions reveal much about the way we see ourselves - becoming the observer of our behaviour and thoughts allows us to take a step back and acknowledge when we’re living through the ego. The ego wants to feel safe at all times, but is constantly threatened - quiet time with yourself can help to reduce the ego’s influence over us.

2. Mindfulness - catch yourself projecting out of the now. Projecting into the past or future is a sign that the now is uncomfortable - fear of the now is an insecurity that must be acknowledged. “Why do I find it difficult to be present?” is a great question to ask when you notice yourself projecting outside the now.

Being mindful of one’s own thoughts and feelings is a great way to begin addressing the insecurities and fears that hold us back in life. Introspective mindfulness consists of us paying attention to what angers, irritates or hurts us and acknowledging why we feel this way. This will reveal what we can do to heal ourselves. 

3. Arguments - how do others make you feel? When we have an argument or altercation with someone our ego is usually damaged during the conflict. This is where our resentment toward the other person comes from. “Who do they think they are?” “How dare they?” - these are common ideas that are spawned from the ego because it doesn’t want to feel inferior.

Acknowledge that there is no other - this external conflict is a representation of an inner conflict between the ego and the spirit. This “other” has been sent to you so you can check yourself and heal the insecurity that exists within you. 

4. Reflection - to know where you’re going, you’ve got to know where you’ve been. The only time looking into the past can be helpful is to identify where we’ve been and what we’d like to avoid going forward. Reflect on your past and understand where your behaviour has taken you - this can be uncomfortable because we’re being called to question ourselves and the ego doesn’t like being “wrong”.

Do not see your mistakes as wrong - see them instead as lessons that have led you to where you are today. Learning from our mistakes is the best way to create the life of our dreams - but acknowledging where we need to improve is something the ego dislikes. This is why so many people are ruled by their insecurities and consequently remain victims of circumstance.

5. Nature - are the plants or animals insecure? Observe the flowers - do they hide their bloom? Nature has much to teach us, I see that the pineapple embodies the idea of being secure in oneself - it stands tall, wears a crown and is sweet on the inside.

Be more like the pineapple - acknowledge your greatness and stand tall with your head held high, wear a crown made of pride in yourself and be in love with what makes you sweet.

Insecurities are born of fear & self-love is the cure.

Peace & positive vibes.

Cold waters


Pairing: Jungkook x Reader / (implied) Namjoon x Reader 

Genre: Merman!Au / Angst / One-shot

Rated T for mentions of death

Word count: 6.4k

Synopsis: Every night, a song crawls from the woods - they say it’s the lullaby of a monstrous creature that has fallen from grace, a beast fiery like fire and ruthless like ice. Yet, his voice is such beautiful one that the cords of your heart quiver with love for each, saccharine note piercing your skin.

And every night, he draws you in a bit more.

Author’s note: Hello my lovelies! This is my second request (Cold waters, warm touches + His beauty could kill you + Merman!Jeon), at first it was supposed to be a fluffy one but, uhm… it accidentally ended up being another angst *sweats*

Anyway, dear anon, thank you for the nice concept, please lemme know if you liked it <3

There’s a legend, whispered among the sunbeams getting lost in the forest at the borders of the village.

There’s legend, one of a terrible, alluring kind, that widens children’s eyes and makes hearts tremble beneath the warnings of worried mothers.

There’s a legend, more like a secret or maybe a dream, deep carved into the memories of your innocent days; one that has your glances wander into the shadows of the woods when you think that nobody is watching, that nobody is judging.

It’s a legend, they say, about a creature doomed to live in the lake at the center of the forest: oh, a ruthless one, with eyes like broken glass and thick blood covering its claws. Murderous are its intents and fury tints its flesh with such a poisonous vigour that the water is now no different than the venom running under his skin. 

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star-wreck  asked:

tell me about unusual cats

oh GOSH this is so vague!! there are 37 species of wild cat so “unusual” can be taken so many ways omg like unusual looking/sounding/Cryptid species or like color morphs/mutations like there are So Many options here!!! but i’ll do some of each (under the cut) and lmk if theres anything else u wanna know!!

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