two dictators

  • steven universe episode 1: steven thinks that eating his favorite ice cream sandwiches is the trick to activating his magical powers
  • steven universe episode 132: after sacrificing himself for his friends, falsely claiming that he's responsible for the war crimes seemingly committed by his dead mother, boarding a space ship with the knowledge that he will likely never return home again, going on trial against two powerful alien dictators who want to murder him, getting chased by death drones, teaming up with a band of social outcasts, and watching his friend die violently in a desperate act of goodwill, steven discovers that his tears are the secret to resurrection and travels back to earth through his no-longer-dead friend's hair to reunite with his family

alright, iv'e seen all these posts about southern gothic (sexy, sweaty, voodoo and devils at crossroads) and new england gothic (deep dark forests and lake monsters and colonial ghosts) and southwest gothic (basically night vale)

but guys

what about long island gothic

your velour tracksuit glows like a velvet void in the watery sunlight.

your flat iron not only fries your hair, it fries the air around you, everything it touches it. leaves hot and flat and split and feathered. your hairspray leaves a trail of tangible dark that invades the nostrils of all who pass

there’s a diner at the edge of the void-marina called the east bay or the apollo or something, where the burgers are mediocre but the moussaka is delicious. dont try the coffee. your waitress has served lou reed, the jersey devil that one time he was on vacation, at least two middle eastern dictators, and probably poseidon. she was equally rude to all of them.

billy joel wants you to put actual bread in his jar for some reason. man, what are you doing here?

your aunts asks you endless streams of questions about what your major is, what you’re going to do after college, who you should be sacrificing raccoons to in the light of the half moon for good luck, who your grandfather thinks it should be and why he’s wrong, then return to gossiping about who your middle school english teacher touched inappropriately last summer.

everything smells a little like the sea, even when youre miles from the shore, even when you sleep.

i can’t tell if i’m joking or not.

I Can’t Help But Think Of Romania

I can’t help but think of Romania.

I lived in Romania for two years as a missionary, from 2004-06. I grew to love that country deeply. It’s been long-burdened by its communist past; it wasn’t just a form of government, but rather a mindset that was fused into the fibers of the country. There’s no more stark a symbol of that than the block apartment buildings that fill the cities. They’re concrete from skin to marrow and each one seems intent on keeping the populace in its place.

There’s a city in the west called Hunedoara. The countryside leading to it is out of some fairy tale. There’s even a storybook castle on one side of the city. But surrounding the city is a ring of abandoned, crumbling industrial wasteland.

I remember the train rides that lead from city to city. Some of the trains were more advanced than any train I’ve seen in the United States. Others were rickety steel boxes on wheels, the floors covered in sunflower seeds and spittle. Train rides ranged from a couple hours to 8 and 13 hour train rides. As often as I rode the trains, and even for that long, I was glued to the windows, watching the country go past. It’s beautiful.

The people were warm, always – always – offering more, even when they’d already given. Especially when it came to food. They offered, sometimes, what seemed to be just about all they had. They are a generous people. I even miss the times when we were shouted at, kicked out, threatened, chocked, and spat on. I walked the streets in the fall in Sibiu, an old fortress city. I trudged through Bucharest in the winter, where the streets go unpaved. I ran down steps, two at a time, to catch the subway more times than I can count. I ran through rainstorms on the way home, soaked to the bone. I miss it all.

Some of the most beautiful sights I’ve ever seen, and some of the most incredible experiences I’ve ever had, I saw and I had there.
Some of the worst things I’ve ever seen happened there, too. It wasn’t uncommon to see a child wandering the streets. Some were beggars, whose first words taught by their parents were asking for money. For some kids, it was literally all they knew how to say, and they didn’t even know what it meant. I once saw a kid, no more than 8, huffing silver paint out of a plastic bag because it took his mind off of being so hungry all the time.

The weight of communism, even decades removed, still smothered this whole place. It hung around the necks of everyone there, even those who hadn’t yet been born. Everywhere I went, people told me stories of where they were during the Christmas Revolution of 1989. 

Nicolae Ceausescu was the dictator of Romania at the time. He was vain, and cruel, and petty. Run of the mill communist dictator in the Stalin mold. Starvation and scarcity were the norm. Children, even those with parents, went hungry. To make a political point, Ceausescu cut off supplies from an entire city in the west, Timisoara. Of course, this caused more unrest than order. In a speech in what is now called Revolution Square, he spoke from a municipal building’s balcony, and tried to placate the people. But they shouted him down. Even Ceausescu loyalists (paid plants, mostly) were overpowered by the crowd’s chants. It was deafening. They stormed the building and the revolution began.

Ceausescu and his Deputy Prime Minister wife, Elena, fled, but were soon caught and convicted. The military who had served Ceausescu, and usually acted on his command, knew which way the wind was blowing, and they held a tribunal. It was quick and unanimous, and the Ceausescus were found guilty of, among other things, genocide.

Nicolae and Elena Ceausescu were executed by firing squad at a secret military installation. On Christmas day, on live television. They filmed their dead faces so that the people could know that they were really dead and gone.

A beautiful country was ransacked and oppressed by its leaders. For power, for profit, for ego. The country suffered, and eventually revolted. Romania still bears the weight of that suffering, deep in its mind and soul. Just like the concrete block apartments: skin to marrow. When last I saw the building from which Ceausescu spoke in Revolution Square, there were still bullet holes in the walls, far above reach.

Romania is a beautiful country, because of its land and its people, and despite its authoritarian past. Though knives may be removed easily enough, wounds are often stubborn to heal.

So. 

As Donald Trump, a man-child who is as vain as he is insecure, and as vengeful as he is delusional, seeks to establish himself as an infallible leader… as he orders scientific data be deleted… as he calls facts fake, and propaganda real… as he flippantly talks about committing war crimes in Iraq… as he seeks to defund arts programs and social safety nets… as he makes his press secretary tell flagrant lies about petty, obvious things like the size of his inauguration crowd… as he seeks to exhaust our capacity to think critically, and speak truth to power… as he seeks to dismantle constitutional rights, and strip the country itself in order to make money… as he continually displays signs of serious mental illness… as he proves to be not just a buffoon, but a real lunatic… I can’t help but think of Romania.

And as I think of all the inevitable harm that will come to people as a direct result of Trump’s actions, and the people that will most likely die from his orders – or possibly die in defiance of his orders – I can’t help but think of Romania.

I can’t help but think of Romania because what happened there, and in countless countries around the world and throughout history, can happen here. It is happening here, right now.

Literature, scripture, and history itself have all warned us about a guy like this. And here he is.

If you don’t like political posts, I understand. I don’t like them. Who does? But I will not be shy about this guy. Not to you, not to my representatives, and not to any Congressman/woman who seems to have dropped their spine on the way to work. 

I’m mad and I’ll stay mad until this guy is no longer in charge of the nuclear codes. What happened in Romania can happen here. Serious damage was done by a two-bit dictator from eastern Europe, and Romania hasn’t yet healed in full. Imagine how long it’ll take for the United States to heal from its own president, whose capabilities far surpass Ceausescu’s. Imagine the damage Trump can inflict, the damage he seeks to inflict. 

Tell me I’m wrong.

We’re only six days into the Trump presidency. This is an American Dictatorship unfolding in real time.

i’m still very unsure of discovery atm. it looks like it’s going to be great visually but all the trailers seem to be advertising it as a gritty action show so far, which is… really not what I watch star trek for. and i’m sure there will be people that love the show, and it’ll be perfect for those people, but endless action-drama isn’t my thing. 

By the cover {Part 1}

Originally posted by yoon-to-the-oh

Pairing: Taeyong x Reader

Warnings: Smuty smut. 

Word counting: 2.819

Summary: Just when you thought you have learned every person in your school’s life patterns, you find someone else. 

[pt.2]  [pt.3]


There are two rules dictated by everyone’s freshmen year self. Number one: Don’t piss seniors off or you are dead. Number two: Be cool or you are dead.

Of course, that is just a stupid mindset but is the only thing in our minds when we are young. Luckily, you haven’t had to do much when you reached high school or pit effort to stick out. One step inside the halls and you were automatically crowned as a popular person. No, is not that you are this full of yourself but it’s just what happens when you are known as Johnny Seo’s best friend. Exactly, Johnny and you have been friends since kindergarten because your parents worked together. He was pretty, he knew how to act cool and he was the foreigner mysterious student. He didn’t need anything else to have almost all the girls letting sighs out for him when he walked around. He was popular and you hanged with him so you were popular in extension.

And like this, you pretty much accommodated on the “popular girl” kind of life; your own bubble of comfort and pretending. Inside this bubble laces with people formed a royalty class without a way to stop it. Untouchable kids, that’s what you became, untouchable and hella elitist. Because even if at first it’s just a stupid game for children, growing inside it is dangerous and easy at the same time.

Well, easy, at least for the freshman and sophomore year.  In the junior year things started getting wilder. Two words: Oh Sehun. He was a senior, the most popular kid of them all, a blonde tall and handsome model with a golden booty who also could buy everyone’s ass with his parent’s money. Somehow Johnny befriended him and the complicated web of contacts made you befriend him too. And everything went uphill like a fucking rollercoaster. Parties, reunions, more parties, betrayals, spite and, of course, love affairs.

You never wanted to enter the flinging mess but shit changed in the moment that Kim Yugyeom broke up with you to seek after other chicks. The bastard! And what did you do? Like an Untouchable Kid, like everyone that grew up in such a way, you showed everyone, and especially him, that you didn’t care. One after another you noted the boys that you made fall for you in a list. Oh, if you only made them fall… you used them like tissues and threw them after it. Is not that you were the school hoe but they were enough to get yourself the “heartbreaker” title, which was good because if you are a heartbreaker you are not a heartbroken.

Oh Sehun was finally retained in 12th grade so when you became a senior he was still there and in your class, indeed. That was the cherry on top when talking about danger. Suddenly, and without you noticing, you are immersed in a delirium of excess. Why? You only want to have fun, damn, you are 18! As soon as Sehun’s parents left for a business trip his house filled up with people dancing, making out and being too close of an ethylic intoxication for their age. You know… High School stuff.

You are there, cool kids’ protocol followed from head to toes. With a pink dress tight enough to make your curves be seen, lashes longer than your skirt and a red cup in your hand containing whichever booze Sehun bought in the nearest market. The plans of what you can do over the night are being examined by you carefully while Johnny stands by your side checking one by one the numerous assistants to the party. Judging by the look upon his face you can say that he hasn’t find something fun to do yet in the crowded mess.

-Let me ask again. What are we celebrating today?- he asks raising his voice over the noise and the music

-Jaehyun’s birthday?

-Jahyun’s birthday?

-Or maybe… Taeil’s birthday?

-Humm… i’ll go with that one. Did Jaehyun even come?

-He sure did, don’t you heard the rumor about he dating Rosé?- Rosé is a princess. Everybody loves her since she is smart and pretty and she was voted to be in charge of the students council by an absurd mayory- I’m sure it’s true and she is here so he must be here too i guess.

-Rosé with Jaehyun? That’s a power couple. I ship it.

-Yeah, they look like a movie romance- you take a ship of your verbiage before continuing- And Lee Taeyong is there too so Jaehyun is definitely here, they are best friends.

You turn around to mix the bitter taste of the alcohol in your cup with whatever you have in hand. But otherwise, Johnny keep his attention on the young man sitting on the couch. Blueberries juice? You roll your eyes, it is so typical of Sehun to buy something so over sweetened. You don’t think about it too much and pour it in the cup because it can’t taste worst than the cheap gin you are drinking.

-Don’t you think Taeyong is too boring?

-Boring?- you echo returning to your place by Johnny’s side with your drink in your hand - No i don’t think he is boring

-Nah, Y/N, look at him. He is sitting right there quietly. In a party!- you nail your eyes on the pink haired boy

-But do you really think he is boring? A boy with that appearance can’t be boring, it’s like written on the manual- Johnny arches his eyebrows

-Excuse me, i think i just heard you insinuating that Lee Taeyong is your type

-He is not my type, I’m just pointing that he is handsome- Johnny dramatically starts shaking you by the arm emitting a drowned fanboying sound

-You are not serious!

-Tsk- you blurt out- what are you doing i’m not a 15-years-old madly in love, i said he is handsome

-Handsome?- he wrinkles his nose- Maybe, but he looks like he has never broken a plate. You like cuties? Cute boys?

-I don’t think he is as cute as he looks, Johnny.

And it is true. A person who has the possibility of entering Sehun’s parties can’t be just innocent for various reasons. Lee Taeyong built a layer of mystery around himself when he came to High School last year. As cliché as it is, he was the transfer student and just a few people got to be close to him and see what he is up to. Of course, nor Johnny or you were that people.

-Listen, you know what would be funny?

-I think i’ll regret to ask but: what?

-If you tried to hit on Taeyong. I would prove to you that he is boring

-You are not hearing how stupid you sound?

-Oh my … you may commit a homicide!- Johnny keep mocking him -He might die of embarrassment, Y/N!!   

-Johnny stfu. I’m not hitting on him what are you saying?

-Just as a joke, have sense of humour!

-No. A million times no. Why don’t you hit on him if that looks so funny to you?- he arches an eyebrow again

-He doesn’t look like he liked the D’s. Get it Y/N, he is from the basket team, the gay team in our school is the baseball team… duh!- he starts pissing you off with a friendly tone

-Imma knock you down, Mr. Seo

-Key, calm down- he laughs together with you- Let’s find Jeffrey i wanna ask him if he is sleeping with Rosé?

-Why so interested?

-I like Jisoo and they are friends, you know… things come easy

-Really? Jisoo?

-She looks like a kitten

-Dude!

And as well as the rumors are saying, you find Jaehyun flying around Rosé. She is looking as flawlessly as she tends to do, chatting and dancing at equal amounts but the first one seems to have a bit less of tolerance against alcohol that he wants to show. He is standing perfectly straight but judging by the way his sleeves are rolled up and that he is brushing his hair back nervously you would say that his ship is going into a storm, in terms of balance.

-Hey, Jae, how is it going? I find you kinda… heated- Jaehyun laughs welcoming you and Johnny into the conversation

-Listen, is not me, the fucking Sehun always with his stupid blueberries liquor. You know if you mix sugar with alcohol shit gets pretty real sooner.

-I told him “buy tonic”. Did he listen? He never does- the three of you laugh for a while until Johnny decides to ask The Question- Talking about candies… what is it with the president, huuuh?

-Rosie?- Jaehyun’s lips slightly reflect a smile which already makes you confirm every theory you had

-Yeah… Rosie- says Johnny mimicking Jaehyun’s sugar coated tone- Girlfriend or hook-up?

-Johnny i told you to not ask him like that!- you scold him hitting on his arm and making the other boy laugh- Sorry Jaehyun…

-It’s ok, it’s ok… she is a girlfriend, Johnny

-Congrats or something? She is really pretty

This goes followed by some short explanation of a romantic scenario with Rosé as main character but Johnny has already found out what he wanted, therefore, he is not listening. He makes an expression that is, in part, undecipherable, but the way he grins to himself and quietly takes a long ship from his cup makes the other boy suspicious even if he is half drunk to register it.

-Oh boy, what is that face about?

-Isn’t your Rosie a friend with Jisoo, the one from the school choir?

-Mmm…I guess? That one? - Jaehyun turns his attention to his girlfriend who is now dancing alone with some friends and points to a brunette small woman. Your bestie nods already implying what he wanted to say with a smirk- You are interested in her?

-Yup

-I don’t know, she is a bit like… classy, i don’t think she wants to…- he directs a look to Johnny gesturing over him with his hands- …that

You burst into laughter at how fast Johnny’s expression changed as his hopes slightly dropped. And honestly Jaehyun is laughing hard too, probably the half of that laugh is just because of how drunk he is and not because of the joke but who cares at that point, you aren’t sober either.

-Hey!- the tall silhouette of an almost 2 meters tall boy makes a sudden appearance by your side.

Rowoon Kim, more known as the handsome face of the basketball team. He is a kind, apacible guy from the 3rd grade but he keeps being as eye-candy for the girls as the others. The tall tanned boy leans on the wall with a wide smile, holding a couple of bowls with a lot of folded papers inside that makes you die of curiosity.

-Hey Rowoon!- you salute him cheerfully- Want to join? We were about to roast Johnny

-Hyung, what did you do now?

-Nothing, they are just shaming me. Wassup with that?- Johnny points at the crystal bowls asking what everyone was thinking

-This?- he says making the papers move inside the recipients- Well, Sehun has the worst ideas so he asked me to make people put their names in this to do a Super Lotto Show.

- Lotto? What is the price then?- you say curious

-7 minutes in Paradise

-What?

-One plate for the girls and one for the boys. Then a paper is chosen from each bowl and the winners get a ticket to Paradise a.k.a the closet

-Sehun has the best ideas- Johnny blurts out with a grin understanding the system

You also perfectly catch the idea that is running in Sehun’s machiavellian mind. If you want to keep your reputation as a king of hosts and parties you may want to make people talk about such parties for at least a week. And you need to put sauce on them to make that happen. The fuel of making a memorable party is the gossiping, after all.

-People call a Paradise the first thing they see, nowadays- exclaims Rosé with a humorous tone joining the conversation

-President! let me tell you that a real man can make a paradise out of any place

-Johnny cut it out- says Jaehyun who is already hugging his girlfriend

-Well, guys, do you want to play?

-Sure- Johnny doesn’t need more time to write his name with a clear handwriting and put it inside the bowl under the amused look of Rowoon- Tell me, president, are any of your friends participating?

-Nayeon, Jisoo and our Jennie- there is an exchange of mischievous looks between the three present boys and a small chuckle from your side

-Jaehyun?- continues Rowoon dissimulating

-I don’t think so

-And i guess Rosé doesn’t want to play, either, for equal reasons…-the girl shakes his head- Y/N?

-Yeah, i don’t know…

-C'mon, it can be fun- He encourages you- I put my name too because what can i lose?

-Maybe…

-Ohg- Johnny grunts and, taking a paper, he writes down your name fast and ads a little heart by its side as if he wants to make everyone believe that was written by yourself. And then he shoves the paper into the bowl mixing it with the thick amount of names and losing it forever- There you go

-Johnny!

-What? Imma quote your words before we came here: “I’m in the mood for an epic party, i’m wearing this skirt i bought for 40 bucks i'ma slay!”

-I didn’t say that. Not the last part

- “Johnny put my name in the goblet of fiyaaaah”

-Okay whatever- you say amused handing him your empty cup- But please refill that, just in case our names came out together i need to be at least a bit drunk

-Bish!- you blow him a sarcastic kiss and watch him go to fill the cups under the persistent and funny eyes of Rowoon who murmurs something about seeing you later and disappear into the crowd to collect people’s names.

The poor boy has caught the burden of helping Sehun around for one night which must be tiring and mostly annoying.

Until 12pm the party can be resumed with three words which are dancing, drinking and talking. Jaehyun endured it well all night and kept his “i’m a manly man and i’m not affected by alcohol” facade but he suddenly hits rock bottom with the ethanol level on his blood and he practically carries Rosé to the dancefloor to get lost in the mass of moving bodies. The most probable thing is that they won’t come back in at least one hour and that they are going to spend some quality time somewhere they consider a good emplacement. But this is something that none of you give importance to.

It’s only midnight and the party is decaying inside your group of friends due to the high number of cups you have downed. And you know it when you see Johnny bet with Taeil who of them two can reach the highest note while singing “My heart will go on”. Thankfully, the prince party Sehun makes his entrance in the room and gathers everyone’s attention before they have time to start screaming.

To be honest it’s the first time you see him since the night started, no matter if it is his own fucking house. He walks to the center of the room and with a click of his fingers the music’s volume drops to a soft background music and the DJ hangs him a microphone. He taps it a couple of times doing a not necessary but very flamboyant mic check.

-Goodnight people. I hope everyone is having the time of their lives- the noise of people cheering sounds loud- As you see i prepared a game with all my heart because Jesus knows i love to play- people in the crowd giggle to the comment and cheer again-  Good luck to everyone. Now Rowoon, honey, can you make the honours? We need an innocent hand

The junior quickly mixes the papers and pulls out one from the bowl marked with a pink sticker. The note is ripped off fast from his hand by the oldest. He unfolds it and giving everyone their spoon of expectation tapping the mic again.

- “Y/n  Y/l/n. Heart”- you half smile at the calling and wave your hand towards the host who waves back understanding your presence. Johnny’s attention comes back to you jiggling- She is a very pretty friend of mine, people, lets see who is the lucky guy. Rowoon please.

Again the same process with the paper and the incertidumbre and this time you can say it’s worth it because you almost choke at Sehun’s voice.

-”Lee Taeyong”

@drowningcomic plopped down on my bed this morning and demanded I draw something for her, so I helped her re-design Ainslae’s staff.

He’s a necromancer warden who is fascinated by death and trying to use his magic as a vehicle for life, sort of meshing the two as nature dictates. 

Anyways, fun tidbit: I took a stanza from one of my favorite poems about death and ciphered it into New Krytan for that script wrapping around the wielded version. 

A Present

“What is this?” Eliza asked, pointing to a neatly wrapped package that was sitting on the entry table of her and Alex’s apartment.

Alex looked up from his laptop at the kitchen table, where he was doing work. His dark hair was pulled into a messy ponytail and his eyes were quickly scanning the words on the screen. As Eliza walked over, he looked up at his pregnant wife.

“Burr gave it to me at work.” He muttered.

“Aaron did? That’s so sweet of him!” Eliza gushed as she rested a hand on her growing stomach.

“No, he lives in Satan’s butthole.”

Eliza raised an eyebrow at him.

“I mean he’s a very nice person.” Alex amended, looking slightly nauseous at the thought of his words being true. Eliza nodded, satisfied with his attempt.

“Let’s open it.” Eliza stated after she set the present on the table.

Hesitantly, he poled the present before retracting his hand. Eliza sent a glare his way, that explicitly told him to try again and actually open it.

“It won’t hurt you.” Eliza said in a soothing voice.

“Sure.” Alex murmured sarcastically.

Alex took in a deep breath and began to slowly unwrap the present, like how a person would defuse a bomb. After taking off each piece of tape and carefully pulling off the wrapping paper, he would check to make sure nothing would jump out at him.

“Just open it.” Eliza dictated after two minutes of Alex being far too gentle with the present. Alex sped up his pace at her words.

Once the wrapping paper was set aside, the box was left. Alex stared intensely at it, as if it was a puzzle to be solved.

“Dear,” Eliza’s voice was almost sarcastically sweet. She ran the hand that wasn’t resting on her stomach across the back of his neck. Some of Alex’s worry melted away at her touch. It’s not like Burr would pull a prank on Alex’s very pregnant wife.

“Fine.”

Alex pulled open the box and gasped. Eliza leaned over and glanced into the box.

“Oh my god!” Eliza squealed as she reached into the small box. She pulled out a green onesie that matched the color of the leaves outside.

“Wow.” Alex said quietly as he stared transfixed at the onesie.

“Think you’re able you’re able to write a thank you note now?”

Alex shuddered and mock glared at Eliza. She couldn’t help but giggle in response.

The more I watch and read The Hunger Games series, the more I grow to hate Katniss. She hurts so many people, and personally leads to the death of several people who trusted her. Yeah, she was a tool to be used by two terrible dictators, but Mockingjay really drives it home that the choices she made were hers, and the repercussions cost her the life of one of her closest friends, and people that were trying to protect her. The war would have gone on without her, but she had to go an inset herself into the Capitol. She made no real difference when she was there, other than killing people who would have lived otherwise. 

Ya’ll: I don’t hate ace people

Me: but here’s posts made by multiple ppl saying “I want aces dead”

Ya’ll: I only hate cishet aces

Me: what about the “I want to kill every ace person” posts and/or asks?

Ya’ll: that’s only a few people, not ALL of us are like that

Me: but the actions of one or two aces apparently dictate all of us?

Ya’ll: uh yeah. Anyway, aphobia isn’t real and every aro/ace is transphobic and homophobic

The Narrative of Accepted Magic


The nature of folklore is that it creates a dynamic for evolutionary influences, filtering out weak ideas and impractical solutions to actual problems. An herb that has a pronounced chemical effect will be found in oral tradition much more often than a placebo. A method of purification, an element whose properties are ideal for certain functions, a word that spoken gives true power. These things tend to stay while the superfluous falls away over time.

From handwritten manuscripts handed down from collector and scholar unto the introduction of print many such ideas, both valuable and inconsequential, have been put to ink. From centuries of antiquarian and ethnographic study in hundreds of authoritative volumes over the past three centuries there has grown a substantial body of dross, useless material with no practical knowledge or understanding of the craft. The 20th century’s ease of printing cumulated in decades of uninformed and badly researched material becoming common in the archival record. Ill thought dissertations and sensationalist propaganda that moves now yellow paged pulp paperbacks off of shelves into the hands of naive inquiring seekers.

Practical occultism in the past two centuries has been dictated by the occultists who happen to also be writers. The majority of practitioners (be they witch, wizard, shaman, sorcerer, or priestess), whose practice is as idiosyncratic as the next, have little or no input in the historic record in a post ethnologic environment.

Historically, those who publish books get the say, those who are interested in being public individuals with books (and blogs) and a public persona are the ones that have decided what is and is not occult practice. Across the board witches who are engineers, labourers, musicians, painters, but not writers have had little or no input in the dialog of occultism over the past two centuries outside of secondhand ethnographic reporting.

The ethnographic folklore record is at best 300 years old. It was only in the 18th century that scholars began to gather the stories of common people and publish them. Crofton Croker, the Brothers Grimm, Lady Wilde, those names we associate with fairy tales were actually scholars researching the history of the magic of common people. They travelled the towns and villages, lending an ear to anyone who had a tale to tell. Collating the data and constructing theories about the archetypes of storytelling, about the ritual practices of pre Christian central Europe and the British Isles, about which creatures you should fear most in the night. These words are a solid foundation of knowledge, and the most direct from living sources in the wild. Yet they are still viewed through the mind of the writer who is the folklorist.

Thus the practice of all forms of occultism have been viewed almost solely through the lens of the written record given to us by exclusively history’s writers. Not the painters, not the farm labourers, rarely the words of women, the insights of possibly powerful yet totally illiterate, or antisocial, practitioners of the world having no historic recourse. The thoughts, rituals, and practices of those isolated magicians mostly erased from history. For centuries the narrative of accepted magic has been the domain of those who work in written words, not the smith who works in iron, nor the midwife or the ploughman.

In the age of the internet something new is being born, a kind of veil made of information through which it is seemingly impossible to see. The catalyst for dross that was initiated by the continually less expensive printing process in the past century has finally broken open with online social media. Anyone can write anything and claim it as authoritative, dismissing naysayers as uninitiated or lacking insight. The adage coined by Theodore Sturgeon that “90% of everything is crap” needs to be updated in this age of too much information and not enough knowledge to “99% of everything is crap.”

The internet provides a seemingly endless supply of information on the practice of magic. Cliques of authors and bloggers siding with various historic and ahistoric documents and their infamous authors of the past. The entirety of the grimoire tradition is available online in highres scans, not to mention bootleg pdfs of contemporary analysis and comparison of these historic documents.

Beyond the hallowed halls of accepted occultism lies and vast ocean of cliques and niches, filled with people of every demographic and a few you didn’t know about. Oft naive of any age they are all seeking something, all wanting, praying, believing in magic and witchcraft. These people come to the craft looking for something, often not sure what that thing is. “Power” is a word commonly used, and traditionally magic has been the tool of the powerless. Yet in the 21st century the idea of what power is has become warped. Where centuries ago magic was used to distort and disrupt the common way of things, bending reality to its will, today it is often seen as a path of achievement, as a tool for expanding one’s material gains, increasing one’s positive emotional state, and increasing one’s luck - all buying into the structures of a contemporary society it once sought to destroy.

The illusion of knowledge created by the excess of information in the internet age has birthed an endless stream of fantastical (and that is truly what they are, fantasy) fictions of an imagined practical magic. Adjectives strung together to form infinite new subgenera of occultism without so much as a wink in the direction of its own absurdity. Chain letter blackmail with a whiff of cosplay kneeling before an Esty bought altar of other people’s killings and chinese made shiny things. A Borgesian labyrinth of nonsense parading as a magic it does not understand, as a craft it can only write fanfic about.

You will not find it in books, nor the internet. You may look, and often incredibly good advise on what to do once you’ve found it can be found in that rare book or two, but it is not there in the written word. It is in the world. In the soil and the sea, in the air and the trees. It is that humming vibrant energy that imbues all things. You have to go out and hold it in your hands, breathe of its scents, know its horrors and its delights. Lie in its tapestries of meadow and field, of forest and shore. Listen long and there you will find it. Not even in the dusty pages of the oldest book is it found. It is a secret whispered by the world, you only have to learn to listen.

anonymous asked:

Wonho and "stay for a while" please^^

He was pouty. Always. But today in particular.

He’d invited himself over to your apartment with no notice and taken refuge in your bed. You’d stared at him for a solid minute as he’d done it, the way he crawled under your covers and made happy soft noises as he burrowed deeper into your mattress. You gaped when you saw his pants go flying out from the edge of the bed and his arm duck back in. Was he out of his mind?

You asked him as much and he propped himself up on his arm to look at you. He gave you his signature pout. “I couldn’t sleep at the dorm. Let me stay.”

You glared at him, your best friend. How the two of you became best friends always escaped you. He was a flirt and logic dictated the two of you should’ve been dating ages ago, but neither of you had gotten around to it. You couldn’t lie and say you didn’t feel attracted to him–him taking off his pants had you blushing so hard you were certain he saw it–but you were wary of making things complicated. The two of you had a comfortable friendship, the kind where you could talk about everything and accept the other person no matter what. The last thing you needed was to break that somehow.

“’Of course. Stay for a while,’” he said in a high pitched voice, in his best imitation of you.

You wrinkled your nose. “I don’t sound like that.”

He pouted again, his eyes widening in what you imagined was supposed to be his cute begging face. “Come on, Y/N, please.”

You sighed. “And where am I supposed to sleep?”

He flung the covers open and patted the space beside him. You caught a glimpse of his boxers and how they were doing nothing to hide what was underneath and your breath caught in your throat.

You deliberately held his gaze. “And wake up with your dick in my ass? No thanks.” It took all your effort to make the words sound biting, but in your head the image had you burning up.

He made an inscrutable face and swallowed visibly before speaking again. “I can turn away.”

You looked at him, knowing that it was a terrible idea. That he could turn in his sleep, that you could push back against him, that you could cross a line that you didn’t want to cross. Then you nodded. “I’m holding you to that.”

9

we didn’t need dialogue. we had faces. (movie moodboards)

THE GREAT DICTATOR (1940)

Greed has poisoned men’s souls, has barricaded the world with hate, has goose-stepped us into misery and bloodshed. We have developed speed, but we have shut ourselves in. Machinery that gives abundance has left us in want. Our knowledge has made us cynical; our cleverness, hard and unkind. We think too much and feel too little. More than machinery, we need humanity. More than cleverness, we need kindness and gentleness. Without these qualities, life will be violent and all will be lost.

anonymous asked:

Companions react to sole bring home a stray Cat?

Cait: At first Cait doesn’t seem to care too much, but as time passes she grows more attached to her new friend, after years of being alone in the Combat Zone, she treasures the affection given by the cat, and not to mention Sole of course, she loves the way it’s fur feels against her skin, an unusual at first but she liked it nonetheless, the cat would often curl up with Cait while she slept, perhaps it sensed a great sadness inside her and wanted to help? When Sole walks in and sees the cat curled up in Cait’s sleeping arms, a peaceful smile across her face, they couldn’t help but smile lovingly, knowing Cait was now happier than ever before, between Sole and her new found friend, life finally seemed to look a little better for her.

Curie: Curie couldn’t help but squeal a little at the sight of the tiny little kitten that Sole was presenting to her, in her short time in Vault 81 she sometimes interacted with Ashes, but she never had interacted with a cat in her new body, let alone it being a cat she could call her own, all the sensations were new, the way it nuzzled her and knead, not to mention it’s soft fur on her skin, she was in love, of course she kept her scientific curiosity about her and observed her little treasure, at times following after it on all fours like she herself was a cat, amusing to both her and Sole, sometimes mindlessly and softly speaking French, Sole felt satisfied knowing they made Curie so happy.

Danse: Danse, like Cait, doesn’t seem to care too much, in fact at all rather, however as he observed the cat’s natural ability to both hunt and fight, sometimes taking on Dogmeat and winning, he grew fond of it, his militaristic nature admiring it’s prowess and natural abilities. Over time Danse not only respected the furry feline but also grew to like it, on rainy days Danse would exit his power armour and sit with the cat in his lap, giving it the affection that no one else could really do except for Danse.

Deacon: Oddly enough saw the cat as it’s own person, often remarking “hey little guy” as the two passed each other, Deacon often wore a smirk on the one side of his face whenever the little guy came near, he enjoyed when it did and often fussed it in a way that sent the cat into temporary ecstasy, like Danse, there’s just something about Deacon.

Dogmeant: At first Sole was unsure how Dogmeat would react and whether he would accept a cat about the settlement, but as Dogmeat’s loving nature dictated the two became friends rather quickly, it was obvious Dogmeat saw himself as the protector of his smaller companion and therefore, while Dogmeat slept the cat would nestle itself in Dogmeat’s fur, the two were inseparable.

Hancock: Hancock thought the cat was cool but at first didn’t take much of an interest, but as luck would have it, the cat took an interest in Hancock, there was something about the cool ghoul mayor that the cat liked, and in return Hancock began to grow fond, he often felt humbled as the cat showed him great affection, completely un-bothered by his appearance, as so many others were, Hancock grew quite inseparable from it, he thought of it quite similar to his relationship with Sole and loved watching the cat while on a Jet trip, he thought the cat was trippy as hell while on Jet.

MacCready: Not even a hardened merc could refuse such a ball of cuteness, when the two first met, MacCready was unsure of it, picking it up by the scruff of it’s neck, examining it with a raised eyebrow, like he had turned into Curie for a brief moment. “You sure about this boss?” He asked at first, but over time MacCready could no longer resist, he often sat propped up in bed with the cat curled up sat on top of his stomach, when Sole would walk by the two MacCready would look at them lovingly, with a smirk on his face and the cat purred, MacCready melted everytime he saw his favourite furball.

Nick: Nick saw the cat as more of a companion than a pet, seeing the two strolling together through the settlement was like something out of a saturday morning cartoon to Sole, Nick would never dare tell Sole or anyone of how he wanted to dress the cat in a little fedora and trench coat, the suave, charismatic synth detective melted like butter over his furry companion.

Piper: The most excited of all at the prospect of having a cat, she had always wanted one and now that Sole carried a cute little moggy in their arms Piper couldn’t help but become overwhelmed with joy, to the point some minor tears came from her over joyous eyes, she embraced the cat in her cradled arms and nuzzled her nose against it’s, she kissed Blue on the cheek, excited as a kid at Christmas, upon remembering Nat, Piper begged Blue to find another for her little sister, “Bluuue… pleeease Bluue?” Of course Sole agreed, anything for their favourite reporter.

Preston: Preston watched as Sole Walked in with a kitten tucked under their arm, chuckling lightly “A new recruit general?” Sole met Preston’s laughter with their own. Preston being the cinnamon roll of a man he is made the kitten an honorary member of the Minutemen, christening it “Captain fuzzy boots” it was truly a sight to behold when Preston walked about the settlement, kitten tucked into his hat.

X6-88: “How interesting that such a small creature could survive the Commonwealth”, X6 fascinated by the cat, rarely having seen one before, like Curie he had a scientific interest in the animal, but not as strongly, like his relationship with Sole, X6 grew fond of the cat, in a way that transcended the limitations of him being a synth.

Strong: “Why does human bring back puny creature? Is weak will surely be killed, human should not bother” despite Strong’s original pessimism, like with Sole he grows to like it in his own way, again like with Sole, becoming very protective of this little ball of fur, when the cat would sit on Strong’s shoulder, it was a sight that made Piper scurry about for a camera.

Sorry it took a while for the first but tumblr crashed and I lost the first draft :o

Hope you like it anon, more to come guys!

Help! Not Just Anybody - Ten

Y/N finished her test an hour and forty minutes later, reading over her answers and then handing it in.

When she got back to her car, she checked her cell. Five missed calls from Spencer’s personal cell and a text from Olive.

“He picked her up about an hour after you dropped her. He was pretty pissed, just FYI.”

He was pissed? Um no. He had no right to be. He knew today was important to her and that she had somewhere to be. This wasn’t just some coffee date that she could cancel and reschedule. He’d assured her that he’d be back by one and he hadn’t been.

Spencer hadn’t been home by one because Hotch had asked him and Lewis to take some important files and evidence over to the field office two towns over. Spencer calculated the distance and accepted because the he’d worked out that he should be back at headquarters by 12.10pm at the latest, giving him fifty minute’s to get home. FBI protocol dictated that two Agents had to be present for an exchange of evidence. Hotch hadn’t asked JJ to go because of how exhausted she looked and he himself had one of Jack’s football games to go to, one he’d promised his son he wouldn’t miss. So it fell to Tara and Reid.

What Spencer hadn’t factored in was the engine in the SUV suddenly deciding to start smoking and them having to wait for recovery. He also hadn’t factored in leaving his work cell in his desk drawer and the screen on his personal having a hissy fit and not letting him answer calls. He’d left it too close to the tub last night when he’d been in the bath and he figured some water had gotten into the system. It now wouldn’t let him unlock the screen or pretty much do anything.

Tara had offered to let him use her phone but in a very un Reid like way, he actually didn’t know Y/N’s number and when he called the landline and got a dead tone, he vaguely recalled Ella unplugging the phone cradle a few nights ago to plug in her tablet.

“I thought you were meant to have an eidetic memory?” Lewis ask him.

“I do… But you know how terrible I am with phones. She programmed her number in for me and it doesn’t come up when I call or text her, only her name.”

By the time they got back to headquarters, it was two fifteen and when he retrieved his work cell and saw the amount of messages, he winced. She must have missed her test.

Although when he listened to his messages…. She hadn’t.

Instead, she’d left his ten year old daughter at a bar somewhere down town with a woman he’d only seen once, in passing when Y/N had been picked up one night.

His ten year old baby girl, left in a bar with someone he didn’t know.

He was fuming.

Y/N unlocked the front door to the house feeling somewhat nervous. She’d called Olive again on the ride home to thank her again.

“How bad was he?”

“Honestly? I thought he was gonna go all FBI on me and charge me with kidnapping his daughter or something…. He’s hot when he’s angry though… ”

“Olive! Seriously though, he has no right to be that mad. I’m the one who nearly missed my test. He was meant to be off work today. And it’s not like I abandoned Ella with a bunch of strangers. She’s met you before.”

“Well, maybe that’s secretly why he’s so annoyed. He’s annoyed at himself?”

“Maybe. Thanks again Liv.”

“No problem hun.”

Y/N could hear the TV on in the lounge and cautiously entered the room. Spencer was sitting in the corner chair, his leg rocking on the floor. His head snapped up when he saw her enter.

“Ella, go to your room,” his tone was harsher than it had ever been before.

“Dad… ” Ella looked at her father, her brown eyes pleading.

“Ella. Go.”

She gave him one last look before running out of the room, not making eye contacting with Y/N.

“Spencer….”

“You left my ten year old daughter in a bar,” Spencer’s voice was low.

“I left Ella in a restaurant run by my best friend and her family.”

“You left her in a bar with people I don’t know.”

Okay, so he wasn’t taking this well.

“Spencer, I didn’t have a choice.”

“Yes you did. You could have NOT left my daughter in a bar with people I don’t know. You know where I work for a living, you know what I do, what I’ve seen. What could have happened to her if the wrong person had come along.”

“The wrong person wouldn’t have come along because Olive, who you have seen before, and her family were watching her at all times. It is a family run restaurant not some dive bar frequented by junkies. Ella’s met Olive plenty of times.”

Reid’s eye flashed at her and he rose from his chair. “You should NOT have left her.”

“I DIDN’T have a choice. You should have been there, you weren’t meant to be in work today, you didn’t HAVE to go in. You knew that I had this test today and how important it was to me. You also knew that there was no one else to watch Ella. I tried to call you, I even tried to call Will to see if he could watch her. I didn’t have a choice and I didn’t have time to drive across town to bring her to the BAU.”

“You know how important my job is. I had to go in today.”

“No. You didn’t. You told me this morning that it was just paperwork and that it could have been done this evening or tomorrow but you didn’t want that to cut into our evening plans. Which was fine. But you assured me, you promised me that you’d be home. And you weren’t. I didn’t have a choice.”

Y/N’s heart was beating faster and she could feel herself getting extremely wound up.

“Yes you did! You shouldn’t have left her.”

“Well you should have been there. Or called me and made other arrangements. Today was my day, you knew this. The one day I shouldn’t have been looking after her.”

“I pay you to be on call all the time. I pay you to look after my daughter so I can work. I pay you to…. ”

“Let’s not go into the list of things you pay me for Dr Reid,” Y/N interrupted him. He was pissing her off right now, refusing to see that he had done anything wrong.

“And why not. You’re paid to do a job.”

“Does that job description involve the other things I do for you? Like putting up with your ex wife having a go at me like she did the other week? Does it involve almost missing and probably failing because of the stress I was under today an important test that I can’t resit for ten months? A test that you knew about, that you said you’d be off for? Does it involve all of the other things I do for you during the night. Am I paid for that too?” she narrowed her eyes at the last statement knowingly it was below the belt.

“Don’t be so ridiculous!”

“I’m not. I’m not the one in the wrong here. I tried every option I had today. You should have been back but you weren’t. And you weren’t answering your phone, and your stupid receptionist wouldn’t even transfer me to your Supervisor because I’m apparently not on the list of important contacts that can speak to him. Interesting that, your daughters main caregiver unable to get through to your boss in an emergency situation. I left your daughter somewhere I knew she would be looked after and would be safe. Because I did NOT have a choice. You didn’t leave me one. I’m the one that was under an immense amount of stress this morning, yet you’ve not once apologised to me.”

“I’m not going to apologise for doing my job!”

“You knew I had to be somewhere, and you promised me you’d be home to look after her. Any other time it would have been fine, I would have accepted that it was part of my job and I’d cancel plans. Not today though. You said it was just paperwork yet you went in anyway. I’m not even going to ask what kept you because quite frankly I don’t care. Whatever it was, you should have called. You should have made arrangements for her because you KNEW I had somewhere to be. This was important to ME. But you don’t seem to care about that. Have you asked her if she felt uncomfortable at any point today? Have you asked Ella if she felt unsafe? Because I can guarantee you that she’ll say no.”

Spencer took a deep breath and stepped towards Y/N. “I’m not going to ask my ten year old daughter if she felt safe being left in a bar because she shouldn’t have been left in a bar. I was doing my job today like you should have been doing yours. If you can’t follow simple instructions then we have a major problem here. How can I trust you with her again?”

Y/N shook her head, not believing how this was turning out. “I guess you can’t. And I guess we have an even bigger problem here. You can’t accept that you were wrong today.”

“Because I wasn’t.”

Y/N stared at him, gulping back her emotions.

Spencer spoke again.

“I can’t trust you with her. I’ve lost too much to have someone irresponsible looking after her. Get your stuff and leave.”