winter-look

This man:

- prefers sweet over spicy

- prefers summer over winter

- prefers childish look over mature look

- prefers without lover over without friend

The findings, published in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, show that people who like sweets are also more likely to be agreeable, friendly and compassionate than people who prefer other tastes, like bitter or spicy foods

Pic source unknown.
blackbearmagic’s Crystal Hunting Guide

Introduction

Scientific Fact: Witches love crystals almost as much as they love jars. 
Consumerism Fact: In many metaphysical shops, nice-looking crystals can be had for relatively cheap.
Ethical Fact: Many of those crystals are as cheap as they are because they are mined with no consideration for the damage done to the environment or the welfare of the humans collecting them.

So what’s a good, honest, ethically-minded witch to do, especially if he/she/they don’t have the money to afford crystals that were mined sustainably and responsibly, or the time to research which sellers obtain their wares from ethical mines?

Find their own.

I’ve been crystal hunting all my life, but only within the last year have I started doing it seriously. I’ve walked away from a creeking expedition with slabs of smoky quartz the size of my palm or calcite hunks bigger than my fist, and I personally think creek-crystal energy is much more vibrant and easy to work with; by comparison, the crystal points I’ve bought from metaphysical shops feel… inert, lifeless.

So let’s get straight into it!

What You’ll Need

  • a good-sized creek or stream with lots of gravel spits along its length
  • offerings to the spirit of the creek, if appropriate to your personal practice
  • bug spray, sunscreen, snacks, water, and anything else you’d normally bring on a hike
  • your trusty adventurer’s Bag of Holding
  • your sweet self

Now let’s talk details.

When I say “gravel spits”, this is what I’m referring to:

These tumbles of stone are going to be where you’ll find your treasures, and the size of the stones themselves actually tells you what size of crystal you might find: When the conditions are right (ie, during a flood), the water flowing through that portion of the creek is capable of lifting and moving rocks of the size you see there now. 

In my experience, the crystal specimens you’ll find are typically half or one-third the size of the average rock on the spit. They’re usually larger than the smallest rocks, but much smaller than the largest rocks. Not always, though–I have found specimens larger. (See the introduction.)

Regarding offerings, if that’s part of your path, you’ll want to make sure it’s nothing that will harm the local wildlife or damage the ecosystem in any way. My personal go-to is water, ideally water from a bottle I haven’t drunk from yet.

In the same vein as offerings, I’ve had great success in making a sort of bargain with the spirit of the place: That in return for treasures, I will pick up and remove any litter I find in the area. It is, of course, always a good idea to remove any litter you see when you’re out in nature, but it doesn’t hurt to point out to the spirit of the place that it’s something you’re doing for it. Bring along a trash bag to help collect it.

Lastly, with regards to your bag, I would advise something with two shoulder straps. Rocks are heavy.

What You’ll Do

Once you’ve hiked to your creek and found a gravel spit with lots of good-sized rocks, it’s time to start looking. There’s two main approaches I’ve found that work well, and I tend to use both. 

The first is a broad sweep. This one works best if you’ve got good lighting on the rocks. All you do is stand in one spot and sway side to side slightly while looking over the gravel, looking for anything that glints, shines, or otherwise catches the light shining on it. If you see something, investigate it. Repeat.

The second is the more detailed search. Get down on the ground–whether that means kneeling, crouching, laying on your belly, I don’t care–and go over each rock one by one. Use your eyes and use your hands. I imagine this method is probably going to be unpleasant for a lot of you, but honestly, it’s like crack to me.

Once you’ve combed over the current gravel spit as thoroughly as you please, pack up and move on to the next. Continue for as long as you like, or until you feel it’s time to go. Just remember that as far out as you go is how far you’ll have to walk back!

Advice and Warnings

Tell someone where you’re going and when you expect to be back. If you godsforbid go missing, they’ll be able to give the police an idea of where to start searching for your poor, lost ass.

Keep a charged cell phone with you at all times. 

If you see something or someone iffy, do your best avoid it. Sometimes there are creepy people in the woods, and sometimes they do creepy things. Don’t get involved.

Make sure you’re not trespassing on private property. All of the creeks I hike on are on public land. If you’re in a state park or other protected environmental area, don’t go off the trail–you could cause damage to a fragile ecosystem.

Following the creek is a good way to get out and back without losing your way.  Don’t stray too far from it if you’re in unfamiliar territory.

The best times of year to go hunting–assuming Northern Hemisphere, a temperate climate and deciduous forests around the creek–are the spring and summer. In the autumn, you’ll have to clear fallen leaves off of the gravel before you can look, and winter is too cold. 

The best time of day is the morning, when the sun angle is lower and is more likely to glint off of shiny rocks.

You’ll have your best luck the day after heavy rain. Rain will swell the stream and shift the stones around, and could uncover new treasures! 

Inspect anything that looks even remotely worthwhile. You’ll find a lot of duds, sure, but that will help train your brain to tune out what you don’t care about finding.

“What Can I Find?”

Exactly what sort of minerals and crystals you’ll find is highly variable. All minerals are not equally distributed across the planet, because many of them require very different conditions to form and the crust composition varies slightly from place to place. However, there are some stones that are pretty common all over the Earth, so no matter where you go hunting, you’re likely to find them.

Of course, for more specific identifications, please consult the internet, a book on mineralogy, or your local rockhounding club. 

Quartz

The chemical formula of quartz is SiO2, or silicon dioxide. Silicon and oxygen are, by mass, the two most abundant elements in Earth’s crust; around 90% of it is composed of silicate minerals like quartz. Ever find a pretty, sparkly, mostly-clear rock on the ground? It was probably quartz. 

Quartz comes in a mind-boggling array of colors, from smoky quartz so dark it’s practically opaque to purple-and-orange ametrine to the brilliant clear of a Herkimer diamond (yup, not actually diamonds) but all of these varieties are still quartz. In my region of North America, clear and smoky quartz seem to be the most plentiful. 

Calcite

Calcite is calcium carbonate, CaCO3. Like quartz, it is made of some of the Earth’s most abundant crustal elements (in this case, calcium and oxygen) and comes in a stunning array of colors. In my creeks, I’ve found calcite in yellow, orange, white, and even blue and red.

The biggest giveaway for rough calcite is its texture. If you pick up a rock and it feels like someone rubbed wax all over it, you’ve probably got yourself a calcite specimen.

Feldspar

Feldspar is one of the most abundant minerals in the crust, alongside quartz. It’s also a silicate, and it frequently finds its way into other minerals, such as granite. 

What sets feldspar apart from the other two minerals I’ve mentioned here is its fracture habit: It naturally fractures along cleavage planes which intersect at 90-degree angles. It doesn’t shatter–it shears. If you find a rock with a smooth face that looks like a polished stone countertop, it’s probably feldspar.

“But Bear, I Want Crystal Points!”

Oh. Yeah.

You can find those too. 

Every one of those pictures is of quartz points that I have found in my area. (In fact, they’re actually all from the same crystal-hunting hike, and represent only about a third of the specimens I found that day!) As you can see, they aren’t all perfect–and I have plenty of others that are, like, three facets and no point–but they’re all beautiful, and some of them really sing, if you know what I mean. 

Conclusion

Finding your own crystals can be pretty simple, when you get down to it. It can be a lot of fun to get down and dirty, and is a great way to get yourself out in nature for a while. And, of course, you can rest assured that your crystals were gathered in a sustainable, respectful, ethical manner–assuming you took care of yourself and the environment while finding them!

Best of luck! –Bear

Sansa’s Autumn Hair

So I just had a random realization about Sansa today. I’ve always thought it was interesting how GRRM insisted on describing her hair as ‘auburn’ specifically, instead of a plain old ‘redhead.’ But I came across these two quotes recently:

“Her hair was a rich autumn auburn” (describing Sansa)

and

“I loved a maid as red as autumn, with sunset in her hair” (from the in-universe song ‘The Seasons of Love’)

and it hit me that Sansa’s hair is auburn, specifically, in order to emphasize the autumnal qualities of her looks. Instead of the raging-bonfire-implications of Ygritte’s ‘kissed-by-fire’ hair, Sansa’s hair gives us connotations of sunsets and trees in fall. In other words, Sansa is the ‘maid as red as autumn’ from the song.

And what season comes after autumn? Winter. Sansa’s looks are literally the embodiment of ‘Winter is Coming.’ So even though she doesn’t physically resemble a Stark, she does physically resemble their House words.

I don’t know, I thought that was pretty cool! Just felt like sharing with the class…

8

wonder woman 2 wishful thinking:

The year is 1973. The Cold War is at its height, and Berlin is infested with spies and mistrust. When a friend of hers is murdered in his home in Germany, Diana Prince heads to East Berlin in order to unravel the mystery behind the death, and finds that not only is there more to the murder than she first thought, but her pursuit of truth has drawn the attention of a shadowy organization that is not interested in being dragged out into the light, and is willing to try to silence her at any cost.

Up to and including sending a ghost story after her.

  • [Weiss' Scroll starts ringing.]
  • Winter: *looks at who's calling* You still call father "Daddy"?
  • Weiss: *answers call and makes direct eye contact with Winter*
  • Weiss: Hey, Ruby.
  • Winter: *chokes on drink*
Together

So this was totally supposed to be characters’ reactions to Jon and Dany being in love but it suddenly got really long and really angsty and I don’t know why. So I apologize in advance. I’m sorry. 

Not taken from one specific prompt; it’s been on my list for a while.

Hopefully this makes up for not posting anything yesterday lol 

Tyrion

Tyrion had hoped that the King and the Queen would get along.

He did not, however, think that Jon would persuade Dany to take leave of all of her senses and leave for the North with her dragons. He might not have allowed Jon to come, if that had been the case.

They were in love with each other. Of course they were. Neither of them would ever admit it but every time they were in the same room they always ended up eye fucking. He’d learned about eye fucking when he was very young; when couples could undress each other with their eyes-but he’d never seen any two people perfect it like Dany and Jon.

Then again, he supposed they both flared towards the dramatic once in a while.

I suppose he just looks at you longingly like he’s hoping for a successful military alliance. She’d rolled her eyes and turned back to the fire but he’d seen the way her eyes sparkled. Gods, she had it bad for him.

A political marriage, perhaps. Good for both of their kingdoms and good for them. He would have brought it up, if Jon hadn’t left. It took every ounce of persuasion he had in him to keep her from going after him; she was always a bit impulsive, a bit too eager to throw herself into dangerous situations…but it was all he could do to stop her, to remind her how valuable she was. There were other Starks but no other Targaryens; who would be left behind to break the wheel if she was gone?

As soon as the raven arrived he’d known he would lose her. He’d tried to hide it from her but she found it, of course; she’d read it, back rigid and eyes flashing back and forth across the paper, and then she’d turned and gone upstairs-coming back down a few minutes later in her winter coat. She looked like an angel. But even angels could die. Even their love stories could fail.

He’d pleaded with her, but she’d barely been listening. Her mind had been made up and she was already beyond the Wall with the man she loved. He knew how hard it was to sit back and do nothing when the people you loved were in trouble-but she wouldn’t listen. She displayed the same tenacity that had gotten her so far on so little, she and the dragons had flown off, and he hadn’t been able to stop her. He couldn’t help wondering if it was the last time he’d see her.

In that moment he couldn’t help but hate Jon Snow for having such pretty hair, or for being such a decent man. And he hated himself for not realizing sooner that what he thought was just a crush had turned into all consuming love.

They were so young. Too young for this. He’d seen young lovers, fearless and ready to take on the world, only to die in each other’s arms. And dead heroes were no good to anyone. There was no one in his life that he could think about dying for-maybe his brother, or the Queen, but he didn’t want to sleep with them. His lovers were shifting faces; many of them he barely remembered. By now he knew that reckless displays of love and bravery rarely paid off.

He should have planned better.

But they were in love and there was no stopping it. All he could do was wait and deal with whatever fallout came with it. Because there would be fallout; there always was, when it came to matters of the heart.

Davos

The first time Davos realized that the King in the North and the Queen in the South were in love, they’d both nearly died. 

For a while Davos hadn’t been sure he could make it work. The two monarchs barely tolerated each other. But then, slowly but surely, they’d warmed to each other. And now they were…something else. Now they loved each other in a way he’d seen very few people ever love each other-not just for political convenience. 

Jon was stubborn, of course, but Davos knew these things-he’d seen enough people fall in love to know when one felt the first stirrings of desire. And he’d known that Jon was in trouble the second they’d walked into the throne room and seen the Dragon Queen on her stone throne, exotically beautiful. Any man would have fallen in love with her instantly-and even Jon wasn’t immune to her charms. 

Davos had prepared for every other eventuality, up to and including a battle at sea should they become prisoners on Dragonstone. He hadn’t been prepared for her, for Jon to look at her the way he did. 

Even then, they were already lost. I’ve noticed you looking at her good heart. 

Jon had stubbornly refused to talk about her. He changed the subject ever time Davos brought her up, every time he tried to coerce him to focus. And they were falling for each other, hard. He could tell, in the way their glares were softened at the edges with curiosity, tempered by kindness. When Jon escorted her to her place at the long wooden table for their first meal together and the way they’d tried not to meet each other’s eyes. The one time Dany had dropped one of her carved dragon figurines in the war room and he’d immediately bent down to grab it for her, and how their hands had touched for just a little longer than necessary. 

He’d never thought that he would like the Dragon Queen either; she was too foreign, and she’d taken the castle that he’d come to think of as Stannis’s and make it her own. But he found that he did; she may have been the most powerful woman in the world, but she never brought it up. She never exhibited her power unnecessarily. And the people who followed her…they followed her because of who she was, not because of her name. She was kind in a way that Stannis had never been-but her spine was iron, and unyielding when necessary. She and Jon made a good match; ice and fire, neither one smothering the other but flourishing as equals. 

It had broken his heart when Jon had volunteered to go on the wight hunt and he’d seen the look on the Queen’s face, the way she’d tried to call him back. Don’t do it, you blithering idiot. Don’t you see how much she wants you to stay? Don’t you know how much you don’t want to lose her? 

Which was, he suspected, why he’d gone in the first place. 

But he’d never expected, even in his wildest dreams, for the Queen to come after them with all three of her dragons…and return with two. He hadn’t had to ask what happened; they were all shell shocked and Daenerys looked devastated. But she didn’t lock herself in her room; she waited outside for days, weathering the snow and cold and squinting into the middle distance as if she could somehow draw Jon back to him. 

And inexplicably, she did. 

She never left his side in the days he was unconscious; she brought in a chair and sat next to him, not speaking, not crying-only changing his bandages when the occasion required it and sleeping in odd bursts of two or three hours with her head on the edge of the bed. She looked younger in sleep, more innocent and vulnerable. They both did. 

It made him want to protect them, to spirit them far away to somewhere they could live out the happy ending they deserved. But they were heroes, and he knew there was a good chance their love story would never get a happy ending. But he would do his damnedest to try. 

There was love in their eyes, whenever they looked at each other. Pure, unadulterated love. And he knew they were lucky to have found it, if only for such a short time.

Missandei

Missandei realized that her Queen’s…preoccupation with Jon Snow wasn’t just a passing fancy when she didn’t want to talk about him during their morning routine (a bath and braids). 

When Dany had known Daario, she’d talked about him every morning after she slept with him. He was light and funny; she didn’t take him too seriously and Missandei had always listened with interest when she talked about their nightly hijinks. But she never did, with Jon. In fact she didn’t tell Missandei that they were even having sex until they reached Winterfell (Missandei pretended to be surprised; everyone had known since the first time it happened). And soon she stopped wanting to talk about Jon altogether, as if she wanted to keep all of the sensations to herself. She and Dany had always been the best of friends; sometimes it felt strange sharing the Queen with someone else. But Missandei had always liked Jon; he was like Grey Worm, strong but caring, overcoming adversity after adversity. So they didn’t talk about their crushes; sometimes they would exchange glances, now and then, to convey all that there was to convey. But mostly Missandei just made sure she kept the sheets washed, in case the Queen ever invited a visitor back to her room. 

Once she asked her what love felt like, what she felt when she looked at Grey Worm. Missandei hadn’t known what to say, or how to explain the whirlwind of feelings-the sadness, the love, the urge to protect him from anything and everything that could do him harm…in the end the only thing she could say was “the way you look at Jon.” And somehow Dany seemed to understand.

She noticed the direwolf pin before anyone else did; Dany wore it on her shoulder, tucked under the collar of her shirt where it wasn’t noticeable. But there it was, bright and shiny as if (and she suspected this was the case) Jon had it made for her especially. 

It felt like a promise-a dangerous promise, but a promise just the same. A promise that one day, when this was all over, they would have a future together. 

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Keeping up with the clowns:

Green Smily: Male. Was fucking Brainy in produce section. Body looks male. Identity-likely the gay neighbor or therapist.

Brainy: Male. Fucked Green Smily in produce section. Body looks male. Identity: Maybe the Detective.

Overalls: Male. Was jerking off in restaurant. Sounded male. Identity- maybe the detective.

Gagged: Female. Body looks female. In a dress. Identity- Winter?

The Grey Lady: looks female. Identity-neighbor lady.

Phallic Face: looks male. Probably Kai.

Am I missing any of the clowns??

2

In a city by the sea, there stood a long, thin house on a long, thin street, and by a long, thin window, Marya Morevna sat and wept in her work clothes, and did not look out into the leafy trees. The winter moon looked in at her, stroking her hair with a silver hand. She was sixteen years of age, with seventeen’s shadow hanging heavy on her every tear. Old enough to work after school, old enough to be tired in her joints and her heels, old enough to know that something irretrievable had passed her by. 

If she had looked out the window, she might have seen a great, hoary old black owl alight on the branch of the oak tree. She might have seen the owl lean perilously forward on his green-black branch and, without taking his gaze from her window, fall hard—thump, bash!—onto the streetside. She would have seen the bird bounce up, and when he righted himself, become a handsome young man in a handsome black coat, his dark hair curly and thick, flecked with silver, his mouth half-smiling, as if anticipating a terribly sweet thing. 

But Marya Morevna saw none of this. She only heard the knock at the great cherrywood door, and rushed to answer it before her mother could wake. She stood there in her factory overalls, her face turned bloodless by moonlight, and the man looked down at her, for he was quite tall. Slowly, without taking his eyes from hers, the man in the black coat knelt before her. 

“I am Comrade Koschei, surnamed Bessmertny,” he said with a low, churning voice, “and I have come for the girl in the window.”

Secret Identity

Stripper!Au Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Just a good old Stripper fic.

Word Count: 3,671

Warnings: Crack fic, Language, Drinking, Suggestive Stuff… (come on)

A/N: I don’t know what happened. It’s incredibly long… but I had fun ;) Since I don’t have anything better, this is my gift for 2.5k Thank you all so much ♥

Originally posted by ddee99

“Are you serious?”

“No, I’m Wanda,” your friend replied with a proud smirk.

You rubbed the spot between your eyes where you could feel a headache coming. Wanda was in charge of Natasha’s bachelorette party. You were supposed to spend the evening in a fancy restaurant, but clearly Wanda had other plans.

“I love it!” Natasha took your hand and made you follow her.

You paid the entry fee and walked into the strip club. It was noisy and surprisingly bright. You cringed as the smell of alcohol hit your nose. Wanda gave you her best innocent smile and looped her arm through yours.

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