This is what I imagine my future study to look like, complete with a non-functioning old timey telephone and spinny globe. Everything is handmade with the exception of the telephone, which I modified a teeny tiny bit.
I’ve also improved on my globe design (the dramatic arc of the first one and thick black lines just weren’t working, ya know?), and am now offering it in my etsy shop for all your miniature decor and gifting needs.
Lastly, I’m running a small giveaway on my instagram (@honey.thistle) for one of these globes and a few other minis until May 22nd 2017, so check that out for some free miniature swag :)
Mr. Block, noted pistachio lover and founder of the time-travel agency that hired Cavendish and Dakota. Described by voice actor Mark Hamill as “[a] splendid addition to my gallery of unhinged (but fun!) psychos.”
So far he hasn’t done much, but we learned in childhood not to underestimate the humble platypus on that account, and neither should we turn a blind eye to Mr. Block.
This man founded an organization with a noble aim: it specializes in righting the mistakes of the past. We learned in “Time Out” that Cavendish and Dakota’s pistachio reconnaissance is just about the least important mission that the organization has on file; its higher agents handle assignments on the scale of World War V (having already neatly averted World Wars III and IV). Dakota has long since completed his personal goal of preventing an event known as the “Mississippi Purchase.”
Yet somehow the family with the highest historical damage bill of all time have slipped right under their radar.
If this guy finds out that the Hindenburg crash, the sinking of the Titanic and the extinction of his favorite nut can all be attributed to the same genetic anomaly and its chain of carriers, he’s not going to sit pretty and let them continue to live their lives just because they happen to be lovable sorts.
is an artist who explores the physical world at different image scales and fragments of time. His education in science has led to the use of advanced microscopy and high speed equipment to create unexpected imagery revealing the physical beauty which surrounds us.
Not well known, but probably potent & mainly hemotoxic. Symptomatology likely similar to that of other African carpet vipers including local swelling, incoagulable blood, systemic bleeding, & possibly death.
The amount of content B.A.P is dropping for us recently tho, like we’re so spoiled..
I’m constantly in ruins over them dropping new songs or solos, world tours, their MV’s being actual cinematic master pieces, Japanese bops, giving us new music every few months, each member updating like daily on SNS, the amount of love they have for us. like holy shit who even cares that they’re not world scale idols, they live and drop content on us like they are and holy shit we are blessed
Not My Type | Alright | Cute | Adorable | Pretty | Gorgeous | LORD MERCY | Kindred Souls
My relationship with Azriel: COMPLICATED
I love his personality and everything. Heck I relate to Azriel second out of all the characters in the ACOTAR series (Elain being the first). But I don’t know…I feel as though his personality gets overshadowed with Moriel and Elriel concepts. I love Az for who HE is. But I loathe how tangled his love life is and how it’s become a major part of his character because it seems he’s either:
A. Too blind to see that Mor does not love him B. Now that Mor isn’t going to be a love interest it just so happens that Elain is conveniently here…
I just know I will be pissed if Azriel ends up with Elain just for plot. They would make a great couple, but I would want them to be together because they LOVE each other. Not because Azriel and Mor didn’t end up together.
Hopefully that all changes in the following books and we can focus more on Azriel and who he is. (CAUSE I ADORE THIS BAT SO MUCH.)
P.S. Sorry for the mini-rant, but I honestly do love Azriel which is why I take it so personally!
Something I wrote, because I adore EU, fairy godmothers and use of kindness as dangerous force. Hope it is good.
Library of Elsewhere University is strange place, even by their standards.
Even “mundane” libraries hold magic. How could they not? Ink and transmuted corpses of trees and ideas and unslept nights and hopes in material form, walls upon walls of books. There is power there. And here, where Veil that keeps madness and beauty at bay is thin, where Gentry hold domain, where alien and Other magic that cares not for our rules (sometimes not so) subtly creeps in, where liminal spaces are so common, strange things are bound to happen.
It is known, by some students of forbidden major and in-between staff, by Good Neighbors and crows, by desperate students and world itself, that there is old woman who dwells in heart of library (it isn’t only place where she dwells. Churches, graveyards, other chools and markets- where there are stories and crying people she waits), in cave of children’s tales shaped like attic, fireplace filled with ashes and burning with dreams, waterfall of tears her cloak. She may look like your ideal grandma or have colours and angles that don’t exist but you will trust her.
When you are at your most desperate, when you are lost, without any hope, if you wander library at twilight, if you are abused, you will find her.
You will find her, broken as you are. She will accept you and she will mend you.
You will be drawn in, by honest kindness that shines within her, by lack of judgement in her deep, deep eyes, by comfort her hands caressing your hair ( if you don’t mind it, she asks first), by experience in her voice (older than time), by joy your head upon her lap brings.
By wand of silver bone, plain and straight, held tightly in her hand.
She will speak, and she will be perfect. All that ails you, all words and tones that make you flinch will be gone ( pretty trap to lure in prey some would say). You will cry and scream and be honest and bare your soul and she will assure you and dispense advices.
And she will help. Maybe she will tell you to take particular path and you will meet friend that will free you of stress and fear and disappointment. Maybe she hands you number of hotline that will deal with your parents and courage to call it. Maybe she will mend your bones,muscles,organs, cells, and your trainer’s abuse will be exposed. Maybe she will conjure car and money ( true things, no glamour, and you don’t think about fact that she can call forth steel and fire, that she doesn’t flinch from iron and salt) that will bring you to your new job and ligjt future.
There are rules. Never speak of her. Never try to find her again. Never intentionally seek her out. Never wander through library at midnight. And never, never sneer at fairy tales. You will be wicked and selfish and inconsiderate. If you are lucky, only chill and needles in your bones will follow you forever. If not you will be gone forever.
Gentry don’t speak about her. They know, but they don’t talk.
Humans lie about hidden beauty and prince savior and pretty dresses, but Fair Folk know about girl. Ugly, would be plain if her stepmother had been kinder. Stumped and scrawny, visible bone and bruised skin, scarred and bloodied muscles and burned flesh, broken nails and ruined teeth. Infected wounds and bones not properly healed, ash and rags, frost and manure all over her, and scars on her mind (fear and despair and hunger for love, perfectionism and reasonless guilt and self-hatred) much worse. But her will was strong and her kindness so great that world itself cherished her, wind and trees moving aside, and even cats themselves bowed to her. So great, that she could wrap it like rope around people’s bodies.
Some say that her blood wasn’t just red and salty, but Fair and Good too. That her eyes were too big or too small, her shadow too light or too dark. That her teeth were sharp and nails long, her ears strangely shaped. That her kindness was her magic, that she took beauty and madness that were her birthright, took brilliance and potential for impossible and nestled them in her heart, let her soul drink and bask and become one with magic till she was so kind that it hurt humans to look at her and Gentry didn’t believe that she had their blood.
She was kindest of all humans, say those who saw that interesting race be born. There will never be another capable of holding a candle to her, say those who will outlive humanity. Something like that couldn’t not be noticed.
In depths of Faerie, a wild, free thing dwelled, older than time and greater than cosmos, capable of observing threads of fate it predated. It is said to have given humans speech and writing, word and letter, and it cares only for one thing-stories. It seeks out bravest and smartest, cruelest and strongest, and either nurtures or steals potential for legend. Girl was finished, for she was greatest prize, the kindest of kindest, so Gentry near her home thought.
Thing sent a tiny piece of itself in world. A scale of dragon, drop of ocean, spark of star. It came, and thought girl’s home was beyond river and filled with dust and cold iron, she dreamed of deep, dark water and eldritch voices, and since that day Sun always seemed small and weak to her.
But she spoke to the creature, her eyes shut to escape strange visage, spoke and asked it how it was doing. Spoke, and with each word she bound creature, whole of it, not just aspect.
And when she was queen and dying and invisible fingers grasped her palm, she asked one final wish from her godmother.
“Protect them. Those who are alone and chained. Protect and guide and aid them as you aided me.” And she died.
So if there was fey willing to talk about old woman in library, it would tell you three things.
Never try to look beyond glamour, for piece is just as terrifying as whole.
Remember that it is soulles and merciless as all of them, that it is bound by bargain and if you try to cheat it’s rules, you will beg for death.
Remember that often, kind word is thousand times stronger and more dangerous, painful and harsher than cruel act ( and godmother contains reflection of greatest kindness, that of cinder girl, who endured and forgave).