#but also exhilerated
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queenlucythevaliant · 8 months ago
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Northern Lights
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I heard a voice that cried, “Balder the Beautiful is dead, is dead!” 
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Who knows what to call the lonely exhilaration of gazing out into a bright Northern sky? Who can name it? 
Jill could.
It was the same feeling that came to her at the teetering edge of a cliff at the end of the world. The same feeling as when she said her goodbyes to Puddleglum and Scrubb before they freed the prince. It was the same feeling that engulfed her now, sitting in the professor’s library with a volume of poetry before her. 
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The wild northern wastes were well named: utterly wild, perfectly desolate, and terribly Northern. 
It was lonely there and often cold, but the sky was an endless whorl of gales and gray clouds. The stones were indigo under the pale winter sunlight, and at sunset they glowed a soft gold, as though lit from within. The gorges and moors lay before her, and Jill loved them for their vastness and their distance. Little grew in that country, but that which did was full of vigor. The grass was short and coarse. Every tree was victorious. 
On a still, deep breathing winter night, Jill lay on her back beneath a covering sky. It seemed beautiful to her, rich and strong and glorious. Her eyes drank in the breadth of it until her tears began to blind her. Yet even then, she still couldn’t look away.
She felt bigger here in the wastes, like the landscape. Stronger, wider. The further she walked, the more she felt herself stretch out. One of these days, maybe, she would catch hold of herself at the edge and tug, and Jill Pole would open up clear as the Northern sky. 
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And through the misty air passed the mournful cry of sunward sailing cranes.
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The thing that surprised Jill most about the battle with the serpent was this: there wasn’t any yelling. Always, it seemed, whenever she read stories about people fighting with swords, the combatants would let loose some guttural yell before their blows fell. They would scream and writhe in pain as they died. They would shout instructions to their fellows, “Look out!” or “Hit him there!” But the whole affair with the serpent passed with very little noise. 
The poison-green coil constricted around the prince; he raised his arms and got clear, struck the serpent hard, and then Scrubb and Puddleglum dispatched the creature with heavy, hacking blows. The monster died writhing, but not screaming. And then it was over. 
The thing that surprised Jill most about the moments before battle was, of course, the noise. She could hear her own heartbeat in her ears. She couldn’t stop listening to her own breathing. Every footstep rang out like a gong, and any words exchanged rang with a kind of finality that made them sound louder than anything. 
“You are of high courage,” Rilian told her when it was over. 
Yet the thing in Jill’s chest just then didn’t feel like courage. It was a deep breath, a plunge, and a release. It was loud and quiet all at once, till she was standing, blinking in the night air as snowballs whizzed round her, and maybe that was something like courage after all. 
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And now, there was a stirring in her chest as she reread the words on the page. Sing no more / O ye bards of the North / Of Vikings and of Jarls! / Of the days of the Eld / preserve the freedom only / nor the deeds of blood! 
She thought of grief. Of freedom. 
The lonely ache in her belly grew stronger. She felt herself uplifted into the huge regions of sky that were just beyond those cliffs, weightless as the breath beneath her buoyed her up, further, further…
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When she saw Caspian up close, Jill thought that he looked like the sort of person who was meant to live in a castle. A silly thought, perhaps, since she knew he was a king– only she wasn’t thinking of Cair Paravel. No, Jill was picturing the ruins of an old British castle she’d visited once on holiday. She still remembered how the stonework had loomed over her, all towering arches and crumbling walls. That was where Caspian seemed to belong. He had an air of ancient tragedy about him. 
When Rilian disappeared, all things had wept but one. The serpent coiled beneath the earth and flicked its forked tongue, spewing poison. 
Now, the king half rose to bless his son. He whispered a few words as he caressed Rilian’s cheek, words meant only for those beloved ears. Jill saw Caspian’s lips move and wondered what a man like that could possibly say, when time ran so short. 
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They laid him in his ship, with horse and harness, as on a funeral pyre. Odin placed a ring upon his finger, and whispered in his ear.
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Jill furtively took Myths of the Northmen and held it up to the professor with a question in her eyes. She was still shy around him and Miss Plummer, though she wished she wasn’t. 
“Would you like to take that with you?”
“...Please.”
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It takes a certain kind of person to be exhilarated by the heights. You’ve got to love vastness more than you fear falling. 
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They walked to the train station with an autumn wind blowing hard, and though Jill couldn’t fathom why, she turned and saw Lucy grinning, fierce and joyful– grinning and reaching a hand out towards her friend.
Jill reached back and grabbed it. “What will you do, once we’re back in Narnia?” she asked. 
The wind blew harder. The feeling of anticipation grew and grew, until it felt so big that she couldn’t dream of containing it. And there was Lucy, holding Jill’s hand and laughing like it was easy.
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Preserve the freedom only, not the deeds of blood!
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The second time Jill went to Narnia, she found herself not at its edge, but at its end. 
The thing about the Norse apocalypse is: it feels believable. It doesn’t reach beyond earth’s horizon to pull down hope beyond hope. It’s only the kind of courage that hopeless humans have: you are going to die, so you might as well die bravely. 
They found the last king of Narnia bound to a tree. His eyes were faintly red from crying, and his wrists and ankles red from the coarseness of his fetters. 
In the Norse myths, Loki broke free of his fetters at the end of the world. He escaped to the helm of a ship made from the fingernails of the dead.
The last king of Narnia fell forward onto the ground when Eustace cut his bonds. Jill crouched down beside him and watched as he rubbed feeling back into his legs. He wasn’t so much older than her, she thought. Jill was sixteen years old; the last king of Narnia could not be older than twenty-two. 
In the myths, the gods were ancient, hewn from the bodies of giants old as the earth. 
Jill put out a hand and helped the last king of Narnia to his feet. Not for the last time, she shivered. Something deep inside her (deeper than her chest, than her heart, than the marrow of her bones, deep as her soul, deeper) was singing an elegy and she didn’t know why, or how, or where it had come from. The king clutching her hand, who could have been her older brother, would have no heir.
Yet when he asked, “Will you come with me?” Jill could only smile. 
“Of course,” she said. “It’s you we’ve come to help.”
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And the voice forever cried, "Balder the Beautiful is dead, is dead!"
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“This really is Narnia at last,” murmured Jill. The springtime wood had little in common with the wintry lands she had traveled the last time she was here– but it awakened the same feelings of Northernness in her chest. 
Their party may as well have been the only people in the world, for how isolated their little wooden path seemed. Yet it wasn’t lonely, really, cocooned in all that green with the wind in the leaves and the primroses nodding and blue of the sky peeking through above. 
Jewel told stories about what ordinary life was like when there was peace here. As he spoke, Jill could almost hear the trees' voices speaking out of the living past, whispering, stay, stay. She was caught up to a great height, looking down across a rich, lovely plain full of woods and waters and cornfields, which spread away and away till it got thin and misty from distance. 
“Oh Jewel–” Jill said with a dreamy sigh, “wouldn’t it be lovely if Narnia just went on and on– like what you say it has been?”
She needn’t be a queen, as Susan and Lucy had been, but Jill would’ve liked to stay. She would've liked it all to stay, if it could. She might have been a woodmaid in a place like this: with the turn of the seasons, the swaying trees, swords into plowshares. Oh, if only she could stay!
Ahead, the last king of Narnia was softly singing a marching song. Jill tilted her head back and let warm shafts of sun caress her face. 
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I saw the pallid corpse of the dead sun borne through the Northern sky.
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“So,” said the last king of Narnia, “Narnia is no more.”
He tried to send them back. Jill shook her head. It was very loud and very quiet. “No, no, no, we won’t. I don’t care what you say. We’re going to stick by you whatever happens, aren’t we Eustace?”
They couldn’t go back anyway. Neither would they flee, not south across the mountains nor North into the great wide wastes. No, they would stay. They slept in a holly grove on the edge of ruin, waiting for the bonfires to light.
Jill slept fitfully, but in between she dreamed. She was high up in the air, buffeted by clouds and pierced by shafts of silver sunlight. 
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They all died, in the myths. Jill knew that. It seemed beautiful and brave when she read it in her book, tucked away safe in the Professor’s library. It was terrifying now– and yet it was beautiful and brave still.
The dogs came bounding up, every one of them, running up to the king and his men with their tails wagging. One of them leapt at Jill and licked her face, tongue roughly lapping up the sweat and tears that had dried on her cheeks. 
“Show us how to help, show us how, how, how!” the dogs were barking, almost ebullient in their enthusiasm. Jill bit back a sob. How lovely, she thought. How terribly beautiful. How dreadfully brave. 
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So perish the old Gods!
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The white rock gleamed like a moon in the darkness when Jill finally reached it. She ran back to it alone, her hands shaking, while her friends stayed forward with their gleaming swords and Jewel’s indigo horn.
The while rock gleamed like the moon. Jill’s first shot flew wide and landed in the soft grass. But she had another arrow on her string the next instant. It was speed that mattered, not aim. Speed, and turning aside when she cried, so as not to drip tears on her bowstring.
The white rock gleamed. In the myths, a wolf devoured the moon. Peter’s wolf, slain many thousand years ago in this world, opened his jaw wide and darkness fell over everything.
Her next arrow found its mark. After that, she lost track. She pulled, and she prayed that her hands kept still another minute. 
The unique thing–maybe the appealing thing–about the Norse myths, was that they told men to serve gods who were admittedly fighting with their backs to the wall and would certainly be defeated in the end. Jill let loose another arrow, felt the white rock at her back, and she knew that the clawing fear–beauty–bravery deep in her gut was the same feeling that she felt on the heights. The same feeling, but a different face. You’ve got to love vastness more than you fear falling. 
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“I feel in my bones,” said Poggin, “that we shall all, one by one, pass through that dark door before morning. I can think of a hundred deaths that I would rather have died.”
“It is indeed a grim door,” said Tirian. “It is more like a mouth.” 
“Oh, can’t we do anything to stop it,” said Jill. Better to be dashed to the ground than it was to be devoured. 
“Nay, fair friend,” said Jewel. “It may be for us the door to Aslan’s country and we sup at his table tonight.”
A hand tangled itself in her hair and started to pull. Jill braced herself hard, for a moment, until her strength gave out. She was standing on the edge of a high, Northern cliff. She took another step, and fell.
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Perhaps when the moment comes, our bite will prove better than our howls. If not, we shall have to confess that two millennia of Christianity have not yet brought us to the level of the Stoics and Vikings. For the worst (according to the flesh) that a Christian need face is to die in Christ and rise in Christ; some were content to die, and not to rise, with Father Odin.
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The world inside the stable was beautiful. It made Jill’s chest ache in all the loveliest ways. 
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Build it again, O ye bards, fairer than before!
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comixandco · 1 year ago
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hey
heyheyheyheyheyheyhey
go ride a dragon and descend into the depths with them right now
you can thank me later
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thesilenticeroads · 4 months ago
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goddamn... cant believe i actually did it. renders and refs for my babys on artfight before the bell rang.
feels... nice. even if i dont get any attacks, just having my guys put down somewhere in a public space is so gratifying. i feel accomplished
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notmuchtoconceal · 9 months ago
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imagine loving something this much, and being this ashamed of how much you love it. imagine showing this much excitement over this many pecuiliar hybridizations, yet returning always to the pretense of normality. demanding an explanation. demanding it explain itself. parsing out the dream-like molecular atomism and seeing for yourself its fantastical juxtapositions. imagine seizing on this many interior contradictions, and responding in kind, before bringing it back to the envy of not only wealth, but of being able to experiment with forms without being judged in a cramped, urban setting.
we've found it folks: mcmansion heaven
Hello everyone. It is my pleasure to bring you the greatest house I have ever seen. The house of a true visionary. A real ad-hocist. A genuine pioneer of fenestration. This house is in Alabama. It was built in 1980 and costs around $5 million. It is worth every penny. Perhaps more.
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Now, I know what you're thinking: "Come on, Kate, that's a little kooky, but certainly it's not McMansion Heaven. This is very much a house in the earthly realm. Purgatory. McMansion Purgatory." Well, let me now play Beatrice to your Dante, young Pilgrim. Welcome. Welcome, welcome, welcome.
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It is rare to find a house that has everything. A house that wills itself into Postmodernism yet remains unable to let go of the kookiest moments of the prior zeitgeist, the Bruce Goffs and Earthships, the commune houses built from car windshields, the seventies moments of psychedelic hippie fracture. It is everything. It has everything. It is theme park, it is High Tech. It is Renaissance (in the San Antonio Riverwalk sense of the word.) It is medieval. It is maybe the greatest pastiche to sucker itself to the side of a mountain, perilously overlooking a large body of water. Look at it. Just look.
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The inside is white. This makes it dreamlike, almost benevolent. It is bright because this is McMansion Heaven and Gray is for McMansion Hell. There is an overbearing sheen of 80s optimism. In this house, the credit default swap has not yet been invented, but could be.
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It takes a lot for me to drop the cocaine word because I think it's a cheap joke. But there's something about this example that makes it plausible, not in a derogatory way, but in a liberatory one, a sensuous one. Someone created this house to have a particular experience, a particular feeling. It possesses an element of true fantasy, the thematic. Its rooms are not meant to be one cohesive composition, but rather a series of scenes, of vastly different spatial moments, compressed, expanded, bright, close.
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And then there's this kitchen for some reason. Or so you think. Everything the interior design tries to hide, namely how unceasingly peculiar the house is, it is not entirely able to because the choices made here remain decadent, indulgent, albeit in a more familiar way.
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Rare is it to discover an interior wherein one truly must wear sunglasses. The environment created in service to transparency has to somewhat prevent the elements from penetrating too deep while retaining their desirable qualities. I don't think an architect designed this house. An architect would have had access to specifically engineered products for this purpose. Whoever built this house had certain access to architectural catalogues but not those used in the highest end or most structurally complex projects. The customization here lies in the assemblage of materials and in doing so stretches them to the height of their imaginative capacity. To borrow from Charles Jencks, ad-hoc is a perfect description. It is an architecture of availability and of adventure.
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A small interlude. We are outside. There is no rear exterior view of this house because it would be impossible to get one from the scrawny lawn that lies at its depths. This space is intended to serve the same purpose, which is to look upon the house itself as much as gaze from the house to the world beyond.
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Living in a city, I often think about exhibitionism. Living in a city is inherently exhibitionist. A house is a permeable visible surface; it is entirely possible that someone will catch a glimpse of me they're not supposed to when I rush to the living room in only a t-shirt to turn out the light before bed. But this is a space that is only exhibitionist in the sense that it is an architecture of exposure, and yet this exposure would not be possible without the protection of the site, of the distance from every other pair of eyes. In this respect, a double freedom is secured. The window intimates the potential of seeing. But no one sees.
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At the heart of this house lies a strange mix of concepts. Postmodern classicist columns of the Disney World set. The unpolished edge of the vernacular. There is also an organicist bent to the whole thing, something more Goff than Gaudí, and here we see some of the house's most organic forms, the monolith- or shell-like vanity mixed with the luminous artifice of mirrors and white. A backlit cave, primitive and performative at the same time, which is, in essence, the dialectic of the luxury bathroom.
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And yet our McMansion Heaven is still a McMansion. It is still an accumulation of deliberate signifiers of wealth, very much a construction with the secondary purpose of invoking envy, a palatial residence designed without much cohesion. The presence of golf, of wood, of masculine and patriarchal symbolism with an undercurrent of luxury drives that point home. The McMansion can aspire to an art form, but there are still many levels to ascend before one gets to where God's sitting.
If you like this post and want more like it, support McMansion Hell on Patreon for as little as $1/month for access to great bonus content including a discord server, extra posts, and livestreams.
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mxdotpng · 3 months ago
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if it werent for the fact i am as delicate as a sheet of the thinnest paper imaginable. i think id really like to be punched in the face
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muzdiir · 1 year ago
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last year for guy fawks day i went to ottery st mary for the tar barrels. in which barrels of varying sizes are coated in tar, set on fire, then rolled & carried through town.
the streets are all stereotypically "small town britain" narrow, and the crowds are "yearly big festival" thick. there is fire and alcohol everywhere, and a heavy current of people all following after the burning barrels. said barrels occasionally roll towards the crowd. when it's time for the strength tests and men and women alike are lifting and carrying the lit barrels down the streets, some falter and ram towards the onlookers, causing a surge of people trying avoid being trampled. the shops all along the lanes are constantly within inches of catching fire themselves.
it is insane but also terribly good fun & i think i will miss that.
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wonfilms · 9 months ago
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enhypen & the ways they say "i love you" (without actually saying it) ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
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warnings : n/a : gen: fluff a/n: im back?!? after almost 6 mths .. but yes i'm back, (finally..) school has been HELL, BUT yrhome is back in action, i hope this is alright even though i feel a little rusty hehe, reblogs & comments are very much appreciated
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heeseung -> "this song reminded me of you." - heeseung's love is constant, never once wavering. he sees you in every little part of his life.. he thinks about you constantly never once do you leave his mind he discovers a melody that seems to capture you within mere musical notes... so he shares it with you.. each song that make his heart swell just like you do.
jay -> "you wanted this right? i saw you looking at it at the store last weekend?" - jay's love is bold yet gentle, almost like a first love and a last kiss paired in one. jay remembers everything about you, your favourite colour, which perfume you use, what shoe size you are, what makes you tick and what comforts you after a long day? so it's no surprise that when he caught you eyeing that lipstick at the store he just had to buy it for you, whatever makes you happy is all he wants.
jake -> "give me one more kiss, please babe just one more..??" - jake's love is exhilerating and yet comfortable all at once, like the fond nostalgia of a childhood fair-ground ride. he should be out of bed right now, rushing to get ready for work but he can't help himself.. not when you look that damn beautiful laid in his arms , he kisses you softly letting the feeling linger. just one more kiss, he pleads.. but you both know that's never the case
sunghoon -> "have you eaten yet baby?" - sunghoon's love is soft, sweet and it feels warm like a bowl of soup. he never fails to ask you whether you'd eaten yet, always. he takes comfort in knowing you're still safe and healthy. he shows his love through words, whispered confessions against your neck and gentle squeezes of your hip as he kisses you to sleep at night.
sunoo -> "i wish i could see you all the damn time" - sunoo's love tastes like oranges and frozen grapes. he didn't think he'd ever want someone's company like he wants yours.. he needs you he wants you by his side even more with every passing minute. it feels almost natural to see your smile and your pretty eyes every minute of the day, it's like a second nature to him to admire you. jungwon -> "i wanna grow old with you one day" - jungwon's love is like rainy days spent cuddling next to the fire. he's never been one to shy away from the words 'i love you', but that's probably just because it's you. hell, love is terrifying but he knows you're the one for him. his other half the last little missing puzzle piece in his life, you're perfect for him. niki -> "you make me wanna try." - niki's love is like a gentle studio ghibli movie. it's not perfect but yet it still it. his love is encouragement, soft words of affection exchanged in private and heart-wrenching embraces that make you feel like melting. you're both young, and maybe thats completely okay, love is also helping the person you love most grow and change and still staying by each other's side.
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overandundertarot · 9 months ago
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pick a tattoo; message for you
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pile 1; Queen of hearts, The Hermit reversed, Ace of swords.
Pile 1 I feel you are taking time to cultivate a specific state of mind. Stillness, being present while at the same time appreciating such intense aspects of human emotions and meeting them with kindness and love. Right now, you are considering pursuing a solo journey, it's not something everyone will understand or that you can even explain. This can be physical or mental; you want to incorporate a potent source of creativity and connection to source in your daily experience. Keep at it, you're still wondering how to go about it. It feels like a half formed idea in your conciousness but let it marinate. You will arrive at a conclusion soon. For some there is something to do with cutting it off with/reaching out to another person. I heard making the best decision for both of you; do what you know and feel is right.
pile 2; 10 of cups, Ace of cups, Ace of swords.
Wow Pile 2! Romance is in the air! You have a romantic prospect right now(or several!) and are trying to be discerning. If not one is coming towards you very soon. You want to protect your heart, but are a secret hopeless romantic! You want in your deepest of hearts to get lost in the feeling and go crazy with love; experiencing the joys and exhileration of being with another person. You hope your partner can be an escape from reality for you, if not a soothing balm to the exhausting end of your day. You want a partner, a family and domestic bliss. Message for you is to give them a chance; let them show you how good it can be. Say yes to that movie or that trip! It seems too good to be true, but it's all you deserve. Enjoy it. So much happiness in in store for you pile 2! Ahhhh I wanna hug you, my heart is feeling full with it.
pile 3; Queen of pentacles, 9 of wands, King of wands.
Pile 3, how're you feeling? It's important to check in with yourself every now and then. You're working hard on a journey but you need to give yourself appropriate time to rest. I'm hearing that you romanticise the suffering. Not to a toxic degree but to make it all the more bearable. You likely already know your message. Keep going. You're doing wonderfully. This pile reminds me of Victoria Monet's words at the recent grammy awards. To paraphrase she explained that her receiving that award last night was a process years in the making; she was growing roots, laying ground. And she's finally begining to sprout. It's the same for you. You are patient with yourself, tending to to your work that you know will put you at the top one day. You have this regal air about you, keep your head held high. Some of you are facing a decision, I'm hearing to go with the shocking option lol.
pile 4; 6 of wands reversed, Queen of cups reversed, Ace of swords.
Things are very much upside down for you pile 4. There's been a thwarted victory(or a hollow one at the very least). It left you feeling empty. I get the feeling like you're crying out to the universe for help but it seems like no one is listening. You're keeping all these things bottled up; refusing to open up. There are people in your life who want to reach out to you but you are not trusting them, very guarded though i feel like its not obvious. Many people may not even know that you are struggling; they think everything is going great for you. The message for you is basically what you just read; you didn't know how to pinpoint what you were feeling. Reframe the situation; are you satisfied with those conditions? That's a no, open up to the people around you, or find a channel to process these emotions. Let yourself bloom again. There's also a big theme of turning your pain into profit. Perhaps use your experience to create art or to find a new persepctive in your work. There are solutions available to you. Use them.
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bumblingbabooshka · 11 months ago
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funniest possible tuvok/t’pel dynamic to me is that they’re a hater x lover relationship where tuvok is the hater and t’pel is the lover. she’s like “look at this my beloved” and shows tuvok some corny instagram normie meme and he’s like 😑. they watch a movie together and she’s like “it was pretty good!” meanwhile he’s writing a ten page essay tearing it to pieces. they love each other for it though they balance each other out
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lollytea · 1 year ago
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Love the idea that the feral, hormonal Willow post and the dress measurements post take place simultaneously, so you have this teenage girl holding onto her restraint by the skin of her teeth and then suddenly getting a text from her boyfriend with his measurements because??? what???does she do with this??? Is he making a move?? Is something happening here?? It’s probably too forward to send her own, right?? Should she just go for it or gather intel from her friends first?? meanwhile Hunter is just like “I’m gonna make Willow such a pretty dress :D”
YES!! That is exactly what's going on here. I have this vision of how Willow and Hunter's romantic relationship started off. Things moved quite slow, because Hunter got overwhelmed very easily and Willow liked him so much and didn't want to make him feel uncomfortable in what should be a safe space. It's very new and neither of them really know how to approach romance immediately, but one of them desperately wants to practise and one of them needs more time to ease into it.
Willow is always watching Hunter with sharp eyes, intently reading his body language, waiting for any kind of signal that he'd like to do a little more than hold her hand. It's usually Willow that initiates the less nerve wracking stuff like hugs and hand holding and casual affection, but she let Hunter kiss her first. She's very proud of herself for noticing the way he glanced at her mouth or she wouldn't have asked "do you want to kiss me?" and then he wouldn't have done it. Whenever Hunter initiates something, Willow knows he wants this. She knows they're making progress.
Once during a group movie night, he fell asleep resting against her side and she laid in that uncomfortable position all fucking night. He eventually started sleep snuggling her and she she was fucking EXHILERATED. This is what she's been starving for.
A headcanon that I hold so near and dear to my heart is that Willow is secretly batshit insane. Totally bonkers. Off the fucking rails. Yknow just in general. And Hunter definitely makes the crazy flare up. But she's always been good at hiding it so nobody suspects a thing.
Hunter is not very good at articulating how he feels about Willow but he's desperate to express it in any way that he can. So he's always doing nice things for her. And making her laugh. And supporting her in any way that he can. And surprising her with little gifts that he made.
Willow also isn't all that good at articulating how she feels about Hunter. "You're cute" and "You mean a lot to me <3" and other casual flirty lines are used a lot but she's not quite covering the extent of emotions. She feels a lot more intensely than that. She can't really put it all into words. All these feelings give her the unbearable urge to start gnawing on his flesh like a fucking damn griffin drumstick.
The texts make her wanna act up somethin fierce
Hello_willow: what are these?
RULERZREACHF4N: My hip, waist and bust size <3
Willow at her fucking LIMIT:
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What does that MEAN?? WHAT DOES THAT MEAN??? Is this flirting? Maybe Hunter's idea of a scandalous text?? She knows from whispers in the hallways that sometimes significant others send pics when they wanna get bold. Like shirtless pics. She has been hoping every damn day that one day her scroll is gonna buzz and its her shy boyfriend, deciding that he likes the way his chest looks today and he wants to show it off to her. But it can never be that simple, can it? NO. Her fucking tailor of a boyfriend it trying to speak to her in tailor language and she can NOT fucking fumble him right now because there's a chance that if she gets this right, she might get to put her hands on the areas that he has given her the measurements of.
Hello_willow: Oh
Is she supposed to compliment him on his beautiful measurements? His broad chest? His slim waist? Should she say that she'd have no problems wrapping her arms around him? That he is the perfect size for squeezing? That she wants to come over and see for herself if he's being honest? Is that what he wants to hear?
RULERZREACHF4N: Is there something you want to tell me? :)
Willow panics, suddenly feeling the pressure to answer quick. What does he want?? WHAT DOES HE WANT????
She quickly decides that she CANNOT be bold here. Because all of the things she wants to say are shockingly indecent.
That's when she realizes. It's Hunter. Hunter, who told her yesterday that he used to be scared of the dark when he was little. Hunter, who might be trying, in his own weird Hunter way, to be a little more vulnerable. Give her more personal details about himself, so she knows that he trusts her and feels safe with her. Like when a beast rolls over on its belly.
A little of Willow's tension melts away. He's very sweet. She likes him an awful lot.
Not knowing how to proceed, Willow awkwardly tries to let him know that she appreciates him telling her things that he thinks are important.
Hello_willow: thank you
Feeling a little unsure, she adds a question mark at the end. And then, upon getting a few seconds of silence on the other end, she panics again and hurriedly types another message. A little more upfront this time.
Hello_willow: I love learning new things about you Hun. You have very elegant measurements <3
Another twenty seconds pass.
RULERZREACHF4N: Thanks. You're sweet <3
HALLELUJAH TO THE TITAN, TO THE SON AND TO THE HOOTY GHOST!!! HE THINKS SHES SWEET!!! SHE IS GONNA GET TO HOLD HIS HIPS TONIGHT!!!!
RULERZREACHF4N: Can I have your Dad's number?
NO!!! HOW THE FUCK DID SHE FUMBLE THIS!!!!
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snowbunnywatching · 1 month ago
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How would you have met Malik? Work, apps, at a bar? Is the attraction instant and overwhelming? How does it build up to the point where you decide you need to leave your bf for him? And how difficult is it to not cheat in the mean time? Would it have been something you were looking for as well in the context of Blacked Denmark, presumably with other women/girls doing similar things? Or something you never would have expected of yourself?
(Follow-up to this post - note that all of this is fantasy.)
I meet Malik at the arrival center where the Black visitors are registered and briefly stay before being assigned a permanent home. I work as a volunteer at the center - as so many other young Danish women also do - helping the newly-arrived Black men fill out the required forms.
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It's a rainy afternoon when I see Malik for the first time. He’s tall, with deep brown skin, close-cropped hair, and a quiet strength in the way he moves. We're sitting next to each other at a small desk as I'm going through the various fields in the form.
I notice he's looking less at the form and more at me. I look up and our eyes meet.
"Your hair," he says. "It smells like the flowers that grew outside my village."
I blush and lower my eyes. But as we continue filling out the form I feel myself sneaking little peeks at him as well.
A week later we share our first kiss. I have been volunteering at the center every day after work, seeking out Malik and talking with him during my break. About life in his village and what he left behind. About my disappointing love-life. About the life we could have made together if things had just been a little different.
It is with both exhileration and despondence that I make my daily visits to the center. Exhileration at getting to talk to Malik again. Despondence that I'm starting to fall for him. Realizing that I will need to either stop talking with him or leave my boyfriend.
The kiss is wonderful. All of our pent-up desires are finally released.
I tell Malik I need to end things with my boyfriend before we take things further. It's difficult for the both of us. I want to take my clothes off together with him, feel his naked skin against mine. I want to feel what it's like to experience all the pleasure that my body was made to experience.
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talonabraxas · 2 months ago
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Aten Talon Abraxas Mabon, the Autumn Equinox 2024
Mabon, the Autumn Equinox, also known as the Witches Thanksgiving among a few others, falls between September 21st and the 23rd. This year, the equinox will technically occur on the 22nd.
This is the time of year when once again the sun and moon are in balance. Falling into the moments where the sun’s power begins to diminish and the onset of winter begins.
Days will become shorter, the night will reign and the temperatures will drop.
Mabon is a time for balance, giving thanks, and reflection. We give thanks to mother earth for the bountiful harvest, but also honour death as nature prepares to go dormant for the long winter.
Mabon History
Mabon history is actually kind of odd, seeing that the term ‘Mabon’ only came about in the 70’s. Alas, the name has stuck (and there seems to be much debate on whether or not it should have lol).
Some prefer the term Harvest Home as a more traditional name, among others. I, however, do quite enjoy the term Mabon, and is generally the one I stick with.
Regardless of what you call it, Mabon, Autumn Equinox, Harvest Home; September, the harvest and the changing of the season has long been a celebrated and exhilerating time.
A perfect time for us to take a moment, breathe deep, appreciate life and renew our strengths.
That being said ‘Mabon’ is the Sun God in Welsh Mythology and represented youth, love, sex, power, and vitality. He was the Child of Light and son of the Earth Mother Goddess, Modron. In Welsh, Mabon translates to ‘great son’and is the masculine side of the harvest. This is the second grain harvest (after Lughnasadh), a time to rejoice and rest after the last grain has been cut.
In one mythology, it is the day when the God of Light is defeated by the God of darkness. Mabon is sometimes seen as a child who was born at Yule, grown throughout the year with each Sabbat and by the Autumn Equinox is an elder preparing to return home to the fairie realm to once again be reborn at Yule. This is a time to give him thanks.
Blessed Mabon!
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swifty-fox · 8 months ago
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MOTA Hockey AU, so tell me about Buck and Bucky's first kiss! Or when they realize they're gonna date :D
OOO okay well this may be subject to change once i start writing (I dont control the characters they control me)
but I think that Bucky kinda makes a real ass of himself at first (SHOCKING)
As i've said, Gale kinda corners Bucky for a quick n dirty long before they're even friends and once they're in the same team Bucky is relentless in his teasing of Buck about it (in situations where he doesnt risk outing him) he's also REAL interested in that happening again please and thank you. Big Buck is pretty much like 'fuck off and fuck you (not sexy' for much of it.
Because it's a new team they do a lottery system for rooming together when traveling in hotels and Buck and Bucky by some weird twist of fate (author loving cliches) they draw straws to room together at least for the first season. This creates a lot of negative tension just due to their different game-day rituals as i went into but also because Bucky continues to hit on gale and try to tempt him into bed. It kinda has the opposite effect and kinda scares the fuck out of Buck and it kinda all comes to a head where a bit too drunk Bucky's trying all his moves in the book and he's kinda got Buck semi cornered in the room and while he isn't doing anything past the line of consent he DOES finally fucking realize "oh this isnt Gale playing a game or playing hard to get I am genuinely making him uncomfortable"
Cue him feeling awful. Cue him going to Curt to be like 'uh i really fucked up bad'
Cue curt threatening to knock Bucky's fake teeth in if he doesn't apologize and leave that boy alone because what the fuck Bucky.
and Bucky's a good guy he is and he genuinely feels so bad and slimy because he's like a dog with a bone and he let it go to far so next time he and Gale are in the hotel room he apologizes with his whole chest and promises he's done. "No more hitting on you. We're teammates and that's it. On my Ma's grave."
And Bucky keeps his word! He stops with the flirtation (past general hockey flirting you see between teammates) he stops propositioning him. He stops turning his music up louder during pre-game prep every time he sees Gale twitch with annoyance. And I think when he gives Gale that space he does the best thing he could have done and gives Gale the opportunity to actually know John. To work with him and bond with him and they start creating a really beautiful friendship out of it.
I think fast forward to their second year playing together. It's not a playoff game, the're well off from that but it has been an unusually rough game. Curt was ejected for a dirty hit and then mouthing off to the ref, Croz got pulled from second line to fill in Curts spot and he's honestly doing better than people expected but he doesnt play with Rosie and Buck usually and it's showing.
Buck lost a tooth after a nasty high-stick and his jaw is going to be BRUISED tomorrow. Both their first line D-men are down with injury so it's the rookies. They're fighting for their LIVES and man they somehow manage to eek out that win and it's just exhilerating. Buck and Bucky are in the middle of the celly pile and their masks are pressed together and they're just grinning and staring into eachothers eyes.
Later they're the last two in the locker room and Gale grabs John and pushes him against the wall in the deepest most passionate kiss that John literally almost goes weak at the knees. He's never been kissed like that before in his life.
I don't think after that they have like a "we are boyfriends" conversation. But they do end up together. They're rooming together at that point full time and slowly but surely Gale just starts spending every night in John's bed
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chaotic-on-main · 1 year ago
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Aaaaaalright. i’ll start with my boys megumi (aged up for anyone asking) cause i need to think long and hard for the love of my life levi. lmao, so for megumi we are both pretty chill and lowkey so like a bowling date would be so cute. he’s surprisingly good at it but i suck, he hates the pda i give him during public dates but he deals with it because it makes me happy. than we take a long drive and enjoy the beauty of tokyo :)
hehe hi bee!! this one was so fun to do and i hope you like it! idk why but i think megumi would look so attractive on a bike so uhhh here!!
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Megumi Fushiguro is an enigma yet also extremely easy to read at the same time - to you at least. No one would have thought he'd be out there enough to have a motorcycle but lo and behold, here he is pulling up with an extra helmet in hand. He doesn't say anything, nor do you even ask. You feel safe with him. And as you wrap your arms around his waist and he revs the engine before taking off, you can't help but feel exhilerated at the same time. He takes you to the bowling alley he's noticed you talking about before. As it's the weekend, it's quite busy, but you were able to snag a lane without problem. As you cling onto him in between rounds, you already know how hard he's rolling his eyes but he let's you stay because he knows how much you like it - secretly he likes it too but if only there were less people around. It wasn't a contest to see who would win, he easily reached triple digits while you couldn't get past 60. You didn't care about that. You had fun, that was all that mattered. After that, you both find yourself back on the bike as he speeds down the highway towards Tokyo proper. Your chin rests on his shoulder as you watch red tail lights zoom past, relishing this feeling of being so close to him. He ends up slowing down and pulling into a 7-11 somewhere in the quiet part of the city. A moment later, you're both on the curb enjoying riceballs and flavored soda as you chat about anything and everything. Megumi might be quiet and aloof, but to you he was the loudest and most observant person you knew.
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urapunk · 2 months ago
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bryce montrose headcanons? and if you ship him with chad, hcs for their ship as well ?
i dont know literally anything about bryce but im gonna try
Bryce Montrose & Chad Morris HCs!
Some are about Bryce singularly, some are about Chad singularly.
Bryce loves debating. He loves making up valid arguments and having the exhilerating feeling of being correct. Bullworth once had a debate team but after like 3 months everyone in it left except for Bryce and... Gord for some reason? I HC he likes debate too. Chad loves to support this, to give him topics for him to write on.
Speaking of writing, bryce loves writing ANYTHING. He writes like he talks, fancy words sprinkled in with a bit of 'like, uh' unless the paper is supposed to be professional.
Grape Soda Gobbler. He LOVES grape soda to no end, and would probably sell his friends on the conditions he gets an endless supply. He just likes grape soda... And only he likes grape soda. He and 3 other folks at bullworth, ew. Special mention; cherry coke. The preps love cherry coke, but nobody loves it more than derby.
Has an odd love for board games. He will rip you apart in Monopoly or Sorry, just becaude he can. He loves to ask chad id they can play a board game because it's just fun. And chad usually complies, modtly because when it comes to bryce he think son thing and one thing only. 'Whatever you say beautiful'
Chad LOVES Lesley Gore. His head'll be totally gone while he's humming Little Girl Go Home. He also adores other 1960/50s artists, like Paul Anka or A LITTLE bit of Johnny Cash. He thinks his music is pauper music.
Chad cannot stand the winter. He hated the cold, hates how his feet feel like ice cubes and mint gum when he walks, and how his lips get more chapped in the winter. Also, nobody likes a stuffy nose.
Bryce likes to help with his hate of the cold, they are certified cuddlebugs your honor.
Chad cant eat without something distracting him sometimes. He just cant, it's boring like that. He's like the 2006 version of an ipad kid, just always infront of the TV in his spare.
Chad loves Purple. His silk sheets? Purple. Journals and notebooks? Purple. PENS? PURPLE! His first car would be purple too, maybe with gold colored accents. His car would be expensive is what I'm saying.
They dont like to he seperated. Bryce likes knowing that chad is there so he could smush his cheek against chads shoulder, or hold him and sway with his face buried in the collar of chads polo. They hook pinkies when they're sitting in class all focused because bryce never wants to stop touching chad.
Chad's face flushes insanely. It only shows up as a slight blush on his skin but trust me, he's redder than a tomato in lipstick. Bryce always gets worried when he feels chads face is insanely warm.
Chad once threw a tennis ball into a bush of flowers for chester to return with.. A sloppery half attempt at a wedding photo worthy moment and bouquet, but Bryce got the idea and nearly melted. It was adorable.
Bryce loves to buy things. Small, or big, if chad wants it he gets it. He mentioned a particular scent? Bryce searched for hours to find it. He's dedicated and its adorable, especially when it's just something small like a specific flavor of lip balm or a discontinued drink he likes.
Bryce loves Chad's dog Chester. He cant stand when the slobbery little animal looks at him. He goes straight to scratch attacking his body before behind the ears and chin. If chester is laying down Bryce will sit criss cross beside him and rub his tummy like he needs to make electricity with the friction.
<3
(i was wondering why i wasnt getting anyone to interact then i realized I FORGOT TAGS. I DIDNT ADD ANY TAGS THE FIRST TIME.)
(Chads favorite Lesley Gore song. vvv)
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carlos-in-glasses · 10 months ago
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Day one of teaching myself how to knit while TK and Carlos do various dramatic and romantic things in the background. I'm amazed that I've done this. Is it messy? Yes! Does it bother me? Enormously! But I'm also incredibly exhilerated? Knitting is an extreme source of adrenaline apparently. When you drop a stitch and it's like the bottom has fallen out of the world. When you nail the slipknot and it's like you're Patricia Field. How long until I can knit my own jumper? This piece is going to become a fingerless mitten if it keeps going okay! 🩷
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