#common uses of brass

[aroaessidhe]

I went to the library sale :) i am a picky bastard and only got hardcovers with the removable dustjacket covers , so they're pristine on the outside! I've read the wayward children books, the others are on my tbr.

[pyrriax]

losing my mind losing my mind losing my mind losing my mind

[hellenhighwater]

Do you carry any other fun and whimsical things in your purse besides the brass measuring tools? can we see them??

"What do I carry in my purse" is actually a really long answer! Not very whimsical though.

I don't carry a very large purse but it is actually jam-packed with stuff. Obviously the usual—credit cards, ID, badge, money, car keys.

But the rest is taken up by a tidy little lineup of things that are useless 99% of the time and crucial 1% of the time. Some of it (most of the top row) floats loose in my purse; most of the bottom row packs into the little bag there. My sketchbook du jour is usually carried separately.

So: top row:

Sketchbook and the little brass drafting tools, which I carry inside the sketchbook, and also a little metal ruler that has honestly become redundant.

Then, a bunch of pens and marking tools: A ballpoint, some pencils, paint pen, permanent marker, white gel pens, white paint pen, white mechanical pencil, and eraser. This varies depending on what I'm working on and what I've absently left in the wrong place.

Some lip gloss, hand sanitizer, concealer, chapstick, nail polish, and heavy lotion (clay dries your hands out SO hard) and a hair pin. Usually there are several sword shaped hair pins also; I took them out while working on a project and they'll migrate back when I'm done.

Headphones, a couple knives, and a tiny foldable gerber multitool. A little flat card multitool, with a heavy needed shoved into its case also, and a pack of clear sticky notes.

A two-port USB brick; I usually also carry a power bank but it's charging in the car right now.

My change purse and my wallet, which is just the IDs; my actual cards are in a pocket in the purse that also has a little nail kit. My car keys, which have a bottle opener and a combined window breaker-seatbelt cutter, a 64 gig USB key, and keys to my studio, house, garage, and the courthouse.

The bag itself is metal mesh, which means it’s durable but also somewhat see-thru.

That little tin is a tiny first aid kit, which probably I should have unpacked, but it's got bandaids, bandages, skin tape, blistex; antiseptic, itch, and burn cream; eyedrops; several small packets of common meds (tylenol, advil, etc) and a little folded chart for meds, since I’m terrible at remembering which can be taken with which; a breath mask. There's also a razor and some safety pins tucked in there. It's held shut with a hair tie.

There's some single-use earplugs and some zip ties, some more eye drops, and a tiny vial of liquid breath mint.

A deck of mini playing cards.

A tiny sewing kit--needles, pins, earring backs and pin backs, some heavy black thread on a bobbin, a measuring tape, and some foldable scissors. There's a couple glasses screws in there from before I had Lasik.

Another little multitool, some binder clips, a tiny level, a 120 gig USB, and some bobby pins.

Matches and a lighter, a flat pen, and coils of 20 lb fishing line, picture wire, and monofilament, as well as two short USB cords.

A tide pen and a glasses screwdriver.

The bag contains cardboard strips with several yards of tape: Electrical, packing, scotch, duct, gaff, and skin tape. Superglue. A spare piece of heavy cardboard to use as a cutting surface if needed.

An Xacto knife with the blade reversed (learned my lesson after jamming my hand into my bag and taking a chunk out of a finger when a springloaded switchblade opened itself) and spare blades.

Some more clear sticky notes and a tiny lined notebook for when I just need scratch paper.

My car actually includes two slightly different emergency bags—one for regular roadside emergencies (including emergencies in blizzard weather) and one for camping emergencies, and a bit more of an extensive first aid kit.

[sparrowsgarden]

As I have been promising for years, the eye color chart is all cleaned up and ready to be shared! I'm totally ok with this being saved and passed around, that's why all my info is on it.

Basic image description is in alt, and a full transcript of all text in the image is under the cut.

This model has been in a process of expansion and tweaking for a very long time. Huge huge thanks to all the folks who contributed and hunted down photos, helped me name all the colors, and gave the final proofs!

Sparrow's Eye Color Chart 2025 Edition

Eye colors in cats are difficult to model because they vary to a significant extent on two axes. This is my best attempt at a general model of cat eye color based on observation and research into how eye color works across species.

Pigmentation refers to the amount of pigment in the colored layer of the iris. Higher pigmentation causes darker colors.

Refraction means the extent to which light is scattered in the structures of the iris. Higher refraction causes deeper blues or greens.

Eye colors are related to coat color, but not as closely as breed standards might have you believe! Most coat colors can have most eye colors outside of purebred lines selected to meet breed standard.

What Color Are My Cat's Eyes?

Color names are descriptive of the actual color of the cat's eyes - I chose them all to sound nice so that breeders can use them if desired. Note that breed standards have a much broader use of color names - "Amber", for example, may include much of the golden to orange range.

Colors are based on pictures of cats in full white light (such as midday sun fully illuminating the eye), and tweaked to look good on properly color-calibrated screens. Always determine eye colors based on how they look in full light.

Main Block

standard eye colors possible with most pelts

Every cat is assumed to have genes that specify some genetic eye color in the main block, but certain other alleles can depigment the eyes partially or completely, creating the lower block.

Pigmentation and Refraction are modeled here as dependent on multiple genes, which seems to best fit the wide spectrum of possibilities in cats. The actual number of genes is unknown and could be very many, but for simplicity they are shown here on a scale from 1-7.

In theory, the genetic eye colors of the offspring should tend to fall somewhere between the genetic eye colors of the parents. Then, any depigmentation factors are applied, which may result in an actual eye color somewhere below the genetic eye color.

Lower Block

occur with phenotypes which cause depigmentation of the iris.

Gray-blues: Fairly rare coloration. The cause of gray eyes in humans is not well understood, but one theory is that collagen or very small amounts of pigment in the eye alter the scattering of light.

Blues: Most common depigmented colors. Can be caused by white spotting/dominant white, colorpoint, and sometimes mocha. There are also multiple Dominant Blue-eye (DBE) mutations known which cause blue eyes as the main effect.

Albinistic: Caused by complete albinism, which also fully depigments the back layer of the iris meant to keep light from getting through. This allows the red color from the retinal blood vessels to bleed through, and also causes poor visual acuity.

Following is a list of all eye colors shown on the main diagram. Rows are pigmentation levels starting from the highest pigmentation, refraction increases from left to right.

Main Block: Copper, Chestnut, Umber, Walnut, Earthen, Olive, Moss; Ochre, Caramel, Bronze, Serpentine, Artichoke, Fern, Forest; Orange, Amber, Brass, Peridot, Avocado, Clover, Malachite; Saffron, Butterscotch, Shrub, Spring, Jade, Pine, Emerald; Gold, Citron, Pear, Lime, Mantis, Grass, Viridian; Yellow, Chartreuse, Sprout, Laurel, Mint, Turquoise, Teal; Canary, Chiffon, Honeydew, Sage, Celadon, Aqua, Cerulean.

Lower Block: Gray-blues: Frost, Opal, Flint, Storm, Steel, Slate, Cadet. Blues: Ice, Powder, Celeste, Sky, Azure, Lapis, Cobalt. Albinistic: Pink, Mauve, Lavender, Periwinkle, Cornflower, Royal, Indigo.

Combo Colors

Cats can exhibit a few different heterochromia types, most commonly a blue with a non-blue. The other most common cause for heterochromia appears to be localized hyperpigmentation, which can be caused by damage to the eye. It can also happen simply due to differing iris structure or unusual pigment migration within the iris.

It is also relatively common for the center of the eye to be a slightly different color, without being marked enough to constitute full heterochromia. My provisionary term for this is "dual-toned". The boundary between this and "true" central heterochromia is somewhat subjective.

For any form of heterochromia or dual-toned eyes, my recommendation for describing them is to note both colors with a slash. For dual-tones, I generally write the outer color before the center one.

Complete Heterochromia Blue/non-blue is commonly caused by white spotting/dominant white, other combos are rare.

Sectoral Heterochromia Blue/non-blue sometimes occurs with white spotting/dominant white. Can also be from hyperpigmentation.

Central Heterochromia Can occur due to hyperpigmentation, uneven pigment distribution, or iris structure. More common in certain breeds.

Dual-toned Irises Relatively small differences in central eye color are common in cats.

Iris Atrophy Iris atrophy due to old age can cause a distinctive lighter ring in the center of the iris.

All writing, art, and chart design ©Sparrow Hartmann 2025

Icon designs are released to the Creative Commons under a CC-BY-SA license and will be made available for download.

Go to sparrows-garden.com for more genetics resources!

[froggibus]

— Another Sleepless Night - Logan Howlett

Pairing: Logan Howlett x reader

Genre: fluff, comfort

Word Count: 845

Summary: you spend a sleepless night in bed with Logan

CW: insomnia, mentions of night terrors, general sleep problems, logan calls you 'sweetheart', no use of y/n, gn reader

this has been sitting half-finished in my drafts since before i started school >.< i haven't done marvel in a while but the new captain america movie has me feeling the vibes ^.^ also i decided to change up the post format a bit to make it prettier

It’s late—almost two in the morning, to be exact—when you find yourself padding down the halls of the X-Mansion. The cold of the wooden floors soaks through your socks, sending a shiver down your spine, but you don’t dare stop your journey. 

Your hand falls on the brass knob of Logan’s door and you gently tug it open. Shuffling inside of his room, you try to keep as quiet as possible, squinting into the dim moonlight barely illuminating it. 

Logan doesn’t even stir at your presence, his keen senses as used to your scent as he is to his own. It’s comforting, really. Non-threatening. 

You sit on the side of his bed, tentatively pulling the blankets aside and slipping under the sheets next to him. Heat radiates from his body, warming the whole bed around you. The cold that had previously seeped into your skin dissipates, your taut muscles relaxing. 

You roll to your side and gently rest your head on his shoulder, and it’s only then that Logan’s eyes snap open. Claws come out—only for a second—and then he’s blinking at you a few times, eyes adjusting to the dark until he can see just as well as the day time. 

“Sorry,” you whisper sheepishly. “Didn’t mean to wake you.” 

Logan hardly reacts to your presence. It’s too common these days that one of you ends up in the other’s bed, slipping through the night to find a snippet of comfort only to be gone when morning comes. 

His voice is gravelly in a way that sends heat to the pit of your stomach. “Didn’t wake me. Could hear your heart beatin’ all the way down the hall, sweetheart.”

You nod slowly and rake your eyes over him, taking in every minuscule detail you can catch in the moonlight. His clothes—or sweatpants, given he’s not wearing a shirt—are hardly wrinkled, his hair nearly pristine. You frown. He looks as awake as you feel. 

He wraps a strong arm around you, rolling onto his side and taking you with him, your chest pressed hard against his back. The weight of his muscles around you only helps soothe the ache in your chest, the shadows that chased you all the way here starting to slip away. 

His head falls easily into the crook of your neck. “You doing okay?”

“Bad dreams.” You wet your lips, your mouth still dry from the hoarse cries you’d woken yourself up with. “I couldn’t sleep.”

He’s used to this by now. Though all mutants have something haunting them, you two in particular seemed to always share the weight of night terrors—something that had formed your closeness early on. He tightens his grip around you. 

You let your eyes flutter close but as your lids fall, a shadow casts over the wall. You snap them open but the figure disappears just as quickly as it came. Still, your heart hammers against your ribcage, rattling your bones. 

There’s nothing here, you remind yourself. Logan would hear if anybody even tried to enter the room, probably smell them before they got more than one step on the grounds. It's a fact you’ve always found comforting. 

“Your heart is racing,” he mumbles, hand skimming the hem of your shirt. Calloused fingers slip underneath, grazing your skin as they travel up and rest on the soft skin above your heart. 

“I’m…tired,” you admit, shifting beneath the heavy weight of his hands. 

You blink again, another shadow flickering on the wall in front of you. You swallow hard, squeezing your eyes shut as if it will make them all go away. The bad dreams, the bad thoughts, come all too often these days—you can’t remember a single time in the past few days you’d slept more than a few hours. 

He rubs gentle circles on your chest, his way of trying to soothe your heart rate back to double digits. “Tired.” He repeats. 

“Exhausted. I haven’t been sleeping, not for a lack of trying.” Again, your eyes flutter shut. “Just want peace.”

Logan hums in disappointment. He can’t remember a time he’s seen you this exhausted. Despite the fatigue weighing heavily over you, it’s been at least a few days since you sought him out—he’d just assumed you were sleeping fine on your own again. He pulls you closer.

“You can rest, sweetheart. I’ll take care of ya.”

You open your mouth to protest, to thank him, to say anything—but the words never find their way out. You shift back into him, flushing your body against his.

You lay there for a while in comfortable silence. Eventually, the warmth of his body and the comfort of his arms lull you into an uneasy sleep. 

Logan holds you even long after your breathing evens out and your taut muscles relax. He doesn’t let himself rest until the sun kisses the horizon and turns the whole sky pink, the comfort of daytime finally rolling in.

Finally, he lets his weight settle into his mattress. His lips find the top of your shoulder and kiss it softly. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

thanks so much for reading ^.^

masterlist | marvel masterlist

[dhampling]

the gate girl!dadstarion, 1.5k

He knows vaguely where the building is - he’s sure he’s passed it on one of his late night jaunts - but you’re coming along too. He knows he’s prepared for this moment, down to the most minute detail.  - astarion is a school-gate dilf on his first pick-up adventure with you. wc: 1.5k a/n: dadstarion fridays! wooooo! hope you enjoy - love, dal x

“Come on. We’ll be late.”

Your hand meets his with a toothy grin.

Astarion teeters a little.

He knows vaguely where the building is - he’s sure he’s passed it on one of his late night jaunts - but you’re coming along too. 

He knows he’s prepared for this moment, down to the most minute detail. 

Weeks spent designing the overcoat now covering his clothes - almost feltish in texture, a deep blue with gentle golden threading. Brass buttons. The smallest red ribbon detailing in the seams. The fit is immaculate, despite the fact he had to take his own measurements. The gloves match beautifully, just as he’d intended.

Shoes polished within an inch of their lives. Shirt and trousers pressed to perfection. Hair neatly coiffed with assistance from your gentle hands.

He grimaces.

“She’s going to think I’m weird.”

“Is this for her, or you?’

He takes a moment. Examines both sides of his glove with a flex. Sniffs pointedly. 

‘She’s not going to think you’re any weirder than she already does. She’s your little freak.” You grab at his sides playfully and he shimmies around your clutches, breaking into a timid laugh. 

The dark skies of Deepwinter are primed to allow Astarion his first ever school pick-up. 

He hasn’t slept, you know that. Bag in hand holding the gift he’d spent the short day hidden away working on. Your matching scarves around your necks. The biting chill beyond the threshold of your hearth.  

Eyes round in a contemplative lax as his hand rests atop the door handle. 

“I���m being stupid, aren’t I?”

Your eyes roll fondly into your skull.

“Yes. Now, get moving.” 

It takes you enclosing your hand in his for the door to open, immediately facing a brutal fracas of ice-cold winds lapping at your face. 

“How in any realm is a child expected to walk home in this? Ridiculous!” He shuffles from foot to foot as he chunters while you lock the door and pocket the key, looking up to the stars.

“With a coat. And gloves. And…’

You point to the bag in his hand as you interlink your arms.

‘A scarf.’

Astarion gives a small smile, pressing a chaste kiss to your head.

‘Come on, now. We might get there in time to see her out the door.”

-

The walk there isn’t the leisurely gander Astarion had dreamt of when he’d thought of this moment. 

In his head it was always late summer. Sunblushed.

And yet as you turn your head to him in your giddy half-canter; cheeks flush and breath clouding the space around your perfect head, he can’t believe he ever imagined it any other way.

The stars overhead are familiar as they always have been. The slightest slippy tread of frost on the cobble. Windows around you lit with candles and the loud taverns you pass en-route seem well hunkered-down.

He finds himself pulling you closer with each corner turned, stumbling to keep with your gait.

And then, there it is.

A huddle of parents waiting out in the cold, hands rubbing together; a low hum of chatter. School gates still closed. When you greet some of them with familiarity - one or two even getting a hug as you make your way to your preferred circle - and introduce him as your husband, his heart swells. 

He didn’t realise you were friends with these people. That these fellow parents could be people to have anything in common with in the first place. Astarion is hardly the enigma he used to be within the city walls and they know of him. They know you’re with him.

But none have ever seen him in the flesh.

There’s a minute where he ponders what they think of him. How you’d described him, how they may have looked at your daughter under the orange gloaming light of Leaffall and wondered which features of hers came first from him as opposed to you. How they’d pieced him together in their minds.

He feels a little out of place as you chatter - hyper aware of each stolen glance in his direction. The whites of new eyes flickering in the darkness. 

It isn’t often he meets new people anymore. Even his client roster is exclusive. 

“Why would I tell you how good-looking he is when he isn’t even here to hear it?”

He tunes back in. They all look, you included.

“Hm?”

“Marta-’ 

A faux accusatory glance on your face as you look over to the human who - Astarion presumes - is Marta. 

‘Asked why I hadn’t told the group just how attractive you are.”

The way the most blinding smile breaks over your ruddied cheeks. He melts behind a scoff.

“Actually darling, Marta has a point. I’m hurt, frankly.”

Gods. They’re all laughing. Your gaggle of school-gate friends and he has them laughing.

“No, it’s just dark. See him by light. Then you’ll change your minds.”

You huddle closer despite the brazen lie and the group laughs away. He throws in a small chuckle for good measure and presses a kiss to your head once more.

They’re all relatively harmless, he decides.

What do school gate friends do? Why have you never invited them over for wine or something? 

“I mean - Astarion, what do you think?”

“Hm?”

“They’re showing a rather keen interest to come over one evening for dinner. Inconspicuous, I’m sure.” 

He looks around warily. Can they read his mind? Is someone here a weird school gate mind reader freak? What the fuck?

Your eyes narrow at Marta in jest.

Oh.

If you’re even showing the slightest hint at wanting the doting husband, the doting husband he will give you. Freely and willingly. Far too easily. Naturally.

“Oh! Whatever you want, my love. Anything.”

Astarion takes your head in his hands and brings you close for a warm kiss, eyes softening as he holds you in place. A gentle smile against the harsh wind.  

“What’s in the bag?” Another asks in a jarring fettle. Your head whips round. He answers softly. 

“I- I made the little one a scarf.” 

A coo arises from those huddled around the two of you. 

“He’s a tailor. A good one, too. Really good.” 

You nod with a smile, looking at him. You’re mid-cycle and the idea of your daughter spotting him with those big eyes makes you a bit weak.

A saccharine voice from somewhere in the mix - “He’s immaculate, honey. I’m a little jealous?” 

If he can blush, Astarion feels one coming on. This feels staged. 

“He can’t take his shoes off without kicking them up the wall. Or catch spiders.”

-

As you resume your quiet chatter amongst the group, Astarion catches the door open in the near distance and a soft amber glow pouring from it from the corner of his eye.

It’s a trance. He looks over the heads obscuring his view, the tips of his toes touching the ends of his pristine shoes. 

And there she is.

Absolutely perfect. Small, searching the crowd for the parent she knows will be here.

Then she sees him.

It’s not difficult from afar, even in the dark - she recognises the shock of white hair anywhere - and the look of sheer confusion painted on her face shifts to unfettered joy in seconds.

Gods. She’s running. Tiny legs, bag flailing in her hand. Shouting-

“DADDY!”

As she hurtles towards him, he realises he’s never seen her run like this. She can’t run like this in the house. It’d be enough to make him sad if he weren’t so wholly elated.

He crouches just in time for her to barrel into his open arms.

The way he cups the back of her head is as if he hasn’t seen her in years, spinning her as he stands and holds her at his hip. She’s babbling something wicked and all of it sounds like utter nonsense and he’s so besotted it doesn’t even matter.

His little girl, out in the world. Being a person. 

And it’s him that she chooses to run to. 

“Charming! Hello love!” You shuffle closer and plant a large kiss on the back of her head, taking the bags from her hand and hoisting them up over your back in a routine twirl.

You take Astarion’s hint of a glance toward his bag and roll your eyes fondly, feeling for the scarf and slipping it back into his hand.

“My little darling! Hello! I have something for you - close your eyes.”

He haphazardly wraps the scarf around her neck with one hand as she bristles against his hip, wiggling her shoulders in some impromptu happy dance.

“Look now! You match us!” He exclaims. 

She opens her eyes and squeals with glee you haven’t seen at the school gate before, ever.

And true to his word, the scarf wholly matches both of yours. Embroidered with small golden stars on navy fabric. Her name in some immaculate loopy hand. Far too big for her at present, but warm on this coldest of evenings.

“I love it daddy. I want another one.” She nods acutely and smatters his face in small kisses. 

As you look to Astarion, he raises both brows in amusement at her request. She tucks her head in under his chin.

“Come along now. Let’s get you warm by the fire.”

✦

[blorbologist]

Y'know, I think I figured out why the Hells still feel like a new low-level party to me, even though they're level 13 and almost 100 episodes in.

I don't quite think it's the lack of conversations, or the fact half the party's plot hooks are big ties to past campaigns - though that definitely plays a part.

... Bell's Hells still primarily rely on quest givers.

Most of their goals are given to them and do not feel organic to the party, and constantly remind us that the Hells are pretty much never the most powerful people in the room. Which is usually something you see with a low-level party.

NPCs offering jobs is not a bad thing; it's a very common plot hook. Matt has been extremely skilled with using NPC quest givers in those two campaigns. Not only do they provide an obvious plot thread, but they can put the party in the path of others (say, the Nein running into the Iron Shepherds while doing a job for the Gentleman and everything that came of that). And the Hells had a solid start with it too - Eshteross was an excellent quest giver!

The problem is that Bell's Hells have never really not had a quest giver.

Maybe it's a byproduct of the more plot-heavy structure of this campaign? But while prior parties have felt like they decided on their course of action and what they prioritized, Bell's Hells feels less like level 13 (13! Level 13!) experienced adventurers and more like an MMO group clicking on the exclamation point over an NPC's head. Where does the plot demand we go next? Who do we report back to?

They're level 13.

At level 13, Vox Machina had just defeated a necromantic city-state to clear their name and Percy's conscience. And, you know, the Conclave just destroyed Emon. No one was explicitly telling the group to gather Vestiges and save the world (though Matt guided them there), and they were usually among the most powerful people in the room. They chose which Vestiges to prioritize, which dragons to tackle when, even if the over-all plot was pretty clear.

At level 13, the Mighty Nein were celebrating Traveler Con (another PC goal, I'll note) after brokering peace between two nations, accidentally becoming pirates and heroes of the Dynasty. The Nein regularly chose what to do based on personal goals, not grand ones. Though definitely smaller fish than Vox Machina at this level, they were very independent and gaining solid political clout.

While we're at it: level 13 is one level lower than the Ring of Brass, who had a huge amount of sway over Avalir. They ended the world, and also saved it, while in the grand scheme of things being only a smidge more powerful than Bell's Hells are now.

Can you really see the Hells wielding that amount of influence, when they're constantly being told what to do next?

The god-eater might be unleashed, so Bell's Hells have no time to do anything but what is asked of them. No time for therapy unless stolen from Feywild time, no travel on foot and late-night watches. They haven't even had time to grieve FCG. Percy was grieved in the middle of the Conclave arc. Molly was grieved when half the party was still in irons.

Matt is in the very unfortunate spot of not being able to give the Hells the same agency as the other two parties. Not only because of the world-ending plot introduced so early on; they are surrounded by characters they know (and the cast knows) are stronger and wiser than them - the familiarity of the past PCs and NPCs is to their disadvantage.

Why would the party reasonably ignore Keyleth's task that will help save the world and go off on a romp? Why would the cast when they know well Keyleth has to be sensible and with the best intentions in mind? The stakes are just too high.

It means that the Hells still feel like they're running errands instead of pursuing their own destiny. Their accomplishments are diminished as just being parts of a to-do list, and any stakes feel padded by several level 20 PCs/NPCs standing 5 steps away ready to catch them.

This isn't Bell's Hell's fault, nor is it Matt's. It could be amended, I think, if the Hells are really left to their own devices for a long period of time without support and shortcuts (like during the party split)... which would be really tricky to pull off at this point in the campaign.

They're level 13. They're big fish, but they're stuck in a pond full of friendly sharks, so they don't feel big at all.

[kerosene-in-a-blender]

Part of the benefit of Calamity, Downfall, and now Divergence being miniseries with a set 3-4 episode runtime from the start is that they can use the level the PCs are playing at as a way to reflect the relationship they have with power.

The Ring of Brass was Level 14, well beyond the power level of the average Exandrian and even most adventurers, and kitted out with whatever magic items their players fancied. They were also persons in positions of privilege within one of the floating mage cites of the Age of Arcanum. They were both able to access the multiple magic items they carried on them and also were the sort of people who would amass the personal power to rise to prominent positions in a society were powerful mages in particular compose the upper classes. Over the course of the miniseries though, their magic items are largely stripped from them when the Tree of Names is sundered, signalling the end of the Age of Arcanum and the first moments of the Calamity. The PCs spend their (mostly) last moments using the power that they have to save as many people as possible. To paraphrase Laerryn: at the end they did their best for the world, finally.

The avatars of the gods in Downfall were all Level 20, the maximum possible for a player character in D&D, as is appropriate for the gods of this setting taking a mortal form, or in the case of the Emissary, a being specifically tasked by a god with this mission. And over the course of the miniseries the characters grow even more powerful, as the belief of Cassida and the patrons of the Ars Elysia allows Trist and SILAHA to enact miracles despite their mortal forms, and later, when the Latimus Princeps falls and the gods regain their full divinity and gain abilities and statblocks well beyond anything that can be achieved by mortals. But it also this power differential that causes the gods to resolve to step back from Exandria and create the Divine Gate, because as much as they love the world and their creations, they are too big for it and cannot help but hurt it.

And now with Divergence, while the series is still ongoing, it had the PCs all start as Level 0 commoners (with most having reached Level 1 by the end of episode 2). These are PCs who are ordinary people trying to survive in a world where there are powers far beyond them battling and effecting their lives by merely existing. The Stormlord's arrival at the end of Episode 1 saves them from dying of thirst, but puts them at risk of dying of exposure instead. When they go into battle against the soldiers of the Strife Emperor in Episode 2, it is as regular people who have decided they need to do something to try and improve the world around them. And it is this act of stepping up as regular people trying to create change that they (with the exception of Garen as of now) take their first step into being extraordinary as they gain a PC level.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

In a Place Like This 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob! Frank Castle

Part of the mob drabbles au

Summary: your efforts to be left alone find you in bad company.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You live in a bad neighbourhood. A lot of people do. No one would choose to live there. You just sort of end up where life dumps you. All you can do is figure out how to get through it. 

One eye over your shoulder at all time. That’s how. You can’t let your guard down. Not ever. Not even behind the grated windows of your apartment. Not even with the sun out and children playing across the street. 

That day, you’re on alert. The guy was at the diner during your shift. You remember he sent his eggs back for being too cold despite the steam roiling off them. You should’ve known he was one of those. Trying to find any reason to get a free plate. You didn’t bring him a second. If he wanted one, he could pay his bill up front. 

He waited. You didn’t expect that kind of patience from him. He’s more of the instant gratification sort. That’s probably what he thinks going to happen. 

You slip your hand over your purse subtly. You don’t let your gait slow, you don’t quicken. You keep it as it is. You have to let him believe he’s smarter than you. He’s stronger, no doubt, but that doesn’t mean anything. 

You push your hand through the zipper. Your fingers hook through the brass loops and you grip them tight. You’re a scrapper. You can do what needs to be done, even if you hate it. 

He snickers as you turn down the alley that cuts through behind Jack’s Pawn Shop. The old man keeps a bat under his counter and pistol in his belt. He’ll chase away the idiot if you don’t have to first. 

He thinks he has you. Let him. Over-confidence breeds stupidity. You know what never fails. Minding your business. 

You pass the dumpsters and that’s when he breaks into a sprint. You spin out of his way, only for him to crash into the metal crate. You don’t have time to react as you swing without a clear sight. You hit something. Someone. 

The griper from the diner is wrestled down beneath another man. His skull cracks off the pavement as the second stranger straddles him breathlessly and touches his cheek. There’s a split in the flesh from where you caught him. 

“Shit,” he shakes his head. “Got a hell of a left hook.” 

You back away and pull your arm back, “sure do.” 

“Ah, calm down,” he stands and nudges the unsatisfied diner with his boot. “I was following this dipshit, not you.” 

“Mhmm,” you hum doubtfully. 

You back up, keeping your arm cocked. He turns to watch you. He scoffs and tilts his head, looking you up and down. 

“You don’t got surprise on your side now. Won’t be as easy the second time.” 

You arch a brow and and grip the knuckles even tighter. He chuckles. “Told ya, I’m not interested in you.” 

“Never to careful with you lot,” you sneer as you edge away. He doesn’t move. 

“You lot?” He echoes curiously. 

“Criminals. All of ya,” you spit. 

He snorts and puts his hands on his hips. You curl your lip as you continue your retreat. As you get to the end of the alley, you shake your head. You tuck the knuckles back in your purse and keep your fingers hooked in them. 

You can never be too safe. 

💀

Another day at the diner. It’s dead after two in the afternoon. Kids are in school, lunch is over, and pay day is still around the corner. You lazily wipe the counter as you stare at the box TV perched on the old ledge. The news tallies off another casualty count; the anchor recounting the glorified account of a robbery uptown. The one down at Tina Lou’s is conveniently unreported. 

The bell above the door chimes. You sigh. The job pays your bills, the tips are small but money is money, and no one’s in the habit of hiring without a degree and some nepotistic internship down at daddy’s office. Your father didn’t work in an office. Well, you don’t know shit about your father. 

You’re not much for customer service but Alfie didn’t hire you for that. He hires the ones who can keep the diners in check. The one’s that make sure the bill is paid. 

You grab the carafe of stale coffee and approach the table as the man strips off his leather jacket. He’s one of them. You can tell by his shoulders, the way he postures and looks around like he pays for the electricity. 

You flip his cup and as you pour, he looks at you. You meet his gaze, undaunted. You narrow your eyes bluish bruise over his cheek bone and the fresh gash there. What are the odds? 

You don’t believe in coincidences. 

“How’s the hand, sugar?” He glances at your hand as you pour. Your left. They’re still tender. “Put ice on it?” 

You straighten up and hold the coffee urn steady. “Just the coffee?” 

One side of his mouth curls, “I’ll take a grilled cheese and some of those fries. Can you have Vin put on some friend onions too?” 

His mention of the cook isn’t said without weight. He wants you to know what he knows. He knows Vinny, he knows Alfie, and now he knows you. He makes a show of reading your name tag. 

“Grilled cheese, fries, onions,” you recite plainly. 

“And if you can change the channel, that’d be nice. Hate these squawking parrots,” he pushes his shoulders back and spreads his knees wide under the table. 

You turn without another word and set the carafe on the burner. You go to the window and put in the order. Vinny grunts. You swipe the remote and march over to the occupied table. As you do, a pair of diner stops outside, push the door in only and inch before thinking better of it. You watch them flee past the windows as they stare at the man at the table. 

You put the remote in front of him. He tilts his head back to look at you, “Frank Castle.” He introduces himself. “But a woman like you already knows that, don’t ya?” 

Your eyes flick up and down. His features are bullish and thick. His nose shows signs of a break at some point and his brown eyes are as dark as pits.

“Hard to tell one of ya from the next.” 

You spin and go back to the counter, once more dragging the cloth over the surface. He snorts and shakes his head as he laughs to himself. He mutters but you can’t make out his words. You agree. It’s silly that a man like him is trying to intimidate a waitress. Business must be slow. 

[artistmarchalius]

Cockney Rhyming Slang Phrases Part 1

Part 2

In a previous post I went into Cockney rhyming slang history and gave some tips on how to use it.

In this post I’ll give you some commonly used Cockney rhyming slang phrases, phrases that I find funny, as well as some phrases that I think would be useful for Spider-Verse fic writers specifically.

So let’s get started!

A-B

Adam and Eve - Believe

E.g. “I don’t Adam and Eve it!”

Apples and Pears - Stairs

E.g. “He fell down the apples.”

Aunt Joanna - Piano

E.g. “Play me a song on the old Joanna!” Or “Get on the Joanna and we’ll have a sing song!”

Barnet Fair - Hair

E.g. “How do I fit my barnet under my mask? Wouldn’t you like to know.”

This is a very common Cockney phrase; you’ll hear a lot of true Cockneys talking about getting their barnet done.

Barney Rubble - Trouble

E.g. “Looks like someone’s lookin’ for a Barney!”

Bread and Honey - Money

E.g. “I ain’t got enough bread for that.”

Bird Lime - Time (in prison)

E.g. “He’s doin’ bird.”

Bird lime is a sticky substance you spread on trees to catch birds (now illegal, thankfully). You can understand why people relate it to feeling trapped.

Boat Race - Face

E.g. “He’s got a handsome boat!” Or “Shut your boat!” Or “I’m not just gonna show you my boat race, mate. Secret identity and all that.”

Bottle and Glass

I’m going to let you figure this one out.

E.g. “Look at the bottle on that guy!” Or “I slipped on the steps and went bottle over tit!”

Brass Tacks - Facts

E.g. “Let’s get down to brass tacks!”*

*Some people think that this phrase originates from the Cockney rhyming slang, however others say that it is referring to brass tacks used in upholstery or tacks that were hammered into sales counters to indicate measuring points. I don’t have the answer.

Brown Bread - Dead

E.g. “He’s brown bread!”

This is an example of a Cockney rhyming slang phrase that you don’t abbreviate. You always say “brown bread” and never just “brown”.

Bubble Bath - Laugh

E.g. “Are you having a bubble?”

This is meant more in an irritated sense rather than joyful laughter, like saying “You must be joking!” Or “Are you having a laugh?”

Butchers Hook - Look

E.g. “Let’s have a butchers at that.” Or “Take a quick butchers at this!”

It’s good to keep in mind that there can be multiple Cockney rhyming slang phrases for the same word, as well as multiple Cockney rhyming slang phrases that start with the same word. For example, ‘Birds Nest” and “Bristol and West” both mean chest, and “Birds Nest” and “Bird Lime” both can be abbreviated to “Bird”. For the latter, context is important for knowing what someone is talking about.

As always, I’m not an expert; a true Cockney would know far more than I do. I just want to share the knowledge that I have. I hope that someone will find this helpful, informative, or entertaining at the very least.

I’ve got more Cockney rhyming slang phrases coming, but if there’s any other areas of British slang you’d like me to go into, let me know and I’ll see what I can do!

Happy writing and happy speaking!

My other British slang posts: Cockney Rhyming Slang, British Police Slang, Terms of Endearment, Innit VS In’t - a PSA

[jazjelspen]

ex-girlfriend

jeff the killer x fem! reader

(you've dated Jeff the Killer since high school and have known him for longer. You stayed even after he became who he is now.. but what if you became stronger than him? what if you became a completely new person entirely? and left your heavy-hearted killer boyfriend to rot?)

(notes: took inspo from fanon Jeff but also tried to write him into his own person of course :) will try to be realistic when it calls for it + took some creative liberties in certain aspects too. I also apologize if the characterization of Jeff and others isn't super fitting.. I'm still getting used to how I want to express them and construct them as characters and the world around them.)

(CAUTION!!!: includes dark/serious themes, mention of murder/death, use of cannab1s, slight implications of s3x, toxic relationships, physical abu$3, possible ooc(?) )

(NOT PROOFREAD)

[part 1/2]

you and jeff are a killer duo.

seriously and figuratively.

you two have always been attracted to each other, a connection you two couldn't see but you both knew it was there.

the older and closer you two got, the more you two realized you had more in common than you two initially assumed..

way, wayyy more in common.

but to skip a long origin story short, let me give you some details on how you and Jeff suddenly got separated in the way that you did.

you see, you and Jeff resided at the Slender Mansion.. mostly just to get Slender off your backs due to you guys finding solidarity and a sense of safety in the deep dark forests, far away from home. it kept you two safe from police, as well as anyone or anything else that could be a threat.

of course, the specific area you went into was territory of the thin and tall boss of the forests.. and you would've been dead meat if you two didn't create a sort of alliance with the deity, not exactly proxies yet you two still had to trade something in return for your lives.. the lives and bodies of others seemed to quell Slenderman's hunger quite well.

nonetheless, tonight was one of those nights in which you and Jeff had to find more lives to take, blood to shed.

this night was different though, as Jeff was currently stuck in your shared room after going through a minor operation at the hands of Eyeless Jack, another being that came and left as he pleased.

"You think he'll recover quick?" You perked up as you watched EJ sew in the last stitch in a cut that reopened earlier as he was helping Jeff into your room, cutting up the thread before standing back as you two stared at your injured boyfriend from beside the bed he laid on.

"Not as quick as you may think," spoke EJ, his calm, raspy, and slightly demonic voice sounding monotone as he isn't intending to comfort you in the slightest but just to inform you. "Slenderman's healing properties can only work so fast, the rest depends on his own body's will to repair itself."

"Makes sense, with how much the victim fought back and the cops almost got him by a hair.. " you let out a huff through your nose before crossing your arms over your chest and shook your head slightly. "It has never gotten this bad before..." You murmured before moving away to open the door for EJ to find his way out. "I know you don't usually accept 'thank you's but, thanks. I owe you one for saving his ass."

"Hm." hummed the blue masked being. He may have the form of a human, and sound like one to a certain extent.. but he doesn't have the feelings of one for all you knew. "I'm sure you know how to stitch him up again if another injury reopens, I won't be here the rest of the week as I'll be doing my own business elsewhere."

"Got it.." You opened the creaky wooden oak door to let him through, and he left just as fast as he came in.

Closing the door behind you and letting go of the rusty brass door knob, you sighed in exhaustion.

"Yknow, you've been awfully quiet--"

"Shut the fuck up or I'm going to slice your throat."

Your shoulders dropped as soon as you heard Jeff's empty threat escape his throat. You walked closer to him, your shoes making small thuds and the wooden floors creaking beneath your feet.

"There you are." you cooed, finally hearing him talk after being silent the entire time.. incredibly out of character for him yet you were sure the shame of getting as injured as he is now and having to be 'taken care of' definitely got to him. "I almost started missing you."

"Get my knife, get the rest of your shit, and let's move.. we have people to kill for fucks sake.." Jeff's hoarse voice cracked even further as he attempted to sit up yet the pain coming from his abdomen only caused his nerves his fire up, making him fall back onto the moldy mattress yelping in pain. "You're absolutely stupid for even thinking you're able to go out tonight Jeff." You proceeded to sit on the empty side of the bed beside him, your hand slowly reaching over to gently caress his brutally cut up cheek yet your lover only harshly smacked it away with the back of his own hand. "So.. you're telling me you're going to ignore what I fucking telling you to do?" Jeff groveled and huffed in irritation, if he wasn't so incapacitated he'd probably be pulling you by your arm or hair to get you to do what he told you. "Since when have you gotten so brave, doll?"

"Since I followed you and helped you kill your own family that night." You pulled your hand away, reminiscing the night when your Jeff turned into who he is now.

You remembered how much your heart swelled when you saw him covered in his family's blood, his fresh cut up smile and red inflamed burns across his body and face. You continued to love him just as much as you did before he became so disfigured.

He was your religion, and you followed him in devotion.

"Now, we still have to keep our deal with the big boss right? I'll do your kills for the night, then when your better tomorrow we'll finish up whatever else we have to do.. or hell we can just kill for fun to make it up to you, " you hopped off the bed as you spoke and walked over to a wooden rotting vanity in the corner of your room, with drawers that were unable to close and doors that were hanging by their hinges. Your hand reached over to get an empty crunched up ziplock bag and continued on to walk back to your boyfriend with the object in your hand. "What do you say? I'll even get you some of the good stuff to make you feel better." you spoke lovingly, your hand with the bag grazing over his misshapen nose as he inhaled it deeply with a faint sense of delight. It still lingered the smell of his favorite thing to smoke and get high off of.. aside from your kisses and affection of course.

"Fuck that smells good.." he mumbled before his beady black eyes then suddenly shot up at you with this look of angry hesitation. "This is the only damn time I'm ever letting you out of my sight, make it quick, come back, and if you take a fucking second too long I'll get up and drag you back by your hair myself, got it gorgeous?.."

"You won't even have to bother Jeff." you bent over slightly to give him a quick peck on the lips, but just as much as he was addicted to the green he was also addicted to your warmth, your lips, your presence and self.

You couldn't help but have to suddenly sustain your own body weight by resting an arm beside Jeff's head as his own uninjured arm went to grab you by the back of your head to pull you closer in a deeper, much more passionate kiss.

Hearts beating aggressively in a dark passion that was just as fiery and scarlet as the blood you two would spill on the daily, the faint smell of dried blood, mud, and rubbing alcohol reeked as you two struggled to inhale air with your noises clashing against each other, his aggressive and hungry kisses tasting of iron but also of old cigarettes and booze.

Normally this would disgust any one else that wasn't you, but you liked the way he smelled, how he tasted.. it reassured you that this was in fact Jeff, your Jeff.

Eventually, he would finally let you go by harshly pushing you away in order to break the kiss. He knew that if you stayed any longer he was gonna want you all to himself for the rest of the night, as close to him as you physically could.

"Get out of here and get back, ______. Don't make me wait longer than I have to."

You smiled at him, a sweet and sinister little smile that would somehow always get him hard every time you did it.

"You've got nothing to worry about."

two weeks.

two weeks passed since you disappeared that night.

Jeff recovered the night after you left, but you could imagine the absolute horror and rage he felt when he realized you never came back later that night.

With other residents also living in the mansion, residents with personalities and have bits of humanity left similar to Jeff, you can also imagine the slight wave of rumors to those that knew or noticed the two of you in your years in the mansion. Some say you made a deal with Slender and got to leave, others say that you got kidnapped, that you got brainwashed, caught by police, sacrificed to another higher being, stuck in an asylum or- simply that you died. There were endless possibilities but they all ended the same:

you hung Jeff dry, left his grasp and simply didn't come back.

Jeff would obviously try to get in contact with Slenderman as to know your condition, since he knew that the deity had the consciousness and psyches of every being or person he's made some kind of contact with in his hands.

Although he had to go through one, two, three of Slender's proxies, just to have a word with him somehow.. He would eventually get a word from the big boss through one of his more well known lackeys.

"She's fine, Jeffery. She isn't dead, she hasn't made any deals with him, and she isn't injured to death or whatever." the annoyed and exasperated voice of Masky would echo in the empty halls that the pair stood in, the arms of the mustard-yellow colored jacket would fold over his chest while also being in a sort of stance that expressed the fact that he simply just didn't want to be there.

"Then why the hell is she not back?? Does he know where she could be? If she was kidnapped? If she got arrested or put in a fucking ward?" Jeff yelled in an almost desperate sort of tone yet he would never admit it openly.

"Look, I don't fucking care whether she's alive, dead, stuck in a fucking hole or hell! if she's sucking some other guy's dick that isn't yours! But all I know that is that if she left on purpose he would've already had me or one of the others to get her back, but he hasn't so maybe she's nearby or some shit like that."

Anyone around could see that Jeff was on the verge of reaching over for his knife and cut Masky in half, yet he knew better than to do that to him of all people. "Does he at least know where she is?? I'll get her myself if I have to just give me a fucking address, some place to know where she could be!.."

If Masky wasn't wearing a mask, he'd probably be rolling his eyes to oblivion, irritated beyond belief at something like this even being a problem. "No. But as I already fucking said, if he isn't asking one of us to chase her down and get her back then you shouldn't have to overreact the way you are right now." the proxy proceeded to brush past him without a care, but said one last small thing before he left Jeff's vicinity completely.

"By the way, stop bothering the other proxies about this as we could care less about your girlfriend, just get a new one and fuck off!"

Jeff stood there, trembling in an anger he hasn't felt since the day he attacked his bullies and his brother took the blame for it.

He wasn't exactly reassured, but he also knew that he was very limited and there wasn't much he could do.

But he was restless, so you bet your ass he was going to go look for you even if it was just stalking the streets and killing anyone in his wake.

luckily for him, his waiting would end soon enough.

the week after that, he'd get the news of his life.

he'd been killing all week, killing innocents as he usually did but at a quicker and animalistic pace, he would almost get caught this time by the cops yet again but before his spree could continue he received some news thanks to that cheeky voice that would speak to him through the screens.

he would come back to the mansion, battered and bruised beyond belief. the calluses on his hands split and bled, cuts everywhere all old and fresh, he was ruthless in his murders as well as he was careless.

he needed you to ground him, you were the reason as to why he has even been alive for as long as he has.

his hand seemed to be superglued to the handle of his sharpened knife even as he was dragging his legs towards EJ's basement, where he was led to believe he would find what he was looking for.

He aggressively banged on the metal door with his fist in anticipation, not being able to wait any longer than how much he's already had to. The one to answer the door would be Eyeless Jack as it is his "resting" place in the mansion so to speak.

Once the door opened Jeff would quickly push past EJ not needing to be accepted in the space for him to go in.

"Where is she??" he shouted, his voice boasting in the cold concrete room. "I was told you found her, where the fuck is she?"

EJ would calmly close the door before slowly leading Jeff towards a corner of the large space, where a long, clean-white room divider seemed to hide something.

well, more like someone.

That was when Jeff finally saw you, your limp body laying there and your face had this gentle expression you'd usually make when you were sleeping. Beside you stood Nurse Ann, who was gently cleaning the countless cuts and lacerations you had around your body with several cotton pads and changing gauzes as well.

Jeff's heart fell down to his stomach, he would've started reeling and throwing up if he didn't rush to take a closer look at you only to see that your chest was still rising and falling.

He sighed in relief.

"As you can see, she's alive." spoke EJ as he took a few steps closer, "Nurse Ann found her as she was coming back to the mansion, she found her body laying on the edge of where Slender's territory ends and the rest of forest. She also claims that ______ wasn't there when she left, so she probably appeared a little later that same day."

Jeff's hand trembled slightly as he reached out to touch your face with the back of his hand, yet hesitated slightly when his hand could almost feel the warmth of your skin.

But that's when he took a minute to really take in the rest of your appearance.

Your entire body even your face was dirtied in dried mud and soil, your fingernails were dirty and chipped, your arms and cheeks were decorated in scratches and cuts of various sizes, and your clothes.. seemed to have been replaced with a clean hospital gown and your missing shoes were replaced by socks.

EJ continued on, "And so you don't go attacking me, Nurse Ann changed her clothes. According to her they were tattered and beyond repair, and that they were completely soiled in blood."

"Blood?" Jeff spoke up in slight concern,

"The blood wasn't hers."

[sitting-1n-silence]

Goetic spirit pots/vessels

Before diving in I wanna mention the work of Rufus Opus that I encountered researching for this post. I think he does a better job explaining this concept and it's origins than I could. He also provides a method of making your own, which isn't something I'm going to be getting into much.

Some of his blog and youtube posts explaining goetic spirit pots:

"Working with spirit pots"

"More on spirit pots"

Goetic spirit pots

Spirit pots, witch bottles, and Brass vessels

I will be speaking from my own perspective having encountered the idea of spirit pots from a magical tradition I was invited to explore, with inspiration from the work of Jake Stratton-Kent's work with the Grimorium Verum (who has some of his pots now on display at the Museum of Witchcraft. One can be seen above. 1,2,3), with a focus on the rite I found in the Book of Oberon.

This idea has it's roots in ATRs, and has spread into the wider ceremonial magic community. As some ATRs utilize grimoire magic, spirits, and seals. These different branches of magic mixing lead to the creation of this way of working goetic spirits through a permanent brass vessel. As shown by grimoire magicians like Jake Stratton-Kent, Rufus Opus, and Aaron Leitch. To paraphrase someone I met who practices from a tradition where they make true spirit pots, "Anyone can make a pot and put a spirit in it. It just wouldn't be a traditional (insert tradition) spirit pot."

[Note: I also wanna give a word of caution to anyone looking to research these spirit vessels further. As traditional spirit pots can be beautiful and gruesome. Containing animal parts, blood, bones, blades of various kinds, and more. These images can be jarring to some, so go into any research you do knowing you might encounter these things.]

What is a goetic spirit pot/vessel:

So to quote Rufus "They Aren't Really "Spirit Pots"." These are spirits put in pots. And these pots are very comfortable spirit houses, or highly potent talismans. That is intended to be permanent or long lasting. So these spirit houses are made by including materia that aligns with the spirit you will hopefully be calling into the vessel. The vessel of choice should also be something that can seal, and if possible able to be marked with the desired spirit's seal.

Once a spirit is put into a pot, it becomes significantly more present in your life, as you are making them a permanent house here in your home. You can more easily access this spirit without grand rituals, and they can access you. There becomes less of a need for elaborate rites, as when someone has a spirit in a pot, they might just approach the vessel and speak to it when they're in need and give small offerings. Similar to the way someone might work with an enlivened statue.

What Goes into a spirit pot/vessel:

Its common to find dirt, herbs, stones, bones, and other objects in these pots (I've seen cards, knives, flowers, chains, matches, dice, and more). Oil, fat, and blood are also sometimes used. As well as the spirit's seal. It is also sometimes suggested to write out the purpose of the spirit you're calling and including that in the vessel.

I find that including blessed solomonic talismans is another potent option as well. Either using the whole charm, or by burning the talisman to ash and including that in the vessel. Putting in things like anti-witchcraft charms and such has also proven to be useful in a spirit pot for me. Once given to this spirit these worked objects becomes apart of them.

It's suggested to put grave dirt down first, then dirts that aligning with the realm the spirits operate in, and dirt from your local community or crossroads. Then a rock/stone over top. Followed by your other materia.

Making sure to awaken the spirit of each thing as you put it into the vessel, and having paid proper respects when gathering these things. As well as doing divination to make sure the spirit wants every object you intend you put in, this should be a clear Yes/No type of divination. This process of gathering materials during the proper planetary days and hours can take time, and it should. This is not a process to rush.

Making and Working a spirit pot:

The initial act of creation should be a grand one. Involving a full goetic rite. Rufus Opus gives a good praxis for this in the above videos. It's highly recommended to go through the act of casting a circle or hallowing your ritual space. I also suggest using a ritual knife during the rite, and wearing all white if possible (or another form of ceremonial garb).

When calling and approaching the spirit come with respect, respect for yourself as a magician and respect for the spirit giving you their time. This will run counter to some other traditional approached to goetic magic, but this will bring you the best results. When making the vessel for the fairy queen in the Book of Oberon you see this difference in tone when compared to other operations in the text.

When the vessel has been assembled it becomes time to ask the spirit to enter the pot. Offer the spirit gifts of liquor, fire, and favorable incense, and inform it you will continue to provide these things if the spirit enters the vessel and works for you. Unless you receive some horrific sign telling you "no" then assume the spirit has gone inside. Give the spirit an initial task to prove it's here in the vessel, then give it 2 weeks to work before returning the vessel. Let it rest and do it's task, and only call the spirit back to you if you're certain something went wrong in how the spirit was sent out. If the spirit is called back, it's task clarified, and it still doesn't work than you're vessel may be empty. Though if you just keep providing offerings eventually a spirit will call it home. Also, consider a form of passive divination to look for signs of spirit as well.

Working a pot might be different than working a typical talisman or goetic spirit seal too. Within Oberon there are a few taboos you're supposed to observe, such as not asking the spirit it's name or whether it's a woman or fairy. To work with this fairy you're also supposed to anoint your eyes with an oil special to her. So the spirit being bound might have specific expectations for how they are to be worked properly. Divination or knowing a skilled diviner is helpful in this when a text isn't clear on how to best work with a spirit.

Some pots might need to be continually fed to work their best, this should be done sparingly. Small offerings of candles, incense, and liquor are okay to give when putting the spirit to work. Save food offerings, animal offerings, ect.. for special occasions or when the spirit has done a lot of unpaid work for you. A fat spirit is a slow spirit, so keep them fed but not satiated.

Thoughts on the nature of goetic spirits in this context:

My personal experiences with working spirits this way has lead me to believe that these spirits inhabit the world around us and beyond us. Goetic spirits frequently being spirits of place or necromantic spirits called into these names. Rufus Opus will frequently refer to them as "nature spirits" and I've seen other goetic magicians call them "elemental" or "directional" spirits. Showing an alignment with place/location.

I compare this process of calling spirits by goetic titles to pinning a mask to a shadow. Spirits are happy to be known and receive offerings, and if someone is calling spirits under a certain name local spirits would be happy to fill that role. To no harm to the practitioner, in fact to their benefit. And maybe through this work the spirit will becomes more like the goetic name they're operating under.

As the way I and some see it is, if we both have a house for say Bune then my housed "Bune" may or may not be the same as your housed "Bune." My experience with Bune will be shaped by my environment, what I'm able to provide for him, what his house is made from, and more factors. Especially when you're using local dirt in a spirit house like this, this will impact the way Bune comes through to you through this vessel. Your Bune might come to you in the form of a teacher or wise parental figure, mine might come in a more devilish necromantic form. Both are "Bune", maybe different facets of one grand Bune, or maybe they're different more local spirits who both operate well through Bune's domain and name. Some food for thought before you go housing a goetic spirit.

[mybeingthere]

Norval Morrisseau, CM (1932 – 2007), also known as Copper Thunderbird, was an Aboriginal Canadian artist. Known as the "Picasso of the North", Morrisseau created works depicting the legends of his people, the cultural and political tensions between native Canadian and European traditions, his existential struggles, and his deep spirituality and mysticism. His style is characterized by thick black outlines and bright colors. He founded the Woodlands School of Canadian art and was a prominent member of the “Indian Group of Seven”.

An Anishinaabe, he was born March 14, 1931 on the Sand Point Ojibway reserve near Beardmore, Ontario. Some sources quote him as saying that he was born in Fort William, now part of Thunder Bay, Ontario, on the same date in 1931. His full name is Jean-Baptiste Norman Henry Morrisseau, but he signs his work using the Cree syllabics writing ᐅᓵᐚᐱᐦᑯᐱᓀᐦᓯ (Ozaawaabiko-binesi, unpointed: ᐅᓴᐘᐱᑯᐱᓀᓯ, "Copper/Brass [Thunder]Bird"), as his pen-name for his Anishnaabe name ᒥᐢᒁᐱᐦᐠ ᐊᓂᒥᐦᑮ (Miskwaabik Animikii, unpointed: ᒥᐢᑿᐱᐠ ᐊᓂᒥᑭ, "Copper Thunderbird").

In accordance with Anishnaabe tradition, he was raised by his maternal grandparents. His grandfather, Moses Potan Nanakonagos, a shaman, taught him the traditions and legends of his people. His grandmother, Grace Theresa Potan Nanakonagos, was a devout Catholic and from her he learned the tenets of Christianity. The contrast between these two religious traditions became an important factor in his intellectual and artistic development.

At the age of six, he was sent to a Catholic residential school, where students were educated in the European tradition, native culture was repressed, and the use of native language was forbidden. After two years he returned home and started attending a local community school.

At the age of 19, he became very sick. He was taken to a doctor but his health kept deteriorating. Fearing for his life, his mother called a medicine-woman who performed a renaming ceremony: She gave him the new name Copper Thunderbird. According to Anishnaabe tradition, giving a powerful name to a dying person can give them new energy and save their lives. Morrisseau recovered after the ceremony and from then on always signed his works with his new name.

Morrisseau contracted tuberculosis in 1956 and was sent to Fort William Sanatorium to recover. There he met his future wife Harriet Kakegamic with whom he had seven children, Victoria, Michael, Peter, David, Lisa, Eugene, and Christian.

After being invited by Ontario Provincial Police Constable, Robert Sheppard, to meet the artist, the anthropologist Selwyn Dewdney, became an early advocate of Morrisseau's and was very interested in Morrisseau's deep knowledge of native culture and myth. Dewdney was the first to take his art to a wider public.

Jack Pollock, a Toronto art dealer, helped expose Morrisseau's art to a wider audience in the 1960s. The two initially met in 1962 while Pollock was teaching a painting workshop in Beardmore. As Pollock did not drive, Susan Ross whom Morrisseau had met in 1961 and Sheila Burnford drove Pollock to visit Morrisseau at his home to view more of his works. Immediately struck by the genius of Morrisseau's art, he immediately organized an exhibition of his work at his Toronto gallery.

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[foldingfittedsheets]

One of my favorite DnD things is that my beloved and I have been playing with the same DM since 2017. We’ve had several campaigns within the same setting and our old characters often make appearances.

NPCs are consistent and it’s funny that one party might have a positive relationship with someone only for the next campaigns party to struggle with that person.

Our previous campaign was a party called The Storm Giants: my fighter centaur, my beloved’s drow monk, our cleric luxodon, and a rogue tiefling. But while playing in that setting the DM was also in talks with my beloved and I about our next characters.

See, he had already broached the idea of letting me play a secret dragon, a character who would join the party in their mortal form to spy on my beloveds upcoming character. I was only a little dragon for balance reasons, so I wasn’t OP. I was so excited to play Orion, a gender-fluid tiefling courtesan chock full of secrets.

Together the DM and I were plotting out my characters family and backstory while the current party was stumbling through their adventure. That meant that I got inside information on who we were interacting with who were also dragons in disguise.

My centaur was all for ambushing an NPC giving us trouble, when I secretly knew that we absolutely should not do that because he was in fact an ancient dragon. We also ended up passing a brothel and my centaur went to see a sex worker. The party joked it should be Orion as it was common knowledge my upcoming character was a sex worker. The DM and I made eye contact.

It would be incredibly fitting for Orion to be spying on the Storm Giants for their boss, and my centaur was a huge blabbermouth. So the joke ended up manifesting, Orion got an off screen cameo and the party was jumped shortly afterward for being a nuisance to the blue chroma and couldn’t figure out how the enemy knew so much about them.

But the best was that at one point the party was sailing through the region that the DM and I had established would be where Orion grew up, and where their moms, ancient blue and brass dragons, still lived. It was a beautiful tropical archipelago.

Our cleric, Joe, decided to go swimming. While deep underwater he came eye to eye with an ancient blue dragon who blinked then swam away.

The Storm Giants flipped the fuck out. Why was there an ancient dragon?? Were we supposed to go track down an ancient dragon? What had it been up to?!?!?

The DM gave me a tiny secret smile and I knew he was just foreshadowing Orion’s origin but the Storm Giants were pissing themselves over it. A year and a half later the party screamed when they realized what had happened.

[echo-bleu]

More concept sketches for Maedhros post-Angband needing skeletal support/correction. I focused more on the spine/neck braces this time, I'll draw some more slings and shoulder braces ideas at some point.

Disabled characters series

Closer look + notes/rambling under the cut

The first sketch is really just a preparatory one for the second. It's based pretty directly on an existing scoliosis brace called the Milwaukee brace, which used to be the most common and is still used sometimes for, I believe, high curvatures, which would be the case for Maedhros after being pulled by the arm for so long. The second sketch is a try at a more ornamented design, as Curufin and whichever other Noldor creating it would strive to make it beautiful.

The brace opens at the back and requires some flexibility to put on, so it wouldn't be a very early brace for Maedhros (that and the healers/smiths would need some time to attain a good design). It's geared toward correction and not immobilization, he can still somewhat turn his head but it's supported enough to lessen the pain. Leather pads can be added in various places to help with correction, so I gave him a shoulder pad, but he'd still wear some kind of sling or brace for his arm with it, I think.

The bottom sketch is a more ornamented brace meant for formal occasions, not everyday wear. It's aimed at support only, not correction, I think Maedhros could/would only wear it on a day where he's going to be sitting around and not really moving, like the Mereth Aderthad (he's in no shape or mood for dancing). And only later on, once his spine is more stable. This one also opens in the back with laces and various clasps and it's a lot lighter both visually and literally. I think brass would be a cool metal for this one to go with the leather (would it be solid enough? I have no idea).

There is a transcription of my little notes in alt, but I've basically said it all in the text.

Help I put too much research into this 😭

[bayoubashsims]

The Doris Stanley Theater

The Doris Stanley Theater is named for Cape Monkfish's most famous soprano, known for her deep, rich voice and her ample bosom. The diva sang her last song in the finale of the opera 'The Magic Tuba', when she collapsed after finishing the aria 'Empress of the Evening'. Some say she died of a collapsed lung due to excessive preparation, while others say it was food poisoning from her seafood dinner. Her ghost now haunts the majestic theater, occasionally bumping into theater patrons with her undead knockers.

The exterior of the building. This was an INSANE build btw. It required so much use of boolprop constrainfloorelevationvalue and I am perpetually confused about the levels, but I am very much satisfied with the end results.

The ticket booth, the grand lobby, and the bathroom

One of the big brass gongs imported from Shang Simla, used to signal the start of the shows; the theater bar; one of the rehearsal rooms; and one of the VIP bathrooms.

Backstage--a work in progress! It has four dressing rooms for big stars with several common dressing rooms upstairs for supporting actors and the ensemble.