#liminal bird-dogs

[buffythevampirelover]

Wooo my Liminal Bird-Dogs screenplay is going surprisingly smoothly! I have a pretty solid outline for it now and when I feel stuck in a scene I just skip it and will come back for it :) I’m trying to avoid getting into another rut!!!! Still struggling with school and the schoolwork-writing balance but I’m working on it

How are you guys doing? (Writing and just life wise!)

[my-memories-cruddy]

Do u know how?

[boozois]

let me do it for you 🫀

[blackcrowing]

Important Facts about Samhain from an Irish Celtic Reconstructionist

Pronunciation

SOW-in or SOW-een ~NOT~ Sam-han, Sam-win etc.

Dates

Most reconstructionists celebrate Samhain on Oct 31-Nov 1, however some may choose to celebrate on Gregorian Nov 13-14 as this would match the Julian dates of Oct 31-Nov 1. Some also believe that it was a three day festival spanning Oct 31- Nov 2 on which Nov 2 is specifically devoted to ancestral veneration, but there is no specific evidence of this, only possible extrapolation from more modern practices.

Following the Celtic method of days beginning at sunset, regardless of the specific dates you choose to celebrate on your festivities should begin at sunset and end at sunset.

Importance in the Mythos

Ná Morrighan has a strong connection to this time of year thanks to the story of Cath Dédenach Maige Tuired (The Last Battle of Mag Tuired) in which she is found depicted as the ‘Washing Woman’ (sometimes washing herself in the river and other times washing the bloodied armor of the soldiers that would die that day), on the eve of the battle which is also Samhain. The Dagda approaches her and couples with her (creating the ‘Bed of the Couples’ along the bank of river and granting Dagda her blessing in the battle to come). This encounter seems to over emphasize the liminality of the encounter by taking place during the changing of the year and with the couple each standing with ‘one foot on either bank’ of the river.

She and her sisters (Badb and Macha) then use various forms of magic to rain destruction on their enemies (in the form of fire and blood). After the day is won Morrighan speaks a prophecy that describes what is taken by some to be the end of days and others to be the events which will later lead to the Ulster Cycle.

Beneath the peaceful heavens lies the land. It rests beneath the bowl of the bright sky. The land lies, itself a dish, a cup of honeyed strength, there, for the taking, offering strength to each There it lies, the splendour of the land. The land is like a mead worth the brewing, worth the drinking. It stores for us the gifts of summer even in winter. It protects and armours us, a spear upon a shield Here we can make for ourselves strong places, the fist holding the shield Here we can build safe places, our spear-bristling enclosures. This is where we will turn the earth. This is where we will stay. And here will our children live to the third of three generations Here there will be a forest point of field fences The horn counting of many cows And the encircling of many fields There will be sheltering trees So fodderful of beech mast that the trees themselves will be weary with the weight. In this land will come abundance bringing: Wealth for our children Every boy a warrior, Every watch dog, warrior-fierce The wood of every tree, spear-worthy The fire from every stone a molten spear-stream Every stone a firm foundation Every field full of cows Every cow calf-fertile Our land shall be rich with banks in birdsong Grey deer before Spring And fruitful Autumns The plain shall be thronged from the hills to the shore. Full and fertile. And as time runs its sharp and shadowy journey, this shall be true. This shall be the story of the land and its people We shall have peace beneath the heavens. Forever

(based on the translation by Isolde Carmody)

It is also mentioned in Echtra Cormaic that on this festival every seven years the high king would host a feast, it was at this time new laws could be enacted. (but it seems that individual Tuathas or possibly kings of the individual providence may have done this for their territories at Lughnasadh).

It seems to be a time considered especially susceptible to (or of) great change as it is the time which the Tuatha de Danann win victory over the Formorians and take control of Ireland, the invasion of Ulster takes place at this time in Táin bo Cúailnge, in Aislinge Óengusa Óengus and his bride-to-be are changed from bird to human and eventually he claims kingship of Brú na Bóinne at this time of year.

Celebration Traditions

Samhain is the beginning of the “dark half” of the year and is widely regarded as the Insular Celtic equivalent of the New Year. The “dark half” of the year was a time for story telling, in fact in this half of the year after dark is considered the only acceptable time to tell stories from the mythological and Ulster cycle (the Fenian cycle being assumed to be no older than the 12th century based on linguistic dating). Traditionally anything that had not been harvested or gathered by the time of this festival was to be left, as it now belonged to the Fae (in some areas specifically the Púca).

This was also an important time for warding off ill luck in the coming year. Large bonfires would be built and as the cattle were driven back into the community from the pastures they would be walked between these bonfires as a method of purification (the reverse custom of Bealtaine where the livestock were walked between the fires on their way out to the summer pastures). Assumed ritualistic slaughter of some of the herd would follow (though this perhaps had the more practical purpose of thinning the herd before the winter and creating enough food for the feasting). In some areas the ashes from these fires would be worn, thrown or spread as a further way to ward off evil.

Homes would be ritualistically protected from the Aos Sí (Fae or ‘Spirits’) through methods such as offerings of food (generally leaving some of the feasting outside for them), carving turnips with scary faces to warn them off (we now tend to do this with gourds), and smoke cleansing the home (in Scottish saining) traditionally with juniper, but perhaps rowan or birch might be an acceptable alternative. It is likely these would be part of the components used in Samhain bonfires as well, for the same reason.

Lastly based on later traditions as well as links in the mythology this is a time where divination practices or those with the ‘second sight’ were regarded to be especially potent.

Art Credit @morpheus-ravenna

My Kofi

[theredofoctober]

MANNA- CHAPTER TWELVE: FRUIT

Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham AU fic

TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, drugging, Daddy kink, implied child abuse

This is chronologically the twelve chapter

READ AFTER THE CUT...

-

You ascend to your room alone, glancing back over your shoulder in the paranoia that one or the other man pursues you like night after the sun.

Neither have taken you by way of carnality since Will rutted you against the wall. It seems an unnatural strike of fortune, and one unlikely to last.

There is too much lust between these beings, hunger of such echoing depths that the sensual urge is but one chained within. Their eyes all evening have picked you to the bone like carrion set at by desert birds. Your cunt parts, empty, about the memory of Will’s fingertips; there is a sense of art unfinished, a crescendo in the crashing of keys only the hands of men can bring into violent birth.

In dread of missing the sound of their approach across the landing you lie quiet in your bed, no music nor comforting hum of the television as your night-time companions. Yet footsteps only halve the house when your captors go to bed, each in their own room, an anti-climax. 

You think of Hannibal, tossed amidst the curse of unsung ardour, then of Will, crushed under the density of an unsated sleep. Such lonely men, in their way, divided by what lies unchartered between them, and with you.

Though by now settled, the skin which Will has touched—struck—still seems to burn with him. Five fingers, the rounded oblong of a palm, a hand that feeds dogs, has fired a gun, has rocked you, fucked you. A hand that Hannibal Lecter reaches for across dead miles of darkness to know as you have, and to love what you have loathed.

Unsettled, you roll on your stomach, but the pulse you hear when overwrought seems to peal through your very bones in its jeering song.

Filth, sin, soil: you taste your shame in its salt, as you have each night since long ago. Yet before your taking for the purpose of this ritual science there had never been pleasure in it, only the experience of staring always at the edges of things. The corners of ceilings, the light at the top of a door, a wall torn to grain by the night, liminality your legacy of innocence.

With Will, with Hannibal, you cannot look away, are made to witness and to partake in every aggression and gentleness with the same focus of attention. For that is what they want, your immersion in the devil’s playhouse. For you to be a doll, a daughter, embraced after the most inclement incident into a state almost soothed.

You cry yourself to sleep, wanting such a practice of love from someone who’s never once hurt you.

*

Hunger wakes you in the night, a restless drumroll that compels you upright in its rallying beat. As you stretch, thinking morosely of the marvel it is to have gorged and still not be full, you hear someone stumble in the nearby hallway, thudding against the adjoining wall.

A fight? Some drunken struggle? An intimacy overheard? No—

There is but a sole pair of scuffing footfalls on the floorboards beyond, too unbalanced to be Dr Lecter’s.

In consternation you go to your door and try the handle. It gives way easily under your hand, allowing you to peer out into the black mystery beyond.

Will lists against the right-hand wall, his eyes glazed and rolling under twitching lids. As you stare, abashed, his limbs fall under him, and he sprawls thrashing in unconscious spasms of animation.

There is blood on his face where he’s bitten his tongue, ebony in the negation of light. An oil spill on a seabird, drowning. A splash of mud on a bog's sunken dead.

You should let him suffer, step over his convulsing form and dart for nearest open window or outer door, but horror shakes you senseless of the thought before it takes full form.

Will’s fit continues, throwing the young man’s slim frame about like a machine caught in the throes of grim malfunction.

God help you: you pity him. He is human, and you are, as well.

“Will?” you say, stepping gingerly towards him. “Daddy? Can you hear me?”

It occurs to you that Will’s death is also yours, your lifelines enmeshed, a symbiosis in which only he would survive your parting. You kneel with your palms hovering over him, recalling very little that you know of First Aid, and entirely terrified of making him worse.

Hannibal’s voice comes from your left, uttering your name with a softness that somehow bears all the authority of a bellowed command.

He steps up quickly behind you, his hair disrupted from its usual tidy arrangement.

“Will’s having a seizure,” you say, in despair. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I’ll help him,” says Hannibal. “Go back to your room.”

You stare at him, dumbfounded by his apparent calm.

“But—”

Again Dr Lecter says your name, without raising his voice, or with any particular emotion. Yet you scuttle back the way you came, jarred by the suggestion of temper in that subtle repetition.

You hear Hannibal calling to Will, the sound of him lifting the other man and carrying his dead weight back to the spare room. The door closing, the subtle murmur behind it of Will rousing, his friend's soft, reassuring reply.

Silence, as of an exhibition ended.

Half an hour edges by, and not once do you stop shaking despite the heat of the autumn night.

Presently a knock comes at your door, and the doctor enters, his eyes lowered in remorse.

“I apologise if I spoke harshly to you. I know that you weren’t being deliberately disobedient. It wasn’t my intention to imbue your evening with additional distress.”

“It’s not your fault,” you say, quite disarmed by the apology. “It’s nobody’s fault. I mean, I shouldn’t have left my room, but I couldn’t just not go out there and see what was going on.”

Hannibal’s expression is opaque, a mask of ivory.

“I detect a concern for Will that isn’t entirely manufactured for my benefit,” he says. “Could it be that such a little cynic loves something other than her hunger?”

“What choice do I have but to care about Will?” you ask, shrilly. “What’s wrong with him?”

Adrenaline runs so high within you that you see the room on a tilt like some demented circus mirror reflection.

“What’s wrong with him?” you ask, again.

This time Dr Lecter answers, his tone low and even so as not to incite further upset.

“I suspect that Will is suffering from a combination of stress and fatigue, although I can’t deny the possibility of a neurological disorder.”

“Jack said he was sick,” you mumble. “And the other night, when I— you know. He looked awful.”

Will's face is punched into your retina like a flash of light, all blinding awfulness.

“And he’s been getting so angry with me,” you say, in a panicked rush. “Even though sometimes he’s almost nice. Is that why? Because he’s not well?”

“Will’s health has certainly contributed to his recent outbursts,” says Hannibal, smoothing your rumpled coverlet with fastidious hands. “The absence of control he feels amidst his fever leads to acts of impulse, particularly when in an environment he’s uncertain of, or feels threatened in.”

“I’m not threatening him,” you insist, hotly. “How could I?”

“I don’t mean in the literal sense. Will has very few close confidants, and those he possesses he guards dearly— that, or it is he himself that Will defends against his competition.”

You look up sharply, and Hannibal smiles, all benign conspiracy.

“Yes, little one. Having considered your thoughts on Will's dislike of you, I suspect that he also fears you may supersede him, or else share intimacies with me that he alone would otherwise possess. Yet Will’s envy is more complex than mere romantic ire, for unlike other rivals he has contended with, Will finds himself in the position of dizzying power over you.”

Dr Lecter pauses, his head at a rueful incline.

“For my part, I admit that it was rash to elect Will as the disciplinarian between us without taking all factors into account. It seems that I underestimated how antagonistic your relationship would become as his immersion in your treatment progressed.”

This you do believe, at least in that the doctor’s dissuasion of Will’s most outrageous verbal lashings is clearly genuine. Your bickering, in its familial likeness, he enjoys: an outright skirmish, repellent it its indecency, he does not.

“As you’ve indicated,” says Dr Lecter, going about your room to address its customary disorder, “Will’s becoming aware that his resentment is not entirely warranted as he finds himself increasingly sympathetic to your case. Such feelings are at odds with his desire to be alone in my company— an intricate conflict for any mind, let alone one so fiercely ablaze.”

“Ablaze?” you repeat. “What do you mean?”

“If my suspicions are correct, then Will’s condition may have been agitated by the ingredients in various dishes served in my home these past few weeks. The symptoms are closely matched to Will’s behaviour— disorientation, loss of consciousness, personality changes, mood swings. It’s unfortunate that I didn’t notice this much sooner.”

There is something performative in Hannibal’s guilt, his unshed tears like the glass eyes of a taxidermy animal. He’s known of Will’s ailment far longer than he suggests, and as he turns his back to close your chest of drawers you feel relieved, no longer forced to entertain this show of lies.

“You mustn’t mention any of this to Will until he’s received a formal diagnosis,” says Dr Lecter. “It may be that he’s simply mentally unwell, which would be a far more complicated outcome to navigate. But what you’ve seen of him lately is merely a conjunction of symptoms and heightened territorial emotions. Will’s true self you’ve yet to meet.”

The assurance is of little comfort to you, being that the nearest you’ve come to perceiving Will at his most natural and honest is in his private conversations with Dr Lecter. Through these you’ve glimpsed a complex creature, one that approaches evil with a newborn’s chary exploration.

You want to believe, for your own sake, that the sensitivity you’ve received from him sporadically evidences the continued persistence of his soul. Yet you cannot decide if he began a good man, changed through Dr Lecter’s influence, or if he’s always been a hunter, each kindness a flash of marsh fire luring you to drown.

The image of Will—twitching, defenceless—ultimately overrides this dilemma of thought.

“So what do we do now?” you ask. “We have to help him.”

Pleased by your concern, Hannibal leans across the bed to kiss the downturned corner of your mouth.

“I’ll reschedule tomorrow’s appointments so that I can tend to him. Will needs rest, first and foremost. As for his role here, it would be safest for him to delegate the majority of his more strenuous duties until he's recovered. I’ll continue them, in his stead.”

Choosing not to linger on the implications of this, you ask, “What about me? What can I do?”

“Healing Will is not your responsibility, little one.”

“But I’m making things worse,” you say, fretfully. “I know it. How can I make him like me?”

Not without humour, Hannibal says, “You can begin by tempering that sharp tongue a bit. Like Will, you rarely attempt to sweeten your words. I’ll never encourage you not to bite, but it is important that you roll on your back when we bid it. You must be our good girl, above all else, or if not good then charming, at the very least.”

You roll onto your side, crushing your face into a valley of pillows.

“I guess I really haven’t been playing along enough,” you mutter.

Hannibal chuckles.

“Not nearly enough, for all your promises. But it’s early days yet, sweet girl. We’ll see how you are once we're used to one another.”

*

 

Morning comes rudely, stalling the excitement like an opera’s intermission.

You take breakfast with Hannibal, only distracted from the usual struggle of eating by the presence of Will’s vacant seat. Having thought of him without respite for hours you’re in state of nervous delirium, your flinching knee a seismic force under the table.

“I want to see Will,” you blurt out, at last. “I want to see if he’s alright.”

“I’ll be taking a tray up to him in a few minutes,” says Dr Lecter, scarcely bothering to hide his delight in this new interest. “Don’t ask him too many questions. No doubt he’s feeling somewhat delicate this morning.”

You watch as Hannibal prepares a separate meal for the other man, cutting fruit and stewing tea leaves with loving ceremony. When he puts a strawberry to your lips you take it, your tongue rasping the juice gamely from his fingertips.

The shock of the previous night has amputated your mulish declination to humour him; even the disgust that meets your every concession is hushed, made redundant by a renewed vow to leave this house on soft feet rather than screams.

Other women have befriended their keepers and lived, as will you, if you can bear to pander to Dr Lecter as long as they.

*

Accompanying Hannibal to Will’s room you find that you’re oddly excited, even gleeful in anticipation of the visit. You’re taken with the notion that his seizure will incur some unknowable change, though whether in Will himself or the dynamics of the households you cannot predict.

Never have you seen him so utterly fragile, the dilapidation of a man. You think of a child, foisted on a detached father by a mother Will had never seen fit to name.

Will he be ashamed that you’ve seen that self so clearly? Will he be angry, indifferent, or else fear the power his weakness allows you as though your thumbs press deep in the fluttering dell of his very throat?

There is another possibility, however, the one your morning-fresh hopes hang onto by their nails: that he’ll remember how you’d crouched at his side and called to him as he shook in the darkness.

“Wait here for a moment,” says Hannibal, as you crowd up behind him at Will’s bedroom door. “I’d like to speak to him alone first.”

You hang back as Dr Lecter goes in, pressing your ear to the door the moment it shuts at his back.

“You’re awake,” says Hannibal, simply. “How are you this morning?”

There is a pause as he sets down the beautifully arranged tray somewhere in the room.

“I feel like I could sleep for another forty-eight hours,” says Will, his voice thick and slightly nasal, a sickbed tenor. “I should probably get up and head home. I need to check on the dogs.”

“I called Alana and asked her to look in on them,” Dr Lecter replies. “It’s inadvisable to drive in this condition. Try to eat. You’ll revive much quicker if you line your stomach with something.”

“Yeah, well. I can’t make any guarantees of keeping it down.”

You hear the metallic scraping of a fork about Will’s plate and writhe in envy. Even unwell he eats without thought of the fat that disallows your enjoyment of any meal. You live vicariously through him, in that moment, imagining the liquor of fruit across his tongue, the forbidden pearls of white sugar.

What you’d give not to be a slave to thinness, the goal whose end will never form.

Hannibal says, "Present issues aside, I can't help observing that you've been conflicted, as of late, Will. One might even say confused."

"Have been since the start of all this,” says Will. “The clouds still haven’t cleared. A bilious forecast.”

"Yet you've no wish to abandon this project for brighter climes."

Will gives a little snort of derision.

"I'm too enmeshed in this household to extract myself now. The night I first touched her was my signature at the end of the page. Indelible ink. No taking it back."

You flatten your face to the door so as to better interpret Hannibal’s silence.

"You feel a genuine duty to our little one, for all your misgivings,” he says, at last. “I was beginning to question if I’d made a mistake."

"She's abrasive,” says Will. “Not exactly malleable. I believe you know what you’re doing, but on paper it seems like an ill-fitting adoption."

"Children are reflections of their parents, and so far she’s shown herself to be a mirror of you. Towards me she is cool, distant, and distrustful. With you, there is an attraction of sorts. Not sensual, nor even familial, but it’s enough that, in spite of your every rebuttal and harsh word, she’s beginning to develop something of a rapport with you."

Laughing tersely, Will says, "Not sure I see it."

"You don't allow yourself to,” says Hannibal. “But you’re aware of that truth, all the same. Each time you relent into even momentary tenderness you turn against her in savagery that is vastly unearned.”

“You asked me to punish her,” Will says, sharply. “Encouraged me to— relish it.”

The admission does not move you; these men have knifed ecstasies of you like oyster flesh enough times to have indicated their tastes.

It is the why you listen for, the object they skirt about with the same flirting avoidance of a tryst that cannot be.

“I’m not referring to punishment,” says Dr Lecter. “This I have openly supported. It’s how you address our charge that’s beginning to make her feel displaced.”

“Are you criticising me, Dr Lecter?” asks Will, with a smile in his voice.

“Certainly not. I’m merely observing a pattern of behaviour, and its impact upon my patient.”

To this Will says nothing, but the tension between the two men is as visible as the door that stands between you.

"If you yearn for the hours that you and I once spent alone, I'm able to accommodate by replenishing that time together,” Hannibal says, at last. “But the blame for that neglect is solely mine. I've foisted our little one upon you without consideration of what response such an abrupt change would elicit."

"You don't have to apologise,” says Will, as surly as ever. “It’s an adjustment. I’m getting used to it.”

Your ears catch the delicate action of him lifting the tea cup on his tray, then of setting it down again.

“I spoke to her alone last night,” he says, abruptly. “Told her of my intentions to stay part of this. For a moment it felt like we connected. Like that was the promise she was looking for. But when I refused her something she wanted, she accused me of being ‘like him’. I figured you'd know who she was referring to.”

“Yes,” says Hannibal. “I can make what I imagine is an accurate guess.”

“Whatever parts we try out here, I don’t want to become the unnamed shadow that stands at her shoulder. It made her the way she is. There’s a tastelessness to that kind of evil.”

"I know. It’s more than apparent that you repel her less through genuine hatred, and more through the necessity to protect yourself from what it would mean to know her, and for her to know you in return.”

As Will replies you hear the huskiness of genuine emotion forced out between gritted teeth.

“All this would be a wasted effort if she were ever taken from me.”

“That won’t happen again,” says Hannibal, at once. “The pillar of salt left when you looked back at Abigail will never form with our new charge. When our second daughter turns to me with the same thirst for intimacy she’s developed for you she’ll be, at last, our Chloris, the nymph turned mistress of flowers."

He speaks with such tender compassion that it starts an ache somewhere in the underwing of your ribcage. What necromancy he conducts here to wake your dead and mangled innards into a living heart you cannot guess, only fear the compassion you’re capable of towards such creatures as would destroy you.

"Our little one would like to speak to you, it seems,” says Dr Lecter, closing the previous subject with a seamless finality. “Should I let her in?”

Will shifts uneasily on the bed, creaking its springs.

“She asked to see me?” he asks.

“She did.”

You imagine the younger man scraping a tangle of hair back from his temples as he gathers his thoughts.

“Where is she?”

Thus your cue to enter announces itself: you open the door, peeping at its edge, oddly shy.

"Hey,” you say, in a semi-whisper.

Will is as grey and moist with feverish sweat as deep-sea stone. His vast eyes nest in violet shadow, the whites a thread work of capillaries.

You pity him, this shambling experiment of Dr Lecter's creation, one of many, no doubt.

"Hello,” says Will, dully. “Sorry about last night."

Edging into the room, you allow Hannibal to slip discreetly away behind you with a light pat on your shoulder.

"Are you okay?" you ask. “How are you feeling?”

"Tired, mostly,” says Will. “I'll get over it. Need to. I’ve got a case to work on."

He scrutinises the half-empty tray before him from under lowered lashes.

"I'm surprised you helped me. You could have run off. Hit me over the head with one of Dr Lecter's vases."

"I wouldn't do that,” you retort. “You even said so. That I— can't."

"No, but you could have gotten away. So why didn’t you?"

There is no surprise in his voice, nor even suspicion, which you’d expected. He merely sounds ill, and trying to be interested, in spite of it.

“I don't know,” you admit. “I felt bad for you, seeing you like that. I didn’t want to leave you."

A weary cynicism twists Will’s features into momentary ugliness.

"You were afraid of being alone with someone you could never hope to understand without me."

"Not just that,” you insist, alarmed by the truth of the insight. “I was scared for you. Really. You should go to a hospital. You need tests. Meds. Scans and stuff, maybe.”

Will searches your face with eyes like dull rain, and some of the guardedness falls away from them.

"If it gets any worse, I will,” he says. “Just not today.”

You see how much he detests his own weakness, the potential to be devoured like an animal fallen in a savannah. If you strike, he will struggle, and sick as he is, you will lose.

So you offer him the gift of submission instead, the cunning exertion of a child's mite power.

"Okay, Daddy.”

You feel rather than see Will straighten in response to the word.

"Don't think I'll ever get used to that,” he says. "It’s alright to use my name. There aren't any rules against it."

"No, but he wouldn’t want me to.”

“When have you ever cared what Dr Lecter thinks?”

Shrugging, you mumble, “I guess I’m just sick of fighting all the time.”

The sick man scrutinises at you for so long that you hop from foot to foot in discomfort, itching your sole against your calf.

“It’s going to be hard for me to trust you,” says Will. “You’re probably just going to pretend until you see an avenue to get out of here.”

“Everything’s pretend, here,” you say, smartly. “Nearly all the conversations in this house are about myths and dreams. Dr Lecter talks about them like they’re real, or something.”

Amusement lights the sunken dark of Will’s gaze.

“He finds their philosophies more valuable than the moral structures most people follow.”

“And me?” you ask. “Am I valuable to him?”

Being that you’re still convinced that your worth to Dr Lecter is entirely reliant on Will’s continued interest, you only ask to discern if he himself understands this, or if he believes Hannibal would love you of his own accord.

With a tired caution, Will says, “Right now, I think you entertain him. What else he feels about you I don’t know.”

“And what do you feel?” you persist. “Still don’t like me?”

At this the young man laughs and shakes his head.

“Ask me again once I’ve gotten to know you. If you can agree to a truce, that is.”

“Fine,” you say, and you put out your hand for him to shake. “Truce. Let’s try that.”

With a wry grin Will accepts, letting go almost at once with a sharp inward breath.

“You’re freezing!”

“Haven't you noticed?” you say, hastily stuffing the offending hand under one arm. “I always am.”

It’s an unfavourable symptom of your hunger, this blood and touch of ice. Under even the sweltering gasp of summer’s heat you’ll shiver, knock-kneed, and suffer at the slightest feather of a draught.

Still, that cold affirms you. Were you to be warm again you’d hate yourself, having regained enough of the weight your system craves to regulate its heat.

Glancing up, you notice Will examining his own hand as though he shares your temperature, his fist a twin to frost.

"Come along, little one," says Hannibal, materialising in the doorway again. "Will needs more rest. Perhaps you’ll see him later on.”

But by late afternoon Will has dragged himself home without saying goodbye, and as before his absence eats a crescent into the house.

*

Some days later you pass an evening with Hannibal like so many others, yet unlike for the new state induced in you through his medicinal enterprise.

You're accustomed to the concoction of drugs that regresses you to a needy youth, the sleepers, the stimulants, the tea that lowers you from the electric heights of righteous hysteria into something slowly numb.

Yet whatever element comprises the pill flushed down by water from today’s gently tipped glass elevates you to orbit a heaven above you, so removed from your imprisonment that you observe all below with an objective eye.

Dr Lecter has bestowed upon you the rare trust that you may eat without prompting or assistance, and you have done so, temporarily rescinding your disordered agitation to a mycelium half-dream.

Thus entranced, you watch yourself drape the tines of your fork back and forth across your half-eaten plate, enthralled by patterns on the porcelain that are not there.

Your eyes drift repeatedly to a painting on Hannibal’s wall, mounted coyly for any dinner guest to comment on.

Naturally, you’ve seen the piece many times before, and have been, in turns, startled and disturbed by its subject.

Now you find yourself dully intrigued, as you were by the Japanese prints. This attention does not go unnoticed by Dr Lecter.

“What is it, little one?” he asks, intently. “Do you have an interest in art?”

“I don’t know,” you say, confused by the banality of the question. “It’s just this picture. Isn’t it... rude?”

Hannibal smirks, eyeing the image with a fond appreciation.

Its focus is a supine young woman, draped, half-naked, on a rumpled bed towards which a curious swan approaches with its curved neck bowed.

Likely it is the original painting, procured at auction, its price unimaginable; all things in this house are ripe with expense, even you, its demanding charge.

“Artistic nudity is only considered rude by children,” says Hannibal, blithely, “or else by shallow and ignorant adults. Does the depiction of genitalia offend you, my darling?”

You gaze up at the cowrie of a cunt under its shadow cap of hair, pinkly presented on spread silk, and think how often your own has been arranged likewise for Will or Hannibal to admire.

“Why is it in this room, specifically?” you ask.

You struggle with the syllables of the words, spitting the sibilants in a manner unbecoming of so distinguished an event as dinner with Dr Lecter.

“Doesn’t it put people off their food?”

“I find it makes for an amusing conversation piece,” says Hannibal, pouring himself another generous glass of wine like the blood of some celestial giant.

You attempt to grimace, none of your muscles quite taking to the motion.

“I don’t think it’s funny at all. Just creepy. Sad.”

“Are familiar with the story of Leda and the Swan? Zeus, a virile and insatiable God, looked upon the queen of Sparta and desired her. So, in order to seduce her, he transformed himself into a swan so that she would be fooled by his beauty and appearance of vulnerability to take him to her bed.”

“He tricked her,” you say, quietly. “He didn’t seduce her, at all.”

Dr Lecter’s face scarcely moves, but there is something of laughter in the lines of his strange beauty.

“So it’s the deception that unnerves you,” he says. “The pretence that he was an innocent creature rather than the all-powerful and lustful deity he truly was.”

You nod, not wanting to admit that you see your own face mirrored in the brushstrokes of the damned queen.

Prophet-like, Hannibal interprets the gesture with flawless vision.

“You empathise with Leda. Recognise the parallels between her story and your own.”

“Is that why you put it there?” you retort, emboldened by the miles between you and the girl slumped in the dining chair. “Because you think you’re the swan?”

“The bird is a shield for the truth, remember,” says Hannibal. “So what would the swan be, in me?”

Dropping the fork with a discordant clatter, you consider.

“The polite, handsome doctor,” you say, at last. “You fool everyone: Jack, Alana Bloom. My parents. They would never have left me here if they knew what you really were.”

Hannibal turns his head at a slight angle, as though by doing so he might uncover some mystery in your face.

“And what am I, little one?”

“I... don’t know,” you admit; a killer, certainly, though there is more to him even than that. “There are a lot of things you’re hiding from me.”

“Tell me your perceptions, then. There’s no need to spare my feelings; after all, you so rarely do.”

Amidst your mushroom-made divinity, you are fearless in your answer.

“You’re a bad person. You’ve done things that would get you into a lot of trouble. Hurt people. Not just me. Not just Tobias. And you don’t feel bad about it. You think that everything you do is right, somehow. Like you should be allowed to do it. Like you’re the gods in all these stories.”

Hannibal absorbs this with the silence of having been sated by your answer.

“And what about Will?” he prompts, some moments later. “Is he, too, a starving monster under the cunning guise of a tender animal?”

“No,” you say, with less certainty. “He’s... sick. You're using him, making him think that this is what he wants.”

Your captor laughs over the rim of his wine glass.

“That’s where you’re wrong, little one. The Will you think you see is only one wing of a swan. Soon, you will glimpse beyond that fragile veil, and feel the mythic need of all immortals to plunder from the weak, merely for the pleasure of knowing that they can.”

A sudden sadness tugs you back to earth like a choke chain, iron-like the lump in your throat.

“So you don’t want to help me, after all,” you mumble. “It really was all a lie.”

Taking your hand across the table, Hannibal presses a thumb to the pulse at your wrist, a soothing motion.

“Not at all,” he says, firmly. “I’m quite fond of you. I wish you to be strong. Each time you find yourself resenting Will and I you must remember that Leda did not die after Zeus bedded her: she became a mother. In you, I seek another outcome. More than one, and not all of them so horrible as you imagine. There will be beauty in this conversion, as well.”

You gaze at him with disbelieving eyes, close to rejecting the hope he grooms in you.

“What other outcomes are you looking for, Dr Lecter? How can I become all the things you want if I don’t understand them? What’s really going on?”

Hannibal kisses your knuckles and places your fork back into your hand.

“Nothing you need to think about at the moment,” he says. “Now, finish what’s on your plate. I’d like you to move on to dessert.”

Just like that, you are his little girl again, the moon having passed across the sun.

[amethystamaranth]

Hidden Gem Haikyuu Fics: 

Hello, as someone who spends wayyy too much time on ao3, here are some hq fics I think are underrated:

Notes: my criteria for being underrated may be different than most, 95% of these are iwaoi because I adore them with my whole heart, I have divided these by mood and ship, and I am also fond of when a fic centers around an image/motif and frames relationship development through that lens 

Introspective, liminal, soulful, pining:  

Dog Days, by devote 

Summary: See, the thing is, Iwaizumi Hajime is not a coward. So when Oikawa Tooru, bane of Iwaizumi Hajime’s existence, had very rudely flung open his bedroom door and proclaimed that he was beating Hajime 859 – 857 at holding his breath underwater, Hajime had tossed his copy of the day’s Sankei Sports on the floor and stood with a challenge in his teeth. 

Summer: a study in coming of age, falling in love, and other existential terrors.

Fingertips, by Moami 

Summary: Tooru has rough hands, pale, longer and thinner than Hajime’s own. He loves touching them more than he’ll ever admit. 

This is Tooru’s real meditation.

reassemble it, by fakepunk 

Summary: When Tooru was six years old, he discovered��unbeknownst to him at the time—two of the most important things in his life: volleyball and Iwaizumi Hajime. It was ironic that he had stumbled upon them hand in hand—quite literally, too.

I'll never feel whole (but you're as close as i'll get), by earthworms 

Summary: The three great truths of the universe: the sun rises in the east, the birds will always come back in the spring, and Tooru loves Iwaizumi in an irreversible, illimitable way.

Salt water, by loveclouds 

Summary: Iwaizumi can only think to run away from their impossible closeness for a while and finds himself employed at a beachside cafe. Of course, Oikawa follows.

Film reel life, by arsenicjay 

Summary: The only person Iwaizumi is lying to is himself, when he insists: I am not in love with Oikawa Tooru. 

My notes: very unique concept of a pov!

Static, by blessings 

Summary: 

Sometimes Hajime wonders if Oikawa sees the same things he does when he looks out over their neighborhood (right now it’s two kids kicking up pebbles on their bikes, lugging backpacks filled with walkie-talkies and water bottles and alien scanners, not sure if they’re heading down to the forest or up to the river but positive that they’ll get there together). Back then he and Oikawa saw the same thing when they looked down the road – a straight shot to another adventure, if they just pedaled fast enough. Sometimes Hajime worries they stopped seeing the same thing a while ago and he never noticed.

Being snowed in with all of Seijou volleyball in his childhood home brings back a lot of memories for Iwaizumi, because it's kinda Oikawa's childhood home too.

Storm Warning by SportsAnimeRuinedMyLife (NoodleFriend) 

Summary: Things change. Hajime wishes that they wouldn't. 

put the bridges back together, by inkterim 

Summary: Then he is reaching, reaching across the distance between them. Across the Pacific, the Caribbean. The Sea of Japan. Hirose River. The puddle of water that would gather on the doorstep of his childhood home on rainy days. Then nothing at all. 

Or: how Hajime and Tooru learn to bridge the distance between them over the years.

All of the above, with a tinge of crack/lightheartedness/whimsy: 

heaven is a place in my head, by thelittlebirdthattoldyou 

Summary: For Iwaizumi, it’s a relief to be able to linger in the cocoon of this intermediate summer, blanketed from the buffeting winds of adulthood and responsibility and real decision making. He would love nothing more than for it to stretch out and out and out, like a bubblegum bubble that spreads itself thin around the air trapped inside it until it pops.But Oikawa has never liked having nothing to do. He gets restless if he’s bored for too long, starts feeling like he’s running out of time or something dumb like that. So Iwaizumi is almost expecting it when Oikawa barges into his room the afternoon of a heavy summer shower, overgrown bangs dripping rainwater into his eyes, a waterlogged piece of paper crumpled in his fist and a familiar hopeful gleam in his eyes.

When Oikawa convinces Iwaizumi to spend their last summer in Japan as camp counselors, Iwaizumi is prepared for bug bites, sunburns, and rowdy children. He’s not prepared to spend two weeks kissing his best friend in what might just be the worst thought-out summer fling in existence.

closure, by thelittlebirdthattoldyou 

Summary: 

"Iwaizumi," Wakatoshi says. "You love him."

Oikawa freezes. “Hm? Don't be stupid, Ushiwaka-chan.”     

“It is not my place to intrude into your personal relationships -“     

“It really isn’t,” Oikawa agrees. 

In his first year of university, Oikawa builds a new friendship and upgrades an old one.  

Or: Ushijima is not a great wingman, but he tries his best.

spit it out, by solyn 

Summary: He’d known for a while that Oikawa was— objectively —attractive, but he hadn’t realised he thought Oikawa was hot. There was a difference between being a horny teenager who finds everyone hot and finding Oikawa hot, Hajime had thought. Maybe it wasn’t so bad. Maybe it was a passing infatuation that Hajime would look back on in ten years time with a laugh and a relieved sigh about a bullet dodged. 

It was not. 

How hard can it possibly be to confess to your best friend?

Count your blessings, it goes 1, 2, 3, me , by loveclouds  

Summary: Enough with Hanamaki teasing him about naturally falling into married life with Iwaizumi in Tokyo--Oikawa already knows it. He's unsettled by the undefined boundaries of their relationship so it's all his luck that he accidentally wins three wishes to be granted just for him, and all that comes to mind is Iwaizumi.

Open doors and plastic stars, by ikeru 

Summary: Loving Oikawa has never been exclusive to Iwaizumi—not when Oikawa is a magnet, an incandescent star that pulls and pulls until you can’t help but watch him, love him. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but his heart breaks all the same.

My notes: twist on hanahaki, adore this premise sm!! 

my heart is where it's always been, by foreverautumn 

Summary: 

 Iwaizumi places his phone down carefully. Oikawa. Pining after someone. There’s no way.  (Iwaizumi knows he shouldn’t care who Oikawa might have feelings for, but within the span of three days, it’s somehow the only thing he can think about.)

Love You Harder, by Markiza

Summary: Hajime didn’t really know in which part of his miserable, filled with longing existence, Oikawa Tooru decided that his main goal in life was to drive him utterly, blatantly, fatally insane. He watched dumbly as Tooru—smirk back on his pretty face—carefully, unhurriedly slid his damp towel from his shoulder, gaze never leaving Hajime’s, and attentively, deliberately glided the towel through his chest, slowly tracing the path up to his neck, titling his head back and exposing the curve of his Adam’s apple. Hajime’s eyes widened; his mouth parted open. Tooru let out a small puff of air at that, his lips curving into a self-satisfied smile.

--Or the one in which Tooru has the suspicion that Hajime likes him and decides to find out exactly how far his feelings go. Hajime suffers in the process.  

Perpetual-Foot-In-Mouth Disease Ft. Iwaizumi Hajime, by roobtheboob  

Summary: 

 When Oikawa confesses to Iwaizumi, it’s safe to say he’s a little shocked. However, he’s more shocked at his own reaction, which is a mortifyingly quick acceptance of his confession.  What’s more shocking is how Iwaizumi can’t find it in himself to tell Oikawa the truth—that he doesn’t have feelings for him.  At least, he hopes that’s the truth.

Fluffy Smut: 

Tungs, by polaroidsandpeachtea: 

Summary: 

Iwaizumi Hajime and Oikawa Tooru's first time  Laughter, a dick joke or two, and so much fluff

Kagehina: 

Jellyfish, by mysterytwin

Summary: 

At the beginning of his last year at Karasuno High School, Hinata Shouyou starts a list and calls it THINGS TO DO BEFORE GRADUATION, all with high hopes that he’ll be able to complete it before his time runs out. 

when you move (I'm moved), by starryskeyess  

Summary: Tobio’s captivated by the man in his arms, gilded in joy and the harsh, bright lights of the gym. Even the healthiest person might look a little sallow beneath those lights, but on Hinata, they’re like sunlight. Golden. Glowing. He should put him down. There’s no reason he should still be holding Hinata like this, flush against his body. Hinata’s laughter trails away into ragged breathing, hot and damp in the air between them. He should put him down. But Tobio can’t make his body move. He tries to relax his hands, wrapped around Hinata’s thighs as they are, but they don’t respond. His arms are equally stubborn. We just got him back, they argue, why would we let him go?

“We did it,” Hinata whispers. His expression is expectant, his gaze steady on Tobio’s face. Dazed, Tobio whispers back, “We did it.” I missed it, his traitorous heart says again. I missed you. 

OR: A few months after the MSBY/Adlers game, Hinata spends a few days at Kageyama's apartment.

Ustiten: 

Rainwater, by miracleboysatori  

Summary: If rain brings Tendou joy, then Ushijima’s happy for him. It’s not something he’ll ever come to personally understand, and he’s certain that he’ll never share the same enthusiasm for water falling from the sky. Rainwater serves a few good purposes, namely helping plants grow and offering moisture to dry land. But Ushijima doesn’t need to be watered. Maybe Tendou does, though that wouldn’t necessarily make sense to Ushijima.

Unsurprising, because not much about Tendou makes sense to Ushijima in the first place. He supposes it doesn’t have to; he appreciates his friendship regardless, but he does wonder sometimes what it must be like to occupy the same headspace as him.

[ryttu3k]

Hey, friends! Here is a list of posts you may enjoy!

Animals, with individual tags for baby animals, cats (and manul specifically), dogs, birds (and penguins specifically), deer, bears, seals, rabbits, bats, rats, crabs, sharks, and cetaceans

Things shaped like friends, including r o u n d things

Nature, plants and trees, space, science!

Happy things

Tiny things

Adorable things

Puns, things that make me laugh 1, things that make me laugh 2

Fantasy (and fairies, merfolk, and dragons), art, stories

Hmm. Hmmm. HMMM o.O

Into darker distractions? Horror, liminal spaces, cryptids, Tzimisce vibes

An entire rickroll tag

Mental health resources

BG3 fandom friends! Here is an entire tag of Astarion being cozy and getting affection, and here is my fic rec list!

Finally, here are some individual posts I really like!

Boom-de-yada

BLEBTH

Eagle gets belly rubs

A happy crow

Sloth wash day

A cat playing in the snow

jentol... totche...

The nature of purple

Cut your own hair

Also, here's a livestream from the Namib Desert. There are gnu there right now!

[roaenexists]

But anyway, before I got distracted by my last post.

Hekate.

I wanted to share some things I've learned about Her.

1) She is The Unseen Witness. This is an epithet I personally have given Her, but which derives from Her role as Persephone's savior and guide to and from the underworld.

2) She's pre-Greek. Anatolian, actually. That's how I personally like my deities—from a localized cult but so powerful they got picked up by a nearby pantheon (Diana is another example of this).

3) She's a goddess that was traditionally worshiped not in temples, but at homes. In my personal experience, She has a LOT of presence in apartments and shelters (especially shelters), as they are inherently liminal living situations.

4) She presides over Dogs and Polecats (like a weasel or ferret) and Horses, so I view Her as a goddess with dominion over all domesticated pets.

5) Hekate faces the three directions the roads lead at a Y- or T-junction, so in my personal practice I understand The Horned God to stand at Hekate's back and watch The Wild Way for Her. On my altar I have my representation of The Horned God facing away from me. Hekate did call me a sneak for that one, though, so YMMV.

6) I get the vibe she doesn't like to share altar space so she'll be getting a bookshelf of her own soon. You can use keys, the triple moon, and various momento mori (like bones, or the charm I made with a sprig of dead rosemary and a beetle carcass) to represent her in an altar space.

7) Herbs and Plants: Garlic, Yew, Mandrake, Dandelion, Belladonna, Cyclamen, Hemlock, Mint, Oak, Date Palms, Willow, Wolf's Bane. You'll notice many plants in her domain are poisonous or otherwise baneful. To this extent, she presides over all baneful plants.

8) She basically requires you to prioritize self-improvement and learning. Therapy and working out and reading and journaling can all be devoted to Her.

9) UPG but I also associate Her with mushrooms, moths, foxes, and rose thorns. She is carrion birds and the rust that eats at iron. She is the dark side of the moon and She likes it that way.

[silverdune]

ateez as oddly specific times of the day.

minors dni. ageless blogs dni. blank blogs dni. you'll be blocked.

a/n: this is just a random idea that suddenly popped into my head. i like abstract concepts lmao lmk what you think! all times in 24hr clock, not season specific, just vibes.

kim hongjoong - 00:00

the transition from one day to the next. the night owl urge to stay awake with the early bird desire to wake up at 6am. where everything feels its most still, its most silent. the liminal space between night and morning.

park seonghwa - 09:32

just in time to grab your coffee. boarding the train at the last second. feeling a productive day ahead. the unsung bliss of rush hour, caught in the midst of the morning buzz. the gentle breeze and the sun peeking through the windows.

jeong yunho - 15:26

the last hurrah of lunch break. eating outside at the local bistro. people watching and making small talk. laughing over smoothies and taking in the sights of everyday life. petting the dog that passes by. smiling to the owner who smiles back.

kang yeosang - 02:56

whispered words into the open space. cups of tea and a heart to heart. reminiscing about the past. not caring to look at the time. quiet laughter and warm smiles. the first yawn, a sign it's now time for you to go to bed. feelings of closure. everything is okay.

choi san - 22:34

bright lights and night life. music pulsing through the walls of every club. restaurants packed with people. traffic on the highway. singing loudly without a care in the world. beating hearts, lots of energy. never slowing down, never getting tired.

song mingi - 11:11

a moment for yourself. a chance to reflect. headphones on, hands in pockets, walking down the street with your favourite playlist on. everyone's a blur, and you're at the centre. deep breaths, no destination, no worries.

jung wooyoung - 20:45

the last bus home. rain hitting the window. sitting at the back, earbuds in, soothing music to calm your stresses. tired from the day, knowing tomorrow is a new one. leaving the bus and heading home. changing into your pjs. watching a movie.

choi jongho - 08:00

an early start. strict routine. breakfast, skincare, coffee. reading and replying to emails. thriving in the mundane. taking care of yourself. cleaning the house and reorganising your things. wearing your favourite shirt. talking to your friends.

× silverdune (ave). do not repost. ×

[cursecuelebre]

All About Lady Hekate

Her Attributes

Witchcraft

Magic

Crossroads

Death and Life

Liminal spaces

Protection of The Home

Necromancy

Spirits

Childbirth and Midwifery

The sea

The stars/Moon

Symbols:

Torches

Snakes, Dragons, Serpents

Dogs especially black

Corvus birds

Fish

Wands

Daggers

Keys

Cats

Moon

Crossroads (three way road)

The number 3, 6, and 9

Hekate’s Wheel or the Stropholos

Skulls or bones

Ferrets

Pomegranates

Any black animals

The color black

Offerings

Libations of wine

Fish

Cakes, breads, any kind of pastries

Herbs like Mugwort, Rue, Belladonna (poisonous), Garlic, Rosemary, Chives, Black Nightshade (Poisonous), Lavender.

Fruits: Pomegranates, Apples, Lemons

Anything related to dogs

Spiritual or magical tools or items

Creating spells and offerings i.e I created a spirit board for Hekate

Spirit communication

Taking care of Children and supporting mothers and soon to be mothers

Epithets (Greek and a Roman title)

Trivia - A Roman title given to Hekate and Diana relating to the crossroads. It’s also said Trivia could’ve been a Roman Goddess on her own.

Brimo - Angry, Terrible one. It’s a title for a god who is showing their scary aspect Hekate, Demeter, Presphone is known for this also male deities like Dionysus. Hekate in this aspect is usually depicted with three heads of animals like dogs, owls, and a serpent but she can take any form that can be terrifying. Usually invoke during rituals and magic spells. Also very good in curse workings, this aspect infamously shows up in the myth of Jason when she is evoke by Medea who is a witch.

Perseis- Destroyer, child of Perses. Hekate’s Father is a Titian Perses who embodies destruction.

Aidônaia - Of the Underworld - Hekate is considered to be a Psychopomp like Hermes she guides souls to the underworld

Kthonia - Of The Earth - many earth deities have this title it can still relate to the underworld but also the physical world like Demeter a earth goddess.

Phosphorus - Light Bringer - Hekate’s main symbols are torches being a guiding light to those who are lost, also to help guide lost souls. Common depiction is how she guided Persephone out of the underworld and guided her so she won’t be lost.

Kourotrophos - Nurse of the young - She is considered to protector of children like how Hera and Artemis is.

Genetyllis - Protector of Births - Hekate is also a midwife goddess and fertility, evoke during births. One myth says she taught Artemis the ways of Midwifery when Leto was giving to Apollo.

Aeneos - Eternal, everlasting.

Trimorphis - Three formed

Trioditis - The three ways or crossroads

Einodia - The one on the Road - Relating to her and the crossroads.

Nyktipolos - Night wandering

Atalos - Tender, Delicate

Skylakagetis - Leader of Dogs

Anassa Eneroi - Queen of those below

Festivals:

Noumenia- Beginning of the new month which is the New Moon. Hekate along with Artemis and Selene are worshipped during this day.

Feast of Hekate is on August 13th where people would bring offerings like honey cakes on the crossroads. The reason being to make sure she won’t summon storms to kill their crops.

In Rome she was honored monthly on the 29th day of the moon.

Tarot Associations

The Moon

The High Priestess

Hierophant

The Hermit

The Two of Swords

General Information

Hekate’s name means “Far-darting” or “who works from afar”. Hekate is the daughter of Perses Titian of Destruction and Asteria Titan of the Stars. It is also said she is also the daughter of Helios and the Oceanid Perse. She is also linked with Circe as her Mother or sister or regular servant to Hekate. As Helios is the father of Circe and Medea who also evokes Hekate a lot in her spells. Helios and Hekate have common myths together.

Hekate is associated with the Full moon and New Moon, stars, and other Cosmic events. She is associated with the sea but most commonly she is associated with earth and the underworld as being a guide to souls to the after life and those coming out. It’s said lost souls follow her along with her nymphs carrying torches. She has black dogs always beside her, it is said you can hear Hekate approching by the howls of dogs.

Hekate is also the protector of the home, keeping a statue of her at the front door will help keep danger away. Protector of liminal spaces and doorways. She can protect a person from curses but she can also help you cast them but she won’t do it unless there’s a good reason. Hekate is goddess of spirits, she can help guide them as I said earlier but also get rid of evil spirits from the home.

At the crossroads is where most likely you’ll find her especially if you need her help. The crossroads are important when it comes to transitions and change and it’s by your choice and of her guidance. But you can also do magic at the crossroads by summoning a spirit or getting rid of one, you can do a simple ritual of banishing a spirit with the item being buried and then you walk away it’s been advised by experienced witches even historians to not turn around after doing the spell. Necromancy is in the context is this, no you’re not summoning the dead back to life or evil spirits, necromancy is simply spirit communication and workings. Of course you’ll be careful with each spirit first encounter with.

Hekate has been a powerful goddess throughout centuries, her origins in Ancient Turkey who was seen as a mother goddess before she was adopted into the Greek Panetheon. She is quite remarkable in Roman religion and even modern day times she is separated from these ancient practices and still a goddess that people go to for all things in life. She is open to all for those who wish to make her involve in your life. Hekate will not be the same for everyone of course, but similarities are true she is very much like a Mother and very protective of her children.

[sodatabs-ontherun]

hello!

☆°hello I'm soda tabs!°☆

♤I go by they/he/ve/vem/void/voidthem (may change I'm gender fluid)♤

This blog is for my silly alterhuman stuff

Tags I use

Quaddrobics: jumping silly

Alterhuman rants: the cat is screaming

Mask/gear: cat made art

○☆My kin types are:

Theriotypes: grey wolf, fox (x2), African wild dog, aussie herding dog, tiger, house cat, mink, elk, snowy owl, ox, vampire bat, loin, koi fish, cheeta, clown fish,jipsy vanner horse, otter,crow, dolfin, spider, dingo, snake, whale shark,coyote

Other kin types: angel

Fictionkins:sandwing, nightwing, seawing, sentinels (md) livi (md oc) lizzy (md), cyn (md), n(md) key bugs (md) j (md) nifty (hazbin hotel) drift loom, nori (murder drones) Caine tadc

Plant kins:weeping willow, pumpkin, vernus fly trap,Marimo moss ball

Concept kin: liminal space, Halloween conspet kin,

Song link/kin: ghost rule, the vampire, anonymous m, bite me, this. P3t (by femtanyl)

Coping link/kin: beanie baby, pomni

°•☆51 in all☆•°

Questioning:,lilly pad, toucan, song birds, duck, jelly fish, death angel, godkin, hatsune miku, tulip Caine (tadc)

☆•I do have past lives and things!•☆

If you have any questions ask via ask, or just statements in general,

And pedophiles, zoophiles, antis, Transphobes, homophobes, and all that fun will be blocked from my blog (Get away from me lol)

Please don't send me realistic pictures of insects or spiders and all that jazz (alive or dead) I'm ok with cartoons tho ♡

DNI IF YOU HAVE A NFSW BLOG OR ANYTHING WEIRD, especially on my quads vids I wanna keep myself safe from that kinda stuff

Dni if you discriminate against age

Example: "your 12 just shut up"

°•☆This is my other ask blog bc I'm a oc kin lol so check it out if you like lol☆•°

https://www.tumblr.com/livi-is-a-silly-guy

This is my indie show that I'm making and would love for yall to check it out!♡♡♡♡

♡☆○°have fun°○☆♡

[kaylinalexanderbooks]

@thepeculiarbird may like #14

Not the dog!!!

This sounds so chaotic and the phrasing of #15 oh no

Anyways, I did this here and I got nothing better to offer

Vaguely Summarised WIP (tag game)

Thanks for the tag @faeriecinna !! Their post here :)

Rules: summarize your WIP in 15 2-5 word bullet points (as if you were trying to summarize it in 15 seconds)

A quick and inefficient summary of Liminal Bird-Dogs:

yummy diner breakfast

listens to missed call, uh oh werewolf?!

road trip sequence

campground

dead dog ?!

dead person?!?!?!?!

off the case

science lab time

science results???

MYSTERY TO SOLVE???

goes around cops' orders

ends up in different universe

ballroom scene

its a cult!

semi-safely gets home

Tagging @creatrackers @toribookworm22 @guessillcallitart @kaylinalexanderbooks @nbwriteschaos :)

[goodmorningbatterycity]

Lately, I don't even think Battery City has an environment. It's all artificial. Like it's just enshrouded in this big dome. There is a ceiling that replicates what time of day it's supposed to be. As curfew approaches, the "sun" starts to set. As the time to wake comes, the "sun" starts to rise. It doesn't seem real. It's almost liminal and surreal in nature like you're walking behind yourself in a third-person simulation.

Inside the ceiling there are cameras to survey citizens from above. The ceiling and the flies are BLI's most successful way of spying on its consumers. That's not to say the cats, birds, and dogs aren't spying on you.

[astragreenwoode]

Made my own AU/Reboot of the Smiling Critters franchise because they deserve to be happy.

Chapter 3 was AMAZING, guys! Mob Games delivered us with the lore we were all asking for and deserved.

Also, I got my CatNap plush I pre-ordered back in December as a birthday gift to myself! I love him! I'll definitely be ordering DogDay once I secure another job for myself.

So, I was thinking about all the shows I used to love as a kid; Care Bears, My Little Pony, Blues Clues, etc. I realized the whole appeal of the Smiling Critters was that it reminded us of being carefree kids. And I think that's why I find the atmosphere of Poppy Playtime so comforting despite the history of violent experiments. The entrance to the factory, the game station, even playcare feel like a childhood liminal space that makes me feel safe and like I'm a kid again.

The Poppy Playtime Fandom seems to have latched onto them and created their own sub-fandom like FNAF did with Sun and Moon. I don't know what it is about sun and moon themed characters, but I am here for it!

Anyways, I'll eventually be posting the other critters. I'm working on Bobby Bearhug and CraftyCorn for the next installment. My handwriting might be a bit hard to read, so the typed-up version of all my headcanons down below the cut.

CATNAP

• Throws THE BEST Slumber Parties

• Night Owl

• Stays up until 5 AM and wakes up at noon.

• Eternally Eepy (Narcoleptic AF)

• Everything he owns is some shade of purple and yellow

• Always wears pajamas

• Never leaves home without a blanket and pillow

• LOVES Astronomy and Stargazing

• Down to go camping at anytime

• Torn ear from fight with his siblings

• Best Bedtime Storyteller

• Has a library room

• Ends his days with hot tea and reading by the fire

DOGDAY

• Almost always covered in dirt

• Morning Person/Early Bird

• ADHD Kid

• Loves to Explore

• Therapy Dog Energy

• Always there to cheer up his friends

• Repetitive exercising and fidgeting to self-soothe

• Chris Traeger Vibes

• Owns every sports ball and exercise equipment ever made

• Fitness Guru

• Party Animal

• The one at slumber parties who wants to stay up all night. Passes out 5 minutes after bedtime

I hope you like my work and please let me know what you think, as I really appreciate it and use it as motivation. Be sure to follow me and come back for me, please!

Stay wild, free and safe, my dears!

-Astra

[silhouette-system]

Hello and Welcome to our system, the Silhouettes from the TV! We’re a low alter system, though we do believe there are more fragments in the back lol

~~~~~~~

My name is Ayrton, and I’m the host of the system! I use he/him/himself, it/its/itself, spir/spiri/spiriself, and ana/logue/analogueself pronouns. I’m asexual and panromantic. I’m a non religious angelkin, and I’m looking for a deitykin, angelkin, or godkin of some type to worship. I’m also a liminalkin; Liminal Angel of Forgotten Whispers is my ‘oFfIcIaL’ title. Emoji: 🏎️ or 🪽 My picrews below:

~~~~~~~

My name is Wanderer and I’m the co-host (?) of the system. My pronouns are he/they/it/retro and my gender is no. I’m aroace, sex repulsed. I’m a German Shepherd kin, specifically a military K-9 dog. I like the Arctic Monkeys, the Red Hot Chili Peppers, Radiohead, and other bands like that. Please do not speak to me about any type of sexual content or NSFW. This is my sign off emoji: 🖤

~~~~~~~ Hi!! My name is Sasha, and I’m really happy to meet y(‘all)ou! I use she/her pronouns, and I’m transfem! I’m bisexual :) I’m a faerie (NOT a fairy), and I love magic and flowers and the forest! I’ll use this emoji to sign off: 🦌! Ayrton made me some picrews, which I’ll put right down there! 👇

~~~~~~~ Do I have to do this…? Yes. Now do it. Fine.

*sigh* Hey, mate. My name is Ghost, I’m a fictive from CoD. Believe me, none of us are happy about it either. He/him, cis, gay. I’m basically here to make sure Ayrton takes care of the body. Do not talk to me about my canon past and/or current events. I do relate to my source. I don’t want to talk to Ghost fictives, but I’m fine with any other CoD fictives. Sign off will be 🌑. Here are the Picrews Ayrton and Wanderer made me do:

~~~~~~~

other alters: K, she/he/they. Aroace. Bird therian Sign off: 🖋️.

Ari, she/he, unlabelled. ADHD holder, probably a little. Sign off: ✨

~~~~~~~

Other info:

We’re learning German, and would love some tips!

Collectively likes the Lumineers!

we play saxophone!! 🎷🎷🎷

dni: anti-endos, radqueers, TERFs, p3dos, zoos (zo0philia, not zooanthropes. On that note, lycanthropes and therians/otherkins whose identity is from their delusions are welcome as well!) those interested in arguing, anti-furries/therians, etc. We retain the right to block as needed!

random user boxes!

friends!!!! @bored-dromaeosaur @tameable50 @maryland-officially @furbyobsessedpup

[home-of-renn]

Can you imagine if Amity Park were a place that got a lil messed up from the effects of the portal and the land itself became liminal?

The animals become far more in tune with ghosts and thus have less fear of humans. Now they tend to wander into town and people have to watch out for deer that wander across the roads and birds that nest low to the ground and way too close to the footpath. Cats no longer hiss at passing shadows or wandering spirits, and dogs no longer bark nor growl at passing strangers - only those who come from out of town.

The flowers grow curious and wild. Larger and thornier and wholly untamed. Abandoned buildings are quickly overrun by trailing vines, vibrant moss, and the expanding fringes of the untameable wilds that surround the town. The most beautiful blossoms bloom in the presence of shuffling mourners and weeping widows. Petals scatter the surface of freshly unearthed soil and the air is filled with an intoxicating fragrance that carries on the wind, laced with a siren's call. The cemeteries of Amity have never been so inviting.

After all, death cannot exist without an abundance of life.

Shadows flicker and move when they shouldn't. Alleyways lead to abrupt dead ends and sudden curves. An evening stroll can take you down winding labyrinths that'l lead you to the other side of town despite having walked in the opposite direction.

Something's made it's home in the woods surrounding Amity and no one knows what it is, only that it shouldn't be disturbed. Sometimes you can hear it in the dead of night, but only if you close your eyes and strain your ears. Sometimes the only thing you can hear is the screech of birds and the silence that follows.

The street lamps have all been powered with ectoplasm so they wont go out during ghost fights or disasters, and when it gets dark the streets are bathed in an eerie green glow. The shadows they cast are misshapen and flawed. It's always best to avoid those who linger beneath them.

Amity park evolves over time. The place gradually becomes influenced by Danny's Obsession as the contamination seeps into every crack and crevice. As the town becomes more and more apart of Phantom's lair it becomes more isolated. People who end up lost or in need of help in the surrounding areas somehow always stumble their way into Amity park, guided by some unknown force that pulls them towards this unearthly safe haven. Amity becomes more and more like a spider's web as Danny continues to grow, the strands of his Obsession being spun through the air and through the ground, extending beyond the borders of his lair and into the surrounding land.

Despite the dangers of living in Amity, the people who live there feel this inexplicable sense of safety. The residents insist that they've simply gotten used to the ghosts and all the little quirks that have popped up over the years. But people are more passionate than they used to be, more livelier and spirited. They say that growing up in a place like Amity builds character.

No one ever leaves Amity Park. And if anyone ever dared to ask, they'd only ever receive one answer,

There's just no place like home