#mirrors reference

[divorcedtom]

daniel molloy version of k3nd4llr0y’s logan roy rollin with the lgbt edit

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

More of Stanley's sketchbook because he makes me sick /pos

(Just imagine he was looking in a mirror at the subway to draw this anshfhwj. The london bus ticket is unrelated, it's just a random knick knack he had lying around<3)

People weren't the only ones Stan met on the streets.

------

+ this is an absolute fucking batshit WILD oneshot I initially wrote for these drawings that got WAY out of hand, if you feel like reading that.

The oneshot below is a stand-alone now, and in no way is related to the drawings above, but I just wanted to show you guys because Jesus Christ

------

Winter of 1981, at a subway station Stan doesn't remember the name of-

The sorry excuse of a transport system that this hellhole of a city called a functioning subway was hardly anyone's first choice of a warm place to stay the night. And yet, here Stanley was; standing like an idiot in the middle of a small bustling stairwell that led down to the full screeching chaos of a train stop on a Tuesday evening. A rowdy crowd of exhausted office workers streamed out like a tidal wave from the entrance of the station, the bustle of their footsteps all too eager to go home and relax after a long day of work.

The faint, stuffy stench of old piss and sweat followed the crowd to the surface from the deep depths of a less than sanitary and overcrowded train station. The pungent smell intermingled with the crisp stinging winter air in a cocktail of shitty city gloom often associated with this time of the year; when the holidays were too far away and the sun seemed to come and go with practically the same 9 to 5 schedule as the workers had, leaving them going to work in the pitch dark and coming back out in the inky black as well.

He might have looked like he belonged there, depending on how one would want to look at it. He stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the sea of prim, pressed suits and neart uniforms. His ratty old jacket and generally unwashed appearance certainly didn’t help his case, but he also knew that stations like these also tended to shelter quite a number of homeless wanderers like him, especially during the winter. So, it wasn't exactly uncommon to see other sore thumbs seeking reprieve from the biting cold and the dangerous likelihood of frostbite from within the enclosed walls of the subway station.

Heck, if most of these underground kingdoms didn't also happen to be a breeding ground for several illicit activities, he might even have followed their lead. But, believe it or not, Stanley's already had enough experience with illegal activities to last him a last time, and he isn't looking for a new fill. He was satisfied with what meager shelter his trusty car offered him, as little a difference it might make in terms of safety.

Stanley's obstruction of the already narrow stairs with his loitering went unappreciated, as shoulders roughly shoved past him and swinging briefcases repeatedly bumped into his sides, usually coupled with a nasty glare and a snide comment or two. He paid them no mind, however. He wasn't here to start a fight with some random bum with a dead end job, as much as he thought it would probably do them both some good to duke their stresses out on one another.

The hours ticked by with wave after wave of new crowds being dropped off by a train and left to pour out of the station into the streets. By the time the streetlights turned on and the pale pink in the sky slowly faded to make way for the stark glittery black of the night sky, the tide of people had slowed to a trickle and rush hour was long since over. He was now the stairs’ sole occupier, with a few occasional stragglers stumbling up the steps and hurrying past him without a second glance.

Stanley did not move from his spot, however. He stood resolutely in the middle of the stairway, fervently rubbing his arms and stamping his feet in a futile attempt to try and regain feeling in his extremities as he waited. Rocking on his heels, he titled his head backwards to let his eyes roam the constellations that carpeted the endless expanse of the sky stretched out above his head, almost losing himself in the scintillating canvas of stars.

It reminded him of old times; of the sparkling beach sand twinkling in the dim moonlight, and the soft sound of lilting waves hovering in the background as he lay back on the cold wooden deck of his ship and watched the stars dance.

He still remembered every name his brother had once recited to him time and time again as he pointed out each star and galaxy from the night sky.

Then, like clockwork, he was broken out of his reveries by a telltale meow coming from below. The sound was a familiar blanket that immediately melted away the tension that had begun to build in his chest as he practically sagged with relief.

His body moved almost automatically as he leaned down to detach the frail tabby cat that was attempting to literally fuse with his legs, purring up a storm and rubbing her head against his pants as though her life depended on it. The cat gave a soft chirrup of dissatisfaction at being manhandled, which Stanley absentmindedly replied with a chiding click of his tongue as he lifted her up his chest and gently tucked her into his jacket in a practiced motion.

She thankfully remained blissfully limp in his grasp as he shifted around some more so that she was nestled comfortably inside the dark pocket of warmth inside his ratty jacket. The tiny warm lump that rumbled contently against his front radiated with heat, and his fingers finally began to feel like actual fingers rather than useless stiff frigid lumps of meat and bone attached to his palms.

A pointed cough startled him from his clumsy wriggling to get the cat to settle down. An oddly familiar security guard stood at the entrance of the station at the bottom of the stairs, leveling Stanley an unimpressed look with the metal gate in his grip already halfway closed, ready to seal the subway for the night. He must have been a comical sight; caught awkwardly bent over while trying to get his newly acquired cat to stop kneading biscuits on his stomach, with said cat peeking out from the gap between his collars.

Stanley faintly recognized the guard. He was a much older man, with a shock of thinning white hair neatly tucked underneath a dark blue cap and a strange depth in his eyes that reminded Stanley of the sea; with countless unspoken truths lurking far beneath the surface, but no less grand and knowing of all that the universe had to offer, as though he had already lived a thousand lives before this one.

He had seen the man around before, at another station, doing the opposite of his job by ushering stray buskers and homeless stragglers from the streets and into the (relatively) safe walls of the subway, instead of doing what any other law-abiding security guard would do and kick them out into the elements. He wasn't sure what the older man was doing here, of all places, since all the previous stations he'd seen the man at had been several states over, practically on the other side of the country.

A brief spark of panic shot through his spine at the thought that this man could be following him, but he quickly discarded the ridiculous notion as soon as it entered his mind. He had never even seen him before, and hardly ever even interacted with him; there was no reason for there to be any sort of bad blood between them. Unless he happened to be related to one of Stanley's many, many enemies, then perhaps his fear was a little warranted.

However, the old guard made no move to attack or do anything other than stare judgmentally, almost expectantly. For the first time in a long time, Stanley felt like a child being caught doing something he wasn't supposed to do. He tried his best to keep his uncomfortable squirming to a minimum under the unrelenting gaze, stubbornly returning the man's gaze with his own wary glare. His cat’s muffled whining came from inside his jacket. The traitor, she was leaving him to deal with the old man on his own.

With an exasperated jerk of his head, the security guard gestured towards the inside of the station. For a moment, Stanley stared dumbly, uncomprehending of what the old man could possibly want from him. Rolling his eyes, this time the man gestured more insistently at the small gap that still remained between the metal gate and the entrance, his arm sweeping the air in a low arc as he dramatically urged Stanley inside. Suddenly, it clicked, and Stanley shook his head.

“I have a car,” he said plainly, his voice echoing loudly in the desolate silence of the winter night that surrounded the unlikely pair.

He wasn't sure why he was so nervous, it wasn't as though he was lying. He did have a car, his trusty Stanley-mobile was parked safely away in the corner of an unassuming alley that wasn't often frequented by anyone. There was no way he was reaching it tonight, though; it was practically on the other side of the city, much too far away for him to arrive at a reasonable time. His nightly excursions to meet his small friend unfortunately left him with no other choice than to leave his car behind, the hunk of metal far too unwieldy and noticeable to drive around openly on the streets. He never knew who could be watching, after all.

He had simply been hoping to find himself a dark corner to tuck himself into with his cat, just for the night, but it seemed as though the universe had other plans. Or rather, this strange old man had other plans.

Although, if Stanley thought about it, the subway wasn't such a bad suggestion. This was one of the safer stations in the city; and with the rich neighborhoods being so close by, no rogue criminal or dealers dared to come near this area unless they wanted to be slapped with a hefty fine or face a higher potential to be arrested. And of course, there was the obvious shelter from the unrelenting cold that now seemed to permeate his bones, even with the purring warmth that was nestled inside his jacket.

So, that was how he found himself hunkering down for the night inside a shabby old subway station, with a satisfied cat still rumbling away against his chest and a strange old security guard locking down the gates behind him. The man said nothing as he hooked his keys back onto his belt and gave a firm pat on Stanley's shoulders as he walked past him, pausing to scratch his cat behind her ears before moving away. His footsteps bounced off of the grimy tiled walls with an odd reverb as he turned a corner.

“You'll be safe in here,” the man said, voice sage and gravelly. The words had a weight to them, and seemed to hang in the air with such a presence it was as though the old man had never even left his side.

The subway was empty, quiet. It was such a stark contrast to the loud rowdiness of the rush hour crowd these halls once held. Stanley hadn't yet registered the utter silence of the station as he aimlessly made his way down the winding, deserted halls of the ancient station. He mindlessly walked past the aged and peeling advertising posters plastered on the walls, his nose becoming accustomed to the stinging stench of the subway. The quiet seemed to swallow the sound of his steps as he explored the branching paths and endless tunnels. They were almost kaleidoscopic, dizzying, nonsensical. There were doors where there shouldn't be, and deadends where it didn't make sense.

The silence only began to truly settle in his bones the more he walked. He suddenly wished that he would head the telltale footsteps of the old security guard again, just to hear another sign of life in this underground hellscape other than himself. The ghostly memories of screeching trains and bustling crowds haunted the halls; now, only nothingness reigned supreme. He glanced down at his small feline companion, who slumbered away against his chest, blissfully unaware of his jackrabbiting heartbeat threatening to burst out of his ribs. The silence seemed to permeate every inch of space and crush the air out of his lungs. He couldn't breathe.

Stanley’s steps grew faster, more frantic as the walls and ceilings seemed to close in on him. They grew smaller, tighter; squeezing, trapping. He hardly even registered his cat's complaints as she was jostled around in his grasp, breaking into a full out run. His breathing sounded loud, too loud, and the world was collapsing around him.

When he finally broke out into a large, open platform, he could finally breathe again. He had arrived at the tracks, the empty tunnel where the trains would pass an empty, gaping maw in the wall that seemed to swallow all light around it and beckon him closer. He felt his cat wriggle out from within his jacket and hop out with a displeasured yowl, scampering away and disappearing behind a corner much like the old man had. True silence pierced his ears and thrummed like a deafening pressure in his temples. He was alone.

Stanley was stuck in that subway station for years.

[asmilinghopelessromantic]

Colin, smugly sitting backwards on his son's future study's chair: so you fell in love with two people who are actually the same person?

Benedict, deadpan: you hated Lady Whistle-

Colin: MOVING ON

Colin: as I was saying, I do have some experience with this type of situation

Benedict: you moped and brooded so much that I thought Anthony came back early

Colin: AS I WAS SAYING

Penelope, writing in the corner: nice one, Benedict

Colin, glared at his wife with no real heat behind his eyes: while I didn't react well-

Penelope: understatement of the century

Colin: DAMNIT, PEN, DO HAVE ADVICE FOR HIM

Penelope: in fact, I do, because you spent too long rubbing into your brother's face, I'll be happy to get the point as time is a bit of the essence

Penelope: Benedict, you feel betrayed but imagine your life without her

Benedict: I can't. She is engrained in my soul.

Penelope: then I suggest you hightail out of here to go get your wife. Talk with her, listen to her, and she'll listen to you.

*Benedict scrambles to the study door*

Penelope: wait, one last thing. She doesn't need someone to save her, just love and support her

Benedict, giving Penelope a kiss on her cheek: thank you, sister

Benedict after Colin clears his throat: thank you, Penelope's husband

[tartyfart]

From book 'See this Sound' published as the result of a research project between Lentos Art museum and Ludwig Boltzmann Institute Media.Art.Research. 2009 (page 114)

[nvskyprospekt]

gettin’ ready

[trustyalt]

ECSTACY

[magickkate]

🪞🔮 A Beginner’s Guide: The Practice of Scrying 🔮🪞

⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂

I got some messages that asked me to explain a bit more about scrying, and I wanted to make a separate post to clarify this method of divination from my main post on commonly used divination methods. So, let's dive in!

Scrying is a form of divination that involves gazing into a reflective surface or medium to receive insights, visions, or messages from the spiritual realm. It's a practice that has been used by various cultures and civilizations throughout history, dating back to ancient times.

1. Cultural and Historical Significance: Scrying has been practiced by cultures around the world for thousands of years. It has roots in ancient civilizations such as Egypt, Greece, Rome, and China, where it was used for divination, spiritual guidance, and accessing hidden knowledge.

2. Psychic Abilities: Some practitioners believe that scrying can help enhance psychic abilities such as clairvoyance (seeing visions), clairaudience (hearing messages), and clairsentience (feeling energies). By quieting the mind and opening oneself to the messages of the spiritual realm, practitioners may strengthen their intuitive faculties.

3. Modern Applications: While scrying has ancient origins, it continues to be practiced today by witches, psychics, and spiritual seekers around the world. Modern practitioners may incorporate scrying into their magical or spiritual practices, using it as a tool for guidance, insight, and personal growth.

⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂

Here are some key aspects of the practice of scrying:

⦿ Tools: Scrying can be performed using a variety of tools, including: -> Crystal balls: Smooth, polished spheres made of crystal or glass. -> Black mirrors: Mirrors with a dark, reflective surface, often made of obsidian or other black stones. -> Bowls of water: Still water in a dark-colored or reflective bowl.- Flame: Gazing into the flame of a candle or fire. ⦿ Preparation: Before scrying, it's important to prepare yourself and your space. This may involve cleansing and consecrating your scrying tool, setting a sacred space for your practice, and quieting your mind through meditation or relaxation techniques. ⦿ Technique: To scry, you fix your gaze on the surface of the scrying tool while allowing your mind to relax and enter a receptive state. You may begin to see images, symbols, or visions appear in the reflective surface. It's important to maintain a soft focus and an open mind, allowing the messages to come through naturally. ⦿ Interpretation: After a scrying session, it's helpful to journal your experiences and interpretations. Pay attention to any symbols, images, or feelings that came up during the session and reflect on their significance. Trust your intuition and the guidance you receive from the spiritual realm. ⦿ Types of Scrying: While the most common form of scrying involves gazing into a reflective surface, there are other variations of the practice as well. This includes water scrying (gazing into bodies of water), fire scrying (gazing into flames), and even scrying using smoke or clouds. ⦿ Uses: Scrying can be used for various purposes, including divination, receiving guidance or insights, connecting with spirit guides or ancestors, and accessing subconscious or hidden knowledge. It can also be used as a tool for personal and spiritual growth, meditation, and self-reflection.

4. Ethical Considerations: Like any form of divination, it's important for practitioners to approach scrying with respect, integrity, and ethical awareness. Practitioners should be mindful of the potential impact of their readings on themselves and others and strive to use their abilities responsibly and ethically.

5. Experimentation and Exploration: Scrying is a deeply personal practice, and there is no one "right" way to do it. Practitioners are encouraged to experiment with different scrying tools, techniques, and environments to find what works best for them. Trusting one's intuition and inner guidance is key to successful scrying.

Overall, scrying is a versatile and powerful practice that allows practitioners to tap into their intuition, connect with the spiritual realm, and gain valuable insights and guidance. It’s a deeply personal and intuitive practice that can be adapted and customized to suit individual preferences and needs.

Regular practice, combined with an open mind and heart, can lead to deeper insights, clearer visions, and a stronger intuitive connection with the spiritual realm. Additionally, seeking guidance from experienced practitioners, studying relevant literature, and participating in supportive communities can offer valuable support and encouragement on the scrying journey.

This is not a tool I regularly use, simply because of my headaches. Either it’s the mundane tapping into your head saying, “Hey, knock it off, you don’t need to do this.” or it’s the magical side saying “Hey, you have better places to put your time and energy. this is not one of them.” So if you are interested in this practice by all means utilize it to the best of your ability, but if you can’t seem to focus or get really bad headaches all the time, this may not be the BEST practice for you. It is an option, though! just be careful, witchlings!

Remember to approach scrying with a sense of curiosity, wonder, and reverence for the mysteries of the universe. Trust in your own intuition and the guidance you receive, and allow the magic of scrying to unfold in its own time. With dedication and perseverance, the practice of scrying can become a profound and transformative tool for spiritual growth and enlightenment.

⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂

Learn more: How to Scry Candle Wax in Water Tarot, Pendulums, Scrying, and More! Ways to Improve Psychic Gifts + Removing Mental Blockages Using A Witch's Mirror: Scrying, Automatic Writing, Spirit Work

[kyuriekiri]

Venigni going grey

The idea of a silver fox Venigni belongs to my lovely friend V on discord. It seems i cant bring myself to paint Venigni having mostly white hair (for now). because I keep wondering how P'd react to the change

P: *points at the chair*

Venigni: my boy, it's not going to work..

And this is how the great Venigni invented hair dye

[couch-house]

I think this is how this guy works idk i didnt read the comic

bonus

scourge is gonna try to kill that guy

[graementality]

JASHTOBER DAY 14: REFLECTION

DEAR GOD IT'S FINALLY DONE. Hope you guys like it :]

I've been working on this for FAR too long I kid you not it has featured in my dreams,, anyway, close ups (and the version without writing) under the cut bcus there is SO much detail in this piece and I need to share it!!

Seriously. I'm not okay

[poplap1070]

[jellyskink]

While I would headcanon Ford as autistic rather than having NPD, I've seen people labeling him as such. And since there's been so much discussion about narcissism online, there's no way a 2024 Mabel WOULDN'T ask this

(Also, Mabel gave Ford the juice with the dinosaur in it because she loves him. She is VERY SWEET. Almost as sweet as Mabel Juice itself)

[sableeira]

skk relationship reveal where Dazai sends this picture to the ADA group chat without context and shuts off this phone before the group chat explodes.

[terriblegam2r]

I saw what you did there Andy and Danai and/or costume department.

“It must have been something else then” ❤️

[dumbnotstupidfuck]

shout out to brandon rodgers for giving us a bone chilling vocal delivery of ‘well, I’m not letting you, bitch’ that sounded straight out of every abuser’s playbook when you try to break things off, 10/10 no notes

[buumbaby]

YOU DID NOT SAY, "BLACK TIE" YOU SAID, "FORMAL"!