#necklace stringing materials

[ornamentodeux]

Beads and Claycation: Trying New Things with Polymer

[glowettee]

how to recover from chronic procrastination (not just time management tips)

by mindy @glowettee

i wanted to talk about healing your relationship with time and tasks when you're stuck in a deep procrastination cycle. i've been in this cycle for a month now, and just recently got out of it using all of these methods. please just remember to be gentle to yourself, and take small steps.

understanding your procrastination:

identifying emotional triggers: notice what feelings come up right before you avoid tasks. is it fear? overwhelm? sometimes it's as subtle as a tiny flutter of anxiety

recognizing avoidance patterns: maybe you always clean your room when essays are due, or suddenly need to reorganize your pinterest boards before studying

spotting perfectionism links: notice when you're not starting because you're afraid it won't be perfect. this often shows up as "i'll start when i feel more prepared"

understanding fear responses: your body might feel heavy, or you might get suddenly sleepy when facing certain tasks. these are actually fear responses in disguise

mapping procrastination cycles: track how one avoided task creates a domino effect of more procrastination. it's usually a sweet little pattern we can gently break

emotional recovery steps:

healing task-related anxiety: create tiny, sweet rituals that make tasks feel safe. maybe light a candle before starting or use your prettiest pen

building self-trust again: start with promises so small they feel silly. like "i'll work for just two minutes" and actually stop after two minutes

developing completion confidence: collect evidence of times you've finished things, even tiny things like making your bed or sending a text

managing overwhelm spirals: catch yourself before the "i have so much to do" spiral starts. write everything down in your prettiest handwriting

creating safety in starting: make beginning feel cozy. wrap yourself in a soft blanket, make tea, create a gentle environment for work

rebuilding work capacity:

micro-task training: start with tasks so tiny they feel almost meaningless. maybe just open your laptop or take out one book

starting-point exercises: practice just beginning things without the pressure to finish. it's like dipping your toes in a pool

momentum building: string tiny tasks together like beads on a necklace. each small completion leads to another

success spirals: document every tiny win in a pretty journal. watching the pages fill creates its own kind of motivation

confidence restoration: celebrate completing even the smallest tasks. treat each one like a tiny victory worth noting

practical healing methods:

task relationship repair: make peace with tasks that scare you. talk to them like old friends you're getting to know again

emotional safety nets: create comfort zones within your work space. maybe a special corner with fairy lights and soft pillows

anxiety soothing techniques: develop gentle ways to calm your nervous system. perhaps counting flower petals or tracing patterns

overwhelm prevention: break everything down into pieces so small they feel almost silly. like "open notebook" as a complete task

progress preservation: keep a soft, gentle record of all your tiny steps forward. no progress is too small to celebrate

creating new patterns:

gentle accountability: find ways to be accountable that don't feel punishing. maybe share your tiny goals with a friend

achievement recognition: notice and celebrate every small completion, even just getting out your materials

progress celebration: create sweet little rewards for progress. maybe a favorite song or a moment with your comfort book

pattern interruption: catch old patterns with gentleness. "oh, there's my pinterest avoidance. how sweet of me to try to protect myself"

identity rebuilding: slowly start seeing yourself as someone who can start and finish things, one tiny step at a time

maintaining recovery:

preventing relapse: notice early warning signs with kindness. catch yourself before the avoidance cycle starts

managing setbacks: treat setbacks like gentle reminders to return to your healing practices

building resilience: each time you start again, you're building stronger foundations

sustaining progress: keep your momentum gentle and sustainable

adapting strategies: adjust your approaches with tenderness as you learn what works best for you

remember: recovering from chronic procrastination is about healing, not just forcing yourself to work.

tip: small wins create the foundation for bigger changes 🤍

p.s. you're not lazy, you're healing from task trauma.

[bluesidez]

request for curvy girl and Miguel on their first date night after having a baby?

[Parents Night Out]

 Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x Curvy!Reader, Fem!Reader

summary: Miguel and his girl enjoy a night out without their baby as best as they can.

content warning: fluff, mom and dad pet names as endearment (and a hint at something more), Miguel loves reader’s body, some mentions of a horror?? film (but nothing gruesome or horrible), a little suggestive but mostly fluff

word count: 2k

a/n: It took me a while to get here, but I hope you enjoy it!

You pull your dress down at the sides, smoothing out the wrinkles, the material scrunching up every time you move. 

Dangly earrings to match the necklace on your chest, a spritz of perfume to your wrists and neck, a slide of gloss across your lips, and a final look in the mirror to see if everything was in check. 

“Honey, you almost ready?”

Miguel stepped into the bedroom, eyes focused on the cuff of his shirt.

“Yeah, I just need to put on my heels,” you peer at him through the mirror and turn around. “You look very handsome right now.”

Miguel peered up at you with a soft smile on his face. He walks over to you as you stand, “Thank you and you look stunning, Mama.” He runs his hands over your hips, squeezing the plush skin.

“No, no, no. We said no baby talk tonight!” you chide like you didn’t almost cry leaving your baby at your mom’s house. You gave her what felt like a binder full of notes just for her to lodge it back in your passenger seat with a comment on how she knew what she was doing. When you got back to your house, you wallowed for an hour before realizing that you could finally take a long, long nap without the small cries of Gabriella forcing your eyes open.

“I didn’t say anything!” He holds his hands up. “I’m just saying your name.”

You hum as your head tilts, “Is this just a scheme for me to call you Daddy?’

Miguel pursed his lips before he answered, “No. But, I’m not opposed to that.’

“Of course, you’re not,” you laugh as you move him out of your way. 

He follows you as you walk to the closet and grab your shoes, hands never leaving you when you bend down deep.

“I’m not sure if you’re aware of this,” you sigh as you snap back up and look at him from the corner of your eye. “But we have to make it out of the house today.”

“We’re going, I promise,” he kissed your lips. “Let me put on your heels for you.”

Miguel held your waist as you both walked to the door, taking constant glances at you. 

During the third trimester, you had worried that the baby would change your body drastically, a frown on your face as you rubbed cocoa butter onto your stretch marks. Miguel was always there, taking over with steady rubs and affirmations into your skin. 

You were doing something magical and remarkable by bringing another human into this world, by having his child. He was going to remind you everyday that you were beautiful. 

Plus, the baby weight only made him love your body more. He’s been holding you from the waist down nonstop for a little over a year now. 

He let you use his shoulders as leverage as he slid your strappy shoes on and kissed your knee after tying the strings tight. The movement was a habit built from your pregnancy and inability to see your feet.

“Let’s go party.”

The two of you were a vision in coordinating red and black. Miguel’s tiny details from his tie and threading matching the dark velvet of your dress. 

Getting to the restaurant is the fun part. 

He won’t let you touch a single door handle, running to every door before you can even blink. 

He holds your hand as you step into the passenger seat and buckles your seatbelt for you, grinning wide when you peck his cheek. 

On the way to the reservation, the two of you sing wholeheartedly to R&B with no fear of waking the baby with the slightest sound. 

At a red light, Miguel belts through a long riff using your hand as a mic as you laugh at his antics. When the song switches to something even more romantic, he’s gripping your thighs and rubbing circles into the top of your hand. 

When he pulls up closer to the restaurant, you gasp loud. 

“Miguel!” your eyes sparkled as you read the large sign. It was a place you were dying to try for over a year, but every time you called, they were booked. “How did you even get a reservation?”

“I have my ways.”

At the valet, he runs around the car and guides you out, holding your purse for you, not wanting to see you bothered with it. 

He handled everything tonight, from the place you were going to, to the reservations to the movie tickets. You could only see him as he gave his name to the host at the front. 

“Thank you,” you say to him once you both are inside and settled at a table. “Such a gentleman tonight.”

“Anything for you. Don’t want you to worry at all. Just enjoy this.”

The waiter came with complementary bread and water, sliding the menus in front of you both. Miguel ordered a bottle of wine, not even gawking at the price, while your eyes scanned the list of options. 

You both settled on an appetizer to share, entrees to split, and a sweet dessert to feed each other. 

“It’s so lovely in here,” you look around, the dim lighting making it a more intimate scene. A jazz band was playing softly on a stage and the centerpieces sparkled on the table. “I love it.”

“I’m glad,” Miguel reached across the table, “I know you’ve been eyeing this place for a while. I really wanted to surprise you.”

Your eyes almost tear up taking in his sincere expression, “Thank you, truly. This means a lot that you listened.”

“Listening to you comes easy. It’s only when I can’t do something to help you that I feel like everything closes in.”

“Oh,” you blink fast at his words. You look up and fan at your face, “Miguel that’s-”

He pulls out his handkerchief, not wanting you to ruin your makeup. 

“Don’t cry here, baby,” his voice is soft and sweet. 

“I won’t. I just love you lots.”

“And I love you lots more.”

By the time the food comes, you both have stated several more love declarations and recounted your younger days together. You helped yourself to glass or two of wine, the smile never leaving your face, but the giggles escaping every second. 

Now, Miguel was telling you an old story about how he busted his ass to impress you. 

“You don’t get it, cariño. I was so…adamant about getting a certain look because I was certain you didn’t even know who I was.”

“What you don’t know is that a lot of women love nerdy men. I definitely noticed you, I was just waiting on you to make a move.” 

Miguel fed you the last bits of a cream puff dessert, watching your lips slide over the fork. 

You hum and cover your mouth as you chew, “Do you remember that punk phase you had?”

“Oh, would you look at that,” Miguel glances at his watch and waves down a waiter. “If we don’t leave right now, we’re going to miss the movie.”

You cackle at the peeved look on his face.

He was cute with his uneven mullet and pleather jackets. It definitely wasnt’t his scene, though.

The night continues in a pink, warm haze. The sun is slowly setting as you both head to the theater. Miguel hands you more comfortable shoes and places his tie in the back. 

It’s fun to walk into the theater hand-in-hand like a young couple without a care in the world. Buying a popcorn bucket to share and big slushies like you didn’t just eat. 

The movie is what messes you both up. 

It starts off nice. The two of you are settled on the last row with no one else around, the perfect spot for cuddles, kisses, and more. 

Miguel moves the middle arm to bring you closer to him and you slot into his hold like butter. 

The main characters are a couple moving into a new home in the middle of nowhere with a teenager, a child, and a baby. It’s sweet and a little cliche with the couple thinking that the change in scenery would help them connect with their oldest daughter. 

However, of course, there’s something wrong with the house. It’s a bit too perfect, the area too serene. 

You hold Miguel tight as you watch the mom and dad fight for their lives to make sure whatever entity that resided in their house didn’t take their family away from them. 

The father is kicking through a bolted door, trying to pry it open for freedom. The mother is holding her daughter by the legs as she tries to keep her brother alive. You breathe easier as she pulls her brother out of the crumbling floorboards. Your heart stops its rushing pace as you see four of the family members rushing outside. 

“Where’s the baby?” Miguel’s voice snapped you back into pace. His hands were firm on your skin but his eyes were glued to the screen. 

“I, I don’t know,” you whisper.

The scenes that played after had Miguel anxiously moving in his seat. His foot was shaking by the end of the chair, his arms were twitching around your body, and his hands kept fiddling with your jewelry. 

The dad traversed his way back through the house, listening for cries. Miguel looked like he was holding back a yell, body leaning forward as he locked in on the scene. 

The father made it out alive with his baby daughter in his arms. 

By the time the movie was over, the velvet of your dress had his handprints all over. 

You look at him as the lights turn on, his face blank of emotion. 

The walk to the car is quiet, nothing to be heard but the crickets in the grass and the blast of music from someone’s passing vehicle. 

When he slides into the driver’s seat, you lean over the console with a squeeze to his arm, “Are you alright?”

“Is it,” his hand grips the wheel. “Is it ok if we call your mom? To check on Gabriella.”

“Of course, baby,” you rub his shoulders and pull out your phone, your mothers number at the top of your most-recent list.

After a few rings, she picks up. Her head shakes as she takes in both of you with your heads smooshed together in the camera’s view. 

“Look at you both,” she fusses. “Just sad.”

The camera blurs for the longest seconds of your lives, and then it shuffles over a sleeping Gabriella. Her chunky belly moved up and down with her soft breaths and her eyelashes long against her cheeks. She was like a little angel, tiny fingers twitching every now and then. 

Miguel let out a long breath next to you as if he was holding it all this time. 

The camera goes back to your mom who shuffles back to her own bedroom, “Do you two know what the definition of break is?”

“Yeah, mom. Miguel just wanted to check on her. The movie we watched frazzled him a bit.”

“It didn��t frazzle me,” Miguel sniffed. “I’m just a concerned father.”

“Well get unconcerned and don’t call me back! Me and my grandbaby are perfectly fine and you’ll see her tomorrow. Got it? Good.”

She hung up as you let an affronted sound, “I guess you heard that.”

The night ends a little easier. Miguel is more relaxed and decides to take advantage of the empty house. 

He prepares a hot relaxing bath filled with bubbles and a flowery aroma, candles lighting the bathroom while you turn on a sultry playlist and bring out some champagne. 

There’s a dark glint in Miguel’s eyes as you step into the tub, body open for him to see. You bend down and lay on him face to face. 

“This was an amazing date night. Baby-snatcher house and all.”

“We should do it again sometime,” Miguel massages his hands into your back. “While we still can.”

“But for tonight?” your hands run over his wet shoulders, eyes roaming from the curves and turns of him up to his lips to his eyes. “Let’s have fun.”

Miguel groaned as his lips met yours, the water splashing around as his legs move to the edges of the tub.

“Let’s go all night.”

As always, like, reblog, and COMMENT. Let me know how you guys feel! 🩵

[corrupte3d-mindz]

His Angel

Possessive! Thomas Shelby x F! Younger Reader

Summary: Thomas can’t help himself when it comes to her, she gets everything she wants from him.

Wordcount: 3.4k

Warnings:

possessive! Thomas, head-over-heels! Thomas, lap sitting, kissing, soft talking, praise, lovey dovey things from Thomas.

Inspiration: Too Sweet - Hozier

The Garrison snug was thick with the familiar haze of smoke, the air heavy with the scent of whiskey and sweat. Thomas sat at the head of the table, his posture rigid yet relaxed, an oxymoron that only he could embody so effortlessly. 

Arthur was mid-sentence, his gruff voice detailing the latest shipment, but Thomas’s mind was already elsewhere, drifting into the echo of his brother’s words. John, Finn, Isaiah, and Michael murmured amongst themselves, the background noise a symphony of camaraderie and business. The soft knock at the door silenced the room instantly. It was a knock they all recognized, a signal that brought an immediate hush over the group. Thomas’s eyes flicked to the door, and his entire demeanor shifted. The sharpness in his gaze softened, the hard lines of his face easing into something almost tender. He took a long and deliberate drag from his cigarette, the ember glowing bright in the dim light, before turning in his chair to face the door.

As the knob turned and the door creaked open, time seemed to slow. There she stood, framed in the doorway like a vision from a dream. Her off-white fur coat draped elegantly over her shoulders, contrasting beautifully with the dark, rich red of her dress. The dress hugged her figure perfectly, accentuating every curve with a grace that seemed almost unreal. The bottom hem brushed just past her ankles, revealing her black heels with their signature red bottoms—a custom pair made just for her by Thomas and his connections. Thomas felt a swell of emotion as he took her in. Her makeup was flawless, enhancing her natural beauty without overpowering it. The deep crimson of her lips matched the ruby drop earrings that dangled delicately from her ears, the diamonds in her dog collar necklace catching the light and adding an extra sparkle to her already radiant presence. Her hair was styled in a poodle bob, a classic look that gave her an air of timeless elegance.

He rose from his seat and stamped out his cigarette in the ashtray on the table; the movement drawing the attention of the room, but he paid no mind to the eyes on his back. His focus was entirely on her. With a few long strides, he closed the distance between them, his hand reaching out to pull her gently by the waist. As the door closed behind her, sealing them off from the world, he leaned in close, his breath warm against her ear.

"What did I ever do.." he sighed softly again, "...to get so lucky with someone like you?" he murmured, his voice thick with emotion and the smell of cigarettes, whiskey as well as his natural musk he has. He tilted his head slightly, inhaling the scent of her hair—a delicate fragrance that sent a shiver down her spine. The sensation of his breath and the intimacy of the moment made her heart flutter.

She smiled up at him, her eyes full of warmth and adoration. "Maybe it’s not about luck, Tommy. Maybe it's just meant to be," she whispered back, her voice soft and melodic.

Oh, how she spoke to him; he loved it so, it always melted his cold and dark heart; tugging at his vulnerable little heart strings, oh he would do anything she ever asked him. The quiet laughter from the table behind them went ignored. Thomas was lost in her presence, the rest of the world fading into the background. He traced his fingers lightly over her waist, feeling the delicate fabric of her dress under his touch. Her skin was warm, even through the material, and he could feel her heartbeat quicken under his fingertips. He pulled back slightly to look into her eyes, his own filled with a mix of awe and affection. "You’re too sweet for a man like me," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. There was a rough edge to his words, a hint of the darkness that always seemed to linger just beneath the surface.

She reached up, cupping his face in her gloved hand. "But you’re just right for me," she replied, her smile never wavering.

The sincerity in her words hit him like a punch to the gut. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them; his eyes filled with love as he spoke softly just so she could hear. "ingerul meu," he said, his voice breaking slightly; as he spoke his romani language. It was a rare moment of vulnerability; but it was more rare for him to speak his language and say such caring words, it something that he only ever allowed himself in her presence.

For a few precious moments, they stood there, wrapped up in each other, oblivious to the world outside their small bubble. Her presence was a balm to his troubled soul, a touch of sweetness in his otherwise bitter existence. The noise of the pub, the business, the danger—they all melted away, leaving just the two of them. Thomas buried his face in her hair, breathing in her scent, holding her as if she might disappear if he let go. Her hair smelled like wildflowers, a scent that clashed so wonderfully with the leather and smoke that clung to him. Eventually, the world intruded once more. Thomas pulled back, but kept one arm wrapped around her waist. "Come, sit wit' me," he said, his voice a low rumble, guiding her to the table. He pulled out his chair and sat down, before tapping his lap slightly, the gesture almost gentlemanly despite the roughness of his exterior. She blushed slightly before taking off her off-white fur coat and hanging it on the small coat rack next to him.

She moved to sit down in his lap, her movements graceful and cautious. Thomas helped her get comfortable; his hands gripping her waist to steady her. Each touch was possessive yet tender, as if he were afraid to break her. He occasionally let out a soft grunt, groan, hiss, or a very, very quiet and still moan that only she would hear. These sounds were uncharacteristic of the man known for his stoicism, but with her, he allowed himself to be vulnerable. He eventually let go of her waist and rested his hands in the softness of her lap. Her presence grounded him, her warmth a stark contrast to the cold steel he often felt in his chest. The conversation Thomas once had with Arthur resumed, it was about a shipment of theirs, the details gritty and grim, but necessary. Time passed slowly as they talked about things she didn't need to worry about. She would occasionally feel uncomfortable in his lap, and moved slightly to sit differently. Each time she moved, he let out a soft grunt, groan, hiss, or a very, very quiet and still moan that only she would hear; his reactions a testament to how much he loved and needed her.

Soon, everyone had said what they needed to say, and they called the little meeting to a close. Arthur, John, Finn, Isaiah, and Michael started to get up and leave the snug, their goodbyes curt and businesslike. Thomas watched and waited as they filtered out, his focus shifting back to her as the room emptied. It was just them now, them and the air around them, them and the world only. Thomas sighed, the weight of the world momentarily lifting as he leaned forward to rest his chin on her head, his arms wrapping around her waist to hold her closer. He occasionally sniffed her hair; oh, how he loved how she smelled. The sweet scent was intoxicating, a reminder of the softness and sweetness she brought into his life. His arm now slightly wrapping around her waist; an action that held her more against him. His other hand found its way to her hands; cupping them both in his large, calloused hand, feeling the contrast between his roughness and her softness.

"I heard y' had problems when visitin' Polly the other day... why didn't y'-tell me? Eh'.." His voice was a low whisper as he leaned into her ear, his lips brushing against the soft flesh of her earlobe. The sensation sent shivers down her spine, a mix of his tenderness and the latent danger that always seemed to simmer just beneath the surface with him. "I had 'em handle it, they won' give ye' problems anymore—" His voice filled with a mixture of slow-burning rage for the men who gave her problems she shouldn't have to deal with and a deep, abiding love for her.

His words were a promise, a declaration of the lengths he would go to protect her. His hand tightened around hers, his grip firm but gentle. She was the light in his darkness, the sweetness in his bitterness, and he would do anything to keep her safe. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with gratitude and love, and he felt a warmth spread through his chest, a rare feeling for a man so accustomed to the cold. Her voice was soft when she replied, "I didn't want to worry you, Tommy. You've got so much on your plate already." Her words were filled with the kind of understanding and compassion that only she could offer. She was too kind, too sweet, too loving, and he was acutely aware of how undeserving he felt of her love. He shook his head slightly, his eyes never leaving hers. "You never worry me, love. Yer the only good thing in this bloody world. An' if anyone tries to take that away, I'll deal with 'em myself." There was a fierce protectiveness in his voice, a promise of retribution for anyone who dared to threaten her peace. She leaned into him, her head resting against his chest, and for a moment, everything else faded away. The pub, the business, the danger—they all became background noise to the rhythm of their shared breath. Thomas stroked her hair, his touch gentle, his heart full.

Her presence was like a soothing balm to his tumultuous soul, and in these stolen moments, he allowed himself to savor the peace she brought him. His entire being radiated a dangerous intensity, a brooding darkness that was barely contained beneath the surface. The sharp planes of his face were etched with a perpetual look of determination, his eyes glinting with a mix of love and ferocity. There was a rage simmering within him, a fury that was always ready to explode at the slightest provocation. But with her, that anger was tempered by a tenderness he rarely showed to anyone else. As he sat there, holding her close, his thoughts were a chaotic whirlwind of emotions. He was a man used to control, accustomed to bending the world to his will. Yet, when it came to her, he found himself at a loss. She was everything he had never known he needed: kind, sweet, understanding, and loving. She was the light to his darkness, the softness to his hardness, and he was utterly captivated by her. His tone was dark, his words dripping with unspoken promises; he stopped petting her soft hair. He could feel the tension in her body as he spoke, her confusion evident in the way she shifted slightly on his lap. He picked her up slightly, turning her around to face him. His arm tightened around her back, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. His other hand left her hands and moved to cup her face roughly, his touch firm yet somehow gentle.

"If people ever fuckin' knew..." he began, his voice low and menacing. His eyes bore into hers, searching for any sign of understanding. But she looked back at him with wide, innocent eyes, not comprehending the depths of his words. "The thin's I'd be willin' t'do for yeh," he continued, his touch becoming more possessive, his fingers digging into her soft skin. There was a darkness in his gaze, a promise of violence that he would unleash upon anyone who dared to harm her. "They woul' realize t'one they should b' scared of is not me..." he said, his nose scrunching in a gesture that was both menacing and almost tender. "It's you, love."

She still didn't understand, and that only fueled his frustration. How could she not see that she held more power over him than anyone else ever had? How could she not realize that she was the one thing in this world that could bring him to his knees? He leaned in closer, his breath hot against her skin as he spoke.

"They don't know what it's like, lovin' someone like yeh. They don't know what I'd do, what I'd sacrifice, to keep yeh safe," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "I'd tear the world apart for yeh, I'd burn it all down if it meant keepin' yeh by my side."

His words were a vow, a promise of the lengths he would go to protect her. He could feel her trembling in his grasp, whether from fear or something else, he wasn't sure. But he needed her to understand, needed her to see that she was the most important thing in his life.

"You make me better, love. You make me want to be better," he confessed, his voice softening for a moment. "But that don't mean I won't do what's necessary. That don't mean I won't become a monster if it means keepin' yeh safe." He could see the thoughts piling up in her brain, in her eyes; he could tell by the way her lips quivered, he brushed a thumb across her cheek. His touch was gentler now, a stark contrast to the roughness of moments before. "I love yeh," he whispered, the words carrying a weight that was almost tangible. "More than anythin' in this world. An' I'll do whatever it takes to make sure nothin' ever hurts yeh."

Her skin was soft and smooth, a delicate canvas beneath his rough fingers. He traced the curve of her cheekbone, his touch feather-light, almost reverent. His thumb brushed against her lips, and he felt the warmth of her breath against his skin. The crimson stain of her lipstick left a faint mark on his thumb, a vivid reminder of her presence.

"I've been thinkin' 'bout..." His voice trailed off, rough and gravelly, each word carrying the weight of a thousand unsaid thoughts. He paused, his thumb resting against her lips, feeling the soft, pliant flesh beneath his touch. The struggle to find the right words was evident in the furrow of his brow, the tension in his jaw. "I just wish I could've met yeh before all this." The words finally came, a rough whisper in the quiet of the snug. His thumb traced her lower lip, the sensation sending a shiver down her spine. There was a vulnerability in his voice that she rarely heard, a glimpse of the man beneath the hardened exterior.

He gazed into her eyes, those windows of softness and light that calmed the storm within him.

"Ești prea dulce pentru mine," he murmured, his voice a low rumble, rough and full of the gravel of his Birmingham accent. His Romani roots slipped into his words, a tender whisper of his heritage that only she was privy to. She smiled softly, her eyes reflecting the understanding and love she held for him. Her hand covered his, her fingers curling around his, feeling the strength and callouses of a man who had fought many battles. Before she could respond, he claimed her mouth in a kiss that was more battle than embrace. His lips crashed against hers with a force that spoke of desperation and need, a raw intensity that was both exhilarating and terrifying.

The kiss was a tempest of emotions—passion, anger, pain, and a lingering sadness that he could never quite shake. His arm tightened around her back, pulling her impossibly closer, as if he feared she might vanish if he let go. His other hand cupped her face, thumb brushing against her cheek in a gesture that was almost tender. She clung to him, her arms finally moving to encircle his shoulders, fingers digging into the fabric of his coat as if anchoring herself to him. The kiss deepened, his tongue slipping into her mouth, exploring and claiming in a way that was both possessive and reverent. He tasted the sweetness of her, a stark contrast to the bitter whiskey and smoke that lingered on his own tongue. Her taste was intoxicating, a heady blend of innocence and warmth that he couldn't get enough of. He gripped her face more firmly, his need for her bordering on frantic.

Time seemed to stand still as they kissed, the world outside the snug fading into oblivion. It was as if they were the only two people in existence, bound together by a connection that defied explanation. The kiss went on, a relentless exploration that left them both breathless. When they finally pulled apart, a thin string of saliva still connected their lips, a physical reminder of the bond they shared. Thomas's chest heaved as he caught his breath, his gaze never leaving her face. Her lipstick was smeared, a vibrant red that now adorned his own lips and around his mouth. She looked equally disheveled, her eyes bright with the same mix of emotions that churned within him. He watched as she leaned back against the table, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Without a word, he pulled her against him once more, her face finding its place in the crook of his neck, her breath warm against his skin. His hand moved to the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair as he held her close. The silence between them was thick with unspoken words, a quiet that was both comforting and fraught with tension.

"îngerul meu dulce și dulce," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated against her skin. My sweet, sweet angel. The words were a confession, an admission of a vulnerability he rarely allowed himself to feel. In her arms, he found a sanctuary from the darkness that constantly threatened to consume him.

Her hand moved to his chest, resting over his heart as if to soothe the turmoil that raged within. She didn't need to say anything; her presence was enough, her touch a silent promise that she wasn't going anywhere. He tightened his grip on her, drawing strength from her unwavering support. Thomas's thoughts were a chaotic swirl of emotions, memories of a past marred by violence and loss clashing with the hope that she represented. She was everything he needed but didn't deserve, a beacon of light in his dark, dangerous world. He knew he should push her away, should protect her from the storm that was his life, but he couldn't. She was his, and he would do whatever it took to keep her by his side. As he held her, he couldn't help but marvel at the way she fit so perfectly against him, as if she were made to be there. Her kindness, her sweetness, her unwavering love—they were the antithesis of everything he had known, and yet they were exactly what he needed. She balanced him in a way nothing else could, her softness soothing the jagged edges of his soul.

Author's Notes:

This song is actually so fucking perfect, like it matches Thomas so well. God I can't believe I let this one shot sit on the back burner for this long!!! The reader is literally too sweet for Thomas; because she's too sweet like wine....ahhhhh!!! Please check out these articles to understand it more!!: What does it mean? 'Too Sweet' by Hozier.

The person who asked for an older and dom! Cillian paired w a younger reader; I must tell you that's its being worked on it's just I've had weird problems with it, like it's cursed. I've spent a couple hours on writing for it; then saved it only for it to not save. I've had text formatting problems; the whole 9 yards; everything and the damn kitchen sink.

However it is in the works and should be one of my next uploads; if I don't have problems with it.

To just a simple passer by; I hope you enjoyed this one shot as I did writing it.

[sare11aa11eras]

Daenerys Missandei Irri and Jhiqui!

[Image Description: A full-length drawing of four people, Daenerys Targaryen, Missandei of Naath, and Dany’s two Dothraki handmaidens, Irri and Jhiqui. They are standing progressively farther back from the viewer. Daenerys stands in profile, walking forward, talking to someone. Missandei and Jhiqui have their bodies facing the viewer, Irri is angled slightly to the right side of the drawing. Missandei, Irri, and Jhiqui look at Daenerys. They are standing on a red carpet against a blank background.

Daenerys wears a purple tokar with a gold fringe. She wears her dragon crown, a gold bangle, rings of various materials, a gold vambrace with purple stones, gold earrings with purple stones, and an elaborate necklace with purple stones. From the necklace and the crown dangle long strings of red and black beads. She wears an anklet and leather sandals. A few golden bells can be seen in her hair.

Missandei wears a knee-length light orchid-color dress. It hangs loosely around her. Her dress is trimmed at the hem with purple and blue beads of different lengths. She wears sandals similar to Dany’s. She wears a large V-shaped piece of jewelry similar to a collar around her neck and over her collarbones. It is gold, mostly decorated with purple stones, and a blue butterfly design. Missandei wears earrings with blue butterflies and purple, pink, and yellow stones. She wears a bracelet of alternating pink and yellow stones. Her hair is in braids to pull it away from her face, but is otherwise in an Afro-type style. She holds a tablet and writing utensil in front of her chest. She has an interested expression as she looks up from her writing towards Dany.

Irri wears Dothraki clothes. She wears long trousers, which are blue fabric with a fringed panel of leather along the inside of her leg and groin. She wears leather boots with green, white, and purple painted swirls on them. She wears a dark leather belt around her middle and a belt of gold discs over it. The central gold disc has a green stone. More blue fabric wraps around her chest, either pleated or wrappings. Over this is a painted vest, primarily decorated with blue, green, and white. On her upper arm is an armband with an illustration of a horse galloping in grass. She has leather wrappings on her wrist and opposite upper arm. She wears one visible ring. She wears a leather necklace with a triangular gold pendant and gold triangular earrings. Her hair is in at least three braids, tied off with gold beads. She has bangs. She wears a woven headband of green and blue, with jade stones. Her face is neutral.

Jhiqui also wears Dothraki clothes, although hers do not look practical for riding. Her clothes are primarily fabric of a deep raspberry color. Along the outer side of her trousers is a stripe of leather, fringed at the end, painted with pink and pale purple flowers. On her chest she wears a beaded brooch shaped like a flower, with pink petals and a green “stem”. She wears slippers, in the same material as the rest of her outfit, with a decoration of pink flowers on yellow around the heel. Her vest is laced closed over a green and gold under layer. Her vest is trimmed at the hem with gold discs. Around her middle is a dark leather belt, with a thin belt of gold discs over it. She wears a leather necklace similar to Irri’s, with a circular gold pendant with a garnet stone. Her earrings match this pendant. She wears two rings. Her arm band is gold and garnet. Her hair is worn similarly to Irri’s. She has a bracelet with chips of green jade set in silver on a leather cuff. She has a nose piercing with a gold chain that leads to her earring. She appears to be wearing rouge. She looks mildly interested in whatever is happening. End ID./]

[the-s1lly-corner]

Making friendship bracelets for various crps

Potentially the first part of multiple idk I guess we'll have to wait and see!

Characters: jeff, nina, slenderman, laughing jack

Notes: reader is GN, platonic post but can be read as pining/crushing

CWs: mentions of blood

JEFF THE KILLER

Acts like he doesnt like it but will get defensive if you try to take it back from him

Sucks at making bracelets so if you get one in return(unlikely), it's not the prettiest or best out together.. you think you heard him swearing under his breath while putting it together

Keeps it under his jacket sleeve so it doesn't get covered in blood... he.. oddly seems to be careful of that, when he otherwise wouldn't care

Shoves it into your hands when the string needs replaced, tries to act like it's not a big deal and pushes you to just fix it when you ask questions

NINA THE KILLER

Has experience with making friendship bracelets and necklaces, so she makes quick and decent work when making one for you! Absolutely cherishes the one you make for her and never takes it off

The one she makes for you is colorful and chaotic, but unlike LJ, hers tend to have some sort of theme to string it together instead of being a mess

The bracelet you make for her joins the many that decorate her arms, and she swears shes never going to take it off ever

Unconventional materials, like tabs from cans and pins and so on

LAUGHING JACK

The second you bring up the idea hes begging for the two of you to sit down and make one together!

The one he makes you is a little... much.. he adds as many colors and charms as he can add to it so it may be a little clunky and chaotic, but god hes so proud of himself

The first version of the bracelet you make for him is too small so you need to remake it :( he has very large hands... you also learn that his clothing seems to be a part of his body so the bracelet goes over his sleeve

Probably eating the beads when you're not looking

SLENDERMAN

He doesn't quite get it but he let you slip the bracelet onto his wrist!

Curious head tilt as you ask for his hand and slip it on him, doesn't resist

Doesnt take it off ever, either hes forgotten it's there or he simply wants to keep it on.. if it ever needs to be taken off for one reason or another he tucks it into his suit jacket for safe keeping

Has never made a bracelet himself, for obvious reasons... but you may wake up to a vague mimicry of one left on your table... made with pretty rocks and bones and sticks.. forest stuff

[ghost-proofbaby]

thinking about how eddie munson probably has a ridiculous collection of guitar picks. little jars of them. some collected at shows, some he picked up for a nickel at the only local music shop he's ever trusted to do work on his Sweetheart, some he was gifted for free at his local record shop that he's been frequenting for years now. the little old man running the record shop even gets excited when new vinyls are sent out with promotional merch, and he knows it's a band or musician eddie is into. probably even called eddie in at times and handed him a handful of metallica themed pics, hardly worth much, but solely because "i knew you like them and will find a good use for these, son".

my point is, he's got a pick for every occasion. shitty plastic thin ones for just fucking around with. thicker, nicer ones that might have been proper holiday gifts to him. the kind that are meant to hook on his fingers like rings (he tried using them a few times, especially for rifts, but ended up saying he played better when he felt the strings against his skin instead while picking away). novelty ones, ones that just looked plain cool. so on and so forth.

and he's got his collection just sitting in little jars across his room. he used to keep them in other things, like old ash trays or tin cans he'd cut and mold to be good containers. but then he started dating you, and you insisted on lending him any empty jars you weren't using. you had your own collections in yours: pretty stones found down by the creek, bottle caps of the sodas you and eddie get every time you stop at the gas station right on the edge of town by lover's lake - you even had one of every single crumpled up note eddie had ever given you over your time of dating. a few jars of those, actually. so what was lending him a few spares? at this point, the jars were a collection in themselves, and... well... it was prettier to see his vast collection in those glass jars anyways. being able to pick out the vibrant tones of the guitar pick you'd been with him as he'd purchased two weeks prior, or the pick from the show you'd gotten him tickets to last christmas. it was nice. a cute reminder of time spent, of what made eddie munson tick.

the important thing is, eddie munson isn't blind. he sees the way you look at that collection, especially after he fills the jars with it.

how some days, he'll be strumming away on his guitar, softly humming, and you'll just grab a jar to pick through. interrupting his nonsensical playing to ask him where he got one you didn't recognize, sometimes asking for the stories behind ones he knew you already knew. he'd caught on to the way you just liked hearing him talk, especially about the things he cared most about.

you also really, really liked the pick he wore as a necklace. it was probably your favorite in his collection, and you knew it was his favorite too. giving it as a gift to you was never an option, because it had been given as a gift to him originally by his mom.

so he does the next best thing.

he figures out your favorite pick in his collection. the one you always go back to, the one you ask for the story behind on a nearly weekly basis. one similar to the one always resting against his collarbones. pearly sheen, marbled tones, a slow indent the shape of his thumb being worn into the old tortoiseshell. it's a little less red, a little bit brighter, and he can't even strum it against his strings anymore without thinking of you. it's somehow become his lucky pick - the pick he cherishes most aside the one from his mom.

and the one he chooses to turn into a necklace, for you.

does it all himself. carefully piercing a hole through the top just like his own, picks out a nice chain that costs two paychecks of his, takes an old pocket knife to it and spends weeks carving your initials into the shiny material. he's gentle as hell with it, finishing it off with some gold paint to fill in the carving that matches the chain and swirling tones of the picks.

a week before christmas he nearly backs out of the gift idea, and almost begs wayne to help him go to the mall and pick out some other basic but safe gift for you. a perfume/cologne, a nice sweater, anything. wayne refuses to let him, and the only thing the gentle old man will offer is a nice box for eddie to place that necklace born of love into.

the look on your face on christmas morning, sitting in the center of the munson's living room, on the verge of happy tears as you lift the homemade necklace so gently, soothes away every single doubt ever had about it all.

and the look on wayne's face is a simple, caring, stern vision of i told you so.

[fleurriee]

Fleurr, can you do one where the reader is slowly developing memory loss?

here you are, love!! this is a really angsty one that made me shed a little tear just thinking about going through this, but i hope i did it justice <3

pairing ; neteyam x fem!reader

synopsis ; your mind is slowly beginning to dwindle, but neteyam is forever by your side.

themes ; angst!!! with a little fluff, memory loss

Forgetting things was a part of your life now, as permanent as an extra limb.

You don’t recall the first time it happened, the first time you stood there, mouth agape and confusion etched into your eyes, as your brain tried its damned hardest to recall something in particular.

There’s something ironic in that you can’t even remember that.

At first, you knew you’d brushed it off as just a simple mistake, one of those moments, one of those days. But, as those days crept on, it slowly started to diverge from a rare occurrence into a common one.

Sometimes, it would be the smallest of things, things that you could argue you were bound to forget at some point — where you last left your hunting knife, what you had for dinner the night before, little things like that.

It wasn’t until you couldn’t remember someone’s name, where it really started to hit you hard.

And, unfortunately, that it was one of the things you do remember. Probably because of how embarrassed you were about it.

Nothing about that day was any different — you felt the same, you were happy doing the same things, everything was normal. When night had descended upon the clan, and you spotted a group of Na’vi in the near distance, one of them doing a stupid impression of another hunter from that day, that was when things had changed for you.

Turning to Neteyam, who sat beside you as he started to gather your food for you, you had laughed, enjoying the impression, and began to show it to Neteyam. But, the name wouldn’t come to you. You knew that boy, because you’d been hunting with him for what felt like a million times, talking and laughing, so how could you forget his name?

Your laughter had subsided in an instant, a frown creasing your brow, and Neteyam knew almost immediately what happened. Unbeknownst to you, your mate had been keeping an eye on you since the first time he’d noticed you forgetting things. He supposed it was only a matter of time before it would start to get serious.

Tears had welled in your eyes when the slow realisation that this was truly happening to you knocked you back harshly, turning your head away as you slumped down, mentally exhausted. The comfort Neteyam offered was nice, was appreciated, but even he couldn’t fill in the gap that was your fading memory.

One of the hardest things was coming to terms with it all. At first, you’d refuse the notion, your stubborn self adamant that these little random blips were just one-time things, but a little part of you knew that was never the case.

You’d think, after years of living such a way, you’d be somewhat used to it. But, it never gets easier, despite the help those around you offer.

Today was a particularly bad day. Not in the sense of forgetfulness — throughout, you’d managed to not forget anything, with is a miracle in of itself — but, you just felt… off. Your reality was just a constant nagging sensation in the back of your mind, nothing able to coax your thoughts away from it, not even spending time with your mate.

The two of you are sat close together, hidden within the depths of your kelku (home), the materials draped down so as to give you some privacy. Privacy was something you relished in nowadays, thanks to your… situation.

As you huddled with your mate, hands deftly toying with strings and beads as you continued on with making a new necklace for yourself, you began to wonder down into your thoughts, eyes slightly glazed over and unseeing.

When Neteyam noticed your fingers had stopped in their movements, his gaze pointed at you. His heart all but dropped at seeing your expression.

With a deep sigh, almost as though to prepare himself, he gently nudged against your shoulder so as not to startle you. When you bring your attention back to him, he nods down at your almost-formed necklace. “It’s beautiful,” he says, voice gentle, patient, as always.

A faint smile graces your lips, but it doesn’t reach eyes. Your head drops down. “You’re just saying that.”

Neteyam’s instantly there to care for you, a heartbeat barely gone by. He reaches out, brushing a stray strand of hair out of your face. “I would never.”

But, he would, and you know he has done. There’s nothing malicious to it, of course — Neteyam does it to make you feel better, and you’re immensely grateful for it.

He’s not right, though — the necklace can’t be beautiful because it’s wrong. Something’s missing, something important. You blink repeatedly, hoping your mind might change the way it looks, but nothing happens. As your fingers move the necklace between your hands, you try to notice something off — this was a pattern you know you’ve done many times, on many different pieces of your clothing, and yet, you can’t remember.

You can never remember.

This was supposed to be a little gift to yourself, but now it just feels foreign.

“Neteyam,” you whisper, voice nothing more than a caress, shaking. “How do I normally do this? I can’t remember.”

And, there it is — the inevitable.

He can feel his heart clench within its cage at your words, doing his upmost best to keep his face from betraying how it truly makes him feel. He knows you more than likely know, but Neteyam will always do anything to keep you from feeling anything less than you should.

Despite this being nowhere near the first time it’s happened, it’ll never fail to feel like it is. Every time you forget something, it feels as though he forgets it, too. The two of you are in tune together, two bits of invisible string wrapped tightly together. Whatever you feel, he feels, and every time your heart breaks with disappointment, so does his.

With a tight smile upon his lips, his large hand covers yours, gently moving them around as he guides you through. “Here,” he murmurs, allowing the two of you to work together as he swaps some of the beads around, creating the pattern that is oh-so you. “Like this — how you always like it.”

Neteyam shouldn’t be surprised when you lift your head to find tears pooling within your eyes. “I don’t remember,” you choke out, shaking your head in denial. “It’s like… it’s gone. Like a piece of me is missing. It always feels this way, but it never gets any better.”

Ewya, if Neteyam could wrap you up within the safety of his arms for the rest of your lives, he would. He’ll just have to settle for now. And, when he does, your body instantly melts into his, head falling onto his chest as you begin to hear the steady drum of his heart, a lullaby to your ears. “It’s okay. I’ll remind you, every time, you know that.”

The one question that’s always nagged in the back of your mind since this all started years ago forces its way to the front, and you can’t hold it back any longer. Not with the worries always crossing over one another. “What if I forget you one day?”

Neteyam stiffened. He won’t lie, he’s thought of that, too, but, in the middle of the night, when he awoke tossing and turning as he worried more about you, he realised he’d do everything to make you remember him.

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, hearing you sniffle away your cries against him. “Then I’ll remind you who I am. I’ll do it every day if I have to. No matter how long it takes.”

There’s silence for a moment, before your arms wrap tightly around him, squeezing like your scared his disappear completely. “Promise me.”

“I promise. I won’t ever let you face any of this alone, yawne (beloved).”

You don’t know how long the two of you stayed like that, wrapped within one another’s embrace and the promises between you. The necklace was long forgotten, memories of your past together flitting in and out, relishing in the love for your mate. And, you would hold onto those memories as tightly as you could, with Neteyam on the other end of the cord, guiding you home each time they dared to slip away.

All you could hear was the almost-drowned-out noises of the clan outside your kelku (home), but Neteyam could hear nothing but the vows he made both to you, and to himself. If you ever got to that point where you forgot, he’d always be there to remind you of who he was. And, he vowed that he’d always be there to fight this slow battle with you everyday, day in and day out. Even if it drained him. Even if it killed him.

Because to Neteyam, you were worth all the hard work, worth all the pain, as long as there was a smile on your face.

Always.

[mxmorbidmidnight]

Accessible and affordable goth dress

Oftentimes “alt” clothes from specifically goth or alternative stores are incredibly expensive and also rare to find. Here’s how to dress goth with general resources from everyday stores that shouldn’t cost ridiculous amounts. Goth is about the music but if you do choose to dress in the style here are some easy and cheap items that paired with really any black clothing can make a goth ensemble.

• fishnets for the arms, hands and legs. Wear fishnets under shirts, skirts, shorts, ripped jeans, and as gloves etc. you can get fishnets from party/dollar stores/costume stores.

• belts of any kind, they don’t have to be “gothy” belts whatever you can get your hands on can work. Browse around at local normal clothing stores and second hand stores. Some things you can try are:

- layering multiple belts

- Hanging necklaces, fake pearls, scarves or chains off the belts

- wearing belts over the shoulder and in areas beside the waist.

• knee high socks and stockings are an accessible staple that I find to come in handy often. You can customise these by cutting holes in them. Old socks can be made into gloves.

• cutting holes into plain clothing/adding clothespins.

• leggings/stockings can have holes cut or other patterns to make really cool accessories. I like to wear fishnets underneath stockings with holes cut in them.

• fake plastic pearls from the dollar store (I wear them as necklaces, hair accessories, bracelets, around the waist as a belt)

• cheap Halloween costume supplies can often have black gloves, fake pearl necklaces and other such things that can be utilised. You can also get face paint from here for relatively cheap.

• pick up jewlerry chains, hooks and blank earrings so you can make your own jewlerry out of recycled things and other bits you find around

• to do goth makeup without scouring the internet and spending a fortune you can go to just about any local store, get black eye makeup (eyeliner, eyeshadow) and red lipstick.

• eyelash glue is what I use to glue stuff to my face for makeup looks. Items such as flowers, rhinestones, leaves I’ll attach to my face to further elevate my makeup.

• rhinestones and similar craft supplies can be utilised.

• black nail polish.

• if you have jewlerry layer it up (lots of earrings, necklaces at once). Those sort of “old lady” necklaces you can get from second hand stores and beaded necklaces you can make at home are great accessories.

• I wrap string around my arms as an extra layer of accessory.

•old clothes that are damaged or broken can be cut up and used as new materials

• a comb and the strongest hairspray you can get your hands on. spray it on and back comb, no need for anything fancy. Even a hairbrush could do. You don’t need a “goth” hair styling tool necessarily.

• a white blouse (see Robert smith). You can further personalise the blouse by adding stains, holes, pins and tears.

• black shoes of some kind, they don’t need to be goth shoes, any black shoes you can get your hands on. I’ve used school shoes in goth outfits before

• lots of black skirts in different lengths can be layered instead of buying a full Victorian goth dress or skirt

• leg warmers (if you can find them)

• random fake leather peices from second hand stores can be really helpful when styling. Rather than buying about a million different things or a really expensive Victorian blouse get a fake leather jacket second hand. From there you can layer it with anything. (Same goes for leather skirts).

• cross jewlerry (easier to find then ankhs, bats, pentacles, etc). Second hand stores are great for this, anywhere that old ladies donate their old stuff will be your best friend.

• goth as an off shoot of punk is about diy and artistic expression, I do not think goth fashion should have parameters. Do as you like and steadily develop your own style.

• the spiked hair and white base is not an essential part of being goth. If you like the white face paint then wear it, if you don’t wear it that’s completely fine as well.

• POC are a major and vital part of the goth subculture. Dark skin tones and textured hair do not make someone less goth. Many trad goth style icons were people of colour. To claim that a person must be pale and have hair spiked into a bats nest to be gothic is not only wrong but racist.

[bonefall]

Bit of a random one but rereading the parable of the squirrels got me curious: how would clan cats (or just thunderclan in particular) view black/melanistic squirrels? Have any of them ever seen one? Im not sure how common they are in the uk, but i know they can be relatively prevalent in areas that have them sometimes

Black squirrels are nothing more than a simple morph! They get common in areas that have melanistic genes present as a result of simple genetic drift, though I've seen it proposed that black fur is an advantage in cold areas.

The gene is rare in the populations the Warriors come across, so they almost never see it. In spite of ShadowClan's unwillingness to control the gray squirrel population, ThunderClan is so aggressive about it that the pool stays shallow. Red Squirrels (pishkaf) do not have this gene. Only Gray Squirrels (chakchak) do.

So every time a black squirrel manages to occur, it's treated like a dire omen. Even ShadowClan takes it seriously.

Black as a color is associated with day and night cycles, because of Moon Shadow, Sun Shadow, and Shadowstar. Gray Squirrels are associated with war and benefit at the suffering of others. These things together herald great upheaval-- so cataclysmic that it would likely not be an "honorable conflict."

If you came to your Cleric with this omen, they would be struck with a look of terrible alarm. They'd be interested in its context, what it was doing, if it was eating anything, what its surroundings looked like. Someone like BB!Runningnose, interested in supporting Brokenstar's ambitions, might spin it as a positive sign.

Most Clerics would announce that the squirrel needs to be killed IMMEDIATELY, and launch a massive hunt to destroy it. What would come next would likely depend on the culture of the time, but for the most part I can imagine some sort of mass "purification" ritual. The whole Clan trying to identify how they can avoid the cataclysm, one of the few times where they see a glorious war as a bad thing.

The cat who kills the squirrel would likely earn an Honor Title. It's also very likely that the body of the animal is treated as a very powerful material-- burned to ash to prevent its use in forbidden magic or carefully preserved and made into something special, no in-between.

(Thinking about it... thanks for the idea I'll totally do this for Brokenstar's Cataclysm lmao. The sinew of the black squirrel is probably used to re-string Runny's acorn necklace.)

[a-little-revolution]

where do you shop for clothes? I’m plus size so I know the struggle of finding cute clothes when you’re not shaped the way corporations think you should be, and I’m very curious how you approach it

Hello! I mostly thrift my clothing, since I'm poor and plus size - a big thing for me is layering and accessorizing. I love mixing patterns, materials and textures to give a sort of bog witch meets howls moving castle vibe! I especially love thrift stores that mostly older women go to, so I can get a lot of old fashioned jewellery and things.

Plus size-wise I go for a lot of high waist-ed skirts and dresses, I've pretty much completely ditched pants because finding ones that fit me was always a nightmare (plus trying them on always felt so triggering and draining). When I do buy pants I never go for jeans or tight fit ones, but rather ones with draw strings. Overall leggings are far more size inclusive and I can wear fleece ones in the winter!

Overall I go for fairly cheap pieces and arrange them in colour pallets that I adore, and add a lot of fake pearls, scarves, crystals and jewellery!

Photo description: a series of five photos displaying various outfits within my style. I am a little person with curly green hair (also purple in a couple photos), pointy eyebrows, a beard and gold facial jewellery. The first photo is a mirror selfie of me sitting in my wheelchair at a local thrift store. I am wearing a dark green frilly shirt with a dark blue Lolita dress over it, and a duo-chrome pearl necklace. In the second photo I am wearing red high waist pants with vertical stripes, a sheer orange floral shirt with the top buttons undone, with white and red pearl necklaces. The third photo is another mirror selfie in a book shop, I am standing with my rollator and wearing a dark green dress with a long sleeve purple button up under it. I wear a few necklaces and a black and grey striped tie tied into a non traditional bow. The forth photo was taken by a friend of mine while I am smoking CBD on our porch. I am wearing a purple button up, orange vest, green skirt and green jacket covered in buttons and patches. My jewlery included gold sun earrings, pearl necklaces, and a piece of citrine on a chain. I am wearing round glasses and stars drawn where my eyebrows are shaved off. The last photo is a mirror selfie in the men's washroom where I wear a more punk style - a black tank top over a black and white striped shirt, a black beanie, white pearls and black necklaces. Hearts are drawn where my eyebrows are shaved off.

[house-of-the-sun-project]

[ HoS ] ANCIENT EGYPTIAN AMULETS

The Isis knot is just as iconic as it is mysterious. It is unclear what this knot is meant to represent exactly: some Egyptologists argue it may have been a very ancient form of menstrual pad, while others believe it had religious or decorative purposes."

The Djed Pillar, representing Osiris' spine, is a powerful amulet used by both the living and the dead. Often made from various materials, it is also depicted in Egyptian art with a pair of hands and a feathered crown topped by the sun, symbolizing Osiris and divine resurrection.

The Ancient Egyptians believed the core of our intelligence and mind was the heart, rather than the brain. They couldn’t determine this latter's purpose, so during the mummification process, they discarded it, pulling it out through the nose with a hook, leaving only the essential vital organs to be preserved for the afterlife. In fact, the heart was regarded as both the source of emotions and feelings, and the seat of one's entire being—no wonder it was shaped like a vase!

Even those unfamiliar with Ancient Egyptian art recognize this iconic symbol. Over time, the Ankh, or 'Key of Life,' became synonymous with Egypt itself and its ancient religion. Some Egyptologists suggest that its shape may have been inspired by a knotted cloth, though its use was primarily decorative.

In some murals, strings of Ankh symbols were used to represent water, as it was the ultimate symbol of life for the Egyptians—everything originated from it, making the Ankh a fitting metaphor.

In other depictions, gods are shown 'spoon-feeding' pharaohs and the dead with an Ankh in their hands, symbolizing the soul being revived by the divine as it begins its journey to the afterlife."

One of the most common artifacts found by archaeologists during excavations, the Scarab is an iconic amulet that served many purposes for both the living and the dead.

In life, it was used as a seal, a protective amulet, or simply as jewelry, often worn as a ring or necklace, typically linked to a golden wire. In death, it was frequently placed around the neck and functioned as a protective charm for the heart, earning the name 'heart scarab.'

The scarab was the sacred animal of the god Khepri and symbolized the sun.

For the Ancient Egyptians, the soul was divided into several parts—nine in total, including the physical body. It was crucial that each of these parts made it to the afterlife, allowing the dead to be reborn in the Duat, the Egyptian underworld. The Ba, which represents our unique personality, was often placed on the mummy's chest so it could rest near the heart, another key component of the soul.

In Ancient Egypt, the papyrus stem was a common decorative element. Temple columns were often shaped to resemble this iconic plant. Its frequent appearance in Egyptian art was partly due to its significant color: green, the color of resurrection, sacred to the god Osiris. By placing a papyrus-shaped amulet around a mummy’s neck, the Egyptians believed it would ensure eternal youth for the soul in the afterlife.

The Eye of Horus, modeled after the left eye of the falcon god of kingship, is one of the most iconic symbols of Ancient Egypt. Found in numerous tombs, it was continuously produced from the late Old Kingdom through to the Roman period. It served both as an amulet to ward off evil and as a decoration on boats and mummies. Representing the moon and the righteous nature of the god, it is also closely connected to other benevolent deities, such as Osiris, Thoth, and Ma'at. Tied to the story of Horus's restored eye, it became a symbol of health and healing.

Used exclusively in funerary contexts, this peculiar amulet depicts the index and middle fingers of a right hand, which were believed to 'heal' the incision made by embalmers to remove the mummy’s organs during the mummification process.

[bluesidez]

Bless Your Heart | PROLOGUE: SUNKEN EYES

The places our minds can go, the beauty we can see, and the feelings that we, ourselves, can only imagine. Oh, the places your heart will go.

tread lightly ⋆⋆⋆ pregnancy, mentions of pregnancy symptoms (cravings, morning sickness, changes in the body), mentions of food, character death, angst, a bit suggestive

word count ⋆⋆⋆ 2.7k (much thanks to my beta @slushycoookie 💚)

note on the fridge ⋆⋆⋆ I ask that you walk with me here....just walk with me. The prologue is important to get to the next chapter.

next ℧ masrterlist ℧ AO3

Wrap, wrap, wrap, and pull. Wrap and pull, wrap and pull.

Tempest hummed a melody to keep up with the pattern in her lap. Milky brown, light pink, and cream white yarn was all around her.

A friend showed her how to weave the soft material some years ago. She even helped her to start it, but it wasn’t until now that Tempest felt that completing it was her biggest goal.

Her fingers tremble as she holds the crochet needle in her hand, peach nails getting stuck against the string.

“Shit,” she whispers. The ring on her left hand snags against her square, ruining the pattern and her pace.

Slumping back, she drops her head on the seat of the coach, the feeling of the floor bringing her solitude.

Everything has been off.

Just a few weeks ago, she had been fine. Enjoying life, riding through the water with Magenta, eating dill pickles and boiled peanuts, and more importantly, knocking boots with her husband.

It was exhilarating.

Then irritation set in soon after.

Pork rinds never made her wanted to upchuck more than they did three afternoons ago. The smell in the air after opening the plastic was like her uncle clogging up the bathroom during Easter dinner.

She saw a charm with a mama deer cuddling her baby deer and startled the entire jewelry department with how hard she sobbed.

One night, the atmosphere was just right with candlelight and glasses of wine, but one hand on her nipples ruined the mood. It felt like someone or something had been pushing and pulling against her breasts all night.

To top it all off, she felt exhausted. Going to bed as early as 7 PM, waking up far too late to feed the chickens.

It was all too much.

Her last straw was running out on the dinner her husband made for her. Usually, she could muster up a smile and fight her way through the burnt veggies. Last night though, one bite of sour green beans had her tripping over herself to get to the toilet bowl.

He was distraught, one hand rubbing her back and the other holding back her dangling necklaces.

After that, she decided to do what she was avoiding for way too long.

A piece of white and blue plastic laid over a napkin on the bathroom counter. Black ink on the tiniest screen set her heart into motion. A decision of a lifetime sat in the pit of her stomach.

Right now, she felt more comfortable holding the empty trash can over her lap and finding relief.

A tug on the yarn distracts her. Looking down, she smiles at the three-month-old kitten.

“At least you’re having fun, Maple,” Tempest says. She rubs a hand on her kitten’s belly, laughing as she kicks at the yarn. “My happy baby.”

She was as big as ever, putting the stray cats around the farm to shame.

“I hope your Papa is happy.”

Maple paid her no mind, jumping at the string she was shaking above her.

Tempest stayed on the floor, waiting. Her mind was elsewhere as a gameshow panned across the TV screen.

The living room got darker and darker. Maple was curled up on top of her ruined square pattern, huffing big as she slept.

It’s not until she perks up and runs off her lap, squealing with all that she’s got, that Tempest notices that her husband is home.

“Roe!”

She smiles, listening to him fuss at Maple for climbing.

“This damn cat likes to climb me more than the 200 dollar cat tree we bought her.”

He sits on the floor next to his wife, holding Maple in one hand and wrapping around Tempest with the other.

“That would make two of us,” Tempest hummed.

He kissed her, groaning as her thumb pressed against his ear.

Their foreheads touch, and he rubs his nose against hers.

“How are you feeling today?”

“About the same. How was your day?”

“Same old thing. Nothing exciting until I got back here. ‘M more worried about you, though. You gave me a scare yesterday, Roe.”

She closes her eyes and sighs, hands forming loose fists in front of his shirt. Her heart was pounding and the AC wasn’t helping the heat forming over her skin.

“Hey,” he says. He cradles her head in his hand. “Everything ok? You know you can tell me anything.”

“Anything?”

“You were there when I was out on my ass with just a t-shirt covering my closest parts and a rottie on my tail.”

Tempest snickered, “You had no business playing around with those dogs. And they showed out, too.”

“You were also there when I was drunk out of my mind, serenading you in the middle of the night.”

“Almost woke up the entire dorm with The Temptations. How could I forget?”

“And when I lost bareback for the first time. And when Pops almost knocked me into the grave. And when I fought with my brother. And when your family was ready to rough me up-”

“Miguel. I’m pregnant.”

His smile pauses, face shifting as he looks back and forth between Tempest’s eyes.

“What?”

She got up and ran to the bathroom, grabbing her proof. She hands it to Miguel and hugs her legs close.

“I’m…pregnant. I don’t know how far along, but I haven’t been feeling good for a few weeks.”

Miguel reads the test over and over until the lines blur.

“Oh, Hare, I-I know. I know we’re still building our time together. And I still want that for us,” she wipes the tears falling from his face, the ones that match her own. “We’ll figure this out. If you don’t want the baby, we can go somewhere and, and we can make them go away. I’ll be happy as long as you’re happy.”

“But what about you? Do you want the baby?”

Tempest’s lips curl in and out. It feels like he can see right through her.

“Yes, more than anything.”

He pulls her to his lap as soon as she finishes the sentence. Maple jumps on the couch.

“Then, I’m going to be a Daddy.”

Tempest smiles through her tears, laugh bubbling up. Miguel joins in, hands clasping against hers.

“You want to be?”

“No better time than now, Temp. We’ll give ‘em the world.”

“The world and then some.”

Miguel gets up and spins her around, the sound of her laughter louder than the live studio audience over the TV speakers.

“I…I’m gonna be a Daddy!”

Her face hovers over his as she scans his expression.

There was a glow on his skin that she would be soon to match. A fire lighting him up from inside.

“You’re gonna be a Daddy, Guel.”

She’s so beautiful.

Even as she turns her nose up at the plates he brought home, she’s still beautiful.

“These are your favorite!” Miguel holds out meat from a crab leg.

She gags, tears threatening to break free, “And right now they’re making me want to mess up your shoes.”

He takes the meat back and takes a bite. He furrows his brow, “Actually, I don’t even know if they cooked this right.”

“Spit it out.”

She’s so beautiful.

Even as her favorite pants can no longer button up and she’s sprawled out over the bed about to cry, she’s still beautiful.

“I’ll buy you more pants, Roe,” Miguel sighs as he pulls on a different jacket.

“But these ones make my ass look amazing. And I’m bloated.”

“It always looks amazing. You always look amazing. That’s not going to change ‘cause of some denim.”

“But you always end up eating me up like a sundae because of these.”

He pauses, turning to her as she throws an arm to her forehead dramatically.

“If that’s what you wanted,” his jacket is thrown to the floor, “all you had to do was ask.”

She’s so beautiful.

Even as she’s staring at Miguel in disbelief, rubbing a cold towel across his face, she’s still beautiful.

“You’re irritating me right now.”

“When you get sick in the morning, so do I.”

“I didn’t get sick today, Hare.”

“But I did!”

“What are you going to do when this baby catches a cold? Gets a stomach bug? Breaks a bone?”

He turns his head on her lap, face pressed against her barely visible bump.

“Take care of it. Then, come lay in your arms.”

She’s so beautiful.

Even as she nearly jumps through the ceiling when the doctor lays the gel over her stomach, she’s still beautiful.

“I can never get used to that,” Tempest mumbles.

Miguel kisses her head, “You never liked the cold.”

The two of them are holding hands like they’re freefalling on an amusement park ride watching the transducer go over Tempest’s skin.

His heart is drumming so loud against his chest, Miguel almost thinks it’s his baby instead.

“Alright, family. Would you like to hear your baby’s heartbeat?”

“Yes, please.” Miguel can’t help it.

Like the horses galloping across the plains, the sound fills the room.

Tempest shudders out a laugh of relief, of joy, as she leans her cheek on their clasped hands.

“Oh, Miguel. I think that’s the most amazing sound I’ve ever heard.”

He hums in agreement, eyes never leaving the screen.

“Would you all like to know the gender?”

The two nod. Days of wondering have led to this.

The probe moves and Miguel’s thumb moves over the back of Tempest’s hand as a reminder to breathe.

“It looks like a perfectly healthy baby girl!”

Tempest shouts, all of her intuition and old wives’ tales were validated. She’s getting the girl she wanted.

Miguel hopes she looks like Tempest because Tempest is so beautiful.

Even as she crosses off Miguel’s first choices for a name, she’s still beautiful.

“Why don’t you like Mist? It’s us, Roe! Miguel and Tempest. Mist!”

“We are not naming our baby after condensation, Hare. No.”

“With the way you’re going, her initials are going to be GMO. A farmer’s daughter with the initials GMO? A future cowgirl with GMO on the back of her shirt? Really?”

“It could be cute!”

“It could be lethal.”

Tempest huffs, “Well what else do you have?”

He flips a page in his notepad, “Tempel.”

“Like a temple? You know you would hate that. You barely like stepping foot in a church pew”

“Touché,” he drags his pen down the page, “Teguel.”

“Sounds like kegal. Do you want her to get bullied? Do you really want that for our child?”

He laughs, thinking the frown on her face is beautiful.

Even as she sits a package of frosted sugar cookies and ranch on her stomach for dipping, she’s still beautiful.

“This is rancid.”

“I think you mean delicious. I’m gonna try pickles wrapped in Rice Krispies treats next. Oh! And dill pickle chips with strawberry ice cream. I heard that’s the best.”

“And I need to go get these things now?”

“I suggest you do, unless you want to sleep in Magenta’s stall.”

“Yes, honey.”

He thinks she’s beautiful when she hands him the keys to the truck.

Even as he comes running to the bathroom when she yells his name, she’s still beautiful.

There’s an open half a gallon of milk in his hands and his tank is dangling over his shoulders.

“I think she just kicked!”

He’s not sure where the milk lands, but he’s on his knees, hands on Tempest’s stomach in a heartbeat.

He waits and waits, eyes going from her dark skin to her anticipating face.

Then he calls out to her.

“Baby girl, it’s me. It’s Papa!”

Three sharp kicks have Miguel squeezing around Tempest’s legs tight, pressing long kisses where she left an impression.

Tempest runs her fingers through his short hair softly and hugs him close.

“You got milk all over my floor.”

When she directs his mopping from her pregnancy pillow from the bed, he teases her about being beautiful.

Even with her exhausted state, trying to sleep through his soft chords, she’s still beautiful.

“You would think that this would keep her up, and yet, here we are singing lullabies at 2 AM.”

“I’ll keep humming, Roe. You just rest up.”

The timbre of his voice and his fingers sliding across guitar strings warms the chilly bedroom. His back is piled with two quilts while Tempest keeps a thin bed sheet just under her hips.

As she finally sleeps, Miguel thinks she’s beautiful.

Even when she stands in the mirror, taking in every last change to her body, he knows she’s still beautiful.

He stands behind her, rubbing cocoa butter into her skin. He follows the stretch marks up her stomach in awe. They remind him of roots of a tree, intertwining and intricate.

When he finds her face through the glass, she’s glowing. The black finger waves she sported eight months ago have turned into a small, curly fro with hot pink tips.

“You’re gorgeous today, Mama Roe,” Miguel whispers.

“Thank you, baby.”

The two of them cradle her stomach, sinking into the late afternoon. Maple is asleep upside down on an ottoman having tired herself out from chasing butterflies in the grass.

“Are you ready? To be a daddy?”

“Never been more ready. I got my pink hatband and everything.”

Tempest beams, “I guess it don’t get more ready than that, huh? You got your pink spurs, too?”

“You better know it.”

His words tickle her so, she laughs in his arms for what feels like hours.

She’s so…

Beautiful.

With lips like a heart and a sharp cupid’s bow to match. The top lip darker than the bottom and a mouth like a sailor.

Hair so thick, she cuts it off to not deal with it. The finest pixie cut you’ll ever see. Waves curling deeper than the ocean, grown a little and dyed for fun.

Toned thighs and a once hard stomach from pulling stubborn pigs riding horses without a saddle. Low-rise jeans in almost every shade adorned her closet.

Her eyes are like the sun setting in the summer. Warmer in the depth of the night, holding his heart close, leaving him bare. Orange and burnt umber. Somehow, yellow could make it through. Black pupils with nearly white, shining highlights.

Too beautiful.

“Daddy?”

Miguel breathes in sharp, the smell of freshly cut grass cutting his senses.

A monarch lands on a sunflower planted in the rose gold vase and he blinks.

His knees are starting to go numb and the sun is blaring against his back. He reads over the stone one more time.

A heart like no other, A soul that shines bright

Tempest Monroe-O’Hara

Miguel sniffs as a loose strand of hair goes across his cheek and a face slots against the side of his, nearly knocking his hat off. It’s a familiar feeling.

“Almost ready to go?”

“Yeah, Sunshine, I’m almost finished. I promise.”

“Ok, I’m going to wait on the back of the truck!”

She squeezes his neck and runs to the truck bed, not before her little hands grasp his own.

He rubs his hands against his jeans, head ducking as he thinks.

“Every day, she’s growing up to be more and more like you, Roe,” he chuckles. His throat is tight and some spots on his pants go from dark blue to navy. “Impatient as ever.”

He takes off his hat and looks at the embroidery on the inner rim. The once anticipated date staring back at him is not too far off from the sunset on the marble before him. The pink hatband is still intact.

“And she’s just as beautiful.”

The butterfly dances from the flower to his hat, wings slowly expanding and pinching.

“I hope you’re still watching her grow. I hope you’re still watching us and smiling up there.”

A dragonfly lands next to the butterfly, its abdomen shaking swiftly with iridescent wings buzzing away.

“Daddy!” Gabriella yells. “C’mon! We’re going to miss our show!”

The two insects twist together as they fly off, cool and warm colors mixing with the grass. Miguel sees them off until they become miniscule.

“I guess you heard the princess. Can’t miss our show.”

Miguel gets up and places his hat back on his head. He presses a hand from his lips to the top of the stone.

“Te amo, Roe.”

divider by ⋆⋆⋆ rookthornesartistry 💚

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[lessislost]

Arthur dresses up his court sorcerer in the most lavish clothing he can have made.

Merlin is often seen in purples, violets and blues with the softest materials money can buy.

He has a custom cloak that he wears pretty much everywhere that has three layers but still manages to feel light and doesn't weigh him down. It's a deep blue embroidered with gold string that pictures constellations around his neck and arms.

He has the sturdiest boots that are made especially for traveling and foraging, because even though hes not Gaius's assistant anymore he still helps him out any way he can.

He has a thin head piece that delicately wraps around his head. Its decorated with gold stars- did you know he likes stars? Has Arthur ranted to you about how gorgeous his sorcerers looks when hes covered in gold and stars?-

He's riddled with random jewelry, rings/bracelets/earrings/necklaces, Arthur finds and deems worthy for Merlin.

Merlin constantly scolds him for spending so much money on random items that he doesn't need and absolutely doesn't deserve but he'd never tell anyone that he adores the gifts and loves the feeling of being given things so regularly.

[haddonfieldwhore]

fangs - vessel (sleep token)

vessel x (gn!)reader

warnings: biting, choking, blood, nsfw, inhuman?vessel, mention of mortality and slight toxic behaviour at the end idk how else to put it

word count: 761

vessels frame towered over you as he entered the small room backstage where you had been waiting for him to finish the show. his black body paint had begun to smear across his torso, mixing with the thin layer of sweat that covered his skin. his hands reached for you, pulling you up off the couch you had been sitting on and connecting your lips without a word spoken between the two of you. his grease paint handprints littered the expanse of your skin as his fingers trailed under your shirt, gripping at your waist roughly, holding you impossible close to him.

“ves….” you whimpered as his teeth dug into the plump flesh of your bottom lip, and he growled deep in his throat in response. maneuvering through the room and around the furniture, vessel positioned you between himself and the wall, his kisses trailing down your jaw to find the crook of your neck. the cold material of his mask against your skin in contrast to the warmth of his lips sent a shiver down your spine, and you pushed your hips forward to rub against his. your fingers looped into the belt loops of his black jeans as he shrugged his jacket off, leaving him shirtless, his upper body on full display to you. his long necklaces swayed as they hung from his neck, and you entwined your fingers amongst them.

“vessel-“ you gasped louder this time as he bit down hard on your clavicle, his deathly sharp canines almost like fangs as they drew blood from your flesh. his hands removed your shirt as he reluctantly withdrew from your neck to pull it over your head, and then kissed your lips. the taste of iron in his tongue made your head spin, as the crimson stained his teeth and lips. vessel was often like this after worship, adrenaline coursing through his veins, and needing some way to exhaust it; and you happened to be his favourite.

“my love, tell me what you need.”

“i need you, vessel.” you moaned against his lips as your fingers pulled him closer by the chain of his necklace, his forehead bumping against yours as you both struggled to catch your breath. blood trickled down your chest, vessels eyes growing impossibly dark beneath his mask as he watched its path, transfixed with the sight of it. you took the rare instance that he was distracted as an opportunity to attach your lips to his throat, breaking him out of the trance as he growled deeply at the sensation. you could taste the paint that coloured his skin as you attacked his neck and jaw with dark bruises and lovebites, and vessel could feel his knees growing weak.

“you have such an effect on me, little dove,” he muttered, in a voice that even he almost didn’t recognize as his own. his hips pressed hard against yours, pinning you against the wall as his hands grasped at every part of you he could reach. as you sucked on a particularly sensitve spot on his neck, vessel decided that he’d had enough teasing, and his grip caught your throat, pulling your mouth from his skin, a string of saliva dripping from your lips as you stared up at him, doe eyed and infatuated with the being who stood before you.

“i love you,” you mumbled, humming as vessel tightened his grip in response.

“even now, as i hold your life in my grasp? your mortal fate rests in my hands.”

“especially now.”

he grinned in response beneath his mask, his blood stained teeth on display as your fingers began to fumble with the button of his jeans.

“that pleases me.” he hummed as your hand slipped into his pants and began to stroke his length. you were beginning to feel lightheaded, but it only excited you more as vessel released his grip on your throat, tilting your chin upwards with his thumb and forefinger. “you belong to me, don’t you?” he leaned somehow even closer to your face, his hand on the wall next to your head, bracing himself as you continued to stroke him in his jeans. he admired all of the marks he had left on you thus far; from the black smudges of paint to the angry red bruising around the indentations left by his teeth. his other hand left your chin, tracing down the trail of dark blood that had begun to dry until he slipped his hand into your pants as well, touching you where you needed him most.

“always.”

disclaimer: all screenshots, events, and/or interactions depicted in this are a work of fiction. i have no association with any parties mentioned

[merovingian-marvels]

King’s Field Pendant

This magnificent pendant is the ultimate proof that the “Dark Ages” is an academic concept. Rather than Europe plummeting into darkness because of the “fall” of the Western Roman Empire, it’s more the lack of academic interest in the Early Middle Ages.

This Anglo-Saxon pendant was found on King’s Field (Kent) and is made of gold and garnet, but decorated extremely intricately with gabuchon, filigree and granulation. The garnet was used to form a triskele with round centre and ending in bird heads. At just 3,5 cm across, this was made by a master craftsman with materials from all over the known world.

The pendant might have been worn on a bit of string or rope, or it may have been worn as part of a glass beaded necklace. The pendant likely belonged to a woman.

The British museum, England

Museum nr. .1145.’70

Found in King’s Field - Kent, England