#sacred resin

[epicstoriestime]

A Connection Between Worlds

Capturing the Mystical The Tree of Life has roots that wind through countless cultures, from the Norse Yggdrasil to the sacred Bodhi tree of Buddhist tradition. Its branches stretch toward the divine, while its roots delve into the underworld, embodying the idea of connection—between life and death, earth and sky, humanity and the divine. Kopal, derived from trees thriving in tropical regions,…

[canisalbus]

saw your modern au piece where you tagged 'scenthound' and it just made me think about vasco in the original story after machete dies and how he'll never smell and take comfort in whatever unique smell machete had ever again and whoops I made myself sad

O- oh...

To be honest I don't know if Vasco's sense of smell is significantly better than a non-scenthound dog's (I mean maybe a little? Since scenthounds tend to have large nasal cavities and more room for olfactory receptors than a dog with shorter or narrower snout? But it's not really relevant in this context).

The way I see it, dog people's sense of smell is more acute than ours, but not as overpowered as that of an actual dog. Scents are more meaningful to them. For example, when you spend enough time with someone, your scents start to blend together, and smelling like your partner/family is an important part of bonding. I'd imagine that it plays into grieving process too. Even if you held on to the belongings of the deceased, their specific scent will eventually fade away from them as well.

I've talked about how the dogs perceive smells here and here.

[sob-dylan]

me on woodworking tiktok after the eighth video in a row in which someone makes a table top by pouring a bunch of blue resin between two live edges of wood to create an “ocean effect”:

[iamwinklebottom]

Tarot 📿PICK A CARD🌼: “Random Ass Messages?” Extreme Success, Divine Romance, & Spiritual Hygiene

[fromthedust]

. . . all the tentacles complete — but no, the front one is not right! Some surgery required. Out comes the hacksaw, but only to the wire armature so the arm can be shaped into the correct curves. Then like Dr. Frankenstein I fasten it back together with staples and recover with more resin putty.

And now is time to sand . . .

and sand and sand and sand until it is time for the little sucker cups . . . M2, M2.5, M3, M4, M5, M6, M8, M10, M12 white nylon washers

I pulled out my collection of plastic seals and off we went for days of cupping  —15 days spent modeling the contours of each of the 663 suction cups 

The Blessed Virgin had to be sanded very delicately to give it back some of its immaculateness.

The happiness of some is the dust of others.

Take advantage of this white octopus, it seems that it is very rare to come across one. Shortly after I did my little experiments with paintings — 

A few days to finish the color, but because it will have to go through a few coats of a special glossy glossy varnish, which makes the viscosity so good... mmm yum. Given the size of the room I could not apply it in one go. The drying takes between 24 and 48 hours, so it will probably take me a week to complete the application of this varnish-resin.

If your head is spinning too much, don't look at this indecent image.

Soasig Chamaillard (French, b.1977)

Notre dame du poulpe (Our Lady of the Octopus) - recovery statue with illegible signature, aluminum wire frame, plaster strip, polystyrene, resin (epoxy putty), plumbing seals (plastic washers), acrylic paint, resin varnish - 47 cm high x 70 cm wide - 12 kg - work-in-progress March 20 to May 31, 2015

“I grew up in a Christian Western society. My perspective on life has been a result of my environment and background. The playful interaction of society’s many icons, physical transformations, and the resulting improbable combinations, have culminated in my vision of a woman’s role and place in our society. This inner questioning of a woman’s role, has led me to use one of the most sacred icons in my work, namely, the Virgin Mary. Initially, I begin with damaged statues, either donated or discovered in garage sales, which I then restore and transform. I surely do not mean to shock those who believe but rather to move those who see.”  —  Soasig Chamaillard

http://www.soasig-chamaillard.com/sculpture-sainte-vierge

https://www.instagram.com/soasigchamaillard/

http://chamailleries.blogspot.com/

https://www.facebook.com/chamaillard.soasig

[hadrian6]

The Immaculate Sacred Heart. 2008. Damien Hirst British b.1963 acrylic, painted stainless steel, stainless steel, resin, silicone, sterling silver barbed wire, monofilament, bull's heart, dove's wings and formaldehyde solution. http://hadrian6.tumblr.com

[reality-detective]

Frankincense (Boswellia Carteri) and DNA Repair🧬 💉🤯

Frankincense, or Boswellia carteri, has been revered for its therapeutic properties across various cultures and religious texts, including the Bible. Its usage dates back thousands of years, cited for its capacity to heal and purify. Interestingly, modern scientific research has begun to uncover that the resin of Frankincense may have properties that contribute to cellular health, including DNA repair.

Properties of Frankincense:

Anti-inflammatory: Boswellic acids, the active compounds in frankincense, are known for their powerful anti-inflammatory effects.

Antioxidant: Frankincense is rich in antioxidants, which help protect cells from damage caused by free radicals.

DNA Repair:

Recent studies suggest that frankincense may contribute to DNA repair mechanisms. The presence of compounds in frankincense can potentially support the body's natural ability to heal and regenerate by:

Reducing Oxidative Stress:

Antioxidants in frankincense mitigate oxidative stress, which can damage DNA. By reducing such stress, frankincense helps preserve the integrity of genetic material.

Anti-inflammatory Effects:

Chronic inflammation can lead to DNA damage and subsequently, various diseases. The anti-inflammatory properties of frankincense reduce such risk factors, indirectly supporting DNA repair.

In the biblical narrative, particularly in texts like Genesis and the Book of Enoch, it's mentioned that fallen angels (Nephilim) sought to corrupt mankind's DNA. If seen from this perspective, the concept that frankincense—a substance already revered in biblical times—can contribute to restoring and repairing DNA is compelling and symbolic.

Purification: Frankincense has traditionally been seen as purifying. In the spiritual sense, using frankincense to "repair" DNA could symbolize the restoration of divine order and purity, aligning humanity closer to what some might interpret as the original creation by God.

Spiritual Healing: This idea ties into the broader spiritual and healing properties traditionally ascribed to Frankincense. It represents not just physical, but also metaphysical restoration.

A Fascinating Intersection: The intersection of ancient spiritual beliefs and modern scientific findings presents a fascinating scenario. The idea that a substance mentioned in the Bible as sacred and healing could, in fact, have properties that support DNA repair underscores the timeless nature of traditional wisdom, harmonizing with contemporary science. 🤔

[dolletteamine]

"Meroin: Plaster, syringes and resin. 2012. Even if this work may look blasphemous at first glance, the real theme deals with drugs and not religion. I came up with the idea of ​​transposing a sacred icon into a toxic icon. Whenever the lighter ignites under the spoon, the junkie offers his life to his perverse divinity. The work disturbs because it wants to disturb." - Maria C. Magilla Torre

[novaursa]

Winter's Eve

- Summary: A short story for Christmas Eve.

- Pairing: velaryon!reader/Cregan Stark

- Note: The reader is Rhaenyra's daughter.

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @daeryna @melsunshine @21-princess

- A/N: I'm wishing you all warm and happy Christmas Eve. Be kind to yourself. ❤️

The snow fell thick and silent outside the towering walls of Winterfell, blanketing the world in a hushed stillness that seemed sacred. The air smelled of evergreen and pine resin, mingling with the faint, rich scent of roasted venison wafting through the stone halls. It was Winter’s Eve, the North’s cherished celebration of hearth and kinship, a day to honor the gods for surviving the long night and welcoming the promise of lengthening days.

Candles glowed warmly in every nook of the Great Hall, their light shimmering off the polished swords hung as decorations along the walls. Evergreen boughs and red winterberries adorned the long wooden tables, filling the air with a faint, crisp fragrance. The hall was alive with laughter and song, the kind of revelry that made the cold beyond the walls seem a distant memory.

You stood near the hearth, the massive blaze casting your silver hair in a warm golden glow. Your gown, a deep blood red edged with silver embroidery, stood out amidst the furs and wools of the Northern lords and their families. At your side, Rickon, your stepson, and your eldest daughter, Lyanna, giggled as they shared a slice of honeycake. Your youngest son, Rhaegar, was bundled in your arms, nestled against your chest. His tiny hand reached up to clutch at the strands of your hair, cooing softly.

Cregan entered the hall, a commanding figure even among the gathered lords. His dark hair was windswept, and a light dusting of snow melted on his heavy black cloak. His presence always seemed to fill the room, his deep voice carrying as he greeted his bannermen, clapping hands on shoulders and exchanging hearty laughter.

“Y/N,” he called out as he approached, his grey eyes softening when they found you. “You’ve made the hall shine brighter than the stars themselves.”

“And you’ve brought the winter in with you,” you teased gently, noting the snowflakes still clinging to his beard. “Come here before the children think a bear has wandered in.”

Rickon laughed at that, reaching for his father, who hoisted the boy up onto his shoulder effortlessly. “A bear, is it? Perhaps you should be wary of this bear stealing your mother away.”

Rickon giggled, shaking his head. “Mother would never leave us!”

“Smart boy,” Cregan murmured, ruffling his son’s dark curls before setting him down again.

The merriment paused briefly as Lord Harwyn Manderly, a stout man with a booming laugh, entered the hall carrying a large bundle of fur. He set it down carefully at the edge of the fire, and the bundle shifted, revealing the unmistakable forms of direwolf pups. The room fell into an awed hush.

“Winter’s blessings, Lord Stark,” Manderly said, bowing slightly. “I thought it fitting to bring gifts for your children—a pack for the pack, as it were.”

The pups, four of them, were small but already carried the proud features of their species: thick, shaggy coats, sharp eyes, and strong paws. One was silver-grey, like freshly fallen snow; another was black as night. A third was mottled white and grey, while the fourth was a soft brown, almost tawny.

Rickon was the first to approach, his face alight with wonder. “Are they truly for us?” he asked, glancing at Cregan.

“Aye,” Cregan said, his voice warm with approval. “The North remembers its own. A wolf for each of you.”

You knelt beside Rickon, helping him approach the pups. The black one padded forward and sniffed Rickon’s outstretched hand before nuzzling into it. The boy’s face lit up with joy. “This one’s mine!” he declared, holding the pup carefully.

Lyanna hesitated before stepping closer, her small fingers gripping your gown. You encouraged her gently. “Go on, sweetling. They’re meant to be yours.”

The silver-grey pup seemed to sense her shyness and padded over, wagging its tail. Lyanna giggled as it licked her hand, her bright eyes wide with delight. “I’ll name her Frost,” she whispered, hugging the pup to her chest.

Even little Rhaegar was not left out. Cregan held the mottled pup up for him to see, and the baby cooed, reaching out to touch its soft fur. “He likes you already,” you said softly, marveling at how the wolf seemed to settle instantly in Cregan’s arms, as if knowing it belonged to the smallest Stark.

The brown pup, meanwhile, padded up to you, its head cocked as if studying you. Cregan chuckled. “Seems you have a wolf of your own, my love.”

You reached down to scratch behind its ears, smiling as it leaned into your touch. “Then we’ll call her Ember,” you said. “A wolf to match the fire in our hall.”

The celebration continued late into the night, with the wolves curling at the feet of their new masters and the children’s laughter echoing through the hall. Cregan pulled you close as the night deepened, the warmth of his presence as steady as the roaring fire.

“This,” he said quietly, his voice filled with reverence, “is what Winterfell was always meant to be—a home, filled with life and love.”

You leaned into him, watching your children and their wolves play in the firelight. “And it always will be,” you replied, your voice soft but certain, “as long as we’re together.”

The warmth of the previous night’s celebration still lingered, faint strains of music and laughter echoing in the air as a few lords and ladies, who had stayed the night, stirred slowly in their chambers. Fires crackled in the hearths, and the scent of bread baking in the kitchens mingled with the crisp winter air.

You stirred awake to the sound of muffled giggles and the unmistakable pitter-patter of small feet on the stone floor. It took only a moment to realize that the source of the giggles was your children. Rolling over, you found Cregan still beside you, his arm draped protectively over your waist, his breathing steady and deep in sleep. Smiling softly, you disentangled yourself from him and slipped out of bed, wrapping a fur-lined robe around yourself to shield against the morning chill.

The giggles grew louder as you stepped into the corridor, and you followed them to the courtyard, where Lyanna and Rickon were already bundled in their cloaks, dragging their new direwolf pups along on makeshift leashes fashioned from ribbon. Rhaegar toddled after them, clutching a toy carved from weirwood, while the brown direwolf pup, Ember, kept a watchful eye on him.

The sight brought a smile to your face, but the moment of quiet admiration was short-lived as you noticed what—or rather who—they were approaching.

In the far corner of the courtyard, nestled in the snow, lay your dragon, Balelyx. His massive, silver-scaled form shimmered faintly in the morning light, his great wings tucked tightly against his body to conserve warmth. Wisps of smoke curled from his nostrils as he slept, the ground around him melted into dark slush from the heat of his presence.

“Lyanna Stark!” you called out, striding quickly toward them. Your voice carried a note of warning, and the children froze mid-step, turning to look at you with wide, guilty eyes. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Rickon, always the boldest, spoke up first. “We just wanted to see if the wolves liked dragons.”

“Dragons and wolves don’t always mix well,” you said, softening your tone as you knelt beside them. “Balelyx is still half-asleep, but if you startled him...”

“He wouldn’t hurt us!” Lyanna interrupted, clutching her silver direwolf pup protectively. “He’s your dragon, Mama. He’d know we’re family.”

Your heart softened at her innocent trust, but you still shook your head. “Balelyx is a dragon, my love. He’s not like the wolves. He follows his instincts first and foremost. Come, step back.”

The children reluctantly obeyed, though Rickon glanced longingly at Balelyx’s massive tail, which twitched faintly even in sleep. “Can’t we just sit near him?” he asked. “We promise to be quiet.”

Before you could answer, a deep rumble echoed through the courtyard as Balelyx opened one great, molten eye, focusing immediately on the children. The dragon lifted his head slightly, a plume of smoke curling from his nostrils. For a moment, the children held their breath, but Balelyx only huffed softly, his tail curling protectively around his body as if acknowledging their presence but not perceiving them as a threat.

“See?” Rickon whispered triumphantly. “He likes us.”

You sighed, reaching out to stroke Balelyx’s scaled neck, murmuring softly in High Valyrian. The dragon relaxed under your touch, and you turned to the children. “You may sit nearby, but no loud noises, no sudden movements. And if he so much as growls, you’ll come straight to me. Understood?”

They nodded eagerly, settling onto the snow-covered ground with their pups, who sniffed at the dragon curiously but kept their distance. Balelyx watched them lazily for a moment before lowering his head back onto his forelegs, his eyes half-closing.

The scene might have remained peaceful if not for the arrival of Lord Harwyn Manderly, still dressed in his fine green doublet from the night before. His booming laugh shattered the stillness of the courtyard as he approached, accompanied by a few other Northern lords who had stayed the night.

“Well, well,” Manderly said, clapping his gloved hands together. “It seems the little wolves are braver than most grown men, sitting so near to such a beast.”

“Lord Manderly,” you said, rising to greet him with a polite smile, “Balelyx is no beast. He’s a dragon of Valyria and far smarter than he appears.”

“Smarter, perhaps, but still dangerous,” Manderly countered, though his tone was light. He turned to Cregan, who had appeared in the courtyard as well, his dark hair still tousled from sleep. “What say you, Stark? Shall we make this a Northern tradition—dragons in the snow?”

Cregan chuckled, crossing his arms as he surveyed the scene. “I think it’s enough that the children have wolves, Harwyn. Let’s not tempt fate by encouraging them to bond with fire as well.”

The lords laughed, their voices carrying across the courtyard, and you couldn’t help but smile at the warmth and camaraderie that lingered even after the festivities. Cregan approached you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as he gazed down at the children.

“They’ve inherited your boldness,” he murmured, his voice tinged with pride.

“And your stubbornness,” you replied, leaning into him. “We’ll have our hands full with these three.”

“Aye,” he agreed, his tone warm. “But there’s no joy greater than this.”

The morning passed in a blend of lingering celebration and quiet moments like these, the North’s stoic strength softened by the warmth of family and kinship. Winterfell, in all its cold and grandeur, had never felt more alive.

[emanemanem]

Leona smut/enemies to lovers??

You can feel Leona’s cool, crimson blood streak your hands as you choke him, You mounted on top of him in order close the distance between you two, so you can have a better reach at his neck while suffocating him.you start to take notice that you've been stifling Leona for a while now yet he has shown no signs of losing air, instead he's smirking,almost as if he finds this “pleasurable??” you get mad at your own thought and tighten your grip to strangle harder endeavouring to “hurt him more”

Leona: “Argh!”

“Well that's what you get for mocking me” you say somewhat proud that you've managed to inflict SOME form of pain on him. Then you see a slip of paper, sliding off his pocket, its tiny and its flipped upside down so you can't see whats written on it, if there IS anything written on it at least. Curiosity moves you to reach towards it and suddenly as you move, before you can react you feel something heavy and hard swing at you head. You roll off of him and you head hits the ground. You don't feel any pain (at least not yet) but you do feel a cold liquid at your head and a empty feeling in your stomach, confusion washes over you Once you feel the pain come in, you realized that you’ve been hit and stabbed. Without a doubt but by what? By who? Certainly not Leona that's for sure, how could he have hit you? You were ontop of him, he was stuck and his hands couldn't reach you. You can feel someone with large heavy hands agrresively taking you by the hair. You can hear fighting, you know its the sound of fighting because there's people yelling, swords clashing, and the smell of smoke its filling your brain, is Leona fighting? You wonder to yourself.Your body is numb and your too weak to move so you can't move, yet you try to turn your head to look at Leona, he stares at you his face bruised in shock while you stare at him your face splattered with your own blood.

————————————————-

Am I dreaming? You ponder to yourself as your surrounded in warmth. You feel no pain,no agony you do hear the hum of a melody in the distance everything bad starts to fade away. all the sorrows and injustices of your world vanish in this paradise, it smells amazing by the way, smells like the sun, a warm smoky aroma, the sharp bite of black pepper and cardamom mingling with the resinous richness of amber.beneath it lingered the raw primal earthiness of vetiver, balanced by the faint, almost sacred whisper of myrrh.the melody sung earlier could be heard more clearer and the song seemed to hum with the heat, that voice is familiar the smell is familiar, an untamed smell wrapped in leather and shadow, a masculine voice, sexy yet relaxed. Wait no it can't be. There's only one person in the entire world that perfect.

“Leona!!”

You yell raising up from his lap, he was the one humming.

“Finally, never thought you’d wake up”

He says his voice relaxed and accustomed to the situation

“What happend where are we!? Wait nevermind that doesn't matter I'm leaving!”

You say as you move to get off the bed and leave.

Leona almost immediately lays you back down

“where do you think you're going? You’re not slipping past me that easily”

he says more mischievously than usual as he pins you down to the bed. He starts peppering your neck slowly with kisses. You let out a soft moan and turn you head away in embarrassment. He takes you by your chin and turn you head towards him

“Oh don’t hide now,I want to see you just like this~”

he says his voice low and smooth. You try your to reply but he quickly kisses you passionately to shut you up, you open your mouth to breathe but he doesn’t stop and instead uses it as an opportunity to get some tongue in. You shiver as He reaches his hand up your shirt and unhooks your bra with one hand and takes your shirt off with the other ,he takes his shirt off too, and oh my god what a sight to behold.you see everything, his broad shoulders, narrow waist, well defined muscles, sculpted chest and abs, he also had a few scars on his sides, of course he did with that rugged life style of his, he moves to take your pants off you

As he slides your pants down, the rush of cold air brushing against your skin would make you shiver slightly. Noticing your reaction, his smirk would deepen, and he chuckled softly under his breath.

“getting cold already? Tch guess I’ve got to take care of that”

he'd murmur, his voice low and smooth, before leaning in closer, his body heat radiating against you to chase away the chill.

He kisses you once more.his body as hot as the sun, melting you away in his arms. He takes his pants of too. He looks down and you seductively and asks you

“You ready herbivore?~”

you nod and you both get started

—————————————————-

If only words could describe the pleasure you’re feeling right now,pleading his name, begging for more,you can’t help it, he’s thrust into your cunt, the hot heavy air and his kissing is making it hard to breathe. You moan as he bites your neck, he’s got you sweaty and breathless while he shows no signs of stopping,

Leona pushes his length into you once more, he starts thrusting into your hole over and over again. You start to feel warm butterfly’s in your stomach shift into good pain once he yanks you by the hair, flipping you over to change both your positions and get on-top of you.

“Don’t get tired now, we havent even started yet.~..” he says purring in his deep voice that you have grown so accustomed too. Teasing you as he always does.he shoves his shaft in you again deep and rough and a loud moan comes out of you’re mouth, he starts grinding you pussy fast and hard, and you could swear you see stars.

s-slow down!

you tell him but he doesn’t stop. He kisses your throat and starts biting bits of your neck, covering you with his marks of love.You can feel your climax coming in and you feel your legs anymore as your body starts to fall apart to his touch. He grinds faster and you start to move your hips too, you can hear him grunting as he starts to burn out as well but his pace doesn’t change, he has his strong arms pressed against yours holding you still while he devours you, the room carries the intense heat of a sauna, you kiss him passionately and your tongues start to melt into each other, mixing and intertwining into a lustful bliss. Your bodies combining and becoming one.he leans closer, his chest grazing yours, you wrap your arms around his neck to pull him closer, you moan resting you head on his shoulder.as you both get close he starts to call your name under his breath while fucking you. Again and again you hear him voice your name, listening as if it were an anthem, it’s almost as if he’s taunting you. Reminding you that no matter how much of him you consume, it will never be enough. You close you eyes shut as you release. you still hear Leona calling your name, gentle ,relaxed. Different not the same way he was calling you before.

——————————————

you open your eyes and wake up, in history class.

he stares at you. His face unfairly close to yours,

“finally, never thought you’d wake up” he says, repeating what he said in your dream.

You open your about to scream in the middle of class but fortunately for everybody in class, he quickly places his hand over your mouth to keep you quiet.

he gives you a smug smirk once he pulls his hand away from you and says

“you were calling my name, I mean I don’t mind but if you wanted me you could have just said so~.” Leona tells you, he whispers his deep voice filling your ears, with a sly smirk on his face

The bell rings and you take Leona by the hand and take him to his dorm room, you lay him down in bed, take your shirt off and climb on top of him and gaze into deep forest eyes and tell him.

“Fuck me, the same way you did in my dream”

he gives you a surprised look but his expression quickly shifts into arousal as he says

“Don’t keep me waiting—let’s get started~”

-(note from author: the dream part is just extra lol I didn’t know how else to finish it😭 , the ending is readers choice 👍 also sorry if there’s any spelling mistakes )

[talonabraxas]

Ascension Tree Talon Abraxas The Origin of the Christmas Tree A Recent Christian Tradition Whose Roots Are Ancient and Pagan The custom of the Christmas tree is a very recent institution. It is of a late date not only in Russia, but also in Germany, where it was first established and whence it spread everywhere, in the New as well as in the Old World. In France the Christmas tree was adopted only after the Franco-German war, later therefore than 1870. According to Prussian chronicles, the custom of lighting the Christmas tree as we now find it in Germany was established about a hundred years ago. It penetrated into Russia about 1830, and was very soon adopted throughout the Empire and the richer classes.

It is very difficult to trace the custom historically. Its origin belongs undeniably to the highest antiquity. Fir trees have ever been held in honour by the ancient nations of Europe. As ever-green plants, and symbols of never-dying vegetation, they were sacred to the nature-deities, such as Pan, Isis and others. According to ancient folklore the pine was born from the body of the nymph Pitys (the Greek name of that tree), the beloved of the gods Pan and Boreas. During the vernal festivals in honour of the great goddess of Nature, fir trees were brought into the temples decorated with fragrant violets.

The ancient Northern peoples of Europe had a like reverence for the pine and fir trees in general, and made great use of them at their various festivals. Thus, for instance, it is well known that the pagan priests of ancient Germany, when celebrating the first stage of the sun’s return toward the vernal equinox, held in their hands highly ornamented pine branches.  And this points to the great probability of the now Christian custom of lighting Christmas trees being the echo of the pagan custom of regarding the pine as a symbol of a solar festival, the precursor of the birth of the Sun.  It stands to reason that its adoption and establishment in Christian Germany imparted to it a new, and so to speak, Christian form. Thence fresh legends – as is always the case – explaining in their own way the origin of the ancient custom. We know of one such legend, remarkably poetical in its charming simplicity, which purports to give the origin of this now universally prevailing custom of ornamenting Christmas trees with lighted wax tapers.

Near the cave in which was born the Saviour of the world grew three trees – a pine, an olive, and a palm. On that holy eve when the guiding star of Bethlehem appeared in the heavens, that star which announced to the long-suffering world the birth of Him, who brought to mankind the glad tidings of a blissful hope, all nature rejoiced and is said to have carried to the feet of the Infant-God her best and holiest gifts.

Among others the olive tree that grew at the entrance of the cave of Bethlehem brought forth its golden fruits; the palm offered to the Babe its green and shadowy vault, as a protection against heat and storm; alone the pine had nothing to offer. The poor tree stood in dismay and sorrow, vainly trying to think what it could present as a gift to the Child-Christ. Its branches were painfully drooping, and the intense agony of its grief finally forced from its bark and branches a flood of hot transparent tears, whose large resinous and gummy drops fell thick and fast around it.

A silent star, twinkling in the blue canopy of heaven, perceived these tears; and forthwith, confabulating with her companions – lo, a miracle took place.

Hosts of shooting stars fell down, like unto a great rain shower, on the pine until they twinkled and shone from every needle, from top to bottom.  Then trembling with joyful emotion, the pine proudly raised her drooping branches and appeared for the first time before the eyes of a wondering world, in most dazzling brightness.  From that time, the legend tells us, men adopted the habit of ornamenting the pine tree on Christmas Eve with numberless lighted candles.

[lailoken]

The Gloaming Tethers

The Gloaming tethers are a pair of ritual fetishes that hold great significance in my personal tradition.

The first of the two pictured here (from left to right) serves a talismanic link to my Witch-Queen—who I often call Bone Mother—and to the Chthonic Realm of the Underworld that she oversees. It was fashioned from a Black Basalt Hagstone, secured by a cord strung with 13 bone beads, including six beads made from Prehistoric Horse Bone, six beads made from Prehistoric Deer Bone, and one bead made from Antique Whale Bone that I inherited. The end-piece is a token of 6,000 year old Bog Yew, carved with a triskelion, and glazed with a wood varnish made using Storax resin. I utilize this Talisman when working with Ancestral Spirits, or with Chthonic Wights, such as psychopomps.

The second of these serves a talismanic link to my Witch-Father—who I often call Wilding King—and to the Upper Realm of the Elemental World that he oversees. It was fashioned from a White Quartz Hagstone, secured by a cord strung with 13 handmade wood beads of alternating Elder, Hazel, Hawthorn, and Rowan. The end-piece is a token of local Elk shed-horn, carved to resembled a great tree, and glazed with a wood varnish made using Amber resin. I utilize this Talisman when working with Animistic Spirits or Elemental Wights.

Each of these Ritual Tethers are sacred to me. They each rest in places of power, pertinent to their respective magical nature, when not in use.

[canisalbus]

not sure if you've given them canon scents, but i've found myself imagining how your dog boys smell since i tend to like,, assign scents to characters/art i really enjoy (my nose is very sensitive, haha) so in my head, i think that machete smells a bit like flour ... and freshly washed laundry. his scent is distinct but not overpowering at all--its subtle, and typically goes unnoticed. as for vasco? he smells like cashmere :)

Flour boy...

I'd say these are good headcanons! I'm also kind of scent oriented irl so I know what you mean, and I've thought about what my characters might smell like.

Machete smells mostly of frankincense, which is one of the key ingredients of the incense burned in catholic churches during worship. It's hard to describe but I'd call it sweet, resinous, woody, citrusy and smoky. He doesn't wear perfume in the canon setting but the sacred smoke clings to his fur and clothes for a long while. Other than that, there may be a fleeting trace of lignin and ink from the endless stacks of books and papers he surrounds himself with, mild soap, and the lingering evidence of any medical treatments he's been recently put through, even if he tries his best to scrub those away.

Vasco smells primarily clean but distinctly alive and organic, if that makes sense. Like a well-rounded mix of earth, sun-warmed animal fur and carefully oiled leather from his boots and riding gear. Horse aromas are never too far away, especially when he's off-duty and outdoors. You may able to detect the subtle fragrance of his expensive soap, and he's been known to add in a drop of perfume when he's dressed to impress, his preferred notes being iris root and damask rose.

In modern au, both wear scents on occasion. I could say Machete's routine choices might be Etat Libre d'Orange's Rien and Heeley's Cardinal. Vasco fancies Tom Ford's Tuscan Leather and ELDO's Tom of Finland.

[whencyclopedia]

Agni

Agni is the Hindu god of fire. He is regarded as the friend and protector of humanity, in particular, he safeguards the home. Various forms of fire are associated with Agni and include the sun, lightning, comets, sacrificial fire, domestic fires, the fire of the funeral pyre, and the digestive fire which is within all humans. Agni was especially important in the Vedic period (1500-500 BCE), and the Vedas contains more hymns to him than to any other deity. He is still considered today omnipresent though not directly worshipped. Agni knows the thoughts of all people and is a witness to all important actions, hence the use of fire in many important Hindu ceremonies such as marriages. He is also referred to in sacred texts such as the Mahabharata as the 'Oblation-devourer' and the 'Purifier'. With flaming hair and riding a goat, he is easily identified in Hindu art.

Agni's wife is the daughter of King Nila who impressed the fire god by being the only woman in the kingdom who managed to kindle a flame in the royal palace. In some myths, Karttikeya (Skanda), the Hindu god of war, is Agni's son and the result of Agni's conquest of the Pleiades, the wives of the Seven Sages.

Agni & Various Fires

Agni is the son of the Celestial Waters, and that element is closely connected with fire which is thought to be carried down to earth within rain. From there fire is drawn up by vegetation and so when two sticks are rubbed together fire appears. Agni is also responsible for lightning which is born from the god's union with the cloud goddess. Another fire Agni is associated with is the funeral pyre; in this role, he leads the dead to their final judgement by Yama, ruler of the Underworld.

Agni is perhaps most closely associated with sacrificial fires where he is thought to carry the offerings of humans to the gods. According to various myths, Agni was at first afraid to take on this duty as his three brothers had been killed already whilst performing the task. Consequently, Agni hid in the subterranean waters but, unfortunately, fish revealed his hiding place to the gods. As a result, Agni cursed them so that fish would become the easy prey of men. In another version it is frogs, then elephants, and then parrots which reveal Agni's attempts at hiding and the god punished them all by distorting their speech ever after. The final hiding place of Agni in this version was inside a sami tree and so it is considered the sacred abode of fire in Hindu rituals and its sticks are used to make fires. Reluctantly taking up his duty again Agni did negotiate by way of compensation to always receive a share of the sacrifice he carried to the gods and he was given the boon of ever-lasting life.

Agni appears in all forms of fire and even those things which burn well or have a certain lustre. In the Brhaddevata we are told that at one point Agni is dismembered and distributed among earthly things. The god's flesh and fat becomes guggulu resin, his bones the pine tree, his semen becomes gold and silver, his blood and bile are transformed into minerals, his nails are tortoises, entrails the avaka plant, his bone marrow sand and gravel, his sinews become tejana grass, his hair kusa grass, and his body hair becomes kasa grass which was used in sacrificial rituals.

Over time Agni's importance as a god diminishes, a fact explained in the Mahabharata as due to his overindulgence in consuming one too many offerings. In the Visnu Purana he is described as the eldest son of Brahma and Svaha is his wife. Together they had three sons, Pavaka, Pavamana, and Suchi, who in turn had 45 sons, which, including their fathers and grandmother, totals 49, the number of sacred fires in the Vayu Purana.

Agni, according to one Rigveda hymn attributed to the sage Vasistha, also has a darker side. Similar in nature to the 'flesh-eater' demons, the raksasa, he has two wickedly sharp iron tusks and he devours his victims without mercy. However, when called upon by the gods, Agni destroys the raksasa with his flaming spears. This episode, when Agni becomes a servant of the gods, is illustrative of his fall from the pinnacle of the pantheon.

Continue reading...

[klutzyghost13]

Current Bookmarks for Sale

Message me if interested

Nick Nelson - $25

Charlie Spring - $10 (Some Mistakes)

Teen - $25

Rio - $25

Agatha - $25

Mayor - $25

Shock, Lock and Barrel - $25

Oogie Boogie - $25

Sally - $25

Zero - $10 (Some Mistakes)

Jack - $25

Jennifer - $10 (Resin spill on front)

Lilia - $25

Alice - $25

[radiojamming]

PLEASE tell us more about mummy types, i know ice is your fave so feel free to go ham on that but all of them are so interesting to me

drives up in my cozy coupe that has MUMMY MOBILE written in sharpie on the side (ALSO PLEASE EXERCISE CAUTION WHEN LOOKING THESE UP; SOME OF THEM LOOK VERY GNARLY)

ICE/PERMAFROST - If you've followed me for a little while, you probably know more about these than the average fella! These are your Beechey Island Trio, your Ötzi the Iceman. Ice keeps bacteria from turning the body into a smorgabord, thus keeping these people fresh (and fluid-filled) for hundreds to thousands of years. And maybe some day down the line, some nerd finds you and thinks you're beautiful and never shuts up about you.

THE BOG - It's Tumblr. You all know about The Bog. Bog bodies are essentially turned into leather purses by the tannins and the anaerobic qualities of The Bog, sometimes effectively snapshotting their causes of death (usually something violent). Special shoutouts to fan favorites like Tollund Man, Lindow Man/Pete Marsh, Yde Girl, Grauballe Man, and Windeby I. And Hozier, probably.

HOT, DRY DESERT AIR - Think the Atacama Desert, the Mummies of Guanajuato, or your pre-embalming times Egyptians. In fact, it was the natural qualities of desert air that probably tipped the Ancient Egyptians off to the fun and fabulousness of preservation. You dry out to potato chip crispness but lose all the wet bits. Also Anubis is probably repping you.

ARID, COLD MOUNTAIN AIR - Same idea as the desert as far as lack of humidity, but better for your skin. Mountaintop mummies are some of the best preserved in the whole world. La Doncella is a fantastic example, as are the rest of the Children of Llullaillaco or the Cherchen Man and Siberian Ice Maiden. Sometimes this was done on purpose (hi bog bodies), but sometimes people just go up to high altitudes, die, and stay there forever.

HONEY/MELLIFICATION - This one doesn't fit the bill of spontaneous mummification, which is what I study. Honey mummies are made on purpose, allegedly by feeding someone honey until they're dead, and then dunking them in a coffin full of honey for them to steep like tea for the next century or so, then digging them up and making medicine/snacks out of them. Lots of alleged's, but still pretty cool if you're into idk becoming one with the slime.

SALT - Human jerky! Salt does to you what it does to all the other edible meats, of which you're just another brand. Salt sucks all the moisture out and keeps you nice, fresh, and flavorful forever and ever. The Saltmen of Iran are Thee Pinnacle of this type of preservation. Bonus is that you get weirdly sparkly when you're salted like a slug.

SAPONIFICATION - You become soap. Actually, if you want to get technical, you turn into what's called corpse wax (which is a surprisingly badass name for turning into a human candle) or adipocere. Mrs. Ellenbogen of the Mütter Museum is probably the best example of this, but it also happens to, uh, cave divers. Which is another great reason not to go cave diving.

PRISTINE AIR OF A SACRED BUILDING - Catacomb mummies! Incorruptible saints! Sokushinbutsu! If you're stuck in a religious house of worship and it just so happens to have its own little ecosystem (usually pretty dry, probably full of resinous incense), there's a non-zero chance that you'll get preserved very similarly to the mountain mummies. Getting stuck in a crystal casket doesn't hurt either. (Disclaimer: this is semi-anthropogenic for those keeping score at home. Some of these mummies are preserved this way on purpose.)

TAR PITS - Like the bog, but hotter, stickier, and smellier. Go in the tar, have no oxygen causing you to fall apart, turn into another leather bag time capsule. This more often happens to animals like those in the La Brea Tar Pits than people. At least that we know of.

WEIRD, AS OF YET UNKNOWN MEANS - Can we say for sure that there was only one reason why Lady Dai/Xin Zhui's stayed so preserved for so long? What about the other wet mummies? What about ones people find in trees? Or whatever the hell was going on with Elmer McCurdy? Maybe it's not unknown, but it doesn't fit the bill of typical mummies, or there are so many factors at play leading to preservation that we can't just call it by one category.