#temet nosce

[brandmauer]

[raisedinerebor]

Temet Nosce

Chapter 7: Home

Pairing:

Song:

Warnings:

An: A sneak peak into the next chapter that I totally haven't been slacking off on lol.

"Good Morning Mizim*." Fili sat next to you and handed you a cup of something warm. "Sleep well?" You blink. Tooth brush hanging from your lips.

Mizim? You nod. Spit out the toothpaste. It has little taste and came in a similar tin as your soap. You prayed you'd never mix the two.

"As well as to be expected." You tilted your head. Motioning with your brush as you asked. "What does that word mean? Mis-miz. Mizim?" You stuttered out. You look to him and you swore you caught a faint dust of pink on his cheeks. It was hard to tell with his beard.

"Oh. It's." He motions with his hand. "It's a Dwaven term. Khuzdul. It's a term for a friend?" His voice rose slightly at the end.

A friend?

You began to ask more about it until Dori called out to the two of you. Already handing out bowls to Thorin and Dwalin.

Breakfast was a thick porridge. Sweet with blueberries. Slowly. One by one the camp came to life. Each eating quickly before checking bags and the horses.

Since you had been one of the first to wake your things were ready to go. All you need to do was saddle Barley. So you offered to do the washing up.

That is how you got to have your first conversation with Bofur. The two of you were next to a small stream. Cleaning the used dishes with water heated over a small fire.

He told you about Bomber and Bifur. That Bomber was his brother and a brilliant architect. And his cousin Bifur who used to be a miner when Erebor was still a running kingdom. After everything the old dwarf tried to settled down. Instead creating toys and carvings for children.

Speaking of Bifur. "I've noticed something." You told Bofur. "About Bifur. He uses sign to speak?" Bofur rose a brow.

"Sign?" He asks. You take note of an accent in his voice.

You nodded. "Sign language? Speaking with your hands." You made one of the few gestures you knew. As you did this Bofurs eyes lit up in realization.

"Oh! You mean ishglimek*. Its our unspoken language. We also have Khuzdul." His face fell. His voice quiet. "Although. Anyone not a dwarf cannot learn it" Oh.

"Does Bifur sign in the common tongue then? If so I'd like to learn." You set a bowl to the side. "I'd hate not being able to speak with him. I wouldn't want him to feel like I don't like him." At this Bofur grew soft. He finished the last spoon before placing a heavy hand on your shoulder.

"You would be one of the few to do so then lass. Most avoid him due to his injury. It doesn't help that he is unable to speak westron."  He gave you shoulder a gentle pat them let his hand fall. "Although he can understand it. Speak with him. You'll find him to be a good Dwarf."

*Mizim: Jewel

*Ishglimek: Dwarven sign language

[sensationalmystery]

Had a “Musical Epiphany” while watching The Matrix.

Master yourself to know thyself, to know thyself is to love thyself.

Love and embrace who you are during every moment.

-Najah & Her Mastery of Self Journey <3

[typaphobe]

Note to Self

Temet nosce, reference not films to pan; the proper study of art is in man. https://open.substack.com/pub/fosterious/p/1422?r=1dvrku&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web

[the-mediaeval-monk]

A stupid little doodle based off of a meme

[charnellecatastrophe]

All things in moderation dear.

✨ Except masturbation. We aren't moderating the self love magic. ✨

[javailus]

𝒕𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒕 𝒏𝒐𝒔𝒄𝒆

i am a book with pages that fight the wind.

i have adrenaline for blood,

a race car for a heart,

and a mind full of dread and worry.

my spine is a rose stem,

spikes and all.

my arms are vines,

and my legs are roots.

i am fueled by opinions,

dragged by love,

and beaten by criticism.

my scars are stories,

my bruises, like flowers,

asking for attention.

my voice is silence,

soft as velvet.

my gaze is curiosity,

anger,

or admiration.

my hurt is quiet,

avoidance,

and betrayal.

vivat q vi fecit.

- 𝒋𝒂𝒗𝒂 (poem from 𝒅𝒊𝒂𝒑𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒖𝒔)

𝗢𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗥 𝗪𝗢𝗥𝗞𝗦:

https://javailus.wixsite.com/javapoetry

𝗪𝗔𝗧𝗧𝗣𝗔𝗗:

https://www.wattpad.com/user/-java-

𝗩𝗢𝗧𝗘 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝙏𝙀𝙈𝙀𝙏 𝙉𝙊𝙎𝘾𝙀 𝗢𝗡 𝗪𝗔𝗧𝗧𝗣𝗔𝗗:

https://w.tt/3NhKM8E

[perpetual-fool]

Temet Nosce

(01/31/23)

-I discovered this by accident. I was imagining, what would it be like if I ran into someone who could actually read minds? What would it be like if I could directly connect with another person? How would they behave if they knew what others' innermost thoughts could be like? And how would they respond if they were literally experiencing the same thing I was? It's hard not to imagine someone someone hostile or someone I knew. Entailing blatant misrepresentation of my ideas, punishment or chastising over feeling certain ways or thinking about certain things, and deliberate violation of personal boundaries. Which is, really, already how my inner voice works.

But I stumbled upon a new voice, and a new range of emotions. It has to be mine, since I haven't heard anything like it anywhere else. Simple example: the thought that no suffering is good. Even the best person I knew doesn't believe that. She might say she does, but it'd be something like "no one deserves that, unless they do." For instance, would it be a good thing if Hitler were burning in hell? And I would say no. It wouldn't undo anything that happened, it wouldn't address the circumstances that allowed those things to happen, and it can't do anything to influence any future behavior. Hell is strictly an evil concept.

Meaning, lacking my own voice, I've been dependent on others to tell me how to feel about things. So I've kept trying to make sense of things on their terms, even if I know they don't work, because I didn't have my own. I'd take other people's word that I'm bad/wrong/stupid and fail to make any sense of it from there. And aside from being undefined, it's incompatible. The radical idea of "suffering is bad" breaks the concepts of moral 'should', moral 'rightness', and moral deserts. Instead, there is only 'good' and 'bad' and desire in my thinking. apparently.

-I thought this was the reason I keep thinking about people, what I could say. But that's not the reason. I just don't want to let go. I know there's nothing behind the façade. What people pretend to be isn't even moral in the first place. I know I was just naive and desperate. But it feels like it meant too much for all of it to just not have been real. And I know that's just foolishness. It's so hard to let go.

[ofpsalms]

Thinking once again about how canine motifs keep showing up in Nico's characterization and how I can't decide on the definitive one because they all fit her:

The she-wolf, the symbol of Rome itself, a protector of the weak. A caregiver with sharp teeth. Something soft and deadly all at once.

The Canaan dog of the Levant, a wolf-like sheepdog used by the Judeans and Galileans in the times of Jesus to guard their flocks. A creature loyal to those it trusts, vocal and unrelenting. Clever, confident, and territorial.

The red fox, symbol of cunning. A patient creature that is able to manipulate and maneuver around its foes to get what it wants. Extremely intelligent and shrewd, preferring to use wit instead of force, preferring to strike in the dark and out of sight

[purposeclaimed]

&. @sasouken​ 

                    “jun? man, i really hope that’s you — can you grab me a towel?”

[the-californicationist]

Why do I hold onto clothes that I won’t wear? If I have them hanging in my closet, does it mean that I am still connected to the time and place I wore them last? They’re washed. Surely the dirt and sweat and tears and cake and ash from the birthday candles have all gone out of them. Surely only my memory remains. And yet, the shirt is still here. The one I stole from the bottom drawer in my friend’s dresser, the girl who isn’t my friend anymore. The shirt I got from the 5k that kicked my ass; the one that taught me that even after a year of personal training, I should return to my mantra — temet nosce. Know thyself. But not knowing as in funfetti is my favorite, even though I’ve never had it on my own birthday. Not knowing as in when I go to target for a pack of tampons, I’ll leave with a cart full of bags. Don’t worry it was a sale. Full to the top of that red basket of snuts and trinkets and oh so important necessities that I’ll find at the bottom of my bathroom vanity by Christmas. A closet full of singleton socks and novelty headbands that I’m not manic pixie enough to wear. The coat from when my father was in Korea. Not for the war. For something else. Who knows what? It’s a memory that isn’t mine. And yet still it takes up space here on the rung, forcing me to confront it every time I open the door. Knowing it’s there. Being able to feel the cheap chocolate brown silk and the quick embroidery. But the thought of a sudden fire, bright flames melting it away to nothing, literally makes my eyes burn with tears. The unbearable loss of a memory that isn’t mine. And all of the sweaters that I hoped would get their mileage, forgetting somehow that I live in east Houston, the land of concrete and strip centers, flattening anything that could even pretend to be a tree, an easy bake oven of a place, garish and scorching even in November. Is nostalgia the Marlboro of my generation? Did we get a peek at that exploitive heaven of the nineties only to discover that we do indeed reap what we sow. The reaping is a nasty business. The loss of houses. Hurricane Katrina. Temperature spikes. Snow in March. The sweater I bought from a beach front shack because I had nothing else to wear. How do you tell a fourteen year old that she should pack clothes when she has pictures and burned CDs and video games that she can’t live without? And if they were washed away, somehow their loss would be her fault. I should throw out these dresses. The one I wore to my grandmother’s funeral is too black. Too specific. The nylon body con hugged me as I read my trite eulogy, a love letter she will never read. A woman full of memories. Of finer clothes than mine. All of her socks had pairs. Where did she find them? Or did she banish the lonely ones? Did she have a heart to say goodbye to something when it served her well, it’s time on earth fleeting and yet eternal. Nothing leaves this blue speck, does it? And yet I cling to this screen-printed Gildan like it’s my own skin. If I put it on, will any part of me come rushing back?

[brandmauer]

[meekmedea]

capitol family lore: mottos?

after creating a motto for the Ravinstill family (Vive sine ulla paenitentia -> Live without any regrets.), I got talking on AO3 with @felixravinstills about the upper class families in the Capitol having family mottos and maybe even coat of arms.

I was originally gonna make this an ask, @/felixravinstills, but I might have started to ramble (oops 😅) and I didn't want to spam your messages

Latin makes sense for the older families, and I see the vision with what you brought up, for newer families to use Neo-latin/Romance languages to come up with their own mottos.

Who knows, maybe there's some unwritten societal rules on who can use them?

Also, does anyone know if the Cardew family is part of the old guard in Canon? I don't know why I always imagined their house as extremely rich, but not one of the 'old' houses. Some older houses might sometimes be like: oh your house is new (even if they've established for quite some decades)

like maybe old enough for a latin motto, but not old enough in the eyes of the 'original' houses.

Ideas

...Plinth motto probably has something to do with loyalty or hardwork to suck up to the Capitol. Snows would have "Snow Lands on Top" as kind of an unofficial motto that they've started using more recently and they probably have a fancy Latin one that's maybe a little boring lol.

Plinth motto: Inspired heavily by HP, something like - Toujours fidèle (translation: always loyal). Maybe they originally had it in English and it was a thing for them to say like "Snow lands on top" and it was adapted into French once they moved from District 2?

I mean it could work with them sucking up to the Capitol and Sejanus' loyalty to Coriolanus and to his beliefs??

Snow motto: okay a fancy latin one that's boring - this is so funny to think about.

possible ideas...

mandamus (we command)

servabo fidem (keeper of the faith)

temet nosce - know thyself

veritas vincit (truth conquers) -> a little ironic but hehe

tbh a nice runner up, even if it makes them sound a little impressive -> Non ducor, duco (I am not led, I lead.)

I'm open to suggestions and comments!

[grubloved]

transgender unicorn linocut print for my sister's birthday! temet nosce / know thyself :)

[aressida]

My old entry: "I pray many people for a second chance so they can show who they are and what they can do." - Aressida. 26.2.21

Recognizing you need healing is the first steps. A continuous effort is required to sustain and maintain yourself.

Remember, you are the only one who stands in your way. And you will be free the moment you no longer care about what other people think of you as well.

Turn up your light all the way up.

I know they would find that learning good behaviors and appropriate manners can be literally foreign to themselves.

You can learn something everyday and truly it does not matter what your position is.

You, by consenting to learn about it, are consenting whatever is on the other side to learn of you.

You will be ready for the mistakes, successes, and lessons along the way, and you will never be alone through it all.

Opportunity favors the ready.

This is why knowing yourself is the beginning of all wisdom.

Temet Nosce.

[tinyfishtits]

Anybody reading anything good right now?

I’m currently blowing through the ACOTAR series (holy shit holy fuck Rhysand)

Been working my way through Outlander

I’ve re read Twilight too many times to count (I’ll never be able to read past New Moon again though because RECIPROCITY - Temet Nosce by Impostrsyndrm is cannon for me now)

Any other fantasy/romance girlies out there with some recs ?