#who knows whats going on really

[apotheosticdelirium]

I prepared by fasting sunrise to sunset day 1 and 2 with an apple before sunrise on day three. Chaste, steered away from anything that wasn't being focused towards the ritual. Along with the prayer for success, and Absolution during showers.

The morning of I showered in hot water for cleanliness, then in cold with the Absolution prayer. Dressed in the ceremonial black lab coat, I carried my lit lattern to my work room. There was a forboading sense to the air. After washing my face and hands with blessed water. I ground new ink, blessed it, and wrote out the conjurations/characters. My pinkie bled an inordant amount compared to the normal stick that comes from a sugar testing needle that I use for a lancet.

The insense was slow to burn with each bit I put on it. The circle was then opened as instructed with ps.51 taking JSK's advice of being in a prostration position rasing the divination wand for an accusation clause and the evocation wand for a striking clause.

The room felt expectant as I asperge and fumigated the circle with the psalms there was an echoing quality to my voice like it was bouncing inside the circle.

When it came time I called scirilin with his words. The tempature dropped noticeably and when I asked if he was here it felt like static down my spine. I thanked him for his presence and asked that he aid me in calling the spirits for the pact.

Lucifiers conjurations stopped and started through the 7 iterations. No physical sign of presence but it felt like they were listening. I stated I was following through on the bargin by going through this process and asked that he lend me his voice to call his subordinates.

I thanked him and asked him to stay a till the end to sign the pact with the others.

When starting the conjuration of the subordinates the words tasted ill fitting on my tongue. Like I was a priest without faith. After two rounds of this I stopped and listened.

Instead I spoke my own names. I named the titles I am Heir of, the tradition whose tools empower me. I spoke of the trials I've over come through magic, the feats my words have created, and of those spirits who have bound themselves to me. Finally I spoke of the bargain made with with The Emporer and spoke each name of those spirits I wished to call.

Naming them felt like a wave of sound. I named them again, offering alliance, and partnership of services exchanged under the pacts made by others on this current before me. This time naming spirits who have kept their bargains with me before drifting apart.

I named them once more before speaking of the spirits who bound themselves to me and broke their pacts, refusing to name them only referencing the fate that came to them.

A wave of smugness, acceptance and cold came over me after speaking. I left it for a moment looking around to see if anything odd was happening. In memory the room is *much* brighter than it should be at that point considering I had to balance a tea candle in my hand that held the elder wand so I could read the parchament.

After a few minutes with no obvious sign of dissent or assent. I slid the parchment into the eastern corner of the room and set the first character stone on the sigil of scirilin. I asked that if they agree they would mark their sigil in some way so that I could call them again and that once signed or decided against that the leave in peace to their own place just as they've come in peace.

I left the parchment for a bit over 24 hours as I returned to work the next day. On returning to clean things up the parchment has an odd electric air to it. When focusing on the whole rather than the marks it was a bit dizzying. Quite a bit of the incense didn't burn even though the room was still slightly hazy from all the smoke that was let off. Possibly from insense/coals that were a bit old as I don't regularly use them in my practice?

A number of the sigils have interesting marks near them. Ones entire page has patches of almost translucent parts. (They have an amusingly cloud like sigil for context of why thats interesting) These very well could be natural blemishes on the parchment that I didn't notice before but it's interesting none the less.

As requested of the bargain I'm publishing this experience. While I wouldn't mark this evocation as a complete success, it definitely doesn't seem to have failed. I think only a bit of time and a chance to work with the spirits will tell.

[perrieedwards]

i feel like people are skimming over the uk riots in a way that makes me want to tear my hair out. muslims in the uk are in active danger. immigrants in the uk are in active danger. refugees in the uk are in active danger. people of colour in the uk are in active danger. asian communities in the uk are in active danger. black communities in the uk are in active danger.

there are massive far right riots throughout the country right now and people like fucking elon musk and nigel farage are inciting it and still have a platform to speak. people have used three young girls deaths, people's genuine grief in southport, to try and gain traction for their own racist bullshit and it's working.

a lot of refugee charities have been forced to close leaving many people without support, homes, funding, food, etc. if you aren't able to donate please consider sending a message via the conversation over borders campaign! it will send a hopeful, welcoming letter to a refugee in the uk. there is also a guide to staying safe here.

please do your own research and donate to refugee charities, anti-islamophobia charities, mosques who are trying to rebuild after being destroyed, counter protesters, here are some i've heard positive things about but the list is extensive; southport strong together (support for the southport victims and their families), southport mosque rebuilding, riot repair fund, middlesbrough vulnerable residents, nasir mosque rebuilding, hull help for refugees, bristol welcomes migrants,

[umblrspectrum]

so like is it specifically planets the solver craves or can it get by with just eating dirt off the ground

[anna-scribbles]

last one i promise(<—lie)

[ryssbelle]

Drew a bunch of Marinettes in a bunch of different artists styles it was a lot of fun!!

Artists who's styles I mimicked: @buggachat @hamsternamedmarinette @ladybeug @sabertoothwalrus and @anna-scribbles all epic artists 🤟😎

[danlous]

I feel like many people have a fundamental misconception of what unreliable narrator means. It's simply a narrative vehicle not a character flaw or a sign that the character is a bad person. There are also many different types of unreliable narrators in fiction. Being an unreliable narrator doesn't necessarily mean that the character is 'wrong', it definitely doesn't mean that they're wrong about everything even if some aspects in their story are inaccurate, and only some unreliable narrators actively and consciously lie. Stories that have unreliable narrators also tend to deal with perception and memory and they often don't even have one objective truth, just different versions. It reflects real life where we know human memory is highly unreliable and vague and people can interpret same events very differently

[deathricedrawn]

i'm ready to try

[egophiliac]

I have SO many thoughts about everything and they are in no kind of order yet, so here's just some quick little bits in the meantime!

I am not normal about any of these characters!

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

I've never been more normal in my life.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[inkskinned]

this is just my opinion but i think any good media needs obsession behind it. it needs passion, the kind of passion that's no longer "gentle scented candle" and is now "oh shit the house caught on fire". it needs a creator that's biting the floorboards and gnawing the story off their skin. creators are supposed to be wild animals. they are supposed to want to tell a story with the ferocity of eating a good stone fruit while standing over the sink. the same protective, strange instinct as being 7 and making mud potions in pink teacups: you gotta get weird with it.

good media needs unhinged, googling-at-midnight kind of energy. it needs "what kind of seams are invented on this planet" energy and "im just gonna trust the audience to roll with me about this" energy. it needs one person (at least) screaming into the void with so much drive and energy that it forces the story to be real.

sometimes people are baffled when fanfic has some stunning jaw-dropping tattoo-it-on-you lines. and i'm like - well, i don't go here, but that makes sense to me. of fucking course people who have this amount of passion are going to create something good. they moved from a place of genuine love and enjoyment.

so yeah, duh! saturday cartoons have banger lines. random street art is sometimes the most precious heart-wrenching shit you've ever seen. someone singing on tiktok ends up creating your next favorite song. youtubers are giving us 5 hours of carefully researched content. all of this is the impossible equation to latestage capitalism. like, you can't force something to be good. AI cannot make it good. no amount of focus-group testing or market research. what makes a story worth listening to is that someone cares so much about telling it - through dance, art, music, whatever it takes - that they are just a little unhinged about it.

one time my friend told me he stayed up all night researching how many ways there are to peel an orange. he wrote me a poem that made me cry on public transportation. the love came through it like pith, you know? the words all came apart in my hands. it tasted like breakfast.

[arcanegifs]

they're really going for the "everyone going to be a little bit opposite of who they were in s1" theme in season 2 fr

[isjasz]

Part 1- The Orphanage

IT BEGINS WOOOOOOOO this was meant to inform ppl of the lore in tpn for the sake of the au then it got out of hand helpme

Designs | Part 1 | Part 2 (End)

[hychlorions]

a what-if i've been thinking about for forever... trucy knowing the truth before anyone could tell her

[the-thing-inside-your-closet]

Who Started The Fire?

From the prompts list:

“That’s my emotional support entity of questionable moral standing.”

Batman stared down the two teens standing before him. The boy was pointedly looking anywhere but the Bat’s face, finding more interest in the dirt and gravel crunching under his shoes. Meanwhile, the girl stood with her arms crossed, head held high, meeting Batman’s gaze with a defiant glare that wouldn’t be out of place on any of his own children’s faces.

Behind them lay the smoking remains of what was once a warehouse that had been used as a front for a weapons smuggling operation that the bats had collectively spent the past few weeks investigating. Although their investigation had taken longer than anticipated thanks to this group’s rather impressive security, they had been so close to a breakthrough…when the place had gone up in an inferno.

When the Gotham vigilantes had first arrived on the scene the fire had been so intense that they’d had to put in their gas masks to avoid any inhaling any of the thick black smoke from not only the fire, but also whatever chemicals may have potentially been within the building that would have been released into the air.

Batman’s initial hypothesis had been that the group had become aware of their investigation and burned the place to avoid any evidence being discovered while they moved locations. However, that theory had been shelved when Red Hood had announced the presence of charred bodies amongst the rubble, and evidence of explosives having been used in multiple area where the building’s structure had been the weakest. Whoever had been inside had not had any warning of the blaze that had swallowed the building too fast for them to get to safety, and with the structure being compromised from the explosions all exists had been blocked, preventing the inhabitant’s escape. Red Hood and Nightwing had been discussing potential suspects as Batman and Red Robin searched for any evidence that could have survived the destruction, when a clattering sound followed by the sound of voices hushing each other had altered all of the on scene bats to the presence of possibly several unknowns.

The two teens had been apprehended quickly and ushered to the side, far enough away from the scene of the fire to avoid them overhearing details of the investigation and to prevent any potential tampering. Accidental or otherwise. The teens had been stubborn in their refusal to answer any of the bat’s questions to their presence. Nobody knew why they were there, where they had come from, and they had even refused to disclose their names. Oracle, unfortunately, was sick with the flu and had been gently ordered to rest by Agent A. Batman was nevertheless confident that they would be able to discover their identities quickly either once they had returned to the cave or if they could get the kids to talk.

He would have asked Red Hood to speak with the teens, he was the best with kids. And if caught up in anything illegal they often seemed to respond better to him due to his more ambiguous morals and reputation for ensuring kid’s safety. Both from rouges and in some cases, the rest of the bats and birds. But he had been needed in Crime Ally after he had been alerted to a gunfight breaking out between two gangs who had been more hostile and antagonistic in recent months. Nightwing had accompanied him, and Spoiler had diverted from her patrol route to assist. That left Batman and Red Robin behind to deal with both the police and the frustratingly stubborn teens.

Batman resisted the urge to punch the bridge of his nose as yet another question was blatantly ignored by both kids. The boy had begun fiddling with the sleeved of his letterman jacket and the girl had taken to checking her manicured nails for any dirt or imperfections.

Just as he was about to turn the questioning over to one of the on scene police officers, a writhing mass of shadow had emerged from the girl’s shadow. Two tendrils of black smoke reached out to wrap themselves around the wrists and hands of both teens, who had in turn glanced down at their hands and smiled.

“We’re fine,” the boy had muttered quietly, “no need to worry.”

“What is that?” Batman asked, eyeing the mass with a cautious suspicion. He wanted to believe it wasn’t hostile given the kids reactions to it. But this was Gotham.

The girl shot him another glare, one hand on her hip while the other remained in the hold of whatever the shadowy mass was.

“That sir,” she spat out the first word with such venom to her tone that Batman almost flinched, “is our emotional support entity of questionable moral standing.”

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 169

Danny is from a world where everyone has wings, even if most have long since lost the ability to fly. Something about loading and aspect ratio, wings being too small, body too heavy, now mostly used as display, whatever. 

It doesn’t matter even if he had blueprints from when he was like six of a jetpack to help fly. It won’t work anyway and hey, he has his ghost form! Which uh, might be perhaps, affecting his wings which were maybe sort of scorched black and practically down to the bone thanks to the accident. 

It doesn’t matter, he swears. Though he’s admittedly relieved to see the new feathers growing in are different from Dan’s angry sunset. Even if they’re not even supposed to be able to grow back. Alright, this is fine, no one is going to notice! It’s not like everyone knows about the poor Fenton kid whose wings were absolutely destroyed thanks to an accident! It’s fine. 

He’s not flying in a half-panic towards the Far Frozen while crying because his wings are coming back and he’s so scared. He didn’t panic and instantly fled the moment Jazz pointed them out while changing the bandages. 

He definitely didn’t trip over something while wiping away said tears and blacking out from all the stress and all of his problems that he definitely mentioned to someone and isn’t keeping a secret. Definitely. 

Hawkwoman and Hawkman would like everyone to know that neither of them were expecting a very small child to be spat out of the villain of that week’s machine that should definitely not be a portal. A very small child, maybe nine or ten, with a multitude of concerning wounds both old and fresh. Which isn’t even beginning to touch on the wings. 

Feathered, like baby down despite the gnarled scars, unlike their own metallic, with the beginning of tiny specklings like stars amidst the darker fuzz peeking from the wounded flesh. 

Who?! Who dared?! It’s (at least to the forever reincarnating duo) a literal baby! They still have down! Tiny baby fuzz! Was it the portal?! Oh this villain is going to taste their maces for causing this if that’s the case! 

The rest of the Justice League would honestly like to know what just happened and are honestly unsure on if they should stop the two…

[bunnieswithknives]

Do you think Dale develops (pun not intended) an aversion to bright colors after the attack?

Don’t mind me just hitting the man with my Trauma Hammer

Oh absolutely. Its a good thing he lives in white room