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silhouetteofacedar · 3 years

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Fox Mulder, Closet Romantic Ch. 25: Prima Materia

Previous Chapter - AO3 - MSR, rated E

Five Months Later

Friday, November 13th, 1998

“I can’t believe you,” Scully hisses as they exit Skinner’s office. “We’ve discussed this, Mulder. Multiple, no, countless times. You can’t just accuse someone of being a supernatural entity based off a… a wild hunch!”

“A hunch? Scully, we have concrete evidence. It’s literally documented in the folder you’re holding right now.”

“That ‘evidence’ is obviously subject to interpretation,” Scully retorts, stomping down the hall in an attempt to keep pace with Mulder’s long strides. “An interpretation I thought we’d agreed upon before going into that meeting. And I don’t appreciate you abandoning a solid hypothesis, that we discussed at length, in favor of whatever the hell that just was.”

Mulder stops outside the elevator, turning to her. “That was the truth, Scully. It’s out there, if you would just open your mind a little and accept that there are things science still can’t explain.”

“But science can-” She reaches out and punches the button for the elevator, “-explain it. You just like the sound of your own theories and ideas better than fact. Fox Mulder, the champion of truth, the only man willing to consider the extreme.”

“You know you like it,” he says in a low tone.

Scully’s eyes go wide, and she grabs his elbow. “Do not-”

The elevator doors open, and they scurry into the lift. Mulder presses the button for the basement.

“Do not use my weaknesses against me at work, Mulder, that’s not fair,” she says as the doors slide closed.

“Weaknesses?” Mulder asks casually. “Am I your weakness, Dr. Scully?”

“I’m serious. We’ve have a few close calls in the past few months; if we’re not careful, we’re going to be found out.”

“How, by arguing? We did that before we started fu-”

She gives him an imploring look.

“-working after hours,” he corrects. “Besides,” he continues, angling his chin downwards to reach her ear, “I happen to know arguing turns you on.”

Scully licks her upper lip. “I’m just saying we have to be more careful,” she insists, staring straight ahead.

“Then I guess this isn’t the best time to invite you out for a drink,” Mulder says.

Scully glances at him out of the corner of her eye. “It’s Friday the thirteenth,” she notes with a twinge of a smile. “Don’t you think it’s a little risky?”

Mulder shrugs as the elevator doors open into the basement. “Historically, the thirteenth is my lucky day.”

“You know, it’s been nine months since our first date,” Mulder says conversationally. They’d walked to Casey’s Bar from the Bureau and are now perched on stools at the far end of the counter, nursing a beer each.

Scully furrows her brow, obviously doing some quick mental math. “February… that was a date?” she says, somewhat amused. “You should have told me at the time. I wouldn’t have waited so long to put out.”

Mulder raises his eyebrows. “Dana,” he says in mock surprise. “I thought you were a good church girl.”

“What gave you that idea, my penchant for kneeling?” she mutters into her glass.

Fuck, she’s good.

They’ve been together for six months now, and it’s surprising how little has actually changed between them, in the practical sense. They’ve been pretty good at keeping their relationship a secret, Mulder thinks. It helps that everyone in the Bureau already thought they were crazy, codependent, and tanking their respective careers. Apparently, bad reputations make the best cover.

He and Scully arrive at the Hoover building in separate vehicles, squabble over conflicting viewpoints, have lunch together almost every day. He rests a hand on her back, guiding her through the halls, and she gives him withering glances and dramatic eye rolls when appropriate. From the outside, they’re still the same Mulder and Scully.

And then they go home to one of their respective apartments and tear each other’s clothes off.

Well, they usually make it home. That quickie in the office annex was an outlier.

Nine months seems significant somehow. The length of human gestation, Mulder thinks absently. It seems like a length of time worth celebrating.

“Would it be terribly corny of me to propose a toast?” he asks.

“A toast to what?”

He’s suddenly shy. “Us,” he says softly. “How far we’ve come. And how much,” he adds, giving her a nudge with his elbow. She rolls her eyes at him, and it feels overtly fond.

Scully lifts her glass. “To us,” she says warmly. “And to spooky shit.”

“You remember,” Mulder says as they clink glasses, recalling that first toast in Casey’s all those months ago.

“Mm,” she replies, sipping her beer. “I do. It was a… notable evening.”

“What made it notable for you?” he asks.

“We had an actual conversation, for one,” Scully muses. “About our personal lives, attraction, about how we relate to the outside world; and by extension, how we relate to each other. I remember very clearly feeling like we were close to something.”

“So did I,” Mulder admits. “So what happened, on your end?”

“I don’t know,” she sighs. “The spell wore off, maybe? When I got home that night I remembered all the reasons it would be a mistake to let myself feel. And then Mark happened, and you know the rest of that story.” She turns on her stool to face him more fully. “What happened for you?”

“I took you on a very cold, very dark picnic,” Mulder reminds her.

“Which was wonderful,” she offers.

Mulder nods. “But then when I asked you out again, you had a date. I don’t know, maybe I was going too slow, being too subtle. But when you started going out with that jackass it felt like… in a way, you were saying that what I had to give wasn’t enough.”

Scully doesn’t say anything, just stares down at her glass.

“And I realize that it’s selfish of me to project that onto you,” he amends. “Your choices aren’t about me. But fuck, I wished they were.”

“You’d be surprised how many of my choices actually were about you,” she says softly. “I surprise even myself. You told me before that you didn’t think I’d last a full year working with you, remember? There was validity in that. This job… it’s the most difficult thing I’ve ever done. So much is at stake for us, so much has been taken. But I chose to continue because I believed in you, and in our work. We have different methods and come to different conclusions, but we’re working towards the same thing. That’s what I believe.”

He reaches over beneath the cover of the countertop and takes her hand, clasping it atop his knee. They sit in silence for awhile, taking sips of their drinks, palms pressed together.

The truth hides in many places, Mulder is learning. Places more secret and sacred than dusty file folders or abandoned warehouses, more mundane than the locked rooms of the Pentagon or trapped beneath thousands of years of ice. The greatest truths are scattered pieces he stumbles upon every day; reflected in his bathroom mirror, scribbled on post-it notes in their office, hidden under Scully’s warm tongue. He knows he’s an obsessed man, prone to irrationality and impulse; but in quiet moments with his partner, he finds small fragments of peace he never thought he could reach.

“Where are you?” Scully says softly, drawing him back into the present. A dim barroom, a sweating glass, her soft hand in his. He wonders if the day will come when his mind wanders too far for her to follow.

“I-I know how crazy this is going to sound, Scully but bear with me… do you ever think that we’re… that we’re bonded somehow? Like we were always supposed to end up here. Together.”

“Like here, here? In this bar?”

“Maybe. Maybe less specifically this bar and more generally this time and place on earth. This universe, this dimension. With each other.”

She shakes her head gently, smiling. “Mulder, it’s been a long week. If we’re going to talk about the metaphysical I need to either have more to drink or be under the influence of a postcoital surge of oxytocin.”

He leans closer to her. “Do you have a preference as to which, because I’d gladly provide either.”

Scully pushes her half-empty glass away from her, eyes dark and soft. “Take me home, Mulder,” she whispers.

His heart squeezes. “Will you stay?” The night, the rest of our lives, until our boat drifts over the edge of the earth?

She nods, and another piece of the truth slides into place.

#fmcr #my fic #fox mulder closet romantic #txf fic #xfiles #It Is Finished #oof #i need to lie down

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monstersandmaw · 4 years

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Embers - Male dragon shifter x reader, Chapter Twelve (v.light nsfw)

Can you believe that this story is nearing 20k words now in total? It's going to start winding up soon, with only two chapters left. Thank you for the support you’ve shown me for this long-running series - I hope you enjoy what remains of their story.

(Old Trollbridge is based on Cambridge, UK. Also, in the UK, the ‘first floor’ is what Americans call the second floor; I only remembered this difference after my trip to Boston last year, so I thought I’d mention it, haha…)

No warnings, mostly sfw with a bit of very light kissing, and about 1700 or so words.

One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven

The night of the fundraiser rolled around eventually and you decided that since Mikaeïl would be helping to set things up beforehand, you would simply meet him there. Old Trollbridge was an ancient city, its history stretching back nearly a thousand years, and the university structure was unlike almost anywhere else, except for perhaps Oxenford or Dunholme, with almost thirty individual colleges where students were based and where some of the learning was based, while the majority of their lectures took place in the larger department and faculty buildings. Mikaeïl’s college - where the dinner was being hosted - sat on the old, sluggish, shallow river which coiled lazily through the buildings of the city which had grown up around it over the centuries.

More than a little outmoded in many ways, and highly intimidating to the uninitiated, the college which had been chosen for the evening was one of the oldest in the university. It was here, in the fellows’ dining room, rather than the communal hall, that the dinner was being hosted in order to raise funds for two charities supported by the Law Faculty, and more specifically, the criminology department.

Despite having worked in Old Trollbridge for the past five years, both as a free-lancer and part-time for the graphic design company, you had never set foot inside one of the colleges. It felt like sacred ground somehow; inaccessible to your profane feet. This one was built of a mix of warm sandstone and weathered brick and flint, and as you stepped into the archway that housed the Porters’ Lodge, a large minotaur wearing a dark green waistcoat with the college insignia exited the office and smiled out you. “Here for the dinner?” he asked, glancing at your smart outfit.

“What gave it away, the nerves or the clothes?”

“Both?” he laughed and raised his hand, pointing at an archway across the grassed court from the lodge. “Head over there. Follow the signs, and you can’t go wrong.”

“Thanks,” you said, swallowing the huge lump in your throat. Your heart raced. This was not your usual environment. At all.

It was Mikaeïl's, however, and somehow it didn’t seem so intimidating then. He made his home within these walls, and had done for over a century apparently. He even had a set of rooms in college, but he rarely used them. You began to look around you more closely then, at the mullioned windows and the Virginia creeper climbing up the drainpipes in the corners of the courtyard, and at the faces of the one or two students who passed you by as you made your way around the paved courtyard.

A gnoll with a chunk missing from one ear gave you a wide, toothy grin and a friendly wag of her tail, and a moment later a naga slithered out from a doorway, looking a little unsteady, with a dryad at his side, laughing loudly. The pair were more than two sheets to the wind, but it was a Friday night and you supposed that they worked hard here; they deserved a night off like everyone else.

A moment later, however, and you were walking through the doorway into the part of the college usually reserved for fellows and lecturers only, and a rather nervous looking young human, again wearing the college colours, stepped forwards to take your ticket from your hands. “It’s on the first floor,” she said, indicating the lift and the staircase which sat side by side. “Can I take your coat?”

“Uh, thanks,” you croaked, shrugging out of it. “Is everyone else here already?”

She shook her head. “A couple more to go,” she smiled, taking your jacket and hanging it on a rack to one side.

Nodding, you headed upstairs.

Pausing in the doorway to the panelled dining room, which was immediately opposite the lift, your breath caught in your throat. Mikaeïl was standing the far side of the room, talking to a handsome, young-looking orc in a manual wheelchair, and both had exquisitely beautiful champagne flutes in their hands. While he looked like a classical statue come to life, Mikaeïl had been right when he’d warned you that he would be almost a different person when you saw him in this context.

His back was ramrod straight, his mouth was set in a hard line, and he looked like he was about to breathe fire all over the poor orc. You recognised the signs now as intense social discomfort, and your heart went out to him. Bless him, for all his two hundred years, socialising had never become something he had learned to enjoy. Perhaps it was because his kind had been hunted almost to extinction by orcs and humans about five hundred years earlier, and shifters like him had learned to keep to themselves.

The moment you entered the room, however, he shot you a quick sidelong glance, reptilian eyes drawn to the movement, and then did a very unsubtle and obvious double-take. His shoulders dropped an inch, and his breath caught in his chest. Well, that was an ego boost for you for sure. Smiling, you made your way around the beautifully laid table and stood shyly beside him.

“Hi,” you murmured, glancing nervously between him and the orc.

“You look incredible,” he murmured, leaning close and kissing your cheek before introducing you as his partner to the orc. “This is Gharak. He’s halfway through a PhD in geophysics.”

“Wow. Nice to meet you,” you blurted, shaking the orc’s enormous hand before sliding your own around Mikaeïl’s waist. He tensed beneath your touch, but then laughed softly.

“I think we’ll be starting soon. Almost everyone is here…”

The murder mystery dinner wasn’t quite what you’d expected, but it was mostly pretty fun. The people who had bought tickets were… astonishingly wealthy. Like… you’d thought that Mikaeïl with his inherited wealth was well off, but most of these people were in a different league. The food was sublime, unlike anything you’d ever tasted even at Kiriavin’s cellar restaurant, and you found it an effort to wrench yourself from your meal to play along with the loose ‘script’ of the evening.

Mikaeïl was seated across from you, beside an older human woman who wouldn’t stop fawning all over him. If it hadn’t been your boyfriend, it might have been funny, but as it was, your heart went out to him. He’d whispered to you during the pre-dinner drinks that she was a major benefactor, not only to the department but to the university itself, and knowing this, you knew he couldn’t rebuff her attentions.

He did his best to weather it, but at one point he caught your eye and the look in his hard, golden gaze was so miserable that you found yourself instantly mouthing the words ‘I love you’ to him across the third course of the dinner.

At that, his cheeks flushed gently, and he mouthed back, ‘thank you’.

When it was finally over, and the mystery - such as it was - had been solved, you bid goodnight to Gharak, who had been sitting next to you and who had been an absolute blast, and crossed to Mikaeïl. He was standing with one hand gripping the back of his chair so hard you could hear it splintering beneath his fingers, and as you placed your own hand over the top of his, the tension washed out of him.

“You alright?” you asked. “I think that went pretty well?”

He nodded. His hair was tied back in a severe bun, with what looked like a solid gold hair pin topped with a dragon holding it in place, and his dinner jacket fitted him to perfection. He looked like the subject of an oil painting, and just as uncomfortable still.

“Mikaeïl?”

He inhaled, his nostrils going wide. And then his hands were on your jaw and he kissed you so hard you saw stars. The room was empty now, and as the two of you kissed, he growled softly in that low-frequency rumble that you could feel in your ribcage. It filled the room and made the glasses rattle and ring on the table. His hands began to shift again, copper claws growing as colour rippled up his forearms beneath the crisp white shirt, talons pricking into the fabric of your own clothes before he could stop himself.

“Mikaeïl?” you murmured again. “Let’s go?”

He nodded.

“You want to come back to mine or…?”

“I don’t care,” he said. “I just want you. I can’t believe how amazing you were tonight.”

“Me?” you asked. “I barely did anything… I just played my role of poor starving artist - hardly imaginative, I might add -” you said with a playful glint in your eye, “And the others solved the mystery themselves…”

“Not that,” he snarled dismissively, his lips rising on one side to show his elongated canines. “You knew…”

“Knew what?” you chuckled affectionately, bringing your fingertips to his slightly pointed ears and tucking a wayward strand of his fiery hair behind it, gently enough to make him shiver visibly.

He swallowed and kissed you again in answer. When he was done, he pulled back and said, “You knew when I got overwhelmed. How?”

You had to laugh at that. “Your body got all tense - well, even more tense than usual - and you looked like you were considering incinerating her where she sat…”

“I wouldn’t want to destroy a Chippendale,” he said flatly and you burst out laughing, tipping your head back. A second later, he raked the very tip of his clawed thumb down your throat and your laugh changed to a groan.

“Let’s get out of here,” you said, and he nodded.

“Your place is nearer…” he added, nipping your thrumming pulse with his teeth as he kissed your neck.

You didn’t argue.

“By the way,” he added as you took his hand and left the college behind you.

Glancing up at him, you smiled. “Mmm?”

“Are you free next weekend? I have a surprise for you…”

Your eyebrows sailed high. “What kind of surprise… You know I’m not wild about surprises…”

“Bring something warm to wear,” he said. “That’s all I’ll say for now.”

Part Thirteen

—

I really hope you folks enjoyed this one! Don’t forget to let me know if you did enjoy it by leaving a like and/or reblogging it!

For all early releases, character art and bios, upcoming story info, and much, much more, join me over on Patreon! (no new content planned in March (and no charge to existing patrons) but access to everything else is available)

You’ll have access to stories before anyone else, and you’ll get instant access Patreon-only content as well, including polls and an exclusive monthly story for those on the Pixies and Goblins tier or higher!

#exophilia #dragon shifter #dragon x reader #male dragon x reader #male dragon shifter x reader #gender neutral reader #male dragon #embers

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eclecticgianttreedean · 4 years

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Hekate (Hecate) Information

This post will be updated as new information comes along to me, however, this is mainly to serve as a page to hold all Hekate information so one doesn’t have to flip through hundreds of pages or browse hundreds of sites.

If you have additional information, please feel free to contact me so that I may add it.

Allow me to preface the list that when I refer to my own personal accounts with Hekate, it will most likely be different from yours as well as anyone else. My beliefs, although Pagan-Wiccan, are still different and branch out in many traditions. My interpretations aren’t always traditional and may not come across as “correct’ to some, but this is how I’m receiving the energy of the guides I reach out to. We each receive and see (both visually and with our third eye) differently, therefore how I see the beautiful Goddess, how I draw her, how I describe her, and so on and so forth, will be different or at sometimes similar to either traditional descriptions or your own view.

Without further blabbering, allow me to start my list of compiled information, take and use what you will, and as always, Blessed Be your being, your craft, and your energy in this universe and all lives before and after.

Hekate, a History:

Hekate (or Hecate) has been associated with many things, most popularly--

Queen of the Night and Moon

Ruler/Practitoner of Spirits and Dead

Keeper of Keys (especially one master key--The Skeleton Key--that holds access to all realms)

Goddess/High Priestess of witchcraft and spellwork

Queen of the Crossroads

Bringer of justice (especially for women, sufferers of sexual assault, sufferers of injustice)

Tiple Moon Goddess--The Crone The Maiden The Mother-- known for being present around mothers and childbirth/ fertility

Ruler over parts of the Sea, Sky, and (mostly) Earth

Additional keywords associated with her-- Goddess of Life, Death, Regeneration, Magic (Magick), Wisdom, Choice, Victory, Vengeance, and Travel.

She, in most cases, is known for being witness to every crime.

Hekate (Hecate) is documented to have been derived from the Carians in Southwest Asia Minor, shortly then accepted in the Greek religion. She is also considered to have been derived from the Egyptian Heket ( Goddess of Birth, Death, Resurrection, etc).

Hekate is written to be the daughter of Titan Perses and (Nymph) Asteria. However, she is also written (in some cases) to be the Daughter of Leto, and in other cases even Zeus. In addition to this, it’s widely accepted that she may also be a cousin of famous twins Apollo (blessed by the Sun) and Artemis (Blessed by the Moon).

She’s closely associated with Goddess Demeter, having witnessed the abduction of Persephone, and some documents and beliefs rumor them to be related as well, mother-daughter or other.

Hesiod describes that Zeus honored Hekate above all else, he gave her gifts (sharing Earth, Sea, and Sky), as well as invoking her frequently.

Hekate in Depictions and Art:

Hekate is typically depicted with two torches, three beings of both youth and old (Crone, Mother, Maiden), dogs and snakes at her side, keys either in hand or on her person, accompanied by the howling of Dogs (usually black dogs or even black cats).

In most artwork, she is seen with her torches and a snake wrapped around her with hounds at her feet. On Greek pottery, she is typically painted carrying both torch and key, depicting her as the guardian of the Gate of Hades and Mother of the Night. She has been documented to have been painted on a vase being given a puppy, hounds being very sacred to her.

Moreover, the modern art of her varies in style and depiction of both traditional descriptions and new interpretations with traditional elements.

Favored People, Those She Most Closely Works With (Not Limited To):

Midwives

Travelers

Witches

Healers

Herbalists

Those Seeking Justice (sexually assault and other)

Dog/ Horse Lovers

Those Who Favor The Night

Manifestations:

How she appears both in documented accounts and to you will not always be the same. She presents herself to me in my time of spellwork and communication very differently than she is typically depicted to manifest herself and appear to others. That’s quite alright! We all receive energies differently, we all communicate and see differently. No one person will have the exact same relationship with their Patron/Matron/Guide the same way as the next. Here, I will be listing how she is most widely known to manifest herself as well as how to presents herself to myself. There is no wrong answer here, everyone’s craft and their journey are different.

Typically, Hekate is seen as a shape-shifter. She has been known to appear as either human or animal, usually either a dog or woman, however her presence is not limited to these two. She can be seen as an old crone or a young woman, and in these cases, her clothing, her voice, and her face are up to however you perceive her. She may wear snakes in her hair, or have them on her person, or she may even be a snake, cat, dragon, or dog, just as well as being accompanied by either.

In my case, she typically appears to me with three black hounds paralleling her every step. My family dog always knows when she’s around and makes sure she is beside me for the spell and interaction. (My family dog is very fond of her). Hekate usually has ink-black hair pulled back in a loose bun with some curls framing her face. Her features are quite youthful and soft with a light but stern voice. I usually see her in silk, a deep purple dress with a black stork head by her chest and some feathers in her hair. She almost always has a triple moon on her forehead--and then we begin our work.

Symbols and Association:

Key

Torch

Cauldron

Knife/Athame

Broom

Moon Symbols

Number 3

Mirrors

Sacred Animals:

Snakes

Toads

Dragons

Cats (Polecats)

Dogs

Horses

Sometimes Cows and Boars

Ravens (on occasion)

Spiders

Centipedes

Stork

ferret

Colors:

Black

Red

Sometimes Purple

Orange-Yellow

Plants and Trees:

Garlic

Lavender

Mandrake

Poppies

Pomegranate

Black Poplar

Dates

Yew

Mugwort

Dandelions

Mint

Oak

Cypress

Belladonna

Honey

Myrrh

Saffron

Rosemary

Laurel Leaves

Crystals:

Black Onyx

Smokey Quartz

Black Tourmaline

Marble

Moonstone

Silver

Offerings and Whatnot:

Eggs

Garlic

Honey/ Lavender Honey

Croissants/ Crescent-shaped things

Breads and Pastries

Black or Red candles

Incense

Keys

Dog fur

Bones

Herbs

Stones

Spellwork

Crossroad or Cemetary dirt

Sacred Times and Dates:

Anytime after nightfall is a perfect time to invoke the Goddess and/or begin spellwork. Specific dates have been known to be the last day of each month, Friday the 13th of any month (but most sacred is in August), and November 16th.

Invocations, to me at least, are very personal and heart heavy. I choose to write my own however if you wish for me to share I’ll make another post for them or add them onto this blog post.

This is all for now,

Blessed Be.

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elysiumwaits · 5 years

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Hey! If you’re still taking prompts, how about no. 71 - “I just did some calculations, and I’ve been able to determine that you’re full of shit.” As for pairing, well, I don’t know about you, but that just positively screams Sterek at me! Thank you.😊

Did you want around 1k words of domestic, established relationship, feel-good fluffy nonsense? Cause that’s what you got. It’s officially part of my happy pack-as-family universe, so. Please enjoy.

Thursday Night Feature

On AO3

Stiles’ Thursday nights are sacred, especially now that he’s officially finished with high school and no longer required to be awake before ten on Friday mornings. They are reserved specifically for time with Derek - time that the pack is not to interrupt, barring life-threatening injuries, supernatural attacks they can’t handle on their own, kidnappings, and other extenuating circumstances. Sometimes, Derek and Stiles go out. Most of the time, though, they each put on their most comfortable sets of never-wear-in-front-of-people clothes and sit together on the couch to watch tv until they can’t keep their eyes open.

The pack has, between them:

Four Hulu accounts (Isaac absolutely must have the latest SNL as soon as possible, or he gets cranky)

Five Netflix accounts (Stiles has had one since they sent DVDs by mail)

Six Amazon Prime accounts (for the free shipping, primarily, but the streaming is a bonus - in addition, no one wants anyone else to see what they’re buying on Amazon, so everyone gets cranky about sharing)

Two CBS All Access accounts (Jackson and Stiles both have an unhealthy addiction to Star Trek: Discovery, but apparently can’t share an account like adults)

Two Crunchyroll accounts (Scott’s anime phase never ended, and, to the shock of everyone, neither did Peter’s)

And one Youtube Red account (It’s Scott’s, and though they laughed when he got it, they do use it on occasion).

All of these are completely accessible on Derek’s Roku, as well as Stiles’ XBox One, the pack Playstation 4, and Erica’s Apple TV - which are all hooked up to or can easily be hooked up to the not-obscene-but-pretty-damn-big television in Derek’s living room.

Which is why it makes no sense that Stiles can’t find one single stupid thing to watch.

“This is ridiculous,” he mutters to himself, clicking through yet another menu. “Did Netflix get rid of Moana?”

“Doesn’t matter, I’m not watching it again.” Derek plops down next to Stiles, sets the cold sodas on the table and throws his arm over the back of the couch. “I still have ‘You’re Welcome’ stuck in my head.”

“It’s the best of the Revival Era Disney movies, Derek,” Stiles says, flipping through the animated movies. “I think they did! Those bastards. Now if I want to watch it, I have to put the DVD in instead of just pushing a button, and I think we both know that I’m way too lazy to be satisfied with that.”

If Stiles were to glance over, he would see the exasperated fondness written all over Derek’s face. It’s a pretty common expression, one that’s been nicknamed by the pack as the “Stiles Face,” and is apparently the most obvious indication of just how smitten Derek actually is over Stiles. Somehow, though, Stiles never seems to catch it - probably because it becomes less exasperated and more fond when Stiles actually looks at Derek.

“Ugh, what’s on the list to watch later?” Stiles finally clicks away from the animation, dissatisfied with the offering. “I guess we could just watch Brooklyn 99?”

Derek shakes his head, drops his arm off the back of the couch to curl around Stiles’ shoulder and nestle in a little closer. “You’re a full season ahead of me. We could keep going with Great British Baking Show.”

The disgusted sound Stiles makes is obviously exaggerated, and completely offset by the way that he shamelessly tucks himself into Derek’s side. “Derek!” he cries dramatically. “If I watch Mary Berry critique a soggy-bottomed technical challenge, I will eat everything in your kitchen. And then, when I get home tomorrow, I’ll eat everything in my kitchen too!”

“Okay, then, what about Nailed It?”

Stiles grins, then, all pretense of negativity gone. “Have I ever told you that your addiction to baking shows is adorable?”

Derek knocks his head back against the sofa, fighting a smile of his own. “You tell me every single Thursday.”

“It just really amuses me considering how much of a challenge baking is for you.” Stiles’ grin goes from enamored to shit-eating. “You could probably actually be on Nailed It, if you wanted.”

“Alright, no baking,” Derek says with a faux-annoyed growl and a grin he can’t quite hide. “Move over to Prime, we can watch the Star Trek movie with Zachary Quinto again.”

“Oh, now, that’s not fair,” Stiles snorts, clicking the buttons to lead him away from Netflix and over to the other streaming app. “You’re using my weaknesses against me. Just because I have a thing for his eyebrows - which, by the way, aren’t even really in the film - doesn’t mean that you get to use my love for this masterpiece of a reboot movie as foreplay.”

“I would never, Stiles,” Derek says, indulgently, as the movie starts up. “It doesn’t mean anything that we can’t even get through to the end without making out. Probably just a coincidence.”

“You’re damn right, it’s a coincidence.” The feeling of Derek’s shirt under his cheek is a familiar, comforting one. Stiles settles in, and knows for a fact that he won’t make it all the way through the movie this time either. Derek’s fingertips on the skin of his arm below the t-shirt sleeve are already far too distracting. “You know, I just like Zachary Quinto because his eyebrows remind me of yours. Hey, does that mean you’d make a good Vulcan?” Stiles rolls his head to shoot a winning grin at his boyfriend.

Derek looks at him, arching an eyebrow in a very unimpressed manner. “Well, Captain Stiles, I just did some calculations, and I’ve been able to determine that you’re full of shit.”

The fingertips that had so nicely been skating across Stiles’ arm descend very suddenly on Stiles’ ribs, and if there is one thing that Stiles has learned in the course of dating a werewolf, it is that supernatural strength and supernatural speed combine to make sure that he will never win a tickle fight. His only hope is to beg for mercy or distract, and so Stiles clambers onto Derek’s lap with a shriek of laughter and plants as big and sloppy of a kiss that he’s capable of on Derek’s lips (and actually also gets some of Derek’s nose, if he’s being honest).

Derek’s hands curl around Stiles’ waist, fingers flexing in the threadbare fabric of his pizza slice pajama pants in a way that clearly says he will mightily object if Stiles tries to move now. Stiles bites back laughter as he lifts the hem of his t-shirt to wipe at Derek’s face and nose before giving in and dissolving into what could probably aptly be described as giggles. The werewolf tilts his face with a grin, and Stiles obliges, leaning forward and pressing a much more civil kiss to his mouth.

“We didn’t even make it through the destruction of the Kelvin,” Derek murmurs when Stiles pulls away, just far enough that Stiles can still feel the breath of Derek’s words against his own lips.

“I told you this movie was foreplay,” Stiles says, and kisses him again.

#sterek #novemberhush #fanfiction #i hate formatting on tumblr please go to ao3 if you would like to see all of my italics

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quarantingz · 4 years

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my funny relationship with time as an often heavily-caffeinated, easily sidetracked individual

I’d like to say that this quarantine period has turned me into a happier, more productive and content person. It has to some extent. From day one (of this quarantine at least) I’ve been cursed with the will-write-a-list-for-every-possible-task syndrome. It appears that I can no longer go on with my day without jotting down blow-by-blow what I plan on doing. From walking Archie and setting up a direct debit payment for my graduation pictures to my usual 8:30 am standup with the design team and reminding myself to reply to the guy who recruited me to do free work during my uni days through Linkedin.

Time is money.

Time is of the essence.

Time is a non-renewable resource.

My relationship with time has been quite chaotic since starting a full-time job. I’d wake up at 5 am, meditate, brush my teeth, wash my face, get dressed into clothes I carefully prepared and draped over my chair the night before, put makeup on and try to remember if I forgot to do or pick up anything before leaving my room. I’d lay out the carton of milk, the cup and saucer I always use (if I have time to sit around, otherwise I resort to a Keep Cup), grind some coffee beans and make myself a flat white. I did this everyday. Like clockwork. Until I run out coffee beans. At which point I’d rush to Pak n Save and get my usual poison of choice — Karajoz whole coffee beans.

I haven’t had a flat white since the lockdown. My sister brought some Kahlua plunger coffee from America so I’ve been pouring myself a decent cup of that instead every morning. No milk or sugar, just black. I’ve always liked the way coffee made like this make me feels. Hugged. Invigorated. Contemplative like how I imagine someone like Jack Kerouac would be, writing in his torn up journal in a diner in Massachusetts as a waitress in mint green uniform pours him his third cup of joe. Anyway… my point is that this routine I got used to was broken as soon as I started working from home. Not that I’m complaining. If anything, I was excited to have more time to myself, to workout, cook and actually be at home when my parents and sister would decide to call in from overseas. However I do miss my colleagues, badminton on Wednesdays and the sacredness of my 6:30 am drives where the sun wouldn’t be up yet — listening to Principles by Ray Dalio while I sit in Auckland traffic. What I don’t miss is the afternoon traffic that lasts half an hour longer on Fridays. The kind that lulls you to a ‘micro-sleep’ in which you wake up petrified and feeling guilty. Wikipedia describes it as a temporary episode of sleep or drowsiness which may last for a fraction of a second or up to 30 seconds where an individual fails to respond to some arbitrary sensory input and becomes unconscious. This isn’t a pretty scenario when you’re behind a steering wheel. I’m glad the car in front of me had already accelerated enough that letting go of the brakes and moving even slightly forward as a result of my brief comatose, didn’t end up in a bumper to bumper collision. My dad always warned me about this happening and I haven’t told anyone in my family about it. From then on I’d try and keep my eyes as wide open as possible while driving, like wedging a rod of some sort to stop one of those windows that you slide up from slamming back down.

What’s funny is that even though I suddenly have all the time in the world now, I’m still experiencing the same struggle of racing with time — squeezing in as many endeavours, hobbies and chores into the hours between work finishing at 4:30 pm and the next hour of the next working day which is 8:30 these days. I realised that I don’t know how to not do anything. I saw this tweet a while back of someone saying all they’ve done in the span of an hour during the first week of quarantine is stare at a mole on their leg. That spoke to me for some reason. And then Alyssa (bless her) sent me this article about the work work work culture that has permeated modern society. In three times that I’ve “watched” a film with friends online, I’m embarrassed to confess that I had about 10 other tabs open including a shopping cart of wines that I probably won’t end up buying and evidence of one of my shameless Pinterest rabbit holes, looking for the best homemade pasta dough recipes. There’s always at least five people claiming theirs is the best one. I know I need to do something about this bad habit of being sidetracked all the time that I’ve developed over the years, yet I can’t help but jump from thought to thought and defend it as having this innate ability to make connections between things. Another thing I miss about my bygone morning routine (and what made it especially sacred) were the precise moments of me getting off the train in Otahuhu with a book in hand (I got through a handful in the last few months, namely, Why We Sleep, Steve Jobs, 7 Habits of Highly Effective People, Getting to Yes and Sapiens) and walking down the stairs of the overpass before taking a seat on the bench, fishing for the A6 journal Lauren gave me as a secret Santa present in my bag to gather my thoughts. Or more specifically, draw links between themes that have emerged in books, podcasts or conversations I’ve had with people that week. These were the moments in which I would always think clearly.

As we enter Friday and bid another work-from-home week adieu, I’d like to remind myself of how blessed I am that I’m able to continue working as normal to begin with and that I should make the most of this time while I’m at it. Use it to bless and support others. Live in the present. Develop equanimity in these unprecedented times. Just slow the heck down for once. I wish these things upon you, too.

- p

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missjennmurray · 5 years

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The Wylde Interview: Jenn Murray

NORTHERN IRISH ACTRESS JENN MURRAY IS AMASSING AN EXTRAORDINARILY VARIED BACK CATALOGUE OF WORK; FROM HER DEEPLY DISTURBING BREAKOUT MOVIE DOROTHY MILLS (2008) – PLAYING THE EPONYMOUS, DISTURBED TEEN – TO LIGHT COMEDY, IN THE DELIGHTFUL JANE AUSTEN FLICK LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP (2016), AND ON TO HER TURN AS THE SHY CHASTITY BAREBONE IN FANTASTIC BEASTS AND WHERE TO FIND THEM (2016). ADDING TO THESE ROLES, SHE’S IN THIS MONTH’S MEGA-RELEASE MALEFICENT: MISTRESS OF EVIL, PLAYING ALONGSIDE MICHELLE PFEIFFER, AND WE MANAGED TO STOP THIS MERCURIAL PERFORMER FOR 5 MINUTES, FOR A WYLDE CHAT-AND-SHOOT…

Interview by David Newton / Photography by Etienne Gilfillan

Wylde: Could you briefly outline your character in the upcoming Maleficent: Mistress of Evil movie? What do you most like about her?

Jenn Murray: My character is called Gerda and she is Queen Ingrith’s right hand woman and devoted servant. Gerda is skilful in weaponry and other perhaps more sinister tools. What I most liked about Gerda was her focus, she was incapable of being distracted. She had no interest in being seen in a spotlight. She worked hard without seeking reward.

You exploded onto the acting world with your debut performance in the deeply disturbing movie Dorothy Mills… was that a difficult role to take on so early in your career?

I find the difficulties in a career as an actor are not the roles specifically but how you maintain your confidence and creative satisfaction when you are unemployed. Dorothy Mills was a gift of a role. I had an amazing scene partner in Carice van Houten and everyday was pure joy. Even though it was my first job, I was aware of how lucky I was to land such a complex role and I savoured it. They bleached the crown of my hair every Friday night. Note to twenty-one year old self: say no to a weekly bleach! It was a strange movie, unsettling and very atmospheric. I am so proud to be a part of it.

I hear from our photographer Etienne that you’re not a fan of musicals? Why not? I love them!

Yes, I appreciate the unbelievable talent and discipline that goes into them but it’s just not really my bag, so to speak. I do think Catherine Zeta-Jones in Chicago is utterly magical; the performance is primal and that is thrilling to watch.

If you could move eventually into directing, what sort of movie would be your debut film?

My focus would lean towards writing and producing, rather than directing. To be a director is such a massive undertaking, I don’t think I would want that responsibility. The films I want to make are the films I want to see. Manchester By The Sea, Last Of The Mohicans, When Harry Met Sally, Thelma and Louise are all films I adore. The land plays a role, whether it is autumn in New York City, or the dusty roads around the Grand Canyon. I like intimate, urgent conversations amidst nature. I like characters who show fortitude and resilience against circumstance or themselves. My aspiration would be to tell stories that make an individual watching feel expansive and hopeful.

And who would you cast in it? (In other words, who are your favourite actors right now?)

I love actors! There are so many I admire, it would be hard to choose. I like an actor who hand themselves over to the spectator without vanity. In a dream scenario I would like to work with John Hawkes, Kyle Chandler, Marion Cotillard, Kevin Bacon, Elizabeth Debicki and Christopher Walken.

What do you most fear?

I fear rodents. When I lived in London, one climbed up through the sink drain and scuttled along my jars of seasonings, smoked paprika, red pepper flakes, garlic salt. I silently and swiftly packed a bag and went immediately to a friend’s house. I did not resume normal breathing for several hours. It was the size of a kitten.

Stage or screen: you are extremely adept at both, but do you lean towards either one in particular?

I love both. I love acting, you see, so whichever way it unfolds, I am game! I feel particularly exhilarated by a live audience; they give you energy and you give yourself. It feels sacred. Lately, it can feel if something is not documented by a photograph or a video, it has less meaning. But I think the moments that are present and private in an art form are essential for the human spirit. I saw Adam Driver in Burn This recently and I already know I will never forget that performance. In film, I love how the camera can see what you are thinking. I like the collaboration and the early mornings. I like the pocket of silence when the camera rolls and the First AD yells “Action!” and you go searching with your scene partner. I have been so fortunate to work with real masters of their craft. Colleen Atwood, the costume designer on Fantastic Beasts and Ellen Mirojnick, the costume designer on Maleficent, are two women that I am so inspired by. They take you in, they think of the story, they pick up a material, a colour and they create an epic painting. When I have a costume designed by one of them, I feel I have an extra layer of confidence around me to take a leap with the character.

I believe you have a fondness for 1980’s movies; which ones, and why?

I do! The fondness is for so many reasons. Firstly when I was a child, my older brother and sister were watching these movies and so, if I was lucky, I could sit with them and watch for fifteen minutes before I had to go to bed. I love Back To The Future and The Breakfast Club, Alien and Ghostbusters, Working Girl! I liked the structure back then, when a camera would sit on two actors for pages of dialogue with the confidence that the audience would not lose interest. Sigourney Weaver played characters who were smart and fun and aspirational, yet attainable. Also in the Eighties there was less interest in celebrity culture and so you were an actor because you wanted to act, not because you wanted to be famous. There was less focus on pleasing a mass audience and more dedication to telling a story that was authentic.

You look amazing in the clothes we got you to wear for our shoot; there’s a moody, character-actress quality to the pictures. What do you gravitate towards, fashion-wise?

I like Ralph Lauren and Carolina Herrera, both fans of the classic white shirt! I like clothes that make you look comfortable and chic. I gravitate towards someone who has a signature look that is timeless. I think Keanu Reeves always looks great in his black suits and desert boots and Sofia Coppola in her tailored suits and silk dresses. I adore silk scarves. The production team of Maleficent had a black silk scarf made for me, and I was delighted. I have a weakness for a great leather jacket. I found this 1950’s brown leather baseball jacket at a market in Los Angeles. I definitely did not need it but I couldn’t resist.

Finally (our favourite question!): what strange dreams have you had recently?

I dreamt Jack Nicholson was cooking me dinner in an attic the other night. He had a mini fridge and he pulled out mince meat, fresh figs and a can of coke!

#interview #press #wylde #jenn murray #Irish Actress

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templeofulchtar · 5 years

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Starscreamian Correspondences: Part One

This is Part One of a two-part series. The topic is so large that I couldn’t cover even half of it! This first post is a general discussion of correspondences as they relate to Starscream, while in Part Two, you will find an exercise to help you develop your own personalized set of correspondences for Starscream.

What are Correspondences?

Correspondences are things that people tend to associate with… well, other things. In magick, correspondences are used to evoke the power of certain entities, or weave certain energies into your ritual or spell. A correspondence can be almost anything, from plants, colors, weapons, planets, constellations, elements, musical instruments, animals, numbers, crystals, days of the week, and so on.

Roses, for example, are sacred to Venus. So are apples, copper, the color green, the number five, and Friday. If you were to create a ritual that taps into Venusian energy, you might have it on a Friday, Venus’ sacred day, and make an offering of five roses, a green apple, or five copper pennies; you might light a green candle and write your intention using a pen with copper-colored ink. By using these correspondences, you are anchoring your working in Venusian energy, which will help you realize intentions associated with Venus, such as love or abundance.

Starscream has correspondences too.

Quite a lot of them, in fact! His classic colors of Silver and Red are obvious correspondences, as is the Eagle, since his G1 alt-mode is that of an F-15 Eagle. Numerologically, his name equates to the number 36 (or 9), so I consider those to be his sacred numbers, and his signature weapon, the Null-Ray, and coronation crown are also very much associated with him.

In addition to these ‘canon’ correspondences, I also have a large set of personal correspondences for Starscream. Some I can back up with evidence, while others are idiosyncratic. For example, I can make a reasonably solid argument for why I think Starscream is a Scorpio, but my reasons for thinking of the Thistle as one of his plant totems are more personal.

Below are my thoughts on some of the more canon-supported correspondences for Starscream. These are just suggestions. Take what resonates, and leave the rest. Your path with Starscream is yours, and it's ultimately up to you, and him, to decide what's best.

Starscream’s Weapons

Starscream has a number of weapons, ranging from deadly (his cluster-bombs) to comical (the slingshot he uses in *More Than Meets The Eye, Part 2*). But of course it’s his signature weapon, the Null-Ray, that’s always held the greatest fascination for me. Marvel's *Transformers Universe* comic series describes the null-ray as being "able to interrupt the flow of electricity in any circuitry... for periods of up to two minutes."

How cool is that? Not only does it interrupt the flow of energy through circuitry, but it also appears to stabilize or neutralize energies that have become unbalanced. It has even been shown to have healing properties. In the episode Auto Berserk, for example, Starscream fired his null-ray at Red Alert, causing his logic circuits to stabilize. Magickally speaking, the Null-Ray has so many potential applications that I ended up writing a separate post for it, complete with a meditation. See The Null-Ray: Magickal Uses.

Starscreamian Colors

I love how colorful the Seekers are! They are like splendidly plumaged birds, each with his own vivid color scheme that's uniquely his. I have some headcanon regarding color in TFs. For example, I like the idea that a character's outward colors aren't paint, but are created by chromites—that is, specialized nanites that create the color and finish on the character's frame. I also like the idea that the chromites respond to the character's spark in creating his or her signature colors and patterns, and so there is often a correspondence between a character's frame color and the color of their spark.

Color is a fun topic. There is no doubt that color has a potent psychological, and even physiological effect, on us, and I wear Starscream’s colors a lot. For this reason, it makes complete sense to use it in magick. It can be incorporated into your workings in countless ways (too many to list!), but here is a quick run-down of colors I associate with Starscream, and what their magickal associations tend to be:

Red: The color of human blood, red is associated with vitality, life force, passion, instinctual drives, survival and sexuality. It’s also thought to be the color of the Root, or Base Chakra, which is located at the perineum and is associated with survival and security.

Silver: The metal silver is associated with the Moon, with night, feminine forces, yin, intuition, the deep subconscious, wisdom and secrets.

Blue: The color of Earth’s sky, blue is also thought to be the color of the Throat Chakra, associated with mind, science, reason, speech, writing and other forms of verbal communication. It’s also the color most associated with water, and has connotations of purity and cleansing.

Yellow: The color of our Sun, yellow is thought to be the color of the Solar Plexus Chakra, located between the ribs and the navel on a human. This Chakra is associated with ego, will, drive and aggression. It's interesting that the only yellow part of Starscream is his brilliant golden-yellow cockpit canopy, and that when he's in root mode, it's located in roughly in the same location as the Solar Plexus Chakra would be on a human. It's as if his Will or Ego center is hugely overblown and exaggerated - which is actually true! In fact, his French name is Ego).

Gold: The color of Starscream’s crown is, as you might imagine, the color associated with extravagance, wealth, riches, and excess, though it is also associated with illumination, love, compassion, courage, passion, magic, and wisdom.

Purple: The color of Starscream’s coronation mantle is purple, a color which represents the sythesis of blue’s calm stability with red’s fierce energy. Purple is associated with intuition, the psychic realm, royalty, creativity, luxury, power, pride, homosexuality, ambition, mysticism, independence, magic and… wouldn’t you know it… resurrection. (And, of course, Decepticons.)

The Mantle

Starscream’s coronation outfit. Le sigh.

Okay, confession time: I’ll admit that I felt embarrassed and vaguely uneasy the first time I watched the coronation scene, and as we all know by now, it turned out my sense of unease was fully justified. Whenever things go well for Starscream, it’s pretty much always because the writers are setting him up for a fall; and what a fall this was.

*pauses to sigh again*

But in seriousness, there’s a lot to be said about the symbolism of these clothing items. A mantle represents authority. In fact, when we say that someone is ‘assuming the mantle’ of something, it means they are taking on a specific role or position, along with any associated responsibilities.

Perhaps the presence of the mantle in the coronation scene was intended to underline the idea that Starscream was overstepping his assigned role in life, and that he was unprepared, or unfit, to take on the responsibilities associated with the role he’d just usurped.

There is, of course, another way of looking at it, one that is especially suitable for Ghost Season symbolism, which can be summarized by the saying, ‘fake it ‘til you make it.’ Our goals and ambitions *should* be a stretch for us. They should be a challenge, and they will almost certainly push us into taking on new roles and responsibilities for which we may feel unfit, or unprepared. That’s how growth is.

Sometimes the best thing you can do is brazen things out. Put on your mantle, wear it with pride, and prepare your acceptance speech. “Fellow Decepticons! As your new leader…” In time—and with practice—your new mantle will begin to feel as much a part of you as your null-rays.

Until then, my friend, fake on! (It looks so damn good on you.)

The Crown

Crowns, as you can probably guess, represent royalty. They correspond with the Crown Chakra, the energy center which connects us to universal energy (aka God), and thus symbolizes a monarch’s ‘divine’ right to rule. This is a very ancient idea. Throughout history, rulers have been viewed either as gods themselves, or as divinely appointed.

The Transformers series is fully on board with this notion, presenting the Autobot Matrix as a stand-in for the divine force that confers kingship upon those it deems worthy. In other words, those who possess a special, mysterious quality get divinely appointed to rule over the rest of us. Call it… the Touch. But Starscream, in refreshingly iconoclastic fashion, upends this whole paradigm.

Sure, he could wait around for a sparkly rock to decide he’s worthy to rule, or he could take matters into his own hands. Of course by doing so, he violated the established ‘natural order’ of the Transformers universe, and because of this, he was swiftly put back in his place. One does not simply appoint oneself king! You must stand around and wait until the sparkly rock chooses you. (Obviously!)

In light of what I’ve said above, you may already have guessed that you can invoke the symbolism of the crown as a means of activating to your Crown Chakra and connecting to the divine, especially your own divine nature. The crown can also symbolize the act of choosing oneself; of reclaiming one’s personal and spiritual authority.

Starscream’s crown has four prongs. In numerology, 4 represents stability, rationality, structure and rules. It’s linked to the Emperor card in the Tarot deck—which is interesting, since the Emperor, in Tarot, is the king of kings—and it’s also associated with the Death card. In some cultures, 4 is considered an unlucky number due to its association with death, but the Death card in Tarot is actually a positive card which symbolizes transformation. Starscream’s crown is an excellent symbol to employ if you are seeking to take charge of your life through your magick, or to transform it in a deep and powerful way.

The scarlet gems which adorn Starscream’s crown are another obvious bit of symbolism. We’ve already talked about the symbolism of the color Red, and we could speculate about what type of gems those are (rubies, perhaps?), but since this is getting long, I want to draw your attention to that central, hexagonal gem that sits directly on the forehead of the crown.

That is a Third Eye. It actually looks like one of Starscream’s own optics, but turned sideways—a classic depiction of a Third Eye. The Third Eye is the Sixth Chakra, which on humans is thought to be located on the forehead, above and directly between the eyes. It governs intuition and psychic abilities, making Starscream’s crown a wonderful symbol to employ in psychic development or awakening one’s intuition.

In the next post, I’ll give you an exercise for developing your very own, personalized set of correspondences. Keep reading!

#starscream #starscream spirit guide #pop culture magick #pop culture paganism #pop culture spirituality #pop culture spirit guides #starscream's crown #starscream's null-ray #symbolism #magical correspondences

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chelseaartlab · 3 years

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notes

Rāpare (8.2)

Reviewing independent - discussion of ‘easy’ ways to get going with your independent work.

Methods

What does artistic methods mean?

How they do research - form concepts -

Their ‘protocols’ and ‘rules’ - eg. person rules for how to approach a piece/project

… are their rules for artists?

Perhaps these are processes?

How artists repeat or ‘iterate’ an idea through a body of work

Choices of MEDIUM (singular) or Media (plural)

Painting: acrylic, oil, watercolour, substrate (canvas, wood, concrete)

Sculpting: hard/soft, additive/subtractive

Why choose a technique?

What is the history of the medium - what is a material or technique tied to from the traditions we have inherited? eg. wood vs marble vs clay vs wax… ; oil paint vs earth pigments vs charcoal vs food….

What is a person’s/artist’s “worldview”?

… their worldview influences their method, eg. their ethical system

Hākari concept in relation to the artist… ?

Food and celebration

process/tradition/rituals

Transitions between tapu and noha, sacred and everyday… life and death?

Dale Harding

Film #1

“what’s the point of doing art if you don’t do it with a connection to your family or your community?”

“Playing” in the studio… what he’d do on a Friday and Saturday nights!

Sets boundaries to look at ‘country’ and history - specifically his family’s history - similar to ideas of whenua - turangawaewae (“a place to stand”)

He considers the literal material of the work - as it relates to history.

Millet = food (these days often bird food… but actually a really good source of protein) > food as a commodity, which Harding compares to the way Aboriginal people were treated as commodities (“human resource”)

Lives of struggle by Aborigianal people - alienation of language, culture and land - Australian law only recognised Aboriginals as “human” (vs fauna) in the 1980s.

What is he celebrating?

The ability to make art about his culture now

Ability to share activity this with his family

The community itself

Belonging to culture, tradition, heritage

Connections with senior artists from the community

land/country - continuing traditional Aboriginal worldviews in the present.

Grandparents: Bidjara/Garingbal & Gundangara.

Bringing both father’s (non-Aboriginal) and mother’s (Aboriginal) sensibilities in use of materials and techniques eg. stencils with paint, embroidery and cross stitch (historically a feminine craft rather than masculine art technique), wood and forestry, millet sacks (unusual material)... gender politics...

How we conceive the spaces we use eg. Harding treats the gallery/studio as PART OF the landscape (rather than an isolated/hermetic space)

Harding works directly onto the walls - something that we can’t alway do… think about why not?!

Film #2

That might need a few watches…

‘Hypervigilant around protocols’ of making works - always stayed away from direct reference to ochre paintings - but this had changed as he learned more and was encouraged by community

Application/repetition of stencils to ‘tell the story of the object’ - how the object moves - rhythm (also appears when we think of kowhaiwhai, wharaiko, etc)

Different views - as ‘anthropological’ or ‘ethnography’ vs ‘art’. Seeing the works in landscape as composed art works.

Rickets Blue “open source” material - references “domestic servitude”

Technique of blowing pigment - either breath brush or spray cans?

Large figure - the image of the grandmother - on a pedestal - the role of holding the stories (and moving the culture forward). Aborginal communities are matrilineal

His need to ‘look into’ composition - using books and photos - how this changes the ‘in country’ quality of the composition.

Continually making shifts in material and technique eg. carving into gypsum (plasterboard) gallery wall - instead of sandstone cliff or cave; rickets blue laundry dye - instead of ochre pigments; stencils of shovel handles - instead of hands

ADD EXTRA STUFF YOU FIND:

Eg. an extra film I found last night - too long to play in class but you might find it interesting:

Colour Theory with Richard Bell - 2013 https://vimeo.com/88723906

📷 project for the Sydney Biennale

📷

http://www.4a.com.au/4a_papers_article/dale-harding-tess-maunder/

📷

Yoko Ono

What do we know about her:

Wife of John Lennon… and she “ruined the Beatles”.. The mythology of Ono.

In bed for peace… a “love in”

Photographed by Annie Leibovitz

Performance artist

Instructional artworks (...sometimes as Conceptual Art)

Works on bodies

Multimedia artist including song writing, video, performance

Peace activist

Japanese & American

Film #1

Very diverse oeuvre

Upper middle class origins - “even their wealth didn’t protect them from WWII” eg. Hiroshima & Nagasaki - halt in the easy movement between USA & Japan (many Japanese were persecuted in the USA during WWII)

Engagement with viewers > viewers become artists within the work > “audience as author” (... Roland Barthes…”Death of the Author”)

Art starts in the gallery but goes beyond it… can exist anywhere

Performance Art

Fluxus (https://www.theartstory.org/movement/fluxus/history-and-concepts/)

Questions of authorship and collaboration

BODIES

unGendering

Bottoms

Feminisation of society

Taking away/ critiquing gender

Gender activist

Work celebrates what already exists… critique of ideas of invention and originality

Work to be light on the earth - physically but also conceptually. Eg. instructions are barely there.

Humour

Playful

Art as invitation > Interactive > Collaboration > art events (“happenings”) > improvisational performance.

Grapefruit > hybridity > Homi Bhabha (https://literariness.org/2016/04/08/homi-bhabhas-concept-of-hybridity/)

Aspirational (climb a ladder to look at a canvas on the ceiling that says “yes”)

Independent:

3 ½ hrs experiments responding to Dale Harding &

3 ½ hrs experiments responding to Yoko Ono

Set yourself up with fixed parameter (things or rules), and just one or two variables eg.

I have this room, this paint, this technique of repetition of this shape, this amount of time; my variable is what rhythms of composition I can create.

I have this story from my mum, I have these household products and these surfaces to put them on; my variable is how I tell the story.

I have my grandma on the other end of the phone telling me stuff which will become a collection of words which I will record; the variable is how I will put them on paper as a text/composition.

I have these flatmates willing to carry out this set of instructions; how will I document that performance?

I am interested in how we play a particular thing (eg. chess or cards or a musical instrument), I have a camera to record it. The variable is which photos I select.

I am interested in play as the unconscious manipulation of clay/fimo/playdough - I will play for 10 minutes at a time and see what comes out. I will repeat this 6 times, I will choose how to document/reflect on the results...

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abeautifulquiet · 4 years

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We met on a Saturday afternoon. It was an accident too. If something had changed, I'd never have met you. Some days I wonder if that would have been better.

I was sitting at my normal table, in my normal coffee shop. Java Juice, on the corner of Maple and Seventeenth. I loved the feel of the place, with it's glazed wooden interior, warm and soft lighting, and light background noise. It was my sacred place, great for quiet contemplation and inspiration. Also, their dark roast was to kill for.

Java was a great place for watching people. He knew things about the other regulars that he had no reason to know. Like how May Paulsen came here every other Friday and sat in the third booth from the door and cried. Her husband was cheating on her with his assistant. She'd seen their messages on his phone. He didn't know.

They had a two-year-old daughter named Silvia. May pretended that she didn't know for the sake of the kid, but she took every other Friday afternoon off from work to sit at her table and let it all out. Her tears mixed with her chai latte, and she was able, just for an hour, to stop pretending that she wasn't broken.

Mancio Capaldo was a business executive who spent more than he earned. His suits, which looked expensive, were fake and cheap, as was his watch. The car he drove was real, but he'd be paying it off for years. He knew it, too. He was never married, and never would be. The only thing he held in his heart was a love for money. No woman would be able to love him, and he wasn't exactly the type to share his wealth, what little of it there was left. He wore too much cologne and too little deodorant.

Claire Estelle was a college kid studying anthropology. She had a strained relationship with her parents, mostly due to her girlfriend, Vienna. Vienna was a beautiful, smart, and talented girl, studying journalism. The only thing that made her unfit in their eyes was her gender, an unfortunate by-product of a strict Catholic upbringing. They came here to study and often sat near me. We knew each other by name and had a conversation every time our trips to Java Juice coincided.

One of the upsides to having a photographic memory such as mine is that I never forget a face. Not a single one. Every person who came into Java was imprinted in my mind. That's why you stood out.

I walked into Java Juice on that day to find someone sitting in my booth. I turned to Tysen, the host in charge of seating the clients . He knew better than to seat someone in my booth, especially when there were many other seats available. I didn't even really get a good look at the girl in my booth before I stomped over to confront him.

"Tysen!"

"C'mon, don't get angry with me. She wanted that booth specifically. You weren't here yet and she's a paying customer."

"That's my booth."

"No, that's our booth that you like to sit in."

I grumbled and stomped to the booth across the room from mine. I set my computer bag down and glared at the girl sitting in my booth. Then I stopped because I really saw you.

You had a pile of books nearly your own height sitting on the table next to you. I saw Jane Austen, Charlotte Bronte, Arthur Conan Doyle. I saw classics and a few newer fiction pieces.

You had those long, blonde curls that seemed to glitter in the soft light of Java's string lamps. I couldn't see your eyes, but your face was so beautiful, even from across the room. You had soft curves in both face and body, and you had nice makeup on that accentuated your features.

I thought that you were beautiful. That was my first thought, no matter how cliche. However, I'd seen plenty of beautiful women in Java before. Your beauty wasn't why I approached you.

I approached you because of the look on your face. You were reading a thick novel of some obscure English origin, and the expression that played across your features as you simply devoured the words was nothing short of perfection. It was rapture.

I had never before seen someone so entranced by words on a paper.

You left me speechless.

As a writer, I have a keen eye and a fondness for things that are beautiful. As a writer, I have an eye for things that are unusual. As a writer, I have an all-encompassing love for things that are interesting.

You checked all the boxes. I think that maybe Tysen knew that when he seated you. To this day I wonder if you really insisted on sitting there, or if Tysen knew exactly what he was doing.

I'm not exactly sure what gave me the courage to gather my things, walk over to the booth, and plop down across from you, but whatever it was, I thank it daily.

The funny thing is, you didn't even seem surprised when I sat down. Your face dropped at my approach, and I realized, with some amusement, that you weren't mourning my arrival, but the fact that you were expected to put down the book and exchange words with me.

When you looked up at me, you smiled and I nearly died. You had the cutest dimples, and from this distance, I could see a spattering of freckles across your nose and cheekbones, and I noticed that your eyes were blue. Stormy grey-blue, like a thundercloud. You smelled like fresh rain and lavender.

I started, feeling a bit wary that you didn't know me and I didn't know you.

"Hi. I'm Micah. Micah Stevenson . I'm truly sorry for pausing your book, but you seemed to be really enjoying it and I had to come over and take a look for myself. Anyone who reads Charlotte Bronte obviously has superior taste, and I've been looking for a good book recently."

Your eyes sparkled and your cheeks flushed. You seemed to be both delighted by my question and embarrassed at being caught in the midst of your addiction.

I extended my hand tentatively towards you, and you took it, shaking it voraciously.

"Eluska. Ocariz."

I raised one eyebrow in curiosity. Your name didn't sound American, but your features and style were very caucasian. The linguistics of your name sounded familiar to me as if I'd heard it before.

You noticed my puzzled expression and began to explain, but I stopped you before the words left your lips.

"Your name. Basque?"

Your jaw dropped in amazement.

"Yes! How did you know?"

"I'm a writer. I know lots of things that don't exactly correlate with each other."

You smiled and grabbed the book you had been so enamored with earlier. The front of the novel was inscribed with golden letters that read The Great Gatsby.

"Really? Your first time reading it? I'd have expected it to be on the top of your list."

"No."

"No?"

"My fifth time reading it." You smiled.

This revelation left me shocked. Your fifth time? How was it, then, that you seemed so in love with the pages? How did it happen that you were still so awed by these words you already knew?

As if sensing my questions and shock, you smiled and laughed.

"Men are so silly. Why should you only read a book once?"

"Doesn't it get old, after a couple times?"

"No. I just fall in love with the words all over again."

I think you owned a little part of me. Even then, you did. I fell in love with you at a little booth at my favorite coffee shop, the first time I met you. I was so far in over my head, and I didn't even know it.

We talked for a while after. Eventually, you had to go and I had work to do. We parted ways, but I didn't forget you. I remembered the girl with the curly hair and the books.

---

My friends, Marc and Joen, convinced me to go out with them one night. The clubs and bars have always been their thing, but I never liked them. It was Joen's birthday, though, so they guilted me into coming out with them.

After a few too many shots and a multitude of bachelorettes at the table next to us, both of my friends disappeared with different blondes, and I knew they'd be occupied for a few hours at the least. I was the designated driver, though, so I had to stay.

I bought myself a drink. And then a second drink, when I started to feel a little sad. Then a third, when an hour had gone by and there was still no sign of my compadres.

Fourth, fifth, possibly sixth but I forgot, drinks went by. And then I was hammered. For some strange reason, I seemed to think it was a good idea to go dance. The floor was packed with people and they were playing some ramped-up version of a rap song. Girls were twisting and shimmying and shaking. Guys were leering. It just seemed like the place to be.

I was dancing, if you could have called it that, when I caught a flash of gold in the corner of my eye. I smelled a hint of rain and lavender and turned, confused. No. This wasn't your scene. There was no way that out of all of New York City, I happened to go to the same bar as you on the same night.

There was suddenly a hand, folded through mine, and I was being pulled back. Out and away. I caught a flash of blonde hair and storm eyes before I came back to my senses a little.

"Wait... I. Igotta..gotta driveee. My friends."

You laughed and it sounded like a river. "You, my friend, are in no shape to be driving anywhere. They'll get a taxi."

"My car..."

"Will be fine until morning. This isn't your kind of place, and you're going to get hurt, flailing around on the dance floor like an idiot. C'mon."

You pulled the door open with your other hand, still keeping a firm grip on me, and pulled me out into the humid night. We walked a little way, down a back street, and to an alley. I remember being vaguely concerned that I didn't know you very well, and maybe you were going to kill me.

I also remember clearly thinking that I'd be fine with that.

Your makeup was glittering in the light of the neon sign in the alley and you looked so beautiful. You were wearing this glittery dress that hugged all your curves and makeup to match. Your hair was all around your shoulders and your eyes were laughing. You looked so beautiful and I had forgotten everything in those blue eyes.

Maybe it was the tequila, or maybe I was just out of my mind, but I really couldn't keep my hands off of you. I grabbed your hips and slammed you against the brick wall in the back of the alley. And then I looked in your eyes for any signs of fear or anger or anything that told me that you didn't want this, but I saw nothing. Actually, that's not true. I saw hunger.

I kissed you. Deep and slow and burning. Like this was all I'd ever needed. And at that moment, it was.

You were making these little noises like you were a baby animal or something. These little tiny moans that heated my whole body up and set my blood on fire. Your fingernails were digging into the skin on my arms and your body was warm and your skin was smooth and I wanted all of it.

I wanted to fuck you, right here in the alleyway, and claim you as my own. Your head was thrown back and my mouth was on your neck and it occurred to me that whatever you were doing with your hips was going to break me, and I was about one more kiss away from ravaging you, this perfect, beautiful, stunning specimen of a woman, in a dirty, rat-infested alleyway. You deserved better treatment.

I pulled away and took in the full sight of you, breathing heavy, priorly perfect hairdo and makeup all messed up, glittery dress bunched up around your thighs. It took all I had to restrain myself.

The drinks weren't worn off, but during however long our stay in this alleyway had been, I'd recovered my ability to speak in mostly full sentences.

"Ms. Ocariz, I...would like to move this... somewhere much more private." You were still looking dazed, just staring at me with dull eyes from the wall where I'd had you.

Eventually, you shook off your stupor and nodded.

"Yeah, yeah my car is just around the block and my apartment is like two minutes that way." You basically dragged me all the way to your car, and I'm pretty sure you ran at least two red lights on your way home. While you drove, I rested my hand on your thigh, right under the hem of your dress. While not exactly the most proper place for my hand to go, you certainly weren't complaining.

We barely made it in the door.

The second the door was closed, you jumped at me and wrapped your legs around my waist I blindly stumbled forward until I found what I assumed to be a wall.

You weren't small, but I was strong and determined, so I did what I had to do.

In the span of about one second, my jeans were around my ankles with my boxers. You weren't wearing any. You tilted just barely to the side and then there was bliss. Perfect, complete, divine ecstasy.

You made this noise when I started to move, which nearly had me crumbling in the first minute. Your head was thrown back and you kept whimpering, like a lost puppy or some sort of wounded animal. And it was glorious.

You kept getting louder and louder and louder and your skin was so warm on mine. In mere minutes, you screamed out my name and bit my shoulder. I followed soon after, moving through both of our cries.

I was sweating and spent, but not done yet. I wanted more. I wanted to see all of you, kiss every inch of your skin. I let you down and as if reading my mind, you grabbed my hand and led me to your bedroom. You had a huge floor to ceiling window in your room, which you hadn't minded to put blinds on, and I could see why. Your room faced the entire New York City skyline and all the lights of the city were on full display, a beautiful show of colors and flashes.

Your gold dress had settled back down and you walked over to the window, touching the glass softly.

"It's beautiful, isn't it? All the people, going around on their own separate lives, not knowing anything about me. My insignificance is comforting."

I came up behind you and stripped off my shirt. I walked up behind you and pulled your dress off over your head, pleased to see you wore no other garments either.

You pressed up against your window and waited for me. I obliged.

Our breath mixed on the window and you made more of those noises that I liked so much. The night city illuminated your skin and I breathed in your scent, fresh rain and lavender. I wondered what made you smell like that.

After a while, my movements turned sloppy and I once again reached that peak of beautiful pleasure. You did not, which displeased me.

You seemed to think that we were done because you turned around as if to head to bed.

I gently caught your arm in my hand and pulled you back to the window. With careful precision, I lifted one of your legs and put it on my shoulder. Then I did something with my mouth that you really seemed to enjoy. It took a little while, but I'm good with my tongue, and soon I had to assist you in standing. When you regained your ability to function, you immediately dropped to your knees to do the same.

I stopped you though, pulling you back up for a kiss. You were tired, I could see it. That specific thing could wait for another day.

In the dull glow of the city lights, you pulled me into bed. Still naked, I embraced your body and pulled you very close to me. The room was rather cold and you were softer than any blanket I'd ever felt. That seemed to please you and you made a contented noise deep in your throat.

After a short time, I fell asleep in your arms.

----

I woke up to your ceiling. Which wouldn't have been so surprising, had you not painted a vast, sprawling rendition of Starry Night on your ceiling. The colors had been unnoticeable in the darkness of your room last night, but in the early morning light, the swirling colors and shapes were unavoidable.

You were still sleeping soundly, your breasts pushed against my back and your arms entwined around my waist. You pulled me very tightly to you and seemed unwilling to let me go. Slowly, I turned to look at you. Your makeup had been mostly wiped off, either on the wall or the window or the pillows. I didn't mind. It showed off all your freckles better. Your hair was draped across your arms and the bed and me, which I also didn't mind. It was much longer than I'd originally thought.

Carefully, I removed myself fro your embrace. Miraculously, it didn't wake you. I went around the room, grabbing discarded articles of clothing. I didn't bother putting them on yet, I could do that in the doorway, where you wouldn't wake up and see me. It was quite the feat, but I managed to grab all my clothes.

As I walked towards the doorway, I looked around the apartment. I'd been a little preoccupied last night and hadn't really taken much note of the scenery.

Everywhere I looked, there was beauty. Her apartment was decorated with Christmas lights, the warm-colored ones that look all aesthetic-y. There were also flowers everywhere, and books on every surface. In the kitchen, there was a living vertical garden of herbs and spices and an essential oil diffuser was emitting lavender scent. So that's where you got it from.

Your home was beautiful, and unlike anything I had ever seen before. It was beautiful, unusual, and most of all, it was interesting.

Standing there, in the doorway of your home, I thought about you. I thought about your hair and your eyes and that look on your face while you were reading a book for the fifth time, but devouring it like it was the first. I thought about your whimpers and your soft skin and the noises you made with my head between your legs. Thinking about all of it, I realized that I didn't want to leave. I wanted to stay.

I dropped my clothes on your couch. I walked back into the bedroom and you opened your eyes when I flopped back down.

"Where did you go?"

"Bathroom," I said.

I put my hand at the apex of your thighs and we stayed like that for a very long time.

----

Our first few months of dating went so smoothly that it was like a dream. At times I'd find myself wondering when I'd wake up and realize that I was still alone. It never happened. We spent most of our time at either your house or Java because I was fond of the people and you were fond of the coffee.

I told you about my people watching, and you wanted to know everything. We sat at my booth and you asked me to tell you about every single person who walked through the door. I was more than happy to do so. Every time I told you some little slice of another person's life, your eyes would light up. You often told me that I was your favorite storyteller.

My house was boring and yours was beautiful, so we spent our time there. During the day, I would sit on your couch among the lavender and the books, and I would write. The novel that I'd been trying to write for years was finally taking shape, and it was all because of you. During the night, your whimpers echoed through the apartment, and sometimes I had to cover your mouth as to not alarm the neighbors.

You were such a beautiful mystery, and I was such a broken adventure. We made beautiful stories and I remember every single one of them. I suppose that that is the issue with a photographic memory. I remember everything, from the way your face looked when you came, to the sound of your voice when you were about to yell at me.

At the beginning of our sixth month, we had our first fight.

---

We were sitting in Java. You were reading and I was writing, and we were both content in our separate activities.

Our peace was interrupted by sobbing. There were only two tables being used, besides our own, and I knew instinctively who it was. May Paulsen often cried while she was here. It was the only time that she could stop pretending, and she took advantage of the opportunity.

She was crying harder than her normal pace. She liked to be discreet with her tears, and this was anything but. She was crying in huge, chest-heaving sobs and the sound was breaking your heart. I knew what you were going to do before you did it, just how I knew that I couldn't stop you.

You slid out of our booth and went over to her, quieting her with soft words and an arm around her. Together, you chatted quietly, helping her through her tears. Eventually, she quieted and you came back to our table.

I raised an eyebrow at you, asking silently.

"Today was Silvia's third birthday. She feels hopeless and depressed because of her situation, but she knew she couldn't risk her daughter."

"What did you say?" I dreaded your answer.

"I told her she needs to confront him. Both she and her daughter's suffering will last much longer if she does nothing."

I grimaced and sighed, putting my hand to my forehead.

"What?" You frowned at me and narrowed your eyes over the top of your reading glasses.

"Silvia isn't developmentally ready for a blow-out fight like that. She's three. Plus, it isn't our business and it isn't our fight. You should've minded your own beeswax.."

"She was suffering, and she needed advice. I don't know what you expected from me, Micah."

I said nothing, and neither did she. The silence lasted the drive home and over dinner. She turned her back to me when we went to bed. After seeing this, I left and went home to my own bed. I hadn't done that in weeks.

You remained mad at me for a week. We didn't speak. It was such a stupid fight and it was such an easy thing to fix, but I couldn't do it. You'd messed up my reality. I stayed separate from these people that I watched. I went unseen, and I knew their stories from afar. I didn't get involved, and I didn't make myself known. Those were the rules of people-watching.

You'd broken all of them.

When we got back together and made up, something was different. Something had changed in this perfect dynamic of ours and it ruined everything.

----

We pretended like things were fine for months. We went on with our lives, did our thing, still had sex almost daily. But things weren't the same.

Part two on the way

#short story #my writing #writers on tumblr #love story #sadbeautifultragic

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donveinot · 4 years

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Journeys in Paganistan (Part 2)

Photo by Dan Farrell on Unsplash Editor’s Note: As Carl pointed out last week in Journeys in Paganistan (Part 1), Occult themes abound in children’s literature, on television shows, and in the movies. The entertainment industry has made a handsome profit in selling the supernatural. In part 2, Carl Teichrib further exposes the reality beyond books and TV screens – a spiritual worldview that honors creation over the Creator and the dawning of a new Pagan age dawning. He begins with Satanism: Satanism 101: Previously, the neo-Pagan community had distanced itself from modern Satanism, a fact acknowledged in this workshop. However, an increasing acceptance of what is known as the Left Hand Path is now perceptible. To help Pagans better understand the movement and its implications, this session – led by the Satanist who hosted the Blasphemy workshop – broadly outlined philosophies, branches, and influences. Distinctions between Satanism and Luciferianism were explained. Both elevate the Self or “I” as the Self-god, but the first is more attuned to carnality and individual license, while the second pursues enlightenment through knowledge. Both are grounded in rebellion as an act of transformation. What troubled me was what I heard in the minutes before the start of the workshop. As the room was filling up, a few Witches and Satanists were freely talking about Christian reactions; how insults and hurtful words had been hurled at them, and in one case, a proclaimed Christian had picked up a bag of garbage from a nearby trash-can and dumped it on the person. Now, I have no way of verifying the legitimacy of the perpetrator’s faith – whether they were Christian in name only, or otherwise – but it made my blood boil. We as Christian believers are commanded to “love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind,” and to “love your neighbor as yourself” (Matthew 22:37,39). Thankfully, I do know Christians who purposely reach out to the Pagan community with grace and truth, showing love and compassion, without fear or compromise – recognizing that humanity has intrinsic value because of our special creation in the image of God (Genesis 1:26). Doc Murphy’s Plenary Practice: Of the workshops and lectures attended, I was especially interested in hearing Murphy Pizza, a cultural anthropologist who specializes in Paganistan as a religious community. Pizza had been tasked with delivering a plenary talk to the Upper Midwest Section of the American Academy of Religion/Society of Biblical Literature, and so this was an opportunity to test and flesh-out her presentation. Pizza, an academic and Pagan graced with a witty style, offered insights into changes and challenges; the contemporary social acceptance of Paganism, the struggle over who represents the community, and how a diversity of practices and beliefs are building on each other. Paganism, she noted, was no longer in the shadows. As a matter of fact, one of the reasons for its phenomenal growth is that the movement has stepped out of the broom-closet, so to speak. In the not too distant past, the neo-Pagan community guarded itself with secrecy and veils of mystery. But times have changed, boundaries have blurred, and there is openness for others to enter – and they are. Marriage of Heaven and Hell: Paganicon was more than just workshops and discussion groups. Over thirty vendors were selling books, crystals, magic wands, ceremonial knives, Tarot cards and other divination tools. A long table near the hotel’s front desk offered free literature for everyone; brochures from Druid orders, a flyer from a coven seeking new members, and postcards announcing likeminded events – the upcoming Pagan Spirit Gathering in Ohio, a Sacred Fire Circle in Wisconsin, North Dakota’s Grand Sabbat, and the Midwest Witches Conference in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. Two rooms were set-aside as art galleries. A meditation space was available for those who found themselves overwhelmed, and another room offered six stations for Tarot and Bone readers, psychics, and Reiki energy healers. Saturday evening a colorful labyrinth was set up for mystical encounters. And on the second floor, past the main ritual room, was an area for children with Pagan-appropriate activities. By the way, most children born into Pagan households stay in the community. Hospitality suites were open for specific tribes, covens, and occult orders. Llewellyn Worldwide, the largest independent Pagan/Occult publisher, facilitated meetings for writers. Throughout the hotel people were connecting and networking. At one point, a middle-aged gentleman approached me in conversation. He was involved in the New Thought movement, and was attending to better understand Witchcraft as his workplace – a health care facility – had Wiccans as staff members. I was upfront about my Christianity, and for two hours we had a deep and respectful discussion comparing the Biblical and Pagan worldviews, beginning with God as other than creation. I’m glad to have attended for this reason alone. Friday evening featuring the notable Druid, Damh the Bard, singing songs and telling stories from the old country. An Equinox Ball was held on Saturday night, a colorful celebration with vibrant costumes and a lively concert. At one point, some impromptu performances popped up in an area adjacent to the hotel lobby. Yes, the Pagan community has its own musical spread. Rituals were also part of the daily agenda, often happening concurrently with the scheduled workshops. Some were participatory in that attendees were incorporated into the movement, other times a workshop started with a small ritual – such as a libation before a lecture on animal sacrifices – and a few were demonstration rituals open for observation. All were serious in intent and action. On Saturday I witnessed the Marriage of Heaven and Hell, described as “a unique double-ritual, led by two practicing ritual magicians, in which the celestial and infernal conjoin.” In the ritual room were two magic circles on the floor, one ringed with the names of angelic hosts, and the other dedicated to the dark powers. Commanding the first was a “Christian magician” wearing Templar-style robes, equipped with a sword. His ritual followed a medieval-period, heretical text of ceremonial magic, then used by dissident Catholic priests and later by Protestant mystics. In this text, the names of God are used as a force for summoning spirits, thus “Alpha-Omega” was inscribed in the encirclement. To be clear, this was not Christian in any Biblical sense, and the participant was a Pagan practitioner versed in occult lore. In the second circle, wearing only black pants and boots, was a Satanist with ritual body modifications. His movement was a modern adaptation of another text of ceremonial magic, though of a later period and with a darker emphasis. Within his space were goblets, a knife, a goat skull, and other ceremonial tools. Bloodletting and blood drinking were part of the process, as was a verbalized and written pact with the “demon king of endarkened light, power of the Black Sun.” Both occultists – the Satanist and Christian mystic – performed within an interlocking expression, going back-and-forth to create a unified ritual. And that was the point. What appeared to be paradoxical and divergent was mysteriously bound together; two paths in one accord. But this actually makes sense. The Christian mystic was using God’s name as a universal force, a tool of cosmic power. In fact, after the ritual was over, he described his circle-center with its Alpha-Omega as the cosmic source of all things. Thus, when stepping in, he was “taking the position of God… so I command as God.” The Satanist also described his experience in a cosmic fashion; it was an act of self-directed salvation, using the demonic as a force for personal transformation. Both embody the spirit of Romans 1:25 – worshiping the creature rather than the Creator. For myself, the summation of Paganicon and the religious movement it reflects was observed late Sunday afternoon. The last workshop was over, and I had a few minutes to wander before the closing ceremony commenced. Walking into what had been the ballroom the night before, I could see ten Witches in a tight circle, repeating a simple song of theological potency. Any Christian who knows Scripture would recognize the words: “Oh oh oh… I AM that I AM.” “I’m not afraid of Witches” As a researcher, going to events like Paganicon provides important insights into our rapidly changing culture. The observations, pages of notes, and materials gleaned will be used in my presentations and teaching opportunities, informing the Christian community as to the growth and worldview of Paganism. But it doesn’t end there. Christian reactions betray an underlying condition that needs to be addressed. Upon hearing I’ve attended events like this, the response from many Christians is: “I could never go there.” Generally speaking, I agree. This type of research is not for everyone, and to go means you understand the calling and reason. However, something else is usually going on, as the statement is often followed by a question: “Weren’t you afraid?” “Are you afraid of Pagans?” I’ve asked back, and in most cases the person affirms that there is, indeed, a measure of fear. Why? Pagans are people, and odds are you interact with them without realizing it; they can be found in almost every occupation – schoolteachers, lawyers, store clerks, business owners, and students. Nor are they geographically limited. Are our fears reasonable? Or have we succumbed to stereotypes and media images, scaring ourselves? Please understand, I am not detracting from the seriousness of the spiritual reality, but if you had lived in Rome or Athens or Ephesus during the time of Christ, your Pagan setting would be far more real and raw. Yet, it was in this spiritual context that the Early Church flourished, brining the light of the Gospel forward. Moreover, the Apostle Paul even presents us with models on how to engage, pointing to the God who is creator over creation (Acts 14:11-18, 17:16-34). One week after my return from Paganicon, I had the privilege of talking with a young friend at Millar College of the Bible. She was interested in hearing about my trip, but as I explained what transpired, including the rituals, it was evident this was troubling to her. I stopped, briefly outlining the core differences between the God of the Bible and the Pagan worldview – that the God of Scripture is not compared to nature, or human wisdom, nor the strength of nations (Isaiah 40:12-18). She knew this, but it was important to re-focus on whom it is we follow. I told her something else, a fact that came to my mind when observing the Marriage of Heaven and Hell, for there was a point in which I was uncomfortable. In that place where demonic entities were being summoned, I, too, was strongly reminded of an incredible promise, “…that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, of those in heaven, and of those on earth, and of those under the earth, and that every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father” (Philippians 2:10-11). We either bow in love and thanksgiving now, or judgment later. But every knee will bow – every human, every spirit. So why are we afraid? Why do we allow fear of the Pagan world to impede us? Two months later my friend excitedly emailed me. She was a cabin leader in a Bible camp, and a 12-year old had approached her: “I’m a Witch, but you don’t have to be afraid of me.” My friend told the camper that no, she wasn’t afraid of her. The next day the conversation repeated. Looking into her eyes, my friend responded with confidence, “I’m not afraid of Witches.” And with that, a floodgate of questions opened – and a Christian camp leader, a Wiccan, and a group of young ladies spent time seriously considering the God who is above all things, “For by Him all things were created that are in heaven and that are on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or principalities or powers. All things were created through Him and for Him” (Colossians 1:16). As our culture increasingly accepts a Pagan worldview, the question hangs over us as believers in Jesus Christ: Why are we afraid?Ω

Carl Teichrib is a researcher, writer, and lecturer focusing on the paradigm shift sweeping the Western world, including the challenges and opportunities faced by Christians. Over the years he has attended a range of internationally significant political, religious, and social events in his quest to understand the historical and contemporary forces of transformation – including the Parliament of the Worlds Religions, Burning Man, and the United Nations Millennium Forum. Since the mid-1990s, Carl’s research has been utilized by numerous authors, media hosts and documentary producers, pastors, professors and students, and interested lay people. From 2007 until the end of 2015, he edited a monthly web-based magazine, Forcing Change, documenting and detailing the worldview revolution underway – points of pressure, forces of change.

Available Online He frequently speaks to church groups, in conference settings, and occasionally teaches a modular course on Secular/Pagan Trends at Millar College of the Bible. Carl’s book, Game of Gods: The Temple of Man in the Age of Re-Enchantment, was released in October 2018. You can find him online at: Game of Gods: The Temple of Man in the Age of Re-Enchantment © 2020, Midwest Christian Outreach, Inc All rights reserved. Excerpts and links may be used if full and clear credit is given with specific direction to the original content. Read the full article

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imaginetonyandbucky · 7 years

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Careful what you wish for

Prompt: Imagine Tony and bucky not getting along which results in them getting into a prank war. The other avengers complain so naturally they team up together to get everyone else and it is the best thing. I mean the worst thing for everyone else, but still the best thing.

Steve knew the atmosphere in the Tower would be tense. The so called superhero civil war left them in a certain state of disarray for the longest time, but three Earth-threatning incidents later, the team was back together trying to overcome the past in order to face the future. And for the most part, it’s been working. If he was concerned about anything in particular, it was Bucky and most importantly how Tony would take his now quite permanent presence.

However much they had worked through the programming, Bucky still behaved like the Winter Soldier at times and some of the Avengers were less than impressed by the fact. Especially Natasha, who would whip out a knife out of nowhere whenever she spotted his behavior shifting towards the darker side.

To Steve’s outmost surprise, Tony didn’t overreact. In fact, he just didn’t react at all at first. With a nonchalant shrug he one day presented Bucky with a new arm, said something along the lines of “We’re cool, it was HYDRA” but then proceeded to ignore Bucky at every opportunity. And when their paths inevitably crossed, sparks started flying - and not the good kind of sparks.

No actual fight happened…yet, but Steve fears the day when one takes an argument just a bit too far and the other starts throwing furniture – or worse, weapons – instead of swear words. The situation just couldn’t get any worse.

Or so he thought.

Because then one morning, few weeks after they all moved in, Bucky shuffled to the toaster to prepare his usual breakfast – he put two slices of bread in and waited for the standard one minute and a half that it took to get the perfect golden sear, looming very Winter Soldier-y over the machine. The toasts popped out after said time, but instead of two perfectly crunchy and yummy toasts, two pieces of black and smoking charcoals jumped out instead.

“Must have put them in for longer, Bucks,” Steve told him, making excuses for the small device even if he knew it was precisely one and a half minute. Bucky counted every second, of that he was sure. But seeing his best friend glare at the poor toaster so fiercely he feared the machine would explode any minute, he just quickly took the ruined bread out and put a new pair in.

Exactly one and a half minute later, history repeated itself and the two slices of bread popped out blacker than the night, the awful smell of burnt pastry now spreading across the common floor’s kitchen.

“Let’s uh…try a shorter time then,” he offered, still trying to save the situation but when even after mere fifteen seconds all the toasts ended up cremated, Steve gave up.

Bucky’s glare intensified with every failed attempt at saving his meal, he even let out a low growl and that’s how Steve knew the machine’s days are numbered.

“It’s probably just…malfunctioning,” Tony said, appearing in the doorway, cringing at the smell. There was something odd about the way he said that, but Steve couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

Bucky was a different story though. His glare zeroed in on the grinning engineer, the murderous intent quite evident. Before Steve could intervene and stop what he believed would be one angry Winter Soldier jumping one still brightly smiling Iron Man and murdering him right there and then, Bucky grabbed onto the toaster and crushed it to bits in his metal arm, eyes never leaving Tony.

Said engineer’s grin twisted into something Steve didn’t really understand, but as Bucky walked around Tony to leave the premises – bits of the destroyed toaster littering the floor as he went – a dangerous glint appeared in his eyes. A challenge. One that mirrored itself in the retreating assassin’s eyes.

Little did Steve know at the time, that what he witnessed was the beginning of a war.

The next time Tony emerged from his workshop after a week-long inventing and scheming binge, he barely even greeted Clint and Natasha sitting at the kitchen bar and went straight for the coffee maker. He wasn’t about to let the Winter Menace gain on him in the ongoing war score by foolishly thinking his most prized kitchen device remained untainted by the vengeance thirsty assassin, so he inspected it very carefully before deeming it safe and switching it on.

He smirked triumphantly, when the coffee maker did what was expected – brewed coffee – without any strange occurrence. Clint and Natasha exchanged a questioning look and continued watching him as he victoriously hoisted the finished product, poured himself a healthy large cup of it and joined them at the bar.

“Looks like I’ve overestimated the double ass-in,” he muttered into the cup, somewhat disappointed.

Disappointment turned to horror the moment he took a big gulp of the black liquid – it was coffee, only it’s been apparently mixed with balsamic vinegar. He spat the entire mouthful out, right onto his two very unamused companions.

“You wanna die, Stark?!” Natasha blurted out at him in Russian and he only understood it because that’s what he translated it as after the Winter Wonder growled the same sentence at him two days ago, when he slipped into his military grade boots during a routine assemble, only to find them full of egg yolks. Tony’s glee was short-lived even then, because when he put the helmet on to cover his smirk, he found it filled with lube.

He still didn’t want to speculate on when and how did the Winter Soldier acquire it, because just imagining him waltzing into Wallmart and casually buying a bottle of lube and some pretzels sent his brain on a whole different adventure, one hardly compatible with his battleplan.

Nevertheless, nobody gets away with tainting his sacred coffee! So he sneaked around Natasha and the slightly stunned bird-man and headed straight to the workshop.

It was time to up the game!

Bucky no longer remembered who started it, let alone why this prank war between him and Stark commenced – other than the fact they were kinda in each other’s hair for quite some time after he moved in, but he would be lying his teeth off if he were to say he didn’t start enjoying this somewhere along the way. The Winter Soldier part of him in fact relished in the schemes and was equally impressed by his pranks as well as Stark’s. So instead of pointlessly wandering around the Tower – which is basically all he had done before the prank war has been declared – trying to figure out what he’s supposed to do with his newly found life, he would now spend his days devising devious pranks, setting them up and then evading, or failing to evade Stark’s own.

And it was glorious.

What he was not sure about is if Stark was enjoying this because he still fiercely hated him for what Bucky’s done and for who he was – or – if he was having just as much mischievous fun as him now.

Considering the pranks gradually turned jovial – even flirtatious if Bucky dared say – as opposed to the initial malicious ones, he would like to believe it was a combination of both…leaning toward the second. Hopefully. Maybe.

The real problem wasn’t even Stark. But the other Avengers, unwittingly ending up in the middle of the warzone majority of the times, were beginning to grow tired of the conflict. And their cup of patience was bound to spill over.

He was sitting with Steve, Sam and Natasha in the kitchen – a hot spot for pranking activities, so most avoided it now – when Stark walked in, immediately alerting to Bucky’s presence.

“Please tell me the kitchen’s safe today, man!” Sam pleaded, squinting between him and Stark.

Neither answered, Bucky just shrugged with an innocent ‘You’ll never know’ expression while Tony cautiously made his way to the counter, longingly staring at the coffeemaker.

Since the vinegar incident, Bucky made sure to not temper with it anymore. Of course on purpose. Because if Stark spent the past few days thinking it’s safe to operate, then…

Stark made the same assumption as yesterday and clicked the on button without second-guessing the decision. In an instant, the coffeemaker was showering coffee onto everyone in the vicinity – including him.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, dude!” Sam cursed, ducking underneath the table.

“Seriously, Bucks?” Steve whined, not even bothering to hide from the onslaught of the still warm beverage.

Natasha somehow managed to avoid the carnage by teleporting around the doorway, from where she decided to glare at Bucky.

“You do realize, Barnes, that you just got caught in your own set-up?” Stark asked, slowly turning to face the table. He was completely drenched in coffee, but despite his state of undoing he looked as collected as ever.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Stark,” Bucky replied, face falling emotionless.

Stark’s mouth twitched for a second there, but he didn’t break the cold stare. “What I’m talking about is that you are losing a point for this. Sure, you got me, but you got yourself too! Counts as friendly fire in my books.”

“You’re keeping a score?!” Sam all but yelled from under the table.

“FRIDAY is. I’m winning, right?” Tony asked, smiling brightly as if streams of coffee weren’t going down his face.

“Not exactly, boss,” the AI answered carefully.

“Right, I almost forgot!” Stark clasped his hands together and his stare turned into a neutral expression Bucky has learnt to understand as ‘danger ahead’. “You might wanna leave the room now. Gotta clean this mess.”

He wanted Bucky to leave the room, specifically. That much Bucky figured from his daring look. Was there something waiting for him in the common room? Pie to the face? Maybe some beads to slip on and fall? Deciding to humor the engineer, he got up…or tried to get up. “What the…,” he blurted out, looking over his shoulder to see that the chair was very much stuck to his butt.

“Now you’re winning,” FRIDAY announced after that, clearly counting the extra point for Stark as decisive.

“Yesss,” Stark hopped into the air, flashing up a victorious sign for good measure, not caring one bit for the coffeemaker that was still on rampage behind him. “You uh…seem a bit…stuck in there, Winter Blunder,” he pointed at the chair, not giving way to Bucky’s attempts at unsticking it.

Bucky sent the clearly amused man the deadliest of looks, noticing how Steve tensed up and Natasha procured not one, but two knives.

If Stark wanted to play dirty, he could indulge the man no problem. He was Bucky Winter god damn Soldier Barnes. So he broke his cold stare into a grin that maintained its dangerousness and did what one had to do in his precarious situation.

Unbuckled his belt and undressed from his jeans.

That sure dealt with the chair issue. And effectively wiped that victorious smirk off of Stark’s face. Good thing he wore the ‘Fuck…’ ‘…off’ boxers today – finally an opportunity to wiggle those at the right target presented itself.

“Just letting you know, boss, that I am adding a point to his score for this,” FRIDAY surprisingly took his side, even sounding amused.

“Okay, enough is enough!” Steve smashed a hand against the table and nearly broke it in half, scaring Sam shitless. “You, you,” he pointed at him and Stark separately, then turned to Natasha, “all of you in the common room, now! Call everybody in there, FRIDAY!” he commanded and stormed to the entrance. “Oh and if the two of you have something, anything to confess before we step into the room now’s the time. Because I swear to god if someone trips on more wires or gets superglue and confetti to the face, again, I will seriously hurt somebody,” he warned, face dead serious.

That was one pissed-off Steve Rogers, if Bucky had ever seen one.

Stark cleared his throat, side-stepping around him. “You might not want to sit on the sofa then,” he actually confessed.

With a sigh, Bucky added onto the disclosure. “And avoid the glass doors to the terrace.”

“And…don’t step on the carpet. Don’t even ask,” Stark adds when Bucky frowned at him.

“Riiiight,” Steve took a deep breath. “Is there any room in the Tower other than our private ones that are a hundred percent safe?” he asked patiently.

Bucky exchanged a questioning look with Stark and answered in sync with him. “No.”

“Nope. Well…the roof, maybe?” Stark suggested.

“No.”

“Oh…the workshop then.”

“Definitely not,” Bucky shakes his head.

“You don’t have access in there!”

“Had to get creative,” he explained with a shrug. “The gym looked safe last night.”

“Yeah…so did the coffeemaker,” Stark argued with a suggestive smirk.

“I see. That’s a no to room safety then, Stevie,” Bucky summed it up to one furious looking Captain America.

The Avengers poured into the common room and per Steve’s further directions remained standing in front of the elevator, because everywhere else was a minefield. His words, not Bucky’s.

“Why are you all wet?” Bruce frowned, looking disturbed.

“Forget that but why are you not wearing any pants, dude?” Peter asked with an unreadable expression, pointing out Bucky’s state of undress.

“And why are your butt cheeks telling me to fuck off?” Clint added, covering his eyes with a cringe.

“Long story,” Bucky retorted simply.

“This,” Steve began once he had everyone’s undivided attention, “whatever this is,” he flailed his hand at the two of them, “gotta end. Now.”

“What do you mean?” Stark squinted at the Captain. “There’s no this or that. Nothing to end here,” he motions between himself and Bucky.

“He means the prank war, you assholes!” Rhodey explains for the Captain, looking accusingly at his best friend. “You know, the one that started couple of weeks ago and is annoying the hell out of everyone in the Tower?!”

Stark fakes the most offended expression ever. “I would never! Me and pranks? No! How dare you…you traitor,” he mouths at the Patriot.

“He’s right. It was amusing at first I have to admit,” Wanda chuckled at Stark, “especially when you fell asleep in the kitchen and woke up with kiddie stickers of Captain America plastered all over you…but it is getting ridiculous now. We are caught in the crossfire all the time. You want to fight then fight, but leave us out of it!”

“Nobody is fighting anyone…please,” Steve came in after the Avengers erupted in agreeing rumble. “I mean it. This war is over, you two. If you can’t get along and can’t work together then…then don’t. I get it. You don’t like each other, point taken! I hoped…I wished that you would and it’s really sad that you can’t but if that’s how it is then I can’t do anything about it now, can I? Just…keep out of each other’s way, ignore each other, whatever works for you! Just stop this madness…,” he trailed out with a sad sigh and turned to leave.

The Avengers all nodded and hummed in agreement, sending them dirty looks while following Steve out of the common room, leaving the two stunned pranksters alone.

“Woooow,” Stark groaned, throwing his head back. “Just when I thought I’ve had enough of Disappointed Steve to last me a lifetime.”

Bucky sighed, silently agreeing. Did they take it too far? It was just a bit of harmless fun…right? They didn’t mean for the Avengers to be the collateral damage in most of the pranks but what’s the harm in some splashed coffee? Can’t the Avengers take a joke?

“They really can’t take a joke, can they?” Stark unknowingly voiced Bucky’s inner thoughts and at the same time confirmed something for Bucky.

So it was all fun and jokes. Not an ‘I hate you, but I can’t straight up murder you so I’m gonna prank you’ war. Not anymore at least. It was just for good fun now and it was really good, too. They were really good at this and that’s what made it so enjoyable.

That’s where Bucky realized that Steve was wrong. It’s not that they disliked each other…not anymore. It’s because they found out they actually like each other, with every new elaborate prank. So it dawned on him right there, that they can absolutely fulfill Steve’s wish.

“Hey Stark,” he began, staring at the flustered engineer. “You realize he just wants us to work together, right?”

“Yeah, well. Too bad! He’s a spoilsport! Him and this whole bunch so Capsicle can take his wish and stick it right up his spangled ass!”

“No…what I mean is…he told us to stop this,” he gestures between them, “prank war thing. He told us to stop this and ignore each other if we can’t work together,” he grinned.

Stark alerted to his suggestive tone and squinted at him. “So?”

“So, Mr. Genius, if Captain America wants us to work together then hell. We can work together…right? If they acted like this with just the two of us throwing pranks at each other…imagine the nightmare we can come up with for them if we do work together. As per Captain’s wish,” he slowly spelled it out for the frowning man, until his confused expression melted into a matching mischievous grin.

“I see…yeah! Hell yeah, those little uptight bastards…,” he muttered, clearing his throat and looking straight up at Bucky. “Well then Mister Barnes, looks like we are burying the hatchet for the greater good that is mutual teamwork. My genius and your efficiency put together, the Captain is going to wish he had never wished for what he wished for!”

“Serves him right. And it’s Bucky,” he grinned wider, offering his flash hand to the man.

He shook it despite Bucky fearing he might not. “Tony. Now, let’s destroy those killjoys!”

“Yeah…but first, tell me what you did to that carpet,” he demanded, looking suspiciously at the white fluffy carpet in front of the television he preferred to sit on.

“You tell me how and what you rigged my workshop with and we’ve got a deal.”

“Deal.”

Steve knew the atmosphere in the Tower would be tense. The so called supersoldier vs. supergenius prank war left the team wondering if now that it’s over they can freely roam the Tower again and hopefully not witness any more disputes between Bucky and Tony. After his intervention he feared their relationship or lack thereof would in fact escalate for the worse.

And oh, he had no idea just how worse it would be.

Just few days later, after everything seemed to have gone back to normal and it was indeed safe to move around and interact with objects inside public rooms again, Steve had learnt the meaning of the phrase ‘be careful what you wish for’. Because if he thought Bucky and Tony not getting along and fighting was his biggest nightmare, they went the extra mile to prove to him that them working together, as he wished, was actually even worse!

Nowhere was safe anymore. Nothing they touched was safe anymore. Their sanity was not safe anymore.

Clint couldn’t even think about slithering through the vents as usual because every day, there was something new waiting to get him in there. Like mouse traps, glue or milk or fifty gallons of lube just sloshing in there…and Steve really didn’t want to think about where they got fifty gallons of lube from. The internet no doubt.

Natasha found her entire wardrobe full of formerly black ninja clothes was filled with pink ones. Pink. Natasha’s! Pink spandex, pink lacey dresses, pink hair ribbons, pink high-heels, pink underwear. She was ready to murder the perpetrators instantly, but found her entire stash of murder knives turned into pink plastic ones, with Hello Kitty stickers on them.

Vision couldn’t move through walls anymore, because the spaces in between were, according to his words, littered with disturbing erotica posters. Wanda couldn’t even round a corner without some ridiculous Halloween decoration jumping out at her, making her shriek in fright every time. Peter’s webbing was now regularly changing color, consistency and even smell. Sam couldn’t go for his morning runs because his running shoes were either filled with something or they mysteriously turned into high-heels, no matter where he hid them.

Bruce thought he’d be safe, but no. His clothes just disappeared. All of them. All he was left with were dozens of pairs of Hulk-themed underwear. Tight underwear. He tried buying new clothes, but they would disappear too. And eventually all the nearby storeowners would just present him with Hulk-themed kid clothing, just for him.

Rhodey appeared once in the common kitchen, looking blue – actually blue, like his skin was this bright shade of blue – and he just straight up left the Tower. Receiving further reports of him going all kinds of colors and even him with a long blonde hair, leaving clearly didn’t work out for him very much.

Thor…where to even begin with Thor. Who now had short spiky hair and was clean-shaved. And his hammer…oh Mjolnir got some major face-lift. Tony’s words of course, claiming that lift is not worthy of lifting the hammer but his lift is worthy of lifting the hammer’s spirits. It was red and gold now. Which would match Thor’s robes somewhat, if those didn’t mysteriously turn into Loki’s.

And Steve was naturally the pair’s most favorite target, for they never once failed to color all three orange juices in his fridge red, white and blue – so he could have a true, patriotic breakfast every morning, according to Bucky. Speaking of red, white and blue that’s what his room was decorated in, from the walls down to the carpet, the bed and the furniture, the entire bathroom, too! His clothes, his wallet, his hair, his gym, his favorite French croissants – all red, white and blue…and the national anthem was set on his alarm now and it played whenever he entered the common floor. During training, it would instead play ‘’Murica! Fuck yeah!’.

All in all, it took just one week for Steve to wave the white flag of surrender, apologize to team WinterIron – which is what they called themselves now – and yield to their prank mastery. He even told them he was impressed and really happy that they get along…if only they could now show their newly found friendship and teamwork to…their enemies instead maybe?

Which resulted in HYDRA and Nick Fury both getting pranked at every opportunity instead of the Avengers. And if Steve began to think his two friends now get along a little more than just friends, he didn’t comment on it.

As if he or anyone else dared to, after all this.

- Lantia

#winteriron #tony x bucky #tony stark #bucky barnes #prompts #lantia #swearing #humor #prank war

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abreqadhabra-blog · 7 years

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Making & Using the Magic Seals of Solomon

How to Make & Consecrate the Magic Seals of Solomon

The Seals of Solomon are from the Key of Solomon, also called the Clavicula Salomonis. The Key of Solomon each pentacle with certain angels, demons or spirits, each of which governs a specific planet. In turn, each planet has specific correspondences that must be adhered to. These are the day of the week, the hour of the day, and the color in which to make the seal. Doing these things will ensure the most powerful of seals. There is also a metal that is associated with each Pentacle set, but to make them out of each would be costly, if not impossible. It will be enough that the associated metal be on the altar with it (except Mercury, which is mercury and is illegal to have and extremely (deathly) poisonous).

Here are the correspondences you need to know for making your Pentacles:

Pentacle:

Day of the Week:

Color:

Metal:

Saturn

Saturday

Black

Lead

Jupiter

Thursday

Blue

Tin

Mars

Tuesday

Red

Iron

Sun

Sunday

Yellow

Gold

Venus

Friday

Green

Copper

Mercury

Wednesday

Mixed Colors

Mercury (POISON)

Moon

Monday

Silver

The hours of the day that the Pentacles should be made are 6 am, 1 pm, or 8 pm.

To properly make your Pentacles they must be made on the appropriate day, at one of the appropriate hours, be of the correct color and if youâ€™re lucky enough to have access to and the ability to work with metals, make it from the appropriate metal. Otherwise just have it nearby.

Before the consecration ritual youâ€™ll need to take a cleansing ritual shower or bath.

Using the appropriate colored pen, draw 2 large circles on a piece of paper, one inside the other. Between the two circles write the names of God that correspond to your wish:

Elohim Gibor â€“ to punish evil

Elohim Tzabaoth â€“ to ask for mercy

El Shaddai â€“ to ask for blessings

Facing East, hold your Pentacle seal in the smoke of frankincense and/or myrrh incense to purify the seal. While doing this read the following Psalms in this order: 8, 18, 26, 21, 31, 50, 28, 71, 53, 133. To complete the ritual recite â€œThe Orationâ€ found in Chapter 8 of the Key of Solomon to consecrate the seal.

â€œO ADONAI most powerful, EL most strong, AGLA most holy, ON most righteous, the ALPHA and the OMEGA10, the Beginning and the End; thou who hast established all things in thy Wisdom; thou who has chosen Abraham thy faithful servant, and hast promised that in his seed shall all nations of the earth be blessed, which seed thou hast multiplied as the stars of Heaven; thou who hast appeared unto thy servant Moses in flame in the midst of the Burning Bush, and hast made him walk with dry feet through the Red Sea; thou who gavest the Law to him upon Mount Sinai; thou who hast granted unto Solomon thy Servant these pentacles by thy great Mercy, for the preservation of Soul and of Body; we most humbly implore and supplicate thy Holy Majesty, that these pentacles may be consecrated by thy power, and prepared in such manner that they may obtain virtue and strength against all spirits, through thee, O Most Holy ADONAI, whose Kingdom, Empire, and principality, remaineth and endureth without end.â€

You need to also learn the scripture associated with your Pentacle and recite it each time you use it. Iâ€™ve listed the scriptural verse number(s) and the vesicles for each below. Once consecrated, hold the Pentacle in you left hand and recite the scripture to activate the seal. You will do this last action each time you want to use it. Consider it the proverbial knock on the door, without it the homeowner doesnâ€™t know youâ€™re standing outside and need their attention.

Pentacle:

Versicle or Verse:

1st Pentacle of Saturn

Psalm 72:9

2nd Pentacle of Saturn

Psalm 72:8

3rd Pentacle of Saturn

Angels: Omeliel, Anachiel, Araughiah, Anazachia

4th Pentacle of Saturn

Deuteronomy 6:4, Psalm 109:18

5th Pentacle of Saturn

Deuteronomy 10:17

6th Pentacle of Saturn

Set thou a wicked one to be ruler over him, and let Satan stand at his right hand.

7th Pentacle of Saturn

Psalm 18:7

1st Pentacle of Jupiter

Angels: Netoniel, Devichiah, Tzedeqiah, Parasiel

2nd Pentacle of Jupiter

Psalm 112:3

3rd Pentacle of Jupiter

Psalm 125:1

4th Pentacle of Jupiter

Psalm 112:3

5th Pentacle of Jupiter

Ezekiel 1:1

6th Pentacle of Jupiter

Psalm 22:16-17

7th Pentacle of Jupiter

Psalm 113:7

1st Pentacle of Mars

Angels: Madimiel, Bartzachiah, Eschiel, Ithuriel

2nd Pentacle of Mars

John 1:4

3rd Pentacle of Mars

Psalm 77:13

4th Pentacle of Mars

Psalm 110:5

5th Pentacle of Mars

Psalm 91:13

6th Pentacle of Mars

Psalm 37:15

7th Pentacle of Mars

Psalm 105:32-33

1st Pentacle of the Sun

Behold His face and form by Whom all things were made, and Whom all creatures obey.

2nd Pentacle of the Sun

Angels: Shemeshiel, Paimoniah, Rekhodiah, Malkhiel

3rd Pentacle of the Sun

Daniel 4:34

4th Pentacle of the Sun

Psalm 13:3-4

5th Pentacle of the Sun

Psalm 91:11-12

6th Pentacle of the Sun

Psalm 69:23, Psalm 135:16

7th Pentacle of the Sun

Psalm 116:16-17

1st Pentacle of Venus

Angels: Nogahiel, Acheliah, Socodiah (or Socohiah), Nangariel

2nd Pentacle of Venus

Canticles 8:6

3rd Pentacle of Venus

Genesis 1:28

4th Pentacle of Venus

Genesis 2:23-24

5th Pentacle of Venus

Psalm 22:14

1st Pentacle of Mercury

Spirits: Yekahel, Agiel

2nd Pentacle of Mercury

Spirits: Boel and other Spirits

3rd Pentacle of Mercury

Angels: Kokaviel, Gheoriah, Savaniah, Chokmahiel

4th Pentacle of Mercury

Wisdom and virtue are in his house, and the Knowledge of all things remaineth with him for ever.

5th Pentacle of Mercury

Psalm 24:7

1st Pentacle of the Moon

Psalm 107:16

2nd Pentacle of the Moon

Psalm 56:11

3rd Pentacle of the Moon

Psalm 40:13

4th Pentacle of the Moon

Let them be confounded who persecute me, and let me not be confounded; let them fear, and not I

5th Pentacle of the Moon

Psalm 68:1

6th Pentacle of the Moon

Genesis 7:11-12

Methods for Using the Magic Seals of Solomon

Actually it's quite easy. You'll use them the same way you use bindrunes, amulets, or other talismans for whatever purpose you make them for!

Once you've chosen the Pentacle to make for your specific need and consecrated it to purpose, then either keep it on your altar, carry it with you, keep it in your vehicle, give it to the person you made it for if it wasn't made for yourself. The most powerful manner of use is to keep it with you at all times, even at night placing it on your nightstand next to you or under your pillow or mattress. But if it is easiest to just keep on your altar or other designated sacred space, then that will work perfectly as well.

Divination can be done with these Pentacles as well. Make the Seal of Solomon that best suits your situation and then use a pendulum to divine your “yes” or “no” answers. With Pendulum reading you must be very specific in your questions, and they must be answerable with a yes or “no”. If the pendulum goes in circles then there is no definitive answer at that moment or the question was worded incorrectly. Usually, but not always, “yes” is forward & backward, and “no” is side to side. You have to still the pendulum and ask specifically to show you each one individually for you to know how your particular pendulum works. Always still the pendulum between questions so you get a clear answer each time. Oh, and a pendulum can be as simple as a paperclip tied to a string! e

Here are some other uses for specific Seals of Solomon:

6th Pentacle of the Moon: If you need rain for your garden place the seal in a bowl of water until you don't need the rain any longer.

3rd Pentacle of the Sun: For abundance and wealth.

6th Pentacle of Saturn: To vanquish your enemies completely.

No matter what, if you have a situation, positive or negative, there is a Seal of Solomon that can be made for it.

The simplest way to make a Seal of Solomon is to print it out on your printer in the color of ink required for that particular pentacle. Or if you only have black ink then trace over the seal with the correct colored marker or colored pencil.

Working with these pentacles can bring some incredible power to your work. Pick one, make it, try it, and see!

#magick #solomon #pentacles

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