scipostorm

Latest Posts by scipostorm

masks and helmets that hides someone's face in such a way that they become the face themselves my beloved

these are all creatures to me

Fuck you. This is the coward's way out. This train will not bring you back in time.

It will not take her arm, or his eye. It will not gift your cheeks their stubble. It will heave its way through English fields and English woods and English towns and English rain, and our mother will sit in that compartment with you.

Have you considered that? Mother, who looks at you as a chicken beholds the fox beneath the fence, as a farmer beholds the wolf by the gate, mother, who has long since washed all colour from her face.

Mother, who is grey and damp as the rain.

Hours in a locked tomb. Hours with her. What will she say? How will she sit? What things will she drag from your mouth?

Will she pin you, with those tired eyes, with those faded hands, to the fabric of your seat, to take from you the answers we have been keeping from her for years?

And how could you ever tell her? How could you dare?

Mother, your little boy has died. Mother, your little girl has seen battle. Mother, your children have commanded armies. They've sat thrones and mourned children. They've lost their people.

Twice.

Mother, you are tired. You are weary. You would not understand.

By the lion, you'd despair.

Mother, a witch has spelled your son when his ears still stuck out and he missed your husband with all the violence of a schoolboy. She took him, pointed nails and pearl-teeth, god, she carved flesh and bone and sinew until that paper-thin skin held nothing at all.

Mother, the son you sent to the countryside with the world digging into his shoulders has died. In tiny pieces, at first, and then all at once, as a trickle turns first into a stream and then into a raging river.

Until finally, it spreads into the sea.

Your child lies buried in every decree, every law, and- Christ, who are we kidding, the Narnian soil. The golden boy you wanted so desperately to protect lies in pieces next to the witch, rotting into the earth.

We cannot return him to you.

Will you tell her, I wonder, about the razor blades underneath your floorboards? Will you bare your neck and show her all the mess you've made of the soft skin there when the nights were long and the tremors were terrible?

What of the knives under our little ones' pillows?

Fuck you.

When I was born, I had you. When I was little, I had you. Those terrible, wonderful years - I had you. How am I meant to go on without you? Brother, I don't know how.

Already my lungs are refusing their work. Already my stomach turns. My teeth are aching, my bones have chilled. My cheeks are stained - big red streaks of salt.

Of blood.

I have carved a way for myself through the chalk and the limestone and the mud. With my hands and my teeth, on the last bit of hope I could still heave up in between the cigarettes and the whiskey, I dug my way to sunlight. For days, for months, for years.

With my bare fucking hands, brother.

And you? You've never put the sword down. You've never looked at the dirt. You can't, you say. You're not made for it. Your mouth is the wrong shape and your eyes want nothing to do with the ground.

Instead, you've spent your time picking out the perfect mortician, the right funeral shroud. The coffin. Instead, you've drawn maps and routes into a home that has long been plundered.

Brother, where has your hunger gone?

🍊 The Orange by Wendy Cope

🌅 Illustrated by Peeta Mellark

decay sounds more gentle than rot. when something decays, it is gently taken apart in it's comfortable eternal slumber. when something rots, it's violently taken apart with agony. in this essay i will

game tip: make your scavenged treasures into Cool Ass Accessories

Ah, I see. Thank you for your honesty. Please, take as much as you need. There will be enough for everyone.

A change of scenery. Simple, but marvelous.

A glimpse into your future, for you brave souls! (Divination is tricky business, tread carefully my dear!)

Knowledge from the universe, eh? Perhaps this will be of interest to you.

Rest for the weary, right this way. It's a personal favourite of mine.

A home-cooked meal you say? I like how you think! A labour of love worth savoring (and sharing with friends!)

For something to pass the time, try looking here, or if that doesn't hit the spot, here.

Seeking adventure to a far-off place? I know a way to get you there.

✨

I hope you found what you were looking for!

all I want is to have a room that looks like I'm old biology professor whose been away from human civilization for half a century in the forest who spends my evenings reading old books researching about cryptids with my cat surrounded by my many treasures and trinkets I've collected over the years and my many, many growing plants that nearly take over all of my house.

So I just had a thought

What if supernatural creatures don’t exist anymore? What if they did once, but through the years, they slowly mixed in with humans?

You can see the blood of fairies in the way a ballet dancer hovers in mid air before he or she hits the ground. You can see it in the way that middle school girl never forgets when someone makes her a promise. You can see it in how that one little boy in the kindergarten class seems more comfortable in the forest on that field trip than the others.

You can see the blood of dryads in hikers who never trip over roots. You can see it in that suburban grandmother never lets any of her garden die. You can see it in that one kid who climbs a tree faster than his friends, barely looking at the branches as he goes.

You can see the blood of naiads in the way a professional swimmer seems to command the water to help them. You can see it in how a cross country runner needs a water break more often than his teammates. You can see it in the way that one girl in your class always has a water bottle on her desk.

You can see the blood of mermaids in a surfer who can be tossed around underwater for a long time without drowning. You can see it in a teenage boy who doesn’t have to pretend to be unbothered by the pressure when he races his friends to the bottom of a swimming pool. You can see it in the little girl who wades into every stream she sees on a hike without quite knowing why.

You can see the blood of sirens in people who never have a problem with getting people to date them. You can see it in that soprano who can hit notes most of her fellows can only dream of. You can see it in the camp counselor who all the straight girls have a crush on, who can play guitar and sing better than any of the others.

You can see the blood of shapeshifters in the way an actor adjusts their personality to become their character with scary accuracy. You can see it in the subconscious, barely noticeable changes a tween girl’s eyes make to match her outfit better. You can see it in the way you always lose that one friend in a crowd if you’re not careful, because he’s just too good at blending in.

People who carry the blood of werewolves don’t change with the full moon anymore, but you can still see it in the way your best friend always knows something is wrong, though even they don’t know they’re smelling the changes in your body chemistry. You can see it in the way that one guy always seems to eat more than the reasonable amount of red meat at an all-you-can-eat buffet. You can see it in the way that one werido never has a problem when the teacher turns off the lights before a PowerPoint presentation because her eyes adjust quicker and better than yours.

The blood of supernatural creatures may have mostly faded away. But if you look closely, you can still see it.

sometimes i think about narnia and i vibrate out of my skin like...

you walk into a world you cannot understand, frozen and dying, and it is you who thaws it. you who kills the witch, you who breaks the stone table, you who slays the wolf. it is you who is crowned and it is you who wails for two worlds when the wardrobe doors shut behind you.

your skin never sits quite right and your teeth are too dull. there are wars in your bones and decades in your eyes before you can reach the telephone on the wall.

you are king. you are queen. they won't let you read the newspapers at breakfast.

it calls you back from beyond a train and from within paint. begs with bloody palms and salt-crusted cheeks. takes from you all that you can give - and sends you back.

you watch your sister fade.

you are a child twice and an adult once. and when you stand in your home again, with crushed bones and the smell of coal still in your nose, you watch them sneer at your sister.

your sister is the sun above you. she is, beautiful and stone-cast, alive in a world you could never stomach. she smiles, still, and stretches her skin over human bones.

she is no longer a friend of narnia. do you tell them it is her who has to bury you all and the stars that are falling from the skies in shards?

okay but nessie was given the scientific name nessiteras rhombopteryx so she’d be included in the conservation of wild creatures and wild plants act of ‘75.

it’s a felony to shoot bigfoot in washington state.

the human race has sent out messages to the stars, hoping that any extraterrestrials who hear will accept our offer of friendship.

ghost hunters extend their sympathy to the souls of murder victims and bring along items that the spirits loved in life.

I think there’s something very human about the desire to believe in the paranormal. we don’t know if any of these things truly exist, but we make the offer of friendship and protection anyway. I just think it’s really lovely in its own ridiculous way.

not to repeat myself again but imagine you’re helen pevensie and you send your children away to keep them safe from the war. you send them to the country to keep them alive, keep them children for as long as possible in a war like this.

and then you get them back, and suddenly it feels like you’ve invited war itself into your house. not in the literal sense, arguments now happen quietly and with composure no children should know how to wield. but somehow, whenever you look at them, you think about blood, about death, about enemies felled with weapons too fast for them to notice. it feels like you hugged a man in a trench when you welcomed your children back home.

you feel terrible, but it’s hard for you to be in a room with them all for long. you don’t want to shake war’s hand. war has torn your country apart, war keeps your husband away and in the middle of deadly danger. war should not be sitting in your living room, drinking your tea and eating your food. you’re afraid of war. you don’t want war in your home.

your children should not be the war you wished to keep them safe from.

moon after moon after moon~victoria pettella

in the many years over which the pevensies became mythologized, one important thing was forgotten - when they first came to narnia, they were children

Aroace Edmund and Lucy?????

Listen. I know that its just a funny quip in a movie that repeatedly forgot that the Pevensies are actually twenty-something year olds in the bodies of children, but, if I can use the writers' sloppiness for my own gains, then I will.

Canon fact: the pevensies spent at least 15 years in narnia. Therefore Lucy was at least 25, and Edmund at least 26 when they came back, and 26/27 by the time of Prince Caspian. Also a fact: they retained all their memories of adulthood.

"I'm sure when I'm older I'll understand." Lucy, by this stage you've lived 26 years of life. If you dont understand yet, I dont think you ever will. The above is a classic line that you might get from aroace who hasn't cottoned on yet to the fact that theyre aroace, and is still waiting for all the mythical "feelings" that others talk of to kick in. I was once that 26 year old oblivious ace myself.

"I'm older and I dont think I want to understand." Classic line you might hear from an aroace who's accustomed to the lack of all those mythical "feelings" that others speak of, and is perfectly content without them, and wouldn't change it if he could. I'm that ace now.

Further supporting evidence: there is no mention of romance for either character in the books. Susan gets a love interest in the Horse and His Boy, but even with Archenland and Calormen full of potential suitors, theres not a word of interest on Ed or Lucy's behalf.

Aroace younger Pevensie siblings.

you have invited strangers into your home, helen pevensie, mother of four.

without the blurred sight of joy and relief, it has become impossible to ignore. all the love inside you cannot keep you from seeing the truth. your children are strangers to you. the country has seen them grow taller, your youngest daughter’s hair much longer than you would have it all years past. their hands have more strength in them, their voices ring with an odd lilt and their eyes—it has become hard to look at them straight on, hasn’t it? your children have changed, helen, and as much as you knew they would grow a little in the time away from you, your children have become strangers.

your youngest sings songs you do not know in a language that makes your chest twist in odd ways. you watch her dance in floating steps, bare feet barely touching the dewy grass. when you try and make her wear her sister’s old shoes—growing out of her own faster than you think she ought to—, she looks at you as though you are the child instead of her. her fingers brush leaves with tenderness, and you swear your daughter’s gentle hum makes the drooping plant stand taller than before. you follow her eager leaps to her siblings, her enthusiasm the only thing you still recognise from before the country. yet, she laughs strangely, no longer the giggling girl she used to be but free in a way you have never seen. her smile can drop so fast now, her now-old eyes can turn distant and glassy, and her tears, now rarer, are always silent. it scares you to wonder what robbed her of the heaving sobs a child ought to make use of in the face of upset.

your other daughter—older than your youngest yet still at an age that she cannot be anything but a child—smiles with all the knowledge in the world sitting in the corner of her mouth. her voice is even, without all traces of the desperate importance her peers carry still, that she used to fill her siblings’ ears with at all hours of the day. she folds her hands in her lap with patience and soothes the ache of war in your mind before you even realise she has started speaking. you watch her curl her hair with careful, steady fingers and a straight back, her words a melody as she tells your eldest which move to make without so much a glance at the board off to her right. she reads still, and what a relief you find this sliver of normalcy, even if she’s started taking notes in a shorthand you couldn’t even think to decipher. even if you feel her slipping away, now more like one of the young, confident women in town than a child desperately wishing for a mother’s approval.

your younger son reads plenty as well these days, and it fills you with pride. he is quiet now, sitting still when you find him bent over a book in the armchair of his father. he looks at you with eyes too knowing for a petulant child on the cusp of puberty, and no longer beats his fists against the furniture when one of his siblings dares approach him. he has settled, you realise one evening when you walk into the living room and find him writing in a looping script you don’t recognise, so different from the scratched signature he carved into the doors of your pantry barely a year ago. he speaks sense to your youngest and eldest, respects their contributions without jest. you watch your two middle children pass a book back and forth, each a pen in hand and sheets of paper bridging the gap between them, his face opening up with a smile rather than a scowl. it freezes you mid-step to find such simple joy in him. remember when you sent them away, helen, and how long it had been since he allowed you to see a smile then?

your eldest doesn’t sleep anymore. none of your children care much for bedtimes these days, but at least sleep still finds them. it’s not restful, you know it from the startled yelps that fill the house each night, but they sleep. your eldest makes sure of it. you have not slept through a night since the war began, so it’s easy to discover the way he wanders the halls like a ghost, silent and persistent in a duty he carries with pride. each door is opened, your children soothed before you can even think to make your own way to their beds. his voice sounds deeper than it used to, deeper still than you think possible for a child his age and size. then again, you are never sure if the notches on his door frame are an accurate way to measure whatever it is that makes you feel like your eldest has grown beyond your reach. you watch him open doors, soothe your children, spend his nights in the kitchen, his hands wrapped around a cup of tea with a weariness not even the war should bring to him, not after all the effort you put into keeping him safe.

your children mostly talk to each other now, in a whispered privacy you cannot hope to be a part of. their arms no longer fit around your waist. your daughters are wilder—even your older one, as she carries herself like royalty, has grown teeth too sharp for polite society— and they no longer lean into your hands. your sons are broad-shouldered even before their shirts start being too small again, filling up space you never thought was up for taking. your eldest doesn’t sleep, your middle children take notes when politicians speak on the wireless and shake their heads as though they know better, and your youngest sings for hours in your garden.

who are your children now, helen pevensie, and who pried their childhood out of your shaking hands?

𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐨𝐧

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐬

𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥, 𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧

𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐮𝐩 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞

𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥, 𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞

𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬

𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥, 𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝

𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐱𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝟐𝟑 𝐝𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐬

— cosmo sheldrake, “the moss”

Advice for your local Fantasy Knight

gif by the amazing @and-speak

⚔️ Never snub your Gambeson. Gambeson is padded fabric armor that’s usually worn underneath chainmail and plate, so it provides an extra layer of protection. It’s essentially like hitting a pillow. Plus it separates your skin from the chainmail which is uncomfortable and tends to snag. Many people like to snub the Gambeson but those people are idiots. Wear your padded fabrics.

🛡️ When riding, always have your toes pointing up. Otherwise you’ll fall off way easier.

🐎 When your Horse is going uphill, lean forward. And when it’s going downhill, lean back.

⚔️ Since quivers are incredibly impractical on horseback, traditional archers instead carried their excess arrows between their fingers. This also allowed for quicker draw time between shooting.

🛡️ When doing archery, always lift the arrow a little higher than you’d think. Since your eye is not perfectly at-level with your arrow, you need to lift it up to shoot so it will hit your target better. Your eye is playing tricks on you, so aim high.

🐎 Shortbows are ideal for hunting and horseback archery, while Longbows are better for stationary defense on castle walls. If you’re defending a fort, use a Longbow. If you’re a Ranger, go for the Shortbow.

⚔️ Always have some Yarrow on you. It’s a natural antiseptic and was known throughout history for its healing properties. Great in a pinch. Just make sure not to mistake it with Poison Hemlock because the two unfortunately look quite similar. Poison Hemlock has reddish or purple splotches on its stem and is much bigger than Yarrow (8 to 10 feet tall) so that should give it away.

🛡️ There’s two types of Chainmail - Buttermail and Riveted. Never buy Buttermail. It gets that name because cutting through it is that easy. Instead go for the Riveted Chainmail, which has its rings bolted together. It’s way sturdier and harder to cut or pierce.

🐎 Never snub your Helmet. Ever. I’m sorry to tell you this, but an orc won’t care how good your hair looks. It will just grab it and snap your neck.

⚔️ Don’t snub your shield either and make sure you know how to properly use it. Don’t be like Boromir, kids. We all know what happened there.

🛡️ Always have Faulds on to protect your hips. Hanging off the faulds are your tassets to protect your upper thighs.

🐎 For the love of Eru, wear appropriate foot gear. If I have to watch another blockbuster lady knight run into battle in wedged heels I’ll throw a hammer through the TV screen.

⚔️ Strength Training and healthy eating. Armor and Weaponry is heavy, y’all.

🛡️ Always listen to a witch’s advice. There’s a thousand folktales with this exact premise and people who don’t listen never turn out well.

Crabs amaze me. They’re the perfect life form, a tank made of legs and living hate-armor. It’s not just about their physicality, though; it’s the soul of the crab. See, no crab in the bottomless history of the sea has ever questioned itself, doubted itself, worried, or been afraid. A crab is pure motion. A crab is pure id and unrelenting forward force. Crabs invented the word violence and they will scuttle on the surface of the world while the red giant of Sol creeps closer to devour everywhere we’ve ever known. They will look into the sky and clack their claws and there will be no fear. 

I love winding trails that seem to go on forever and bends blocked by trees so you can't see the other side and places just covered in moss.

I love the smell of mornings after rain and the smell of autumn.

I love seeing birds of prey flying about and perched above the ground and trying to guess what species they are.

I love the silence of a forest. Even when I'm with other people and they're talking it barely affects the stillness.

I love walking along rivers and streams. And climbing paths made by other hikers to get close. I love finding mushrooms and getting so turned around on the trail that it takes forever to find your way back.

I love driving through mountains and watching as the landscape gets smaller and smaller.

I love the little things about hiking and being outside that make me happy.

The Full "I Will Love You." Letter. The Beatrice Letters, Lemony Snicket

Always. Continuously. With increasing apprehension, and decreasing hope.

I will love you with no regard to the actions of our enemies or the jealousies of actors. I will love you with no regard to the outrage of certain parents or the boredom of certain friends. I will love you no matter what is served in the world’s cafeterias or what game is played at each and every recess. I will love you no matter how many fire drills we are all forced to endure, and no matter what is drawn upon the blackboard in a blurring, boring chalk. I will love you no matter how many mistakes I make when trying to reduce fractions, and no matter how difficult it is to memorize the periodic table. I will love you no matter what your locker combination was, or how you decided to spend your time during study hall. I will love you no matter how your soccer team performed in the tournament or how many stains I received on my cheerleading uniform. I will love you if I never see you again, and I will love you if I see you every Tuesday. I will love you if you cut your hair and I will love you if you cut the hair of others. I will love you if you abandon your baticeering, and I will love you if you retire from the theater to take up some other, less dangerous occupation. I will love you if you drop your raincoat on the floor instead of hanging it up and I will love you if you betray your father. I will love you even if you announce that the poetry of Edgar Guest is the best in the world and even if you announce that the work of Zilpha Keatley Snyder is unbearably tedious. I will love you if you abandon the theremin and take up the harmonica and I will love you if you donate your marmosets to the zoo and your tree frogs to M. I will love you as the starfish loves a coral reef and as kudzu loves trees, even if the oceans turn to sawdust and the trees fall in the forest without anyone around to hear them. I will love you as the pesto loves the fetuccini and as the horseradish loves the miyagi, as the tempura loves the ikura and the pepperoni loves the pizza. I will love you as the manatee loves the head of lettuce and as the dark spot loves the leopard, as the leech loves the ankle of a wader and as a corpse loves the beak of the vulture. I will love you as the doctor loves his sickest patient and a lake loves its thirstiest swimmer. I will love you as the beard loves the chin, and the crumbs love the beard, and the damp napkin loves the crumbs, and the precious document loves the dampness in the napkin, and the squinting eye of the reader loves the smudged print of the document, and the tears of sadness love the squinting eye as it misreads what is written. I will love you as the iceberg loves the ship, and the passengers love the lifeboat, and the lifeboat loves the teeth of the sperm whale, and the sperm whale loves the flavor of naval uniforms. I will love you as a child loves to overhear the conversations of its parents, and the parents love the sound of their own arguing voices, and as the pen loves to write down the words these voices utter in a notebook for safekeeping. I will love you as a shingle loves falling off a house on a windy day and striking a grumpy person across the chin, and as an oven loves malfunctioning in the middle of roasting a turkey. I will love you as an airplane loves to fall from a clear blue sky and as an escalator loves to entangle expensive scarves in its mechanisms. I will love you as a wet paper towel loves to be crumpled into a ball and thrown at a bathroom ceiling and an eraser loves to leave dust in the hairdos of the people who talk too much. I will love you as a cufflink loves to drop from its shirt and explore the party for itself and as a pair of white gloves loves to slip delicately into the punchbowl. I will love you as a taxi loves the muddy splash of a puddle and as a library loves the patient tick of a clock. I will love you as a thief loves a gallery and as a crow loves a murder, as a cloud loves bats and as a range loves braes. I will love you as misfortune loves orphans, as fire loves innocence and as justice loves to sit and watch while everything goes wrong. I will love you as a battlefield loves young men and as peppermints love your allergies, and I will love you as the banana peel loves the shoe of a man who was just struck by a shingle falling off a house. I will love you as a volunteer fire department loves rushing into burning buildings and as burning buildings love to chase them back out, and as a parachute loves to leave a blimp and as a blimp operator loves to chase after it. I will love you as a dagger loves a certain person’s back, and as a certain person loves to wear daggerproof tunics, and as a daggerproof tunic loves to go to a certain dry cleaning facility, and how a certain employee of a dry cleaning facility loves to stay up late with a pair of binoculars, watching a dagger factory for hours in the hopes of catching a burglar, and as a burglar loves sneaking up behind people with binoculars, suddenly realizing that she has left her dagger at home. I will love you as a drawer loves a secret compartment, and as a secret compartment loves a secret, and as a secret loves to make a person gasp, and as a gasping person loves a glass of brandy to calm their nerves, and as a glass of brandy loves to shatter on the floor, and as the noise of glass shattering loves to make someone else gasp, and as someone else gasping loves a nearby desk to lean against, even if leaning against it presses a lever that loves to open a drawer and reveal a secret compartment. I will love you until all such compartments are discovered and opened, and until all the secrets have gone gasping into the world. I will love you until all the codes and hearts have been broken and until every anagram and egg has been unscrambled. I will love you until every fire is extinguished and until every home is rebuilt form the handsomest and most susceptible of woods, and until every criminal is handcuffed by the laziest of policemen. I will love you until M. hates snakes and J. hates grammar, and I will love you until C. realizes S. is not worthy of his love and N. realizes he is not worthy of the V. I will love you until the bird hates a nest and the worm hates an apple, and until the apple hates a tree and the tree hates a nest, and until a bird hates a tree and an apple hates a nest, although honestly I cannot imagine that last occurrence no matter how hard I try. I will love you as we grow older, which has just happened, and has happened again, and happened several days ago, continuously, and then several years before that, and will continue to happen as the spinning hands of every clock and the flipping pages of every calendar mark the passage of time, except for the clocks that people have forgotten to wind and the calendars that people have forgotten to place in a highly visible area. I will love you as we find ourselves farther and farther from one another, where once we were so close that we could slip the curved straw, and the long, slender spoon, between our lips and fingers respectively. I will love you until the chances of us running into one another slip from skim to zero, and until your face is fogged by distant memory, and your memory faced by distant fog, and your fog memorized by a distant face, and your distance distanced by the memorized memory of a foggy fog. I will love you no matter where you go and who you see, no matter where you avoid and who you don’t see, and no matter who sees you avoiding where you go. I will love you no matter what happens to you, and no matter how I discover what happens to you, and no matter what happens to me as I discover this, and no matter how I am discovered after what happens to me happens to me as I am discovering this. I will love you if you don’t marry me. I will love you if you marry someone else – your co-star, perhaps, or Y., or even O., or anyone Z. through A., even R. although sadly I believe it will be quite some time before two women can be allowed to marry – and I will love you if you have a child, and I will love you if you have two children, or three children, or even more, although I personally think three is plenty, and I will love you if you never marry at all, and never have children, and spend your years wishing you had married me after all, and I must say that on late, cold nights I prefer this scenario out of all the scenarios I have mentioned. That, Beatrice, is how I will love you even as the world goes on its wicked way.

What to bring and wear adventuring

A compass, the land often wishes to lead you astray.

A cloak, extra thick to shield you from the elements

A backpack, to carry all your things.

Always, always bring at least two extra pairs of socks. Facing an orc horde on your own with only a breadstick is not as bad as wet feet. Bring socks.

Enough food to get two towns over. You never know when you may get lost.

A sword, trusty and true.

At least one small keepsake or charm, to remind you of a home left behind.

A knife, for chopping food and vines and who knows what else?

A comfortable pair of boots, that will not chafe or blister.

Did I mention the socks should be thick and comfy?

Always remember your tinderbox

An extra small piece of canvas or oilcloth to cover your belongings at night. If you’re cold, they’re cold, give them a blanket. (jokes aside, keep ur stuff dry).

how to live life like a ghibli film

1. go out in nature more. every studio ghibli film has some aspect of nature intertwined with the storyline. sometimes its hard to get the energy to go outside, but just going out on your deck or opening the window in your room or taking a walk around the block is enough. if you feel like it, go for a hike! go into the woods and look at every flower, and every tree. look at the mushrooms and streams and notice the beauty of them. look at nature like you’ve never seen it before. wake up at 4 and watch the sunset. put plants around your room. realize how beautiful the world is around you. appreciate it. 

2. get a hobby! this step is certainly easier said than done, but its so worth it. struggling with mental illness makes it especially hard to get a hobby, but its very important that you don’t spend the majority of your time on social media. Start small. If you want to start drawing get a coloring book and fill in a picture with beautiful markers! If you want to write find a random prompt online, give yourself 30 minutes and see what you can come up with. Want to try baking? Start with an easy recipe, like chocolate chip cookies, and share them with your family or friends, or just yourself! Try out a bunch of hobbies, and see what you like best. Maybe you like making jewelry or writing poems or creating digital collages or making video edits or decorating your room or riding a bike or sewing or reading. The possibilities are endless, and getting a hobby you enjoy is very important, and fun.

3. start appreciating small things and noticing details. I don’t know how to explain this step, but in studio Ghibli films, small things always stick out. There are beautiful tiny details that make the story so much more magnificent. small details make the studio Ghibli films what they are. maybe on your way to school/work the sky was a really pretty color. Or the tea you made in the morning was perfectly steeped. appreciate small details of life that you don’t normally notice.

4. appreciate food. Pay attention to your food. If you can, try and make/bake your own food! But if you can’t, just be mindful of your food. Try not to eat while you’re on your phone. Dedicate times to just eating. Appreciating the food in front of you. Make yourself the ponyo drink with milk and honey, or ponyo ramen! Make yourself your own blend of tea like the Baron!

5. be kind and help others. Being kind doesn’t have to be a grand gesture, it can be smiling and waving at a baby in a café, or helping your mom finish the dishes, or paying for a friend’s coffee. Small gestures not only put good out into the world, but they also make you feel better. When you can, help others. Try volunteering at an animal shelter, or babysit for your aunt without charging her, or just listen to your friend when they’re going through something and be there for them. In every Ghibli film, the main character is always helping others, and being kind. Try to be like kiki, when she returned the pacifier to the mother who forgot it, or like chizuru from the cat returns, who risks her life to save a cat. Kindness comes in all shapes and forms, so just try your best to do what you can!

6. be your most authentic self. Stay true to who you are. dress how you’d like. Cut your hair like you’ve always wanted to. Stay confident and true to yourself. We all feel insecure sometimes, but we need to remind ourselves that we are great. Don’t try and force yourself to be someone you aren’t. Kiki felt insecure in her abilities as a witch, but she stayed true to herself, and believed in herself, and it paid off. Love and appreciate yourself, just the way you are.

7. (not really a tip but a fun suggestion) start collecting something! This is just an extra step that I wanted to include because I think its nice. But start a collection of things that interest you. It could be anything! Candles, stamps, teacups, antique figurines, 19th century photos, lip balms, books, key chains, flowers, hats. The choices are endless.

Dustin Panzino  -   https://www.artstation.com/inkwell  -  https://twitter.com/inkwell_illust  -  https://www.deviantart.com/dustinpanzino  -  https://linktr.ee/Inkwell  -  https://www.instagram.com/inkwell_illustrations/  -                              A Tribute to Studio Ghibli Featuring the following films Kiki’s Delivery Serves Howls Moving Castle Princess Mononoke Spirited Away Castle in the Sky Ponyo Whisper of the Heart My Neighbor Totoro Nausicaa valley of the wind The Secret World of Arrietty

I swear I saw a tumblr post on here that said ‘horses have over 4,000 bones’ and i don’t know where it came from because its totally wrong, they have 205, but what kind of fucked up horse has this person seen out there because I’m absolutely terrified of it 

This is the only tiktok you'll ever need, I've made about 13 of these and I'm not stopping anytime soon

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