#Pool Water Purification

[hmdigitalindia]

The COM-100 is a professional-grade digital meter designed for measuring water quality. It is widely used in various applications such as hydroponics, aquariums, water filtration, and laboratory testing. The COM-100 is a professional grade level EC/TDS/Temp meter ideal for all water quality testing, hydroponics, water purification applications, wastewater regulation, aquaculture, colloidal silver, labs & scientific testing, pools & spas, ecology testing, boilers & cooling towers, water treatment and more.

[fazalkhan2914]

[cygnetbrown]

Cleaner Laundry and Solutions to Other Water-Related Issues on the Homestead

Here’s a jug of reconstituted bleach made of 8 tablespoons dry bleach and 81 ounces of water. I was at Walmart the other day and I saw that they had dry chlorine bleach in the pool aisle. As I compared the price of that dry bleach with the liquid bleach that I normally bought I thought, “Why not give it a try? What have I got to lose?” Laundry Bleach So, I bought a small bag of it and took it…

[johnypage95]

Label maker Dubai:-

We are one of the great companies in UAE managing water treatment items and administrations and one of the finest companies for spill kit suppliers. We work with honesty. We try to give our significant clients quality performing items with limitless backup help and administrations. To know more information, visit: https://marstechnology.ae/label-printer/

[resplendent-ragamuffin]

I have encountered issues with JVP in the past in regards to not accommodating kashrut/shabbat observance (and wheelchairs), but previously hasn’t heard about the Mikvah thing. Do you have any sources I can refer to?

Oh boy. Oh boy oh boy oh boy. The noise I made when I saw this ask.

You are probably unaware but I have literally been working on a post on this topic since February. Bless you for asking me about it and giving me a reason to share it. Genuinely. I'm delighted.

Without further ado, now that I've finally finished:

On the JVP Mikveh BS

Some of you are no doubt aware of the Jewish Voice for Peace Mikveh Guide (on JVP’s website here, and here on the Wayback Machine in case that link breaks). You may have seen the post I reblogged about it, you may have seen the post about JVP in general on @is-the-thing-actually-Jewish, or you may have heard about it elsewhere. Or maybe you’ve somehow managed to avoid all knowledge of its existence. (God I wish that were me.) Even if you know about it, even if you’ve scanned through it, you probably haven’t taken the time to read it through properly.

I have.

God help me.

I was originally looking through it to help draft the @is-the-thing-actually-Jewish post back in February, but some terrible combination of horror, indignation, and probably masochism compelled me to do a close reading, so that I could write this analysis and share it with you, dear readers. For those of you who’ve never heard of a mikvah, for those of you who’ve immersed in one, for those of you who’ve studied it intensely—I give you this, the fruit of my suffering, so you too can understand why “Mikveh: A Purification Ritual for Personal and Collective Transformation,” written by Zohar Lev Cunningham and Rebekah Erev for Jewish Voice for Peace has got so many people up in arms.

Brace yourselves. It’s going to be a long journey.

First off, a disclaimer: When I say something is “required in Jewish law” or whatnot, I’m talking about in traditional practice / Torah-observant communities; what is often called “Orthodox.” There’s a wide range of Jewish practice, and what is required in frum (observant) Judaism may not be required in Reform Judaism, etc. Don’t at me.

Second note: I myself am Modern Orthodox, and come from that perspective. I’m also very much more on the rationalist side than the mysticism side of things. I did run this past people from other communities. Still, if I’ve missed or misrepresented something, it was my error and was not meant maliciously.

Third: I am not a rabbi. I am a nerd who likes explaining things and doing deep dives. Again, I may have made errors–please let me know if you spot any, and I’d be happy to discuss them.

Now then. Before we get into the text itself, let’s give some background.

WHAT IS THIS MIKVEH THING ANYWAY?

A mikveh (or mikvah, both they and I switch between spellings; plural mikva’ot) is a Jewish ritual bath, sometimes translated as an immersion pool. Some communities or organizations that run mikva’ot will have a single all-purpose all-purpose, some have separate human- and utensil-pools, and some have separate women’s and men’s pools. The majority of the water in a mikvah has to be “living waters,” i.e. naturally collected rather than from a tap or a bucket. Some natural bodies of water can also be used, such as the ocean and some rivers (ask your local rabbi). The construction is complicated and has extremely detailed requirements. Here’s an example of a modern mikvah:

(By Wikimedia Commons (ויקיגמדון) - Own work, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=17373540)

Whoever is being dunked (the scientific term) has to be entirely immersed, and the water has to be in direct contact with all of them. That means no clothes, no makeup, no hair floating on the top of the water, no feet touching the floor, no clenched fists. You have to be completely clean as well, so no dirt is obstructing you from the water.

In essence, a person or thing is immersed in a mikvah to change their/its state from tameh (ritually “impure”) to tahor (ritually “pure”). I use quotes because “pure/impure” aren’t really good translations—they have value judgments that tameh/tahor don’t. There’s nothing wrong with being tameh, you aren’t lesser because you are tameh—it’s just a state one enters when one comes into contact with death and related concepts. (There are also different levels of both.) As a matter of fact, technically speaking even after going to a mikvah basically all people are tameh now—the tum’ah (“impurity,” sort of) that comes from contact with dead humans can only be removed by the Red Heifer offering (see Numbers 19), which we can’t do without the Temple. (Why I say “all” even if you’ve never been to a funeral is a much much longer tangent that I’ll spare you for now.) To quote one of my editors on this, mikvah is “about the natural oscillation between states of ritual purity and impurity. Men go to mikveh after having seminal emissions. Menstruating women go to mikveh on a monthly basis (emphasis added).” It’s just states of life.

In the days of the Temple, one had to be tahor to enter it (the Temple). Archaeologists have found a ton of ancient mikva’ot in Jerusalem that were presumably used by people visiting the Temple, which personally I think is extremely cool.

Nowadays, there are three main traditionally required uses for a mikvah. First, and most importantly, observant married women will go about once a month as part of their niddah (menstrual) cycle, part of practice known as Taharat HaMishpacha, or “Family ‘Purity,’” which at its root is a way to sanctify the relationship between spouses. Until she immerses, a wife and husband cannot resume relations. And not just sex—in some communities, they can’t sleep in the same bed or even have any physical contact at all.

The second use is for conversion—immersion is a central part of the conversion ceremony. One enters the water a gentile, and emerges a Jew.

The third usage is a bit different as it’s not for people. Tableware—plates, cups, etc.—made of certain materials have to be immersed before they can be used. This isn’t what the Guide is about, so I’m not going to go into that as much, but felt remiss if I didn’t mention it was a thing. If you want to know more, Chabad has an article on it here.

Aside from uses required by Jewish law, there is a strong tradition in some communities for men to go to the mikveh just before Yom Kippur, or sometimes every week before the Sabbath, to enter the holiday in as “pure” a state as possible these days. (The things they’re “purifying” from still made them tameh, it just matters less without the Temple.) There is also a strong custom to immerse before one’s wedding. Less traditional communities have also started using mikvah for other transitional moments, such as significant birthdays or remission from cancer. There has recently been an “open mikvah” movement, which “is committed to making mikveh accessible to Jews of all denominations, ages, genders, sexual orientations, and abilities (Rising Tide Network old website, “Why Open Mikvah”).”

To quote others:

No other religious establishment, structure or rite can affect the Jew in this way and, indeed, on such an essential level. —Rebbetzen Rivkah Slonim, Total Immersion, as quoted on Chabad.org

The mikveh is one of the most important parts of a Jewish community. —Kylie Ora Lobell, “What Is a Mikveh?” on Aish.com

How important? According to Rav Moshe Feinstein, one of the great American rabbis of the 20th century, one should build a mikveh before building a synagogue in a town that has neither, and even in a town where there is a mikveh but it’s an inconvenient distance away from the community (Igros Moshe: Choshen Mishpat Chelek 1 Siman 42).

A mikveh is more important than a synagogue.

I’d say that’s pretty important.

Tl;dr: A mikveh is the conduit through which a convert becomes a part of the Jewish people. It is traditionally used to sanctify the relationship between spouses. It was required for people to go to the Temple, back when we still had it. It is extremely central to Jewish practice.

So. What does JVP have to say about it?

THE JVP MIKVEH GUIDE

The document in question is titled “Mikveh: A Purification Ritual for Personal and Collective Transformation,” by Zohar Lev Cunningham and Rebekah Erev. I am largely going to quote directly from the text and then analyze and explain it.

Now let me be clear. I’m not trying to say the authors aren’t Jewish. I’m not saying they’re bad people, or that you should attack them. I am not intending any of this as an ad hominem attack. But given the contents of this document, I do think it is fair to call this appropriative, even if it is of their own culture—in the same way someone can have internalized racism, or twist feminism into being a TERF, I would argue that this is twisting Judaism into paganism. In fact, while I use “appropriation” throughout this document, an extremely useful term that’s been coined recently is “cultural expropriation”--essentially, appropriative actions done by rogue members of the community in question. One example of this would be the Kabbalah Centre in Los Angeles, which is the source of a lot of the Madonna-style “pop Kabbalah.” It was founded by an Orthodox Jewish couple, but it and its followers are widely criticized by most Jewish communities. In much the same way, the Guide is expropriation. 

We start off with a note from the authors.

Hello, Welcome to the Simple Mikveh Guide. This work comes out of many years of reclaiming and re-visioning mikveh. The intention of this guide is to acknowledge and give some context to what mikveh is, provide resources related to mainstream understanding of mikveh and also provide alternative mikveh ideas. Blessings for enjoyment of this wonderful, simple Jewish ritual! Zohar Lev Cunningham & Rebekah Erev

This is fairly normal, though “alternative mikveh ideas” is a bit odd to say. I also find “blessings for enjoyment” to be odd phrasing, somewhat reminiscent of the Wiccan “Blessed Be,” but it could be a typo.

The first main section is titled “Intro to Mikveh,” and begins as follows:

Mikveh is an ancient Jewish ritual practice of water immersion, traditionally used for cleansing, purification, and transformation. It's been conventionally used for conversion to Judaism, for brides, and for niddah, the practice of cleansing after menstruation.

This is relatively accurate, and credit where credit is due avoids making niddah out to be patriarchal BS. I do object slightly to “purify” as a translation without further explanation, as I went into above, and “cleansing” for similar reasons—it implies “dirtiness,’ which isn’t really what tum’ah is about. Also, though this is pretty minor, a bride going to the mikveh before her wedding is actually a part of the laws of niddah. I’d also note that they entirely leave out that it was important for going to the Temple in ancient times, though given this is published by JVP I’m not terribly surprised.

For Jews, water signifies the transformative moment from slavery in Egypt, through the parted Red Sea, and into freedom.

On the one hand, I suppose it’s not unreasonable to connect the Red Sea and mikveh, though I think I’d be more likely to hear it the other way around (i.e. “going through the sea was like the people immersing in a mikveh and being ‘cleansed,’ so to speak”). Though they were, rather importantly, not actually immersed in the water. However I don’t think I’d say water as a whole signifies the Splitting of the Sea. In fact, water imagery is more often used to signify the Torah, see for instance Bava Kamma 82a.

There is also a mystical connection to mikveh as a metaphor for the womb of the divine.

A mikveh being like a womb is also not uncommon. It’s found in the Reishis Chochmah (Shia’ar HaAhavah 11,58) and the writing of Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan (The Aryeh Kaplan Anthology, vol 2., p. 382; both as quoted in 50 Mikvahs That Shaped History, by Rabbi Ephraim Meth), see also “The Mikveh’s Significance in Traditional Conversion” by Rabbi Maurice Lamm on myjewishlearning. Filled with water, you float in it, you emerge a new being (at least for conversion); it’s not an absurd comparison to draw. I’m not sure I’ve found anything for the Womb of the Divine specifically, though. (Also, Divine should definitely be capitalized.)

Entering a mikveh is a transformative and healing experience and we have long wondered why it is not available to more people, including the significant trans and queer populations in Jewish communities.

So. I am NOT going to say there’s no problem with homophobia and/or transphobia in Jewish communities. It’s definitely a community issue, and many communities are grappling with it in various ways as we speak. And I’m certainly not going to say the authors didn’t have the experience of not having a mikveh available to them—I don’t know their lives, I’m not going to police their experiences.

However, while Orthodox mikvahs are often still restricted to married women (who by virtue of the community will generally be cis and married to men) and potentially adult men (given the resources and customs, as mentioned above), there are plenty of more liberal mikva’ot these days. Some even explicitly offer rituals for queer events! The list of reasons to go to the mikvah linked up above, for instance, includes:

(Mayyim Hayyim, “Immersion Ceremonies”)

Again, that’s not to say there aren’t issues of queerphobia in the Jewish community, but if you are queer and want to go to the mikvah, there are options out there. If you’re looking, I’ve included some links at the end.

When we make ritual, we are working with the divine forces of presence and intention. The magic of mikveh comes in making contact with water. Contact with water marks a threshold and functions as a portal to bring closer our ritual intention/the world to come.

This is…a weird way to put things. I would say this is the start of the red flags. “When we make ritual,” first of all, is, to quote @the-library-alcove (who helped edit this), “a turn of phrase that is not typically associated with any branch of Jewish practice; we have a lot--a LOT--of rituals, and while it's certainly not completely outside of the realm of Jewish vernacular, the tone here, especially in light of the later sections, starts veering towards the vernacular of neo-paganism.” One might say “make kiddush” (the blessing over wine on Shabbos and holidays) or “make motzi” (the blessing over bread), but not generally “make ritual.”

The next section is titled “Who Gets to Do Mikveh?” Their answer:

Everyone! Mikveh practice is available to all of us as a healing tool at any time.

The healing tool part isn’t the original purpose of mikveh, but there are some who have used it as a part of emotional recovery from something traumatic, by marking a new state of being free from whatever caused it, see for instance Mayyim Hayyim’s list linked above.

The “everyone” bit is a little more complicated. To explain why, we’re going to skip ahead a little. (Some of these quotes will also be analyzed in full later.)

We want to make mikveh practice available as a tool to all Jews and non-Jews who want to heal wounds caused by white supremacy and colonialism. [..] To us, a queer mikveh welcomes anyone, regardless of spiritual background or not. […] Queer mikveh is accessible physically and spiritually to any and all people who are curious about it. You don't have to be a practicing Jew to enter queer mikveh. You don't have to be Jewish. (pg. 2, emphasis added)

Now, I am told there are mikva’ot that allow non-Jews to immerse. I have yet to find them, so I don’t know what rituals they allow non-Jews to do. I also haven’t been able to find any resources on non-Jews being allowed to immerse. I have found quite a few that explicitly prohibit it. If there are any sources you know of, please send them to me! I’d love to see them! But so far everything I have come across has said that mikvah immersion is a closed practice that only Jews can participate in. (Technically, to quote the lovely @etz-ashashiot, any non-Jew can do mikvah…once. And they won’t be non-Jews when they emerge. There is also one very extreme edge-case, which is absolutely not mainstream knowledge or practice, and basically isn’t actually done. You can message me if you’re curious, but it’s really not relevant to this–and even in that case, it is preferable to use a natural mikvah rather than a man-made one.)

If there are any legitimate sources that allow non-Jews to do a mikvah ritual, I would assume said non-Jews would be required to be respectful about it. Unfortunately, this is how the paragraph we began with continues:

Who Gets to Do Mikveh? Everyone! Mikveh practice is available to all of us as a healing tool at any time. You don't need any credentials. Your own wisdom is all the power you need to be a Jewish ritual leader. (emphasis added)

This is where we really go off the rails. First of all, you need more than “wisdom” to lead a Jewish ritual. You need to actually know what you’re doing. You can’t just say “oh you know what I feel like the right thing to do for morning prayers is to pray to the sun, because God created the sun so the sun is worth worshiping, and this is a Jewish ritual I’m doing.” That’s just idolatry. Like straight up I stole that from a midrash (oral tradition) about how humanity went from speaking with God in the Garden of Eden to worshiping idols in the time of Noah (given here by Maimonides; note that it continues for a few paragraphs after the one this link sends you to).

Second of all, this is particularly bad given this guide is explicitly to Jews and non-Jews. As @daughter-of-stories put it when she was going over an earlier draft of this analysis, “they are saying that non-Jews can just declare themselves Jewish ritual leaders based on nothing but their own ‘wisdom.’”

I hope I don’t need to explain why that’s extremely bad and gross?

While we’re on the topic of non-Jews using a mikvah, let’s take a moment to address an accusation commonly mentioned alongside the mikvah guide: that JVP also encourages (or encouraged) self-conversion.

I have been unable to find a separate document where they explicitly said so, or an older version of this document that does. This leads me to believe that either a) the accusation came from a misreading of this document, or b) there was a previous document that contained it which has since been deleted but was not archived in the Wayback Machine. EITHER is possible.

Even in the case that there was no such document, however, I would point out that such a suggestion can be read–intentionally or not–as implicit in this document. This is a guide for mikvah use by both Jews and non-Jews, and includes an idea that non-Jews can perform Jewish rituals on their own without any guidance or even background knowledge, as quoted above. Why would a non-Jew, coming into Jewish practice with very little knowledge, go looking to perform a mikvah ritual?

I would wager that the most well-known purpose of immersing in a mikvah is for the purpose of conversion.

Nowhere in this guide is there any explicit statement that you can do a self-conversion, but it also doesn’t say anywhere that you can’t, or that doing so is an exception to “you don’t need any credentials” or “your own wisdom is all the power you need to be a Jewish ritual leader.” It may not be their intention, but the phrasing clearly leaves it as an option.

Even if this were from a source that one otherwise loved, this would be upsetting and disappointing. The amount of exposure this document is getting may be at least in part because it comes from JVP, but the distress and dismay would be there regardless. If there is further vitriol, it’s only because JVP is often considered a legitimate source by outsiders, if no one else–in other words, by the very people least likely to have the background to know that this document isn’t trustworthy. It’s like the difference between your cousin telling you “the Aztecs were abducted by aliens” versus a mainstream news program like Fox reporting it. Both are frustrating and wrong, but one has significantly more potential harm than the other, and therefore is more likely to get widespread criticism (even if you complain about your cousin online).

On the other hand, as one of my editors pointed out in a moment of dark humor, they do say you don’t have to be Jewish to lead a Jewish ritual, so perhaps that mitigates this issue slightly by taking away a motivation to convert in the first place.

Returning to our document:

We do mikvahs in lakes, rivers, bathtubs, showers, outside in the rain, from teacups, and in our imaginations.

At this point the rails are but a distant memory.

In case you’ve forgotten what I said about this at the beginning of this post (and honestly I wouldn’t blame you, we’re on pg. 9 in my draft of this), there are extremely strict rules about what qualifies as a mikvah. Maimonides’s Mishnah Torah, just about the most comprehensive codex of Jewish law, has eleven chapters on the topic of the mikvah (though that includes immersion in it as well as construction of it). I’m not going to make you read through it, but let’s go through the list in this sentence:

Lakes and rivers: you might be able to use a river or lake as a mikvah, but you need to check with your local rabbinical authority, because not all of them qualify. In general, the waters must gather together naturally, from an underground spring or rainwater. In the latter case, the waters must be stationary rather than flowing. A river that dries up in a drought can’t be used, for instance. (The ocean counts as a spring, for this purpose.)

Bathtubs and showers: No. A man-made mikveh must be built into the ground or as an essential part of a building, unlike most bathtubs, and contain of a minimum of 200 gallons of rainwater, gathered and siphoned in a very particular way so as not to let it legally become “groundwater.” Also, it needs to be something you can immerse in, which a shower is not.

Outside in the rain: No? How would you even do that?? What??

Teacups: Even if you were Thumblina or K’tonton (Jewish Tom Thumb), and could actually immerse your entire body in a teacup, it wouldn’t be a kosher mikvah as a mivkah can’t be portable.

In your imagination: Obviously not, what the heck are you even talking about

We will (unfortunately) be coming back to the teacup thing, but for now suffice it to say most of these are extremely Not A Thing.

Mikveh has been continually practiced since ancient Judaism. It is an offering of unbroken Jewish lineage that we have claimed/reclaimed as our own.

I find the use of “claimed/reclaimed” fascinating here, given this guide is explicitly for non-Jews—who, whether or not they are permitted to use a mikvah, certainly shouldn’t be claiming it as their own—as well as Jews. I find it particularly interesting given the lack of clarity of how much of JVP’s membership is actually Jewish and JVP’s history of encouraging non-Jewish members to post “as Jews.” Kind of telling on yourselves a bit, there.

(Once again, I’m not commenting on the authors themselves, but the organization they represent here and the audience they are speaking to/for.)

We want to make mikveh practice available as a tool to all Jews and non-Jews who want to heal wounds caused by white supremacy and colonialism. We want to make mikveh practice available for healing our bodies, spirits, and the earth.

Setting aside the “Jews and non-Jews” thing, since I talked about that earlier and this is already extremely long, I do want to highlight the end of the paragraph. While there are some modern uses of the mikvah to (sort of) heal the spirit, I haven’t heard of anyone using a mikvah to heal the body—as a general rule Jews don’t tend to do faith healing, though of course some sects are the exception. Healing the earth, however, is absolutely not a use of a mikvah. Mikvah rituals, as we’ve now mentioned several times, are about tahara of a person or an object, and require immersion. You can’t immerse the earth in a mikvah. The earth contains mikva’ot. Healing the earth with a mikvah is a very strange worship (IYKYK).

We acknowledge that not all beings have consistent access to water, including Palestinians.

This is a tragedy, no question. I don't mean to minimize that. However, it is also unrelated to the matter at hand. The Guide also doesn’t give any recommendations on how we can help improve water access, so this lip service is all you get.

A lack of water does not make mikveh practice inaccessible.

Yes, in fact, it does. Without a kosher mikvah of one variety or another one cannot do anything that requires a mikvah. That’s why building a kosher one is so important. I haven’t gone looking for it, but while I’m sure there’s lots (and lots and lots and lots) of Rabbinic responsa out there of what to do in drought situations, you definitely do need water in all but the most extreme cases. If you do not have water, AYLR (Ask Your Local Rabbi)--don’t do whatever this is.

The spirit of water can be present with us if we choose to call for water, so even when water is not physically available to us we can engage in mikveh practice.

This is just straight up avodah zarah (“strange worship,” i.e. idolatry) as far as I can tell. The “spirit of the water”? What? We’re not Babylonians worshiping Tiamat. What source is there for this? Is there a source??

Like all material resources, the ways water is or is not available to us is shaped by our geographic and social locations. The ways we relate to water, what we decide is clean, treyf (dirty), drinkable, bathable, how much we use, how much we save, varies depending on our experiences. We invite you to decide what is clean and holy for your own body and spiritual practice.

This is going to require some breaking down.

To start with, let’s define “treyf.” To quote myjewishlearning, “Treyf (sometimes spelled treif or treyfe) is a Yiddish word used for something that is not kosher [lit. "fit"]. The word treyf is derived from the Hebrew word treifah, which appears several times in the Bible and means 'flesh torn by beasts.' The Torah prohibits eating flesh torn by beasts, and so the word treifah came to stand in for all forbidden foods.”

You may note the lack of the word “dirty” in this definition, or any other value judgments. Myjewishlearning continues, “over time, the words kosher and treyf have been used colloquially beyond the world of food to describe anything that Jews deem fit or unfit.” While this does have something of a value judgment, it’s still not “dirty.” I can’t say why the authors chose to translate the word this way, but…I don’t like it.

Now, when it comes to what is kosher or treyf, food and drink are most certainly not based on “our experiences.” There are entire books on the rules of kashrut; it generally takes years of study to understand all the minutiae. Even as someone who was raised in a kosher household, when I worked as a mashgicha (kosher certification inspector) I needed special training. What is considered kadosh (“sacred” or “holy,”  though again that’s not a perfect translation) or tahor is also determined by very strict rules. We don’t just decide things based on “vibes.” That’s not how anything in Jewish practice works.

Water, in fact, is always kosher to drink unless it has bugs or something else treyf in it. And mikvehs aren’t even always what I’d consider “drinkable;” I always wash utensils I’ve brought to the mikvah before I use them.

We come to our next heading: What is Queer Mikveh?

What is Queer Mikveh? To us, a queer mikveh welcomes anyone, regardless of spiritual background or not.

As I’ve said above, I have yet to find a single source (seriously if you have one please send it to me) that says non-Jews can go to a mikvah. As one of my editors for this put it, “to spin appropriation of Jewish closed practices as ‘queer’ is not only icky but deeply disrespectful to actual queer Jews.”

Also, and this is not remotely the point, but “regardless of spiritual background or not” is almost incoherently poor writing.

As Jews in diaspora we want to share and use our ritual practices for healing the land and waters we are visitors on for the liberation of all beings.

I have tried to be semi-professional about this analysis, but. “Jews in the diaspora,” you say. Tell me, JVP, where are we in the diaspora from? Hm? Where are we in diaspora from? Which land do we come from? Which land are we indigenous to, JVP? Do tell.

Returning to the point, I would repeat that mikvah has nothing to do with “healing the land and waters.” It’s ritual purification of whatever is immersed in it. You want to heal the land and waters? Go to your local environmental group, and/or whoever maintains your local land and waters. Pick up trash. Start recycling. Weed invasive species. Call your government and tell them to support green energy. You want liberation for all beings? Fight bigotry—including antisemitism. Judaism believes in action—go act. Appropriating rituals from a closed religion doesn’t liberate anyone.

We have come up with this working definition and welcome feedback!

Oh good, maybe I won’t be yelled at for posting this (she said dubiously).

Queer mikveh is a ritual of Jews in diaspora. We believe the way we work for freedom for all beings is by using the gifts of our ancestors for the greatest good. We bring our rituals as gifts.

I have nothing in particular new to say about this, except that I find the idea of “bringing our rituals as gifts” for anyone to use deeply uncomfortable, given Judaism is a closed religion that strongly discourages non-Jews from joining us, and that has had literal millennia of people appropriating from us.

It acknowledges that our path is to live on lands that are not historically our peoples [sic] and we honor the Indigenous ancestors of the land we live on, doing mikveh as an anti-colonialist ritual for collective and personal liberation.

Again I would love so much for JVP to tell us which lands would historically be our people’s. What land do Jews come from, JVP? What land is it we do have a historical connection to? What land do our Indigenous ancestors come from??

And why does it have to be our path to live on lands other than that one?

Secondly, to quote the lovely @daughter-of-stories again when she was editing this, “Mikveh as anti-colonialism, aside from not being what Mikveh is, kinda implies that you can cleanse the land of the sins of colonialism. So (a) that’s just a weird bastardization of baptism since, mikveh isn’t about cleansing from sin, and (b) so does that mean the colonialism is erased? Now we don’t have to actually deal with how it affects actual indigenous people?”

I’m sure that (b) isn’t their intent, but I will say that once again they don’t give any material suggestions for how to actually liberate any collectives or persons from colonialism in this document, including any links to other pages on their own website*, which surely would have been easy enough. It comes across as very performative.

*I disagree strongly with most of their methods, but at least they are suggesting something.

Queer mikveh is a physical or spiritual space that uses the technologies of water and the Jewish practice of mikveh to mark transitions. Transition to be interpreted by individuals and individual ritual.

I have no idea what the “technologies of water” are. Also usage of a mikvah to mark transitions beyond ritual states is a fairly new innovation, as mentioned above.

Queer mikveh in it's [sic] essence honors the story of the water. The historical stories of the water we immerse in, the stories of our own bodies as water and the future story we vision [sic].

This just sounds like a pagan spinoff of baptism to me, if I’m being honest. Which would be non-Jewish in several ways.

Queer mikveh is accessible physically and spiritually to any and all people who are curious about it. You don't have to be a practicing Jew to enter queer mikveh. You don't have to be Jewish.

First off, once again whether or not non-Jews can use mikvah seems at best extremely iffy. Secondly, accessibility in mikva’ot is, as one of my editors put it, “a continual discussion.” We have records of discussions regarding access for those with physical disabilities going back at least to the 15th century (Shut Mahari Bruna, 106; as quoted in 50 Mikvahs That Shaped History by Rabbi Ephraim Meth), and in the modern era there are mikva’ot that have lifts or other accessibility aids. That said, many mikva’ot, especially older ones, are still not accessible–and many mikva’ot don’t have the money to retrofit or renovate. Mikvah.org’s directory listings (linked at the end of this) notes whether various mikva’ot are accessible, if you are looking for one in your area.  If you want to help make mikva’ot more accessible to the disabled, consider donating to an existing mikvah to help them pay for renovations or otherwise (respectfully) getting involved in the community. If you want to help make mikva’ot more accessible for non-Orthodox Jews, try donating to an open mikvah (see link to a map of Rising Tide members at the end of this essay) or other non-Orthodox mikvah.

Queer mikveh is an earth and water honoring ritual.

Not even a little. We do have (or had) rituals that honor the earth or water, at least to an extent–the Simchat Beit HaSho’evah (explanations here and here) was a celebration surrounding water; most of our holidays are harvest festivals to some extent or another; there are a large number of agricultural mitzvahs (though most can only be done in Israel, which I suppose wouldn’t work for JVP). (Note: mitzvahs are commandments and/or good deeds.) Even those, though, aren’t about the water or earth on their own, per se, but rather about honoring them as God’s gift to us. This description of mikvah sounds more Pagan or Wiccan–which is fine, but isn’t Jewish.

Queer mikveh exists whenever a queer person or queers gather to do mikveh. Every person is their own spiritual authority and has the power to create their own ritual for individual or collective healing.

Absolutely, anyone can create their own rituals for anything they want. But it probably won’t be a mikvah ritual, and it probably won’t be Jewish.

Do you know what it’s called when you make up your own ritual and claim that it’s actually a completely valid part of an established closed practice of which you aren’t part? (Remember—this document is aimed just as much at non-Jews as at Jews.)

It’s called appropriation.

With the next section, “Some Ideas for Mikveh Preparation,” we begin page three.

(Yes, we’re only on page three of seven. I’m so sorry.)

The most important part of mikveh preparation is setting an intention.

This isn’t entirely wrong, as you do have to have in mind the intention of fulfilling a mitzvah when you perform one.

Because mikveh is a ritual most used to mark transitions, you can frame your intention in that way.

To quote myself above, “usage of a mikvah to mark transitions beyond ritual states is a fairly new innovation.” I’d hardly say it is mostly used for marking transitions.

You can do journaling or talk with friends to connect with the Jewish month, Jewish holiday, Shabbat, the moon phase, and elements of the season that would support your intention.

If this were a guide for only Jews, or there was some sort of note saying this section was only for Jews, I would have less of a problem. But given neither is true, they are encouraging non-Jews to use the Jewish calendar for what is, from the rest of the descriptions in the Guide, a magical earth healing ritual.

This is 100% straight up appropriation.

The Jewish calendar is Jewish. Marking the new moon and creating a calendar was the first commandment given to us as a people, upon the exodus from Egypt. Nearly all our holidays are (aside from the harvest component, which is based on the Israeli agricultural seasons and required harvest offerings) based on specific parts of Jewish history. Passover celebrates the Exodus and our becoming a nation. Sukkot celebrates the Clouds of Glory that protected us in the desert. Shavuot celebrates being given the Torah.

According to some opinions, non-Jews literally aren’t allowed to keep Shabbat.

If you are a non-Jew and you are basing the collective earth healing ritual you have created under your own spiritual authority around Jewish holidays and calling it “mikvah,” you are appropriating Judaism.

Full stop.

This isn’t even taking into account the generally Pagan/witchy feel of the paragraph, with “moon phases” and “elements of the season.” Again, if you want to be a Pagan be a Pagan, but don’t call it Jewish.

Things only go further downhill with their next suggestion for preparation before you go to the mikvah.

Divination: A lot can be said about divination practices and Judaism.

There certainly is a lot to be said. First and foremost, there’s the fact that divination is forbidden in Judaism.

(Screenshot of Leviticus 19:26 from sefaria.org)

One method of divination they suggest is Tarot, which is a European method of cartomancy that seems to have begun somewhere in the 19th century, though the cards start showing up around the 15th. While early occultists tried to tie it to various older forms of mysticism, including Kabbalah, this was, to put it lightly, complete nonsense. (Disclaimer: this information comes from wikipedia; I’ve already spent so much time researching the mikvah stuff that I do not have the energy or interest to do a deep dive into the origin of Tarot. It isn’t Jewish, the rest is honestly just details.)

I have nothing against Tarot. I think it’s neat! The cards are often lovely! I have a couple of decks myself, and I use them for fun and card games. But divination via tarot is not Jewish. If I do any spreads, I make it very clear to anyone I’m doing it with that it is for fun and/or as a self-reflection tool, not as magic. Because that is extremely not allowed in Judaism.

The authors suggest a few decks to use, one of which is by one of the authors themselves. Another is “The Kabbalah Deck,” which—holy appropriation, Batman!

In case anyone is unaware, Kabbalah (Jewish mysticism) is an extremely closed Jewish practice, even within Judaism. Traditionally it shouldn’t be studied by anyone who hasn’t already studied every other Jewish text (of which there are, I remind you, a lot), because it’s so easy to misinterpret. I mentioned this above briefly when explaining cultural expropriation. Pop Kabbalah (what Madonna does, what you see when they talk about “Ancient Kabbalistic Texts” on shows like Supernatural, the nonsense occultists and New-Agers like to say is “ancient Kabbalistic” whatever, it’s a wide span of appropriative BS) is gross, combining Kabbalah with Tarot is extremely gross. I’m not 100% sure, as the link in the pdf doesn’t work, but I believe they are referring to this deck by Edward Hoffman. For those of you who don’t want to click through, the Amazon description includes this:

(Screenshot from Amazon)

Returning to our text:

Another practice that's been used in Judaism for centuries is bibliomancy. You can use a book you find meaningful (or the Torah) and ask a question. Then, close your eyes, open the book to a page and place your finger down. Interpret the word or sentence you pointed at to help guide you to answer your question.

Bibliomancy with a chumash (Pentateuch) or tanach (Bible) in Jewish magic is kind of a thing, but the tradition of Jewish magic as a whole is very complicated and could be its own entirely different post. This one is already long enough. This usage of bibliomancy is clearly just appropriative new-age BS, though, especially given you can use “[any] book you find meaningful.”

Also, if you aren’t Jewish, please don’t use the Torah for ritual purposes unless you are doing it under very specific circumstances under the laws for B’nei Noach (“Children of Noah,” also called Righteous Gentiles; non-Jews who follow the 7 Noachide Laws).

Sit with your general intention or if you aren't sure, pose a question to the divination tool you are using. "What should be my intention for this mikveh?" "What needs transforming in my life?" "How can I transform my relationship with my body?"

As I hope I’ve made clear, there are very specific times when one uses a mikvah, even with more modern Open Mikvah rituals. You always know what your intention is well before going—to make yourself tahor, or mark a specific event. I’m not here to police how someone prepares mentally before they immerse—meditation is fine, even encouraged. But magic? Like this? That’s not a thing. And given the fact that divination specifically is not only discouraged but forbidden, this section in particular upset a lot of Jews who read it.

Those of us already upset by everything we’ve already covered were not comforted by how the Guide continues.

How to Prepare Physically For Mikveh: Some people like to think about entering the mikveh in the way their body was when they were born. By this we mean naked, without jewelry, with clean fingernails and brushed hair. This framing can be meaningful for many people.

We went into this at the beginning of this essay (about 6500 words ago), but this is in fact how Jewish law mandates one is required to immerse. This is certainly the case in most communities, whether you are immersing due to an obligation (as a married woman or a bride about to be married) or due to custom (as men in post-Temple practice) or due to non-traditional immersion (as someone coming out); wherever on the spectrum of observance one falls (as far as I could find). A mikvah isn’t a bath, it’s not about physical cleanliness—you must first thoroughly clean yourself, clip your nails, and brush your teeth. Nail polish and makeup are removed. There can’t be any barriers between you and the water. Most mikva’ot these days, particularly women’s mikva’ot, have preparation rooms so you can prep on site. When you immerse, you have to submerge completely—your hair can’t be floating above the water, your mouth can’t be pursed tightly, your hands can’t be clenched so the water can’t get to your palms. If you do it wrong, it doesn’t count and you have to do it again. It’s not a “framing,” it’s a ritual practice governed by ritual law.

We suggest you do mikveh in the way you feel comfortable for you and your experience.

This isn’t how this works. If you have a particularly extreme case, you can talk to a rabbi to see if there are any workarounds—for example, if excessive embarrassment would distract you from the ritual, you may be able to wear clothes that are loose enough that the water still makes contact with every millimeter of skin. But you need to consult with someone who knows the minutiae of the laws and requirements so you know if any exceptions or workarounds apply to you. That’s what a rabbi is for. That’s why they need to go to rabbinical school and get ordination. They have to study. That’s why you need to find a rabbi whose knowledge and personality you trust. For someone calling themselves a religious authority in Judaism to say “you can do whatever, no biggie” with such a critical ritual is…I’m not sure what the word I want is.

The idea is to feel vulnerable but also to claim your body as a powerful site of change that has the power to move us close to our now unrecognizable futures.

The idea is to bathe in the living waters and enter a state of taharah. Though that could be an idea you have in mind while you are doing it, I suppose. I could see at least one writer I know of saying something like this to specifically menstrual married (presumably cis) women performing Taharat HaMishpacha (family taharah, see above).

For some people, doing mikveh in drag will feel most vulnerable, with all your make-up and best attire.

Absolutely not a thing. As I said last paragraph, the goal isn’t to feel vulnerable or powerful or anything. It may feel vulnerable or powerful, but that is entirely besides the actual purpose of the ritual. What you get out of it on a personal emotional level has nothing to do with the religious goal of the religious practice.

And if you are wondering how one would submerge oneself in water in full drag, don’t worry, we’ll get there soon.

For some, wearing a cloth around your body until just before you dip is meaningful.

This is just how it’s usually done. Generally one is provided with a bathrobe, and one removes it before entering. You don’t just wander around the building naked. Or the beach, if you’re using the ocean.

If you were born intersex and your genitalia was changed without your consent, thinking about your body as perfect, however you were born, can be loving.

I’m not intersex, so I’m not going to comment on the specifics here. If you are and that’s meaningful to you, more power to you.

We enter a new section, at the top of page 4.

Where To Do Mikveh: There is much midrash around what constitutes a mikveh.

“Midrash” is not the word they want here. The midrash is the non-legal side of the oral tradition, often taking the form of allegory or parable. This is as opposed to the mishna, which is the halachic (legal) side of the oral tradition. They were both written down around the same time, but most midrashim (plural) are in their own books, rather than incorporated in the mishna.

There is, however, a great deal of rabbinic discussion, in the form of mishna, gemara, teshuvot (responsa), legal codices, and various other genres of Jewish writing. More properly this could have just said “there is much discussion around what constitutes a mikveh.”

Most mikvot currently exist in Orthodox synagogues[—]

This is perhaps a minor quibble, but I don’t know that I’d say they’re generally in synagogues. They are frequently associated with a local congregation, but are often in a separate building.

[—]but there is a growing movement to create more diverse and inclusive spaces for mikveh. Mayyim Hayyim is a wonderful resource with a physical body of water mikveh space. Immerse NYC is a newer organization training people of all genders to be mikveh guides. They also work to find gender inclusive spaces for people to do mikveh in NYC.

This is true! Mayyim Hayyim is a wonderful organization I’ve never heard anything bad about, and ImmerseNYC also seems like an excellent organization. Both also only allow Jews (in which group I am including in-process converts) to immerse.

The mikveh guides thing I didn’t explain above, so I’ll take a moment to do so here. Because the rules of immersion are so strict, and because it’s hard to tell if you are completely immersed when you are underwater, most mikva’ot have a guide helping you. Depending on the circumstance and the mikvah, and depending on the patron’s comfort, who and how they do their jobs can differ somewhat. For a woman immersing after niddah, it will usually be another woman who will hold up the towel or bathrobe for you while you get in the water, and will only look from behind it once you are immersed to make sure you are completely submerged. If you are converting, customs vary. Some communities require men to witness the immersion regardless of the convert’s gender, which is very much an ongoing discussion in those communities. Even in those cases, to my knowledge they will only look once the convert is in the water, and there will likely still be a female attendant if the convert is a woman. While there are negative experiences people have had, it is very much an intra-community issue. We’re working on it.

Mikveh can be done in a natural body of water.

Again, this is true, though not all bodies of water work, so AYLR (Ask Your Local Rabbi).

Some people are also making swimming pools holy places of mikveh.

We’ve already explained above why this is nonsense.

In the Mishneh (the book that makes commentary on the torah [sic]) there are arguments as to what constitutes a mikveh and how much water from a spring or well or rainwater must be present.

The main issue in this section is their definition of the Mishneh. As I explained above, the Mishna (same thing, transliteration is not an exact science) is the major compilation of the Oral Torah, the oral tradition that was written down by Rabbi Judah Ha-Nasi so it wouldn’t be lost in the face of exile and assimilation. It’s not so much a commentary on the (Written) Torah as an expansion of it to extrapolate the religious laws we follow. It’s certainly not “the book that makes commentary on the Torah.” We have literally hundreds of books of commentary. That’s probably underestimating. Jews have been around for a long time, and we have been analyzing and discussing the Torah for nearly as long. There are so many commentaries on the Torah.

The second issue is that while there are arguments in the Mishna and Gemara (the oral discussion on the Mishna that was written down even later), they do generally result in a final decision of some sort. Usually whichever side has the majority wins. Variations between communities are still very much a thing, and I can explain why in another post if people are interested, but there usually is a base agreement.

We are of the school that says you decide for yourself what works.

The phrasing they use here makes it sound as though that’s a legitimate opinion in the Mishnah. I cannot emphasize how much that is not the case. While I myself have not finished learning the entire Mishnah, I would be willing to wager a great deal that “whatever works for you” isn’t a stance on any legal matter there. That’s just not how it works. While some modern branches of Judaism may have that as a position, it is definitely not Mishnaic.

If you are concerned about Jewish law, the ocean is always a good choice. There are no conflicting arguments about the ocean as a mikveh. As the wise maggid Jhos Singer says in reference to the ocean, "It's [sic] becomes a mikveh when we call it a mikveh." Done.

(To clarify, I don’t know if that typo was carried over from the source of the original quote or not.)

This is true. However if you are concerned about Jewish law I would very much urge you to look to other sources than this one—be that your local rabbi or rebbetzen, the staff at your local mikvah, or a reliable website that actually goes into the proper requirements. If you want to use a mikveh according to Jewish law, please do not use this document as your guide.

We recognize immersion in water does not work for every body. Therefore, a guiding principle for where to do a mikveh is: do a mikveh in a place that is sacred to you. Your body is always holy and your body is made of mostly water. Later in this guide there is more information on mikveh with no immersion required.

I cannot emphasize how much I have never once heard this before. This, to me, reads like New Age nonsense. If you are unable to immerse in a mikvah, talk to your rabbi. Don’t do…whatever this is.

Our next section is a short one.

Who To Do it With: Do mikveh with people you feel comfortable with and supported by.

This is fine, though many mikva’ot (perhaps even most) will only allow one person to immerse at a time.

Do a solo mikveh and ask the earth body to be your witness.

With this, we return to the strange smattering of neo-Paganism. The “earth body” is not a thing. Yes, the Earth is called as a witness in the Bible at least once. It’s poetic. You also, unless you are converting, don’t actually need a witness anyway. A mikvah attendant or guide is there to help you—if you were somewhere without one, you could still immerse for niddah or various customary purposes.

Do mikveh with people who share some of your vision for collective healing.

As I’ve said before in this essay, collective healing is not the point of a mikvah. If you are Jewish and want to pray for healing, there are plenty of legitimate places for this–the Shemonah Esrei has a prayer for healing and a prayer where you can insert any personal prayers you want; there’s a communal prayer for healing after the Torah reading. You can give charity or recite a psalm or do a mitzvah with the person in mind. You can also just do a personal private prayer with any words you like, a la Hannah, or if you want pre-written words find an appropriate techinah (not the sesame stuff). If you want to work towards collective liberation, volunteer. Learn the laws of interpersonal mitzvot, like lashon hara (literally “evil speech,” mostly gossip or libel). Connect fighting oppression to loving your neighbor or the Passover seder. We have tons of places for this–mikvah isn’t one of them.

Next segment.

What To Bring to A Mikveh: 1. Intentions for the ritual for yourself and/or the collective.

See previous points on intention.

2. Items for the altar from your cultural background[…] (emphasis mine)

If I wasn’t appalled by the “immersing in makeup” or the “do divination first,” this would be the place that got me. This is wrong on so many levels.

One is not allowed to have an altar outside of The Temple in Jerusalem, the one we currently do not have. It’s an extremely big deal. One is not allowed to make sacrifices outside of the Temple. Period. This is emphasized again and again in the Torah and other texts. Even when we had a Temple, there were no altars in a mikvah.

And you certainly couldn’t offer anything in the Temple while naked, as one is required to be when immersing in the mikvah.

Even when we did bring offerings to altars (the Bronze Altar or the Gold Altar, both of which were in the Temple and which only qualified priests in a state of tahara could perform offerings on), the offerings were very specifically mandated, as per the Torah and those other texts. Even when non-Jews gave offerings (as did happen) they were required to comply. You couldn’t just bring any item from your cultural background. This is paganism, plain and simple.

Now, again, let me be clear: if you’re pagan, I have no problem with you. My problem is when one tries to take a sacred practice from a closed religion and try to co-opt it as one’s own. It’s a problem when someone who isn’t Native American decides to smudge their room with white sage, and it’s a problem when someone who isn’t Jewish tries to turn a mikvah into a pagan cleansing rite. And even if the person doing it is Jewish--I have an issue when it’s Messianics who were born Jewish, and I have an issue when it’s pagans who were born the same. Either way, whether you intend to or not, you are participating in appropriation or expropriation.

Which makes the line that follows this point so deeply ironic I can’t decide if I’m furious or heartbroken.

After suggesting that the reader (who may or may not be Jewish) bring items for an altar to a mikvah, the Guide asks:

[…] (please do not bring appropriated items from cultures that are not yours).

Which is simply just... beyond parody. To quote one of my editors, “This is quickly approaching the level of being a new definition for the Yiddish word 'Chutzpah,' which is traditionally defined as 'absurdist audacity' in line with 'Chutzpah is a man who brutally murders both of his parents and then pleads with the judge for leniency because he is now an orphan bereft of parental guidance.' If not for the involved nature of explaining the full context, I would submit this as a potential new illustrative example.”

The next suggestion of what to bring is

3. Warm clothes, towels, warm drinks

All these are reasonable enough, though most mikva’ot provide towels. Some also provide snacks, for while you are preparing. They may also not allow you to bring in outside food.

4. Your spirit of love, healing, and resistance

This, again, has nothing to do with mikvah. The only spirit of resistance in a mikvah is the fact that we continue to do it despite millennia of attempts to stop us. Additionally, to me at least “a spirit of love” feels very culturally-Christian.

Our next section is titled “How to Make Mikveh a Non-Zionist Ritual.”

Right off the bat, I have an issue with this concept. Putting aside for a moment whatever one may think of Zionism as a philosophy, my main problem here is that mikvah has nothing at all to do with Zionism. In Orthodoxy, at least, Jews who are against Zionism on religious grounds perform the mitzvah the same way passionately Zionist Jews do, with the same meanings and intentions behind it. It is performed the same way in Israel and out, and has been more or less the same for the last several thousand years. It is about ritual purification and sanctification of the mundane, no more and no less.

There is a word for saying anything and everything Jewish is actually about the modern Israel/Palestine conflict, simply because it’s Jewish.

That word is antisemitism.

How to Make Mikveh a Non-Zionist Ritual: Reject all colonial projects by learning about, naming & honoring, and materially supporting the communities indigenous to the land where you hold your mikveh. Name and thank the Indigenous people of the land you are going to do your mikveh on.

If you removed the “non-Zionist” description, this would be mostly unobjectionable. We should absolutely help indigenous communities. The framing of “reject all colonial projects” does seem to suggest that there is something colonial about the usual practice of going to the mikvah, though. I would argue that the mikvah is, in fact, anti-colonial if anything—it is the practice of a consistently oppressed minority ethno-religion which has kept it in practice despite the best efforts of multiple empires. Additionally, while Zionism means many different things to those who believe in it, at its root most Zionists (myself included) define it as “the belief that Jews have a right to self-determination in our indigenous homeland.” Our indigenous homeland being, of course, the land of Israel. (This is different from the State of Israel, which is the modern country on that land.) If you are a Jew in Israel, one of the indigenous peoples of the land your mikvah is on is your own. That’s not to say there aren’t others—but to claim Jews aren’t indigenous to the region is to be either misinformed or disingenuous.

Take the time to vision [sic] our world to come in which Palestine and all people are free.

I really, really dislike how they use the concept of The World To Come here. The Jewish idea of The World To Come (AKA the Messianic Age) is one where the Messiah has come, the Temple has been rebuilt, and the Davidic dynastic monarchy has been re-established in the land of Israel. Arguably that’s the most Zionist vision imaginable. This isn’t to say that all people, Palestinians included, won’t be free—true peace and harmony are also generally accepted features of the Messianic Age. But using the phrase in making something “non-Zionist” is, at the very least, in extremely poor taste. (As a side note, even religious non-Zionists believe in this–that’s actually why most of them are against the State of Israel, as they believe we can’t have sovereignty until the Messiah comes. They do generally believe we will eventually have sovereignty, just that now isn’t the time for it.)

Hold and explore this vision intimately as you prepare to immerse. What is one action you can take to bring this future world closer? Trust that your vision is collaborating with countless others doing this work.

Having a “vision” of a world where all are free isn’t doing any of the work to accomplish it. A “vision” can’t collaborate. At least not in Judaism. This sounds like one is trying to manifest the change through force of will, which is something directly out of the New Age faith movement, where it is known as “Creative Visualization.” Even when we do have a concept of bringing about something positive through an unrelated action–like saying psalms for someone who is sick–the idea is that you are doing a mitzvah on their behalf, to add to their merits counted in their favor. It’s not a form of magic or invocation of some mystical energy.

(Once again: I have nothing against pagans. But paganism is incompatible with Judaism. You can’t be both, any more than you can be Jewish and Christian.)

Use mikveh practice to ground into your contribution to the abundant work for liberation being done. We are many.

If you will once more pardon a brief switch to a casual tone:

Nothing says liberation like *checks notes* appropriating a minority cultural practice.

The next section of their document is titled “Ideas for Mikveh Ritual,” and this is where the Neo-Pagan and New Age influences of the authors truly shift from the background to the foreground.  

We start off deceptively reasonably.

Mikveh ritual is potentially very simple. Generally people consider a mikveh to be a full immersion in water, where you are floating in the water, not touching the bottom, with no part of the body above the surface (including the hair).

Technically, most people consider a mikveh to be a ritual bath (noun) in which one performs various Jewish ritual immersions. But if we set this aside as a typo, this is…fairly true. What they are describing is how one is supposed to perform the mitzvah of mikveh immersion. However, in much the same way I wouldn’t say “generally people consider baseball to be a game where you hit a ball with a bat and run around a diamond,” I wouldn’t say it’s a case of “generally people consider” so much as “this is what it is.”

This works for some people. It doesn't work for everyone and it doesn't work for all bodies. Because of this, mikveh ritual can be expanded outside of these traditional confines in exciting, creative ways.

Once again, if you are incapable of performing mikvah immersion in the proper manner, please go speak with a rabbi. Please do not follow this guide.

Before we continue, I would just like to assure you that. whatever “exciting, creative ways” you might be imagining the authors have come up with, this is so much worse.

Method One:

Sound Mikveh: One way that's felt very meaningful for many is a "sound mikveh." This can be a group of people toning, harmonizing, or chanting in a circle. One person at a time can be in the center of the circle and feel the vibrations of healing sound wash over their body. Another method of sound mikveh is to use a shofar or other instrument of your lineage to made [sic] sounds that reach a body of water and also wash over you.

This makes me so uncomfortable I barely have the words to describe it, and I know that I am not alone in this. This is not a mikvah. If someone wants to do some sort of sound-based healing ritual, by all means go ahead, but do not call it a mikvah. This is not Jewish. I don’t know what this is, aside from deeply offensive.

And leave that poor shofar out of this. That ram did not give his horn for this nonsense.

(I could go on about the actual sacred purpose of a shofar and all the rules and reasons behind it that expand upon this, but this is already over 9000 words.)

Method Two is, if anything, worse. This is the one, if you’ve seen social media posts about this topic, you have most likely seen people going nuts about.

Tea Cup Mikveh: Fill a special teacup. If you want, add flower essence, a small stone, or other special elements. Sing the teacup a sweet song, dance around it, cry in some tears, tell the cup a tender and hopeful story, hold the teacup above the body of your animal friend for extra blessing, balance it on your head to call in your highest self. Use the holy contents of this teacup to make contact with water.

This is absolutely 100% straight-up neo-pagan/New Age mysticism. Nothing about this is based on Jewish practice of any kind. Again, I’m at a loss for words of how to explain just how antithetical this is. If you want to be a witch, go ahead and be a witch. But do not call it Jewish. Leave Judaism out of this.

They end this suggestion with the cute comment,

Mikveh to go. We’ve always been people on the move.

Let me explain why this “fun” little comment fills me with rage. 

As you may recall, this document was published by Jewish Voice for Peace. Among their various other acts of promoting and justifying antisemitism, JVP has repeatedly engaged in historical revisionism regarding Jews and Jewish history. In this context, they have repeatedly ignored the numerous expulsions of Jews from various countries, and blaming sinister Zionist plots to explain any movement of expelled Jews to Israel (“In the early 1950s, starting two years after the Nakba, the Israeli government facilitated a mass immigration of Mizrahim,” from “Our Approach to Zionism” on the JVP website; see @is-the-thing-actually-jewish’s post on JVP and the posts linked from there).

So a document published by JVP framing Jewish movement as some form of free spirited 1970s-esque Bohemian lifestyle or the result of us being busy movers-and-shakers is a direct slap in the face to the persecution we’ve faced as a people and society.  No, we aren’t “on the move” because we’re hippies wandering where the wind takes us . We’re always on the move because we keep getting kicked out and/or hate-crimed until we leave.

But there is no Jew-hatred in Ba Sing Se.

Method three:

Fermentation Mikveh: Some food goes through natural changes by being immersed in water. If we eat that food, we can symbolically go through a change similar to the one the food went through.

Again, this has no basis anywhere in halacha. We do have concepts of “you are what you eat,” specifically with reference to what animals and birds are kosher, but there isn’t any food that makes you tahor if you eat it. In the Temple days there were, in fact, foods you couldn’t eat unless you were tahor.

Jews may like pickles, but that doesn’t mean we think they purify you.

Also, the change from fermentation is, if anything, the opposite of the change we would want. Leavening (rising in dough or batter, due to the fermentation of yeast) is compared in rabbinic writings to arrogance and ego, as opposed to the humility of matza, the “poor man’s bread” (see here, for example). Is the suggestion here to become more egotistical?

As we wrap up this section, I’d like to go back to their stated reason for using these “alternative” methods (“It doesn't work for everyone and it doesn't work for all bodies”), and ask: if these really were the only options for immersion, would these really fill that same spiritual need/niche? These obviously aren’t aimed at me, but from my perspective it seems almost condescending, almost worse. “You can’t do the real thing, so we’ll make up something to make you feel better.” If any of them had an actual basis in Jewish practice, that would be one thing, but this just feels…fake, to me. Even within more liberal / less traditional streams of Judaism, there is a connection to halacha: 

“We each (if we are knowledgeable about the tradition, if we confront it seriously and take its claims and its wisdom seriously) have the ability, the freedom, indeed the responsibility to come to a [potentially differing] personal understanding of what God wants us to do… [Halacha] is a record of how our people, in widely differing times, places and societal circumstances, experienced God's presence in their lives, and responded. Each aspect of halacha is a possible gateway to experience of the holy, the spiritual. Each aspect worked for some Jews, once upon a time, somewhere in our history. Each, therefore, has the potential to open up holiness for people in our time as well, and for me personally. However, each does not have equal claim on us, on me…Portions of the halacha whose main purpose seems to be to distance us from our surroundings no longer seem functional. Yet some parts of the halachic tradition seem perfect correctives to the imbalances of life in modernity…In those parts of tradition, we are sometimes blessed to experience a sense of God's closeness. In my personal life, I emphasize those areas. And other areas of halacha, I de-emphasize, or sometimes abandon. Reform Judaism affirms my right, our right, to make those kinds of choices.” – Rabbi Ramie Arian

“[Traditional Reconstructionist Jews] believe that moral and spiritual faculties are actualized best when the individual makes conscious choices…The individual’s choices, however, can and should not be made alone. Our ethical values and ritual propensities are shaped by the culture and community in which we live. Living a Jewish life, according to the Reconstructionist understanding, means belonging to the Jewish people as a whole and to a particular community of Jews, through which our views of life are shaped. Thus, while Reconstructionist communities are neither authoritarian nor coercive, they aspire to influence the individual’s ethical and ritual choices–through study of Jewish sources, through the sharing of values and experiences, and through the impact of the climate of communal opinion on the individual. …While we may share certain values and life situations, no two sets of circumstances are identical. We hope that the Reconstructionist process works to help people find the right answers for themselves, but we can only assist in helping individuals to ask the right questions so that their choices are made in an informed way within a Jewish context. To be true to ourselves we must understand the differences in perception between us and those who have gone before, while retaining a reverence for the traditions they fashioned. If we can juxtapose those things, we ensure that the past will have [in the phrase of Reconstructionism’s founder, Mordecai Kaplan,] a vote, but not a veto.” – Rabbi Jacob J. Straub (Note: the Reconstructionist movement was founded in the late 1920s, and has gone through a very large shift in the past decade or so. I use “Traditional” here to refer to the original version of the movement as opposed to those who have shifted. Both are still called Reconstructionist, so it’s a bit confusing. This is on the advice of one of my editors, who is themself Traditional Reconstructionist.)

You may note, neither of these talk about inventing things from whole cloth. To paraphrase one of my editors, “You don’t completely abandon [halacha], because if you did how would you have a cohesive community? Even in a ‘do what’s meaningful’ framework, you’re taking from the buffet, not bringing something to a potluck. Even if you don’t see halacha as binding, there are limits.”

(Again, disclaimer that the above knowledge of non-Orthodox movements comes from my editors, and any errors are mine.)

The next section is “Prayers for Mikveh.”

As a note, I’m going to censor the names of God when I quote actual blessings, as per traditional/Halachic practice. I’ll be putting brackets to indicate my alterations.

I’m not going to go much into detail here, because frankly my Hebrew isn’t good enough, and the six different people I asked for help gave me at least six different answers, but I will touch on it a bit.

First, the Guide gives a link to an article on Traditional Mikveh Blessings from Ritualwell (here is a link on the Wayback Machine, since the original requires you to make an account). Ritualwell is a Reconstructionist Jewish website, and accepts reviewed submissions. Here is their about page. The blessings on this page, as far as I know, are in fact exactly what it says on the tin. I’m not sure the first one, asher kidshanu b’mitzvotav v’tzivanu al ha-t’vilah, is said for non-obligatory immersions (i.e. not for niddah or conversion), as it is literally a blessing on the commandment. The second blessing at that link is Shehecheyanu, which the Guide also suggests as a good prayer. This is the traditional form of the blessing, given at Ritualwell:

Baruch Atah Ado[-]nai Elo[k]eynu Melech Ha-Olam shehekheyanu v’kiyimanu v’higiyanu lazman hazeh.

Blessed are You, [LORD] our God, Monarch of the universe, Who has kept us alive and sustained us, and brought us to this season.

(As a quick note, you may notice this is not quite how they translate it on Ritualwell–I have no idea why they say “kept me alive,” as it’s definitely “us” in the Hebrew. There’s a long tradition, in fact, of praying for the community rather than ourselves as an individual, but that’s not the point of this post.)

The Guide, however, gives an alternate form:

B’rucha At y[-]a Elo[k]eynu Ruakh haolam shehekheyatnu v’kiyimatnu v’higiyatnu lazman hazeh. You are Blessed, Our God, Spirit of the World, who has kept us in life and sustained us, enabling us to reach this season.

Under the assumption that most of you don’t know Hebrew, I’m going to break this down further. The main difference between these two is grammatical gender–the traditional blessing uses masculine forms, which is common when referring to God. However, while there are often masculine descriptions of God, it is worth noting that Hashem is very specifically not a “man”--God is genderless and beyond our comprehension, and masculine is also used in Hebrew for neutral or unspecified gender. A whole discussion of gender and language is also beyond the scope of this post, but for now let’s leave it at: changing the gender for God in prayer is pretty common among less traditional Jews, and that’s fine. Some of the changes they make (or don’t make) here are interesting, though. The two letter name of God they switch to is–despite ending in a hey (the “h” letter)–not feminine grammatically feminine. I’m told, however, that some progressive circles consider it neutral because it “sounds feminine.” “Elo-keynu” is also grammatically masculine, but a) that’s used for neuter in Hebrew and b) it’s also technically plural, so maybe they didn’t feel the need to change it. Though if that’s the case I would also have thought that Ado-nai (the tetragrammaton) would be fine, as it’s also technically male in the same way. I’m also not sure why they didn’t just change ”Melech HaOlam” to “Malkah HaOlam,” which would be the feminine form of the original words, but perhaps they were avoiding language of monarchy. It’s apparently a not uncommon thing to change.

One of the responses I got said the vowels in the verbs were slightly off, but I can’t say much above that, for the reasons given at the beginning of this section.

Also, and this is comparatively minor, the capitalization in the transliteration is bizarre. They capitalize “At” (you) and “Elo[k]eynu” (our God), but not “y[-]a…” which is the actual name of God in the blessing and should definitely be capitalized if you are capitalizing.

The Guide next gives a second blessing that can be used:

B’rucha at shekhinah eloteinu ruach ha-olam asher kid-shanu bi-tevilah b’mayyim hayyim. Blessed are You, Shekhinah, Source of Life, Who blesses us by embracing us in living waters. -Adapted by Dori Midnight 

The main thing I want to note about this is that…that’s not an accurate translation. It completely skips the word “eloteinu.” “Ruach ha-olam” means “spirit/breath of the universe/world,” not “Source of Life,” which would be “M’kor Ha-Olam,” as mentioned above. “Kid-shanu,” as she transliterates it, means “has sanctified us,” or “has made us holy,” not “blesses us”--both the tense and the word are wrong. “Bi-tevilah” doesn’t mean “embracing us,” either, it means “with immersing.” In full, the translation should be:

“Blessed are You, Shekhinah, our God, Spirit of the World, Who has sanctified us with immersion in living waters.”

The Shekhinah is an aspect/name of God(dess), though not a Name to the same level as the ones that can’t be taken in vain. It refers to the hidden Presence of God(dess) in our world, and is the feminine aspect of God(dess), inasmuch as God(dess) has gendered aspects–remember, our God(dess) is One. It’s not an unreasonable Name to use if you are trying to make a prayer specifically feminine.

(Though do be careful if you see it used in a blessing in the wild, because Messianics use it to mean the holy ghost.)

“Eloteinu” is, grammatically, the feminine form of Elokeinu (according to the fluent speakers I asked, though again I got several responses).

It is, again, odd that they don’t capitalize transliterated names of God, though here there is more of an argument that it’s a stylistic choice, Hebrew not having capital letters.

The Guide then repeats the link for Ritualwell.

Finally, we come to the last section, “Resources and Our Sources:”

First, they credit the Kohenet Institute and two of its founders. I do not want to go on a deepdive into the Kohenet Institute also, as this is already long enough, but I suppose I should say a bit.

The Kohenet Institute was a “clergy ordination program, a sisterhood / siblinghood, and an organization working to change the face of Judaism. For 18 years, Kohenet Hebrew Priestess Institutes founders, graduates and students reclaimed and innovated embodied, earth-based feminist Judaism, drawing from ways that women and other marginalized people led Jewish ritual across time and space” (Kohenet Hebrew Priestess Institute Homepage). It closed in 2023.

I have difficulty explaining my feelings about the Kohenet Institute. On the one hand, the people who founded it and were involved in it, I’m sure, were very invested in Judaism and very passionate in their belief. As with the authors of the Guide, I do not mean to attack them–I’m sure they’re lovely people.

On the other, I have trouble finding a basis for any of their practices, and most of what practices I do find trouble me–again, with the caveat that I am very much not into mysticism, so take my opinion with a grain of salt.

Of the three founders, only one (Rabbi Jill Hammer) seems to have much in the way of scholarly background. Rabbi Hammer, who was ordained at the Jewish Theological Seminary (a perfectly respectable school), has at least one article where she quotes the New Testament and a Roman satirist making fun of a Jewish begger who interpret dreams for money as proof “that Jewish prophetesses existed in Roman times,” which to me at least seems like saying that the Roma have a tradition of seeresses based on racist caricatures of what they had to do to survive, if you’ll pardon the comparison. In the same article, she says that Sarah and Abigail, who are listed in the Talmud as prophetesses “are not actually prophetesses as I conceptualize them here,” (pg 106) but that “abolitionist Ernestine Rose, anarchist Emma Goldman, and feminist Betty Friedan stand in the prophetic tradition.” Given God says explicitly in the text, “Regarding all that Sarah tells you, listen to her voice” (Genesis 21:12), I have no idea where she gets this.

The second founder, Taya Mâ Shere, describes the Institute on her website as “spiritual leadership training for women & genderqueer folk embracing the Goddess in a Jewish context,” which to me is blatantly what I and some of my editors have taken to calling Jews For Lilith. Now, it is possible this is a typo. However assuming it is not, and it would be a weird typo to have, this rather clearly reads as “the Goddess” being something one is adding a Jewish context to–which is exactly what I mean when I say this guide is taking Paganism and sprinkling a little Judaism on it. If it had said “embracing Goddess in a Jewish context,” I’d have no problem (aside from weird phrasing)--but “the Goddess” is very much a “divine feminine neo-pagan” kind of thing. We don’t say “the God” in Judaism, or at least I’ve never heard anyone do so. We just say God (or Goddess), because there’s only the one. In fact, according to this article, she returned to Judaism from neo-Paganism, and “began to combine the Goddess-centered practices she had co-created in Philadelphia with what she was learning from teachers in the Jewish Renewal movement, applying her use of the term Goddess to Judaism’s deity.” The “Goddess-centered practices” and commune in Philadelphia are described earlier in the article as “influenced by Wiccan and Native American traditions, in ways that Shere now considers appropriative (“After Kohenet, Who Will Lead the Priestesses?” by Noah Phillips).” I’m not sure how it suddenly isn’t appropriative now, but taking the Pagan practices you were doing and now doing those exact same rituals “but Jewish” is, in fact, still Pagan.

Shere also sells “Divining Pleasure: An Oracle for SephErotic Liberation,” created by her and Bekah Starr, which is a “divination card deck and an Omer counter inviting you more deeply into your body, your pleasure and your devotion to collective liberation.”

I hate this.

I hate this so much.

For those who don’t know, the Omer is the period between the second day of Passover and the holiday of Shavuot, 50 days later. It’s named for the Omer offering that was given on Passover, and which started the count of seven weeks (and a day, the day being Shavuot). The Omer, or at least part of it, is also traditionally a period of mourning, much like the Three Weeks between the fasts of the 17th of Tammuz and the 9th of Av–we don’t have weddings, we don’t listen to live music, we don’t cut our hair. It commemorates (primarily) the deaths of 24,000 students of Rabbi Akiva in a plague (possibly a metaphor for persecution or the defeat of the Bar Kochba revolt). It is often used as a time for introspection and self-improvement, using seven of the Kabbalistic Sephirot as guides (each day of the week is given a Sephira, as is each week, so each day of the 49 is x of y, see here). It’s not, as Shere’s class “Sex and the Sephirot: A Pleasure Journey Through the Omer” puts it, a time to “engage…toward experiencing greater erotic presence, deepening our commitment to nourishing eros, and embracing ritual practices of…pleasure.”

The final of the founders, Shoshana Jedwab, seems to be primarily a musician. In her bio on her website, scholarship and teaching are almost afterthoughts. I can find nothing about her background or classes. She’s also, from what I’ve found, the creator of the “sound mikvah.”

So all in all, while I’m sure they’re lovely people, I find it difficult to believe that they are basing their Institute on actual practices, particularly given they apparently include worship of Ashera as an “authentic” Jewish practice, see the above Phillips article and this tumblr post.

The institute also lists classes they offered, which “were open to those across faith practices - no background in Judaism necessary.” If you scroll down the page, you will see one of these courses was titled “Sefer Yetzirah: Meditation, Magic, & the Cosmic Architecture.” Sefer Yetzirah, for those of you unaware, “is an ancient and foundational work of Jewish mysticism.”

You may recall my saying something some 5700 (yikes) words ago about Jewish mysticism (i.e. Kabbalah) being a closed practice.

You may see why I find the Kohenet Institute problematic.

I will grant, however, that I have not listened to their podcasts nor read their books, so it is possible they do have a basis for what they teach. From articles I’ve read, and what I’ve found on their websites, I am unconvinced.

Returning to our original document, the Guide next gives several links from Ritualwell, which I’ve already discussed above. After those, they give links to two actual mikvah organizations: Mayyim Hayyim and Immerse NYC. Both are reputable organizations, and are Open Mikvahs. Neither (at least based on their websites) seem to recommend any of the nonsense in this Guide. In fact, Mayyim Hayyim explicitly does not allow non-Jews to immerse (unless it’s to convert). ImmerseNYC has advice to create a ritual in an actually Jewish way. I would say the link to these two groups are, perhaps, the only worthwhile information in this Guide.

They then list a few “mikveh related projects,” two of which are by the writers. The first, Queer Mikveh Project, is by one of the authors, Rebekah Erev. The link they give is old and no longer works, but on Erev’s website there is information about the project. Much of the language is similar to that in this guide. The page also mentions a “mikvah” ritual done to protest the Dakota Access Pipeline, in which “the mikveh…[was] completely optional.” And, of course, there was an altar. The second project, the “Gay Bathhouse” by (I believe) the other author and Shelby Handler, is explicitly an art installation.

The final link is to this website (thanks to the tumblr anon who found it), which is the only source we’ve been able to find on Shekinah Ministries (aside from a LOT of Messianic BS from unrelated organizations of the same name). So good news–this isn’t a Messianic. Bad news, it also seems to have a shaky basis in actual Jewish practice at best. It is run by artist Reena Katz, aka Radiodress, whose MKV ritual is, like “Gay Bathhouse,” a performance project. As you can see from the pictures on Radiodress’s website (cw for non-sexual nudity and mention of bodily fluids), it is done in a clearly portable tub in a gallery. As part of the process, participants are invited to “add any material from their body,” including “spit, urine, ejaculate, menstrual blood,” “any medication, any hormones they might be taking,” and supplies Radiodress offers including something called “Malakh Shmundie,” “a healing tincture that translates to “angel pussy” made by performance artist Nomy Lamm” (quotes from “An Artist’s Ritual Bath for Trans and Queer Communities” by Caoimhe Morgan-Feir). The bath is also filled by hand, which is very much not in line with halacha. Which, if you’re doing performance art, is fine.

But this Guide is ostensibly for authentic Jewish religious practice.

And with that (aside from the acknowledgements, which I don’t feel the need to analyze), we are done. At last.

Thank you for reading this monster of a post. If you have made it this far, you and I are now Family. Grab a snack on your way out, you deserve it.

Further Reading and Resources:

https://www.mayyimhayyim.org/risingtide/members/

https://www.mikvah.org/directory

https://www.mayyimhayyim.org/

http://www.immersenyc.org/

https://aish.com/what-is-a-mikveh/

https://www.chabad.org/theJewishWoman/article_cdo/aid/1541/jewish/The-Mikvah.htm

https://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/1230791/jewish/Immersion-of-Vessels-Tevilat-Keilim.htm

https://www.myjewishlearning.com/article/why-immerse-in-the-mikveh/

Meth, Rabbi Ephraim. 50 Mikvahs That Shaped History. Feldheim Publishers, 2023.

[thatshadowcomic]

Might be more of a headcanon but if Shadow can swim, how did he get that "skill"?

Would it be something programmed with his creation or something he learned naturally when on earth? I don't imagine the Ark had swimming pools?

I think they would have had pools on the ARK, partly for his training. He was suppose to go to Earth as the ultimate weapon, they surely taught him to swim.

A HC of mine is that they had a small central hub area with a little nature section that helped with water purification and oxygen production, apart from the gas/water import. Maybe some kind of CO2 reclaim too.

If anything, swimming might have been one of the few fun activities Maria could do as she got sicker. It's thought the lower gravity of space helped with her NIDS, according to the wiki. I think Gerald would have built her one, regardless of what he was allowed to do, and Shadow would make a perfect lifeguard for her and the other kids on the ARK. :)

[voluptuarian]

13 days of witches: witch of the holy spring

"…a still, bright pool. To men I may not tell / The secrets that its heart of water knows… / Yet this I say to cliff and close-leaved dell: / A fitful spirit haunts yon limpid well." — Henry Kendall

Culture after culture has found the spring, faith after faith, recognizing its power in a thousand dialects and by a hundred titles, time and again declaring it sacred, divinely touched. One after another those cultures pass from the land, those faiths fade into memory, yet the spring remains. Time alters its outlines, changes the notes of its bubbling music, but it is never erased. Just as constant is the spring's attendant witch. Some have called her a fairy, others a ghost, some even believed her the spirit of the spring itself. She is part guardian, part caretaker, part priestess, called to serve and protect the spring until the end of her life when another will take her place. In return the spring grants its keeper a share in its power, an ever-renewing spark of energy from which the witch may always draw. Invigorated with its power the witch serves the spring, the land, and its people for ages beyond her own paltry mortal span. Her days are spent in purification and healing, easing pain, fostering the life of forest and field, and tending to the many pilgrims who come to her for aid or to partake in the spring's life-giving waters-- and in denying all such offerings to any who would threaten the spring or hoard its gifts.

[ariiadnes]

╭ ㅤ ⿻ ･ everybody's gone to the rapture

you'll get it in the next life , where you don't make mistakes . do what you can with this one while you're still alive.

-ˋ ♡ ◞ ais. touchstarved. quote cr : disco elysium. repost.

ー THE CHOIR ONCE SANG :

ACT ONE : DRINK FROM THE WELL / CONSUME THE ICHOR / FEEL IT DRIP DOWN YOUR CHIN, POOL IN THE HOLLOWS OF RUIN, AND CONSUME YOUR BLOOD. IN YOUR VEINS THE ROT DECAYS / HOLINESS REVIVED AND RAVAGED / AND YOU WILL BE ONE AND YOU WILL BE MANY.

ACT TWO : DRINK FROM THE WELL. CONSUME THE ICHOR. RELEASE THIS CURSE AND SURRENDER THE MIND, BUT YOU'LL STILL SUFFER IN THE END, AND YOU'LL STILL BE SOME KIND OF DEAD, ANYWAY.

ー AND SO YOU WHISPERED : you'll still be some kind of dead, anyway, but you won't be yourself, so what does it matter?

( IT DOESN'T MATTER ; YOUR HANDS NO LONGER AFFLICTED WITH VIOLENCE, MIND A BLANK SLATE.

NONE OF THIS MATTERS, SO WHY DOES YOUR REFLECTION IN THE DEEP RED HOLD SUCH A DEVASTATION? )

ー BUT SOMEONE IN THE CHORUS WATCHES, SILENT, FEELS THE MANY EYES OF A SOULLESS AND WICKED BEAST. OH, DEAREST TRAGEDY, HOW THEY PITY YOU SO :

you are not meant for the seaspring : this decrepit, vast emptiness. the endless bloodied waters, murky and thick with sin and the groupmind of sinner and saint. what lingers under crimson eyes and crimson gazes is akin to a vessel of truth and madness, a converged consciousness of craze. you are not meant for such self-destruction, even if your past and terror you have invoked on others deems you so.

ais finds you here too often ; your presence always known and understood. the sight is a familiar one nowadays, neither comforting nor alarming. your worn body sits so still before the red lake, gaze twisted into something of lament and contemplation. how melancholic this scene is : it reminds him of a false deity, this setting -- a lost lamb in the midst of judgement, a sanguine altar, and the musing of salvation over sacrifice.

something echoes in his mind, speaks through riddled tongues, but he understands. you could lose yourself here so easily -- a simple push, a drowning guised as purification. too easily, ais thinks, and the higher being that resides in his mind laughs and laughs and laughs, slaughter under means of sanctification the highest form of cruelty.

ais inhales deeply, rids himself of such venomous thoughts. his coexistence with another is a curse in itself, but the violence in his blood is his and his alone ; he will not subject you to it.

an echo of approaching footsteps. you recognize it, know it to be the devil himself, but the fear that was once in your heart has faded now, changed into something of unspoken fondness. he sits beside you, shoulder to shoulder, and you almost smile, knowing it is a silent teasing. there is far too much emptiness in a place once filled with old comrades gone missing ; such little distance between your bodies is entirely unnecessary.

you stay, anyway.

"you'll think your pretty little head off, sparrow. still wondering if it's worth it?"

the seaspring seems to come to life at the sound of his voice. a ripple, seemingly small, then a sequence, a disruption of the flow, a violent wave crashing against another in a mere second. you blink. nothing. a single ripple, silent. alive.

"always wondering." you murmur, brows knit in slight confusion. you fail to see ais smirk at your bewildered expression, but it quickly falls, turns into something somber. "you told me that i survived this far, got away with this for so long--" you look at your bandaged hand, watch how it trembles ever so slightly. the words turn into something incohesive, something so horribly hard to speak that they lodge themselves in your throat, make you feel like a fool.

"you're still wondering."

you swallow. something hurts.

"yeah."

and you wish he would talk you out of it, tell you that there's another way, that you shouldn't give up hope yet. but he doesn't, because no matter the choice, he'll respect it. whether friend or foe, lover or enemy, no matter whether you give yourself up or save yourself through other means, ais won't stop you. he won't intervene because he knows the seaspring by heart and he knows you by heart.

this is not his story.

( he silently hopes that you don't give in, make the same mistakes he once did. he begs, pleads, but he's too prideful, too cold and warm all the same. this is not his story to tell and this is not his choice, so he'll stay by you, close and too far, and he'll wait and watch. )

no one speaks, but that's okay. there are no words to be said, but there's still something that threatens to choke you, weaves itself into your skin and wraps around your throat. maybe you are choking on the tale of this calamity they call your existence. maybe you are choking on the guilt of all you have harmed. maybe you are choking on your death.

you tilt your head back, breathe deep. your eyes sting. ais watches you fall apart, little by little, but he cannot fix you. he knows that. you both do. neither of you will try, anyway. that's not how the story is supposed to go. tragedies become tragedies and stay that way; no loss if there is nothing to lose.

something is choking you. it's hard to breathe, hard to see. your eyes still sting, so you look down, because it's better that he doesn't see the tears you will endlessly shed in the realization that you were born into a death you cannot escape.

you look down, refuse to look anywhere else, and that's alright. ais makes sure he's in your view, reaches his hand out, palm up, and offers himself to you. he doesn't say anything at first, doesn't feel the need to until he sees your shoulders tense. bandages or not, there is always a risk, always a chance that something could go wrong. your lips part to speak, protest, heart beating too quickly in both fear and wanting, but he reads you loud and clear.

"it won't hurt me, sparrow. your bite did more damage."

you look up for the first time in minutes, catch sight of his lazy smirk. there's something so incredibly gentle about it that it makes you defenseless, so hopeless and hopeful, and you do not know what to make of it. you both lie in wait, one in the calm, one in frenzy, but neither knows which feeling they drown in, and neither of you dare to dwell on it.

slowly, carefully, you place your bandaged hand on his, and it shakes so violently that you almost think to pull away, but he squeezes your hand with such a softness that you could never imagine him capable of.

something is choking you. it's hard to breathe. your eyes sting, but this time it's different. better. this time it's something of relief, something of starvation, something of love unspoken. you cry even harder, but he says nothing, only squeezes your hand, once, twice, five times, and in those gestures is a don't go. stay with me.

( but you don't know this-- you never will, he thinks, because he has lost everyone he's ever known, ever cared about, and even the devil cannot stop the evils of the earth, even if he has become an evil himself. )

[kalevalakryze]

The Seeds We Sow

The fic + art collaboration Art completed by @mirandemia for the @ahsokaevents Wildflowers collab! Find it on AO3!

Sabine Wren + Ahsoka Tano The soil was warm under her hands; Freshly turned and clumpy where she uncovered it from the ashen tones of the earth. “Life finds a way.” Ahsoka had told her upon setting out on this task. The water source wasn’t too far away, a still pool with sediment floating in the murky water. 

“We can get this cleaned up, can’t we Asha?” She called to the howler, snuffling through a patch of stubbornly prevailing grass nearby. She did not receive any response from the peculiar creature, though it was nice to have her to bounce ideas off of. 

The Noti had given her the scraps from an older trawler, dragged each time they moved to limit waste, carrying broken vaporators, gears, and even old power packs to blasters that must have been acquired from Thrawn’s troopers. At least she didn’t need to lug it too much further than their current campsite to get it near the water supply.  “Let’s see what we can do,” The Mandalorian talked aloud, boots crunching over the crumbling outer layer of the planet’s crust. 

First, Sabine grabbed old pipes from blown cooling systems, using her hands to dig out four long rows in the dirt, exposing nutrient-rich soil to the sunlight above. “Bet you guys missed the sun just as much as I do,” She chuckled warmly to a squirming lifeform. “You kinda look like an exogorth. Can I call you Exo?” The pad of her thumb brushed along the sliminess of the creature's side, laughing warmly to herself when it squiggled away. “Alright, Exo. I’m sorry I gotta move you, but hey, you keep pests away from my seeds, and this can be a mutually beneficial arrangement, got it?” 

The creature was set inside of a pile of upturned dirt, where it happily burrowed itself to be rid of the humanoid that dared interrupt its rest. 

Building the irrigation system was nothing new to Sabine Wren; In fact, it was something she understood almost as well as mixing her explosive paints. Back when rebel holdouts needed crops, she was often the one counted on to help them get started, and it was always something that helped her feel useful. 

A Mandalorian could destroy, and conquer, and a million other destructive things, but she was put in this Galaxy for more than that. She created, and saved, she strived every day for as long as she could remember to embrace her Mandalorian heritage, to be everything her ancestors could have wanted, and then some. 

It was through her continued work every day that she honored the patron of her House, Tarre Vizsla, it was through her dedication to her people that honored her Clan and the lives they’d once lived, and it was her determination that honored the Rebellion she’d spent so long fighting for. Everything she did was for her family, and right now? That family was found in Ahsoka and the Noti. 

Her purification system was simple in design, and it required the sacrifice of a power pack from her blaster to generate enough of a spark to keep the miniature solar array working. She could return with a new source for it one day, for when the sun grew dim and the gears needed to turn. For now, the blaster she’d painted in the blues of reliability and royalty was dismantled under a caring hand and slotted into the home of the system. 

Clean water trickled slowly with a quiet whir of machinery, sucking the water through and filtering out sediment as it pushed along the rows of water she’d dug out. “Hey, we did it,” She called to Asha, now dozing lazily in her interesting patch of grass. “Thanks,” She laughed, bubbling like the carbonation in The Outlander Club’s specialty beverage, warmed by the lull of a punk tongue hanging lazily past yellowed canines. 

With dampened soil, Sabine was able to meticulously lay each seed; They were from her Galaxy, so there was no telling if they would take to their new home, but she had hope, and she’d learned long ago just how far a little hope could stretch. Then, the compost that had been saved up was spread evenly over the rows, pressed in lightly to allow for the sprouts to push past without much resistance, though would not risk being washed away when the drought on this side of the planet would end at last. 

“You’ve done well,” Ahsoka’s voice was warm; Lighter than she was used to, over the course of her previous apprenticeship, that is. 

“Yeah? You think so?” The Mandalorian questioned genuinely from her spot knelt in the dirt, mud caked her armor and her flight suit, and streaks painted her face and dirtied her hair. The purple-haired woman turned her head to watch as Ahsoka dismounted her howler, allowing it to trundle to Asha’s lazy form. “I do,” The hand on her shoulder was warm. Sabine allowed the offered strength to rise from her knelt position. “Lunch is ready back at camp, you look like you could use it,” The jab was light, bouncing off her armor with a light chuckle. 

“You’re tellin’ me… Think everything will be safe here?” 

Ahsoka’s gaze turned to the horizon, searching. When she shook her head in the affirmative, Sabine’s shoulders relaxed. “Do you think they’re okay…” She questioned after a moment. 

It didn’t take a genius to understand who she was asking after. “Shin will be alright, I’m sure of it. Baylan… worries me, he’s treading a dangerous path, one we will have to follow, sooner than later.” 

As the Master and Apprentice rode their howlers the short distance back to camp, Sabine’s fingers threaded through the thick, dark wool of Asha’s neck. “Thanks,” 

Ahsoka’s head bowed towards her. She could have kept the thoughts to herself, as she’d once had. But even Ahsoka Tano learned when it was time to truly be more than the people who’d trained you. Where Obi-Wan and Anakin may have kept themselves quiet, she was determined to break the cycle.  Shin Hati

Communication with the bandits was slow. Truly, Shin had heard of droids learning and adapting better than this sorry lot. All she received from them were grunts, either of indignation, or approval, she could only tell after they’d begun moving, either to follow her orders or to blatantly ignore them. 

The most recent act of ignorance from the clan found Shin stubbornly figuring out ways to feed them all. They’d seemed unbothered by the prospect that they could go hungry, as if they could pillage their way across Peridea; and maybe they could have, if not for the Jedi and Sabine protecting their favorite victims now. Shin knew better than to allow themselves to march into that camp, she knew what the Torguta and Mandalorian were capable of. 

Chasing away the nomads that had settled in this desolate canyon had been simple, natural, even. The moment they saw a blood-orange blade on the horizon, and saw the sun glinting off the worn paint of her bandit’s heads, most were intelligent enough to turn tail. It had even stocked them up with enough supplies to last until… well… Until what, Shin wasn’t sure yet, but they’d be damned if they didn’t figure it out soon. 

There was a water source nearby, old, rickety purifiers ran as they refilled the jugs as fast as her men could deplete them. They also noticed a raised bed of soil, something she didn’t see often in the wastes like this. There were no seeds nearby, though she could see plants sprouting from a host nearby. 

Eyes as dreary as their landscape peered around the supplies that had been left. This was new, but they had always been a resourceful student. If taking lives was so natural, then surely they would be able to sustain it, especially in the most non-sentient way life existed.

The soil had been freshly turned, Shin learned as their fingers delved into the raised garden bed. The travelers had been planning on making this place their home for the season as well. No matter, it was Shin’s people who were victorious in the end, and they would reap the profits of prior labors… and Shin’s own. 

Dirt spilled into the many tears in their gloves, worn from the months of use and with no true materials to repair them. The pebbles were harsh, though their skin was learning to grow harsher. Eventually, the tanned gorraslug material was set aside, resting precariously on a wooden support, allowing them to dig deeper, pushing grime up under their fingernails as they worked to bury the remains of the food supply. 

Plasto pails sat near the purifiers, and it was just Shin’s luck that the first pail they filled with water would crack under the unforgiving weight as it was filled to the brim. “Karabast!” They growled at the remains of the bucket, water soaking their boots and turning the ground at their feet into sloshing mud. 

The Force, a fickle ally, refused to answer their call in their growing frustrations; Even as they attempted to channel their annoyance into the pressure of water, thin plasto, and the space they wanted to create between it and the ground. 

Huffing and puffing, Shin found themselves resorting to other means; A spear was sent between the weak metal handles of the pail, allowing her the leverage to lift it, keeping it balanced on her shoulder with minimal spillage as she lugged it to the beds, cursing the whole way. 

By the time each sprout had a home in the dirt, Shin’s hands, tunic, and face were streaked with mud, sweat cutting tracks through the grime as they sat back against a boulder to admire their work. A bandit passed by them, Shin watched with narrowed eyes as they paused at her work. 

No words were spoken between them as they turned back to look at the filthy blonde, though Shin had felt the understanding in the nod of their head. A dented canteen was removed from their hip and passed nonchalantly to her on their way back to sorting through their treasures of the raid. 

The sinking of the sun was met with a wet nose sniffling at long-dry boots, a dirty white howler in search of food. With her fingers carding through the soft fur at its neck, Shin rose at last, acquiescent to find the poor beast something to eat, and with a rumbling of her own stomach, something for herself as well. 

Ezra Bridger Krownest had always been cold, but if there was anything Ezra Bridger had learned in his short experiences with Clan Wren, it was the planet's unique ability to nurture all kinds of life. 

This was why, as the Ghost touched down on a desolate surface, and no gruff voices came over their comms to demand clearance, Ezra felt the loss of those unique lives as distinctly as he had. The Jedi paused in the entryway, boot hovering just over the ramp. “Ezra?” Hera called, a gloved hand coming to rest on his shoulder. 

A deep breath and a warm smile recentered him as he used the familiar touch on his shoulder to ground himself. “I’m alright… It’s just hard not to notice…” 

Hera’s head dipped in understanding; She hadn’t made the venture yet, had been waiting on Sabine’s word to visit with the heir, the day had never come, until Ezra voiced his desire to do something for her family. “We’ll be right here with you,” She promised, glancing away from Ezra to peek down at Jacen, bundled up and standing by her side, with Chopper rolling just behind them once they began walking. 

The Wren stronghold was dark and untouched, mountains of snow coated the roof, while dangerous icicles hung dangerously along the large transparisteel windows. “Do you think it’ll grow here?” Jacen asked as the toe of his boot caught on a  patch of slippery ice. . 

“Yeah, ‘course,” Ezra mused out loud as he knelt near one of the windows. Peering through the dust, he could see the inside of the throne room, dark and desolate, with cobwebs hanging across each surface. The light that managed to cut through the grime still found a way to cast across the painting of the Matriarch of Clan Wren, lighting yellow and grey armor up in an effect that made them glow gold and silver. 

“Do you remember how it went?” Ezra questioned, unblinking from his sight against the glass, catching the barest reflection of his own eyes back at him. 

“Never did manage Mando’a,” Hera admitted, lowering herself into the snow beside him, allowing Jacen to tuck himself against her once more as she settled. He’d known Ursa, though Hera doubted he would have much memories of them, not with the separate wars they found themselves fighting as Sabine focused on finding Ezra. 

“Basic should be fine… It’s the memory that counts, right?” He tried to keep his tone light, tried to keep the calmness steady, though the emptiness seemed to echo the way his words caught around the tightness in his throat. Addam’s apple bobbing, he nodded his head towards the snow, beginning the process of clearing away the piles to the frozen earth underneath. 

They did not have every name of every warrior lost, and Ezra found himself regretting this, too naive and headstrong, too worried about the fight than the lives of the people he’d fought beside. He would return, when the seasons changed, when Sabine came out. She could tell them their names, and they would plant flowers for them as well, as a family again. 

The ground was frozen and solid, though after a while of digging and chipping away, he’d been successful in clearing three small holes. “Vormur can grow through anything,” He assured himself as he retrieved a small duracrete container, filled to the brim with dirt from Lothal, soft enough to cover the tops and hopefully prevent them from freezing over. “They’re Mandalorian, you know” A foreboding gaze was sent to the portain through the windows before he dropped a seed in each hole. Hera stayed silent, for him, for Sabine and Ahsoka, and for Clan Wren itself. 

“Jace, you wanna cover this up, for aunt ‘bine?” He offered, leaning back as he cleared his throat, hiding a sniffle as he wiped the rough nylon material of his sleeve under his nose. Small knees shuffled through the dirt as the boy inched closer, mittens sweeping through the uncovered dirt to start brushing it to the small array of flowers. “These smell really nice,” He commented as he worked, taking a big sniff as the dirt began to settle. “Aunt Sabine will really like this when she comes back-” The young Force-Sensitive boy paused then, fingers curling in his mittens as his brows drew together. “If she ever comes back…. Here, i mean.” He was quick to correct; No one aired their thoughts about the possibility of Sabine and Ahsoka’s return, not when Ezra himself had been gone so long. 

“Well, when she hears about all our hard work… I’m sure she will,” Hera’s hand brushed over Jacen’s head, pulling the wool hat on his head askew. Final preparations were made to keep the flowers healthy and strong from the climate. Just as the sun began to crest the mountains, pink and golden light splashing across the grey landscape of the frozen lake. Before they could leave, the Rebels settled back in one last time, peering through dust covered windows at the haunting silhouette of the Countess of Krownest one last time. “Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum, Clan Wren.” Their Mando’a was rough and heavily accented, but the words seemed to release some of the weight on their shoulders, allowing them to return to their new war with a lighter conscience. 

[mask131]

I was chatting with themousefromfantasyland about the Olympic Games and you know, I do have something to point out that people not in France might not know about.

More precisely we were chatting about the situation with the river Seine. Part of the reason Hildago's government focused so much on the Seine, outside of it being - you know - one of the emblems of Paris, is also tied to her project's of sanitizing the Seine. [Note: warning, I will throw it all at the head of Anne Hildago. Maybe there are other authorities beyond her and her city-government involved in this matter, but honestly I don't care, she is a very bad mayor and might have been one of the worst mayors of Paris in modern day, and I don't like the woman, and it isn't the first time she screwed up with poorly-thought if not idiotic plans. So she'll be my go-to culprit for the sake of this post]

Because the Seine, despite being THE most iconic river of France, the heart of Paris, such an important part of the city's culture, a crucial part of its tourism industry, and one of the reasons the city got its official motto - is also dreadfully polluted, and one of the most polluted bodies of water of France. Hidalgo, who was always involved in ecological concerns and in "making Paris great again", decided that for the Olympics the Seine would be cleansed - at least enough for the Olympic athletes to be able to swim in there. She even vowed that she would take a swim in it herself before the Olympics to prove how clean it all became.

Problem is, Hidalgo is the living embodiment of something that has been unfortunately very prevalent with left-oriented politicians in France: vapid ecology. Good intentions, well-meaning projects, but behind it, it is all just superficial and empty. And the Seine purification example is such a great demonstration of this: she literaly thought that by throwing enough money and machines at the Seine, she would be able to clean it up before the Olympics. We are talking of cleaning up in a few months DECADES AND DECADES if not CENTURIES of pollution caused by an enormous city. Hidalgo literaly thought "It's fine, we will just wipe this pesky little problem in a jiffy, and I am so confident that this pollution problem is not a big deal that I will bet France's international reputation on that".

Of course, I can tell you that Hildago did took her swim - but only at the very last minute because, as it turned out, cleaning the Seine took much more time, money and effort than originally planned... and it wasn't even done! First they realized it would take more time than planned, then there was the whole fight between the Paris town hall (which claimed the waters had been purified and cleaned) and the outside health organizations (who claimed the waters would still make people who plunged in them sick), and then of course the RAINS! We are living one of the rainiest summers France knew in a long time, and of course no matter how much Hidalgo's projects clean up the Seine, with each new rain it is polluted again and everybody has to start over. Everybody in France is joking about how the Olympic swimmers will grow a third eye.

That's what I call a "vapid ecologism" - because Hildago clearly never cared very much before about cleaning the Seine, now, did she? She was there for quite a long time but oh, turns out she only puts the big guns and the big money when the Olympic games are arriving. She literaly thinks that a problem that will require years and years of hard work can just go away in a few months? Because it is a very, VERY deep and systemic problem, this Seine pollution, that requires re-organizing PARIS ITSELF!

Right now, all the news are talking about how trainings and trials are currently being pushed back because the Seine waters are, again, polluted after the rain of the opening ceremony, and people are wondering if all the games planned to take place in the Seine (instead of an Olympic pool) won't be cancelled. As such, experts talk more and more about the why and how of this pollution that won't go away, and do you want to know the fun thing? One of the main reasons rains keep polluting the Seine is because the Parisian water-evacuation system is very flawed. There are many, many "wrongs turns", purposefully created or accidentally made, that mix together the evacuation of the rain water and the evacuation of the used waters. When Hidalgo's team decided to finally get their ass on the problem, they identified roughly 23 000 "wrong turns", and by the end of their operation they claimed to have treated 80 percent of them... But what their project and investigations revealed - and that's something so typical of Parisian businesses - that there were MUCH MORE wrong turns than everybody believed. How much? Oh just between 60... AND 120 000 WRONGS TURNS! The entire system is to be remade, and them fixing 80 percent of a meager 23 000 turns when there might be up to 120 000... Yeah it is a speck of dust in a pile of sand.

However I don't want to JUST speak about the Seine. The thing my discussion made me realize is that the Seine situation is just a repetition of EVERYTHING that has been happening with the Olympic Games, and I couldn't help but draw a parallel with another scandalous business related to the organization of these games, though a scandal that has been smothered by the actuality and likely will only pop back up once everything is over. The homeless scandal.

Paris is filled with homeless people. It is a fact, and that's one of the things I myself is always shocked by every time I go to Paris, the amount of homeless people I met. Or rather that I used to meet, because of course, with the Olympics arriving, the cities were "cleaned" up and the hobos removed! I hear you gasp in shock but don't worry, it was actually done in a quite nice and humane way! I mean it: there were empty buildings and vacant lots refurbished into lasting shelters for the duration of the Olympic Games. There were all those little flats prepared for the homeless people to live for free - very tiny, and with just the bare minimum to have a decent life, but you know, it is much better than just being in the street. It doesn't remove all of the homeless people and it doesn't solve their situation, but you know, at least it is an actual improvment and a humane gesture.

Now, take a wild guess: are they going to make it last beyond the Olympic Games? Come on, we are talking about Parisian government, and about Hidalgo's team! Of course not! Once the games are over and everything has been removed, all the homeless people from those buildings will be kicked back in the street, and the shelters will turn into something else. And they were told so the minute they entered their new little temporary homes. Because again, Hidalgo's point is all about cleaning up Paris before the entire world takes a look at it. Not solving Paris problem, just making it look good for the international event.

The Seine, the homeless people - it is all the same. It is a well-meaning project poorly thought by people not actually caring about it, it is a lot of excellent effort not made to last but just to impress, it is a deep and systematic problem that they think they can wipe out in a few months, it is just putting silk paperwall over a rotten, fractured stone ; it is just hiding the dust under the rug, empty humanitarianism, vapid ecologism, fake kindness motived by a good will so detached from reality it becomes as arrogant as absurd. Forcing athletes to swim in a polluted and diseased river because you can't force yourself to admit your town has a problem ; offering with hypocrisy a home to the poor only to plan to throw them back into their misery just because nobody will be looking anymore...

[searsage]

This heavy feeling of scrutiny persists and at some point when she was washing her face she could have sworn she heard something unceremoniously break the surface, and alarmingly close!

"Al-an..?" She calls blindly scrambling to wash the sudes from her face, opening her eyes to nothing but the still dark water around her hips, further more her call was met with silence..so she tries again.

"Ryley?" Had he beat her to the pools? Could she have accidentally intruded on his bathing again? God that would be so awkward.

But again nothing, still the unnerved researcher received no reply…

"Cyanocitta..?" She called out in a last ditch effort, wondering if it was her pet plant Al-an had given to her in apology and fondly named after the common jay.

The plant was far more independent then her architect, and often fled it's containment and liked to roost within the pool on occasion, but Cyanocitta was incapable of diving within water.. And as far as she could see there were no telltale blooming vines hinting to the mischievous plant's presence.

Something felt…it felt wrong, an oddly foreign but profound feeling, like something was not right, the sudden impulsion screamed that Robin was in danger.. it was heavy and foreboding enough a feeling to shake the warm fuzzy haze of her heated dream from her now alert mind as the researcher's instincts were thrown into overdrive as she scanned her surroundings..

But as time went on and her sharp eyes scanned the dark obsidian pool and found nothing but it's eerily clam surface undisturbed, the researcher started doubting herself..

Still, the odd notion was jarring enough that Robin's hand reached up to press firmly against the smooth black stone, typing a sequence into the unseen datapad, immediately the depthless pool began to drain, as the purification protocals activated, she stood a good thirty minutes watching the pool empty completely it's deep bed and the odd minirals sprouting from it revealed..but nothing seemed out of place.

Robin's brows furrowed in confusion, she had never felt so unsafe within the ship before, save for the intimidation of the transparent halls but even then it didnt feel..like that.

A shiver runs up her spine as hastily Robin towels off, hurriedly leaving the ominous obsidian pool behind to continue cleaning itself, perhaps her nerves were just getting the best of her, maybe she was simply imbalanced by Al-an's absence, he often was a beacon of stability…

[fazalkhan2914]

Absorbent kit in Dubai:- Sewage Plant Treatment is important as it can contaminate the surrounding atmosphere, to avoid such consequences you can hire a company that has the service of NEOM WASTEWATER TREATMENT. If you want an outrageous sewage treating company you can come to us we have all the solutions to your problem. For more info, visit us:- https://www.alkhabeerwt.com/products.html

[ladyduellist]

Epistles of Saints & Sinners

Chapter Summary:

The bard, Tav, meets an unlikely group of strangers after being kidnapped by mind flayers.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Story Summary:

When Astarion meets the humble bard, Tav, he soon finds out he's the only one between them that knows they are bound as soulmates through their marks. Deciding it's more trouble than its worth, he refuses to tell her along the course of their journey across Faerûn.

But, unbeknownst to him and their companions, Tav is harboring a gruesome secret that she only thought was nothing more than a traumatized period in her life.

As they both come to face to face with their pasts and presents, will they choose to move forward or let it consume them?

Healing isn’t linear—after all.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Chapter 2: Book

Ao3

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

Main Page & Chapter List

Word Count: 6.9k

Pairing: Astarion x female bard Tav

CW: Sexual language

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Time does not afford thee many options to choose in life. Thou dost hold little quantifiable moments for such bounty. It can be a curse or blessing depending on thee. Forsooth, whether by swain, lady, or person’s, the path will always be heavy. The perils of the worth of a life. For isn’t all ye that becomes bound by another in flesh or knowing, all a little broken?

— Withers, page 384 in ‘The Three-eyed Crow’

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Present Day

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

There was no light, but there were hands.

Tav could feel them lifting her. And, oh, they were deceptively attentive in such a charitable way, dancing a possessed mania to chilling silence. It was easy to give into the relaxing ritual they were performing against her skin.

A flimsy piece of cloth covered her eyes as it was tied around her head. The finger pads of one hand, stroked her face lovingly. Ripe enough, it seemed to suggest—imbued with all her worst and best. A distraction before they latched onto her naked body and lifted her in one motion into the air.

Was she floating?

And then, she was being lowered into a body of water. It was warm, opened wide to accept the bells she rang amidst every contract forged with the fiendish and divine choices she’d made.

Her throat felt vacant while she tried to muster any noise. She lifted her own hands to her neck, wrapping them around it, silently begging her voice to be free. The spirited hands rubbed themselves against her in silken waves to hush her.

Tav could feel herself being submerged; her body was pliant, accepting this baptismal relief. She mouthed, "FORGIVE ME, FORGIVE ME, FORGIVE ME." Then, the hands dipped her down further into the liquid abyss, swallowing her whole.

The water accepted her; she smiled in relief beneath its surface.

It felt like time didn’t exist as she was being comforted by these depths. But, she could feel a hymn reverberating in the distance—a decadent piece beneath the surface of her watery tomb. Ripples of a voice causing gooseflesh to appear all over her body. The sound was cleansing her and offering purification.

She will accept it because hadn’t she endured enough? Hadn’t. She. Endured. Enough?

Then, there was light! It peered down at her from a completely darkened space above. It penetrated the cloth wraps binding Tav's eyes.

Salvation had arrived!

Her body was rising and the cloth fell away. The water beneath was now a clear pool, resembling thousands of shimmering black diamonds. The hands had been banished, yet the hymn remained. 

She raised, she raised, she raised.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

And then she woke.

Tav’s eyes opened, but the rest of her felt paralyzed. They rapidly moved from side to side and then upwards towards a blue sky overhead. 

Curious skies for the hells, she thought.

Panic. She opened her mouth to scream for help, but her voice had been stolen—just like in her dream.

The devils of Avernus are sitting on my chest and mean to steal my breath! Dearest, Oghma, please will my body to move!

As her consciousness returned, she gasped with newfound breathing and cried out frightened. She retched from the smell of an unearthly scent of burning corpses. In several contained areas, smokey pillars were rising up, forming inky clouds well above their fires. Then, the realization that it was not Avernus that held her, but that the Nautiloid had crashed elsewhere, and somehow—she survived.

The squirm behind her eyes was palpable. Memories came flooding in all at once of her being taken from the streets of Baldur’s Gate. Images of mind flayers and the pods they kept her in like some kind of unhinged monster, splashed across her gray matter. But, most of all, she remembered the insertion of the tadpole and how the violation of her autonomy was committed.

It was enough to make the elf briefly wish to cradle herself into a ball, allowing the numbness to succumb. But, the ache in her back—the blood she finally saw slowly oozing from the broken wooden stake in the side of her doublet—was enough to force her to stand with an intense wince.

Sand. A beach under her boots. Grit and filth near her wound, luring infection. With shaking hands, she pulled out the wood. Her essence spewed as an offering of tithes to a god of the sanguine. She cried out, alone and sorrowful of her plight. A long rip was made at the bottom of her doublet and a strip of fabric served to tie around her torso, applying pressure to the gash.

And then, she saw her lute, smashed into bits. Fragments of colorfully carved marigolds, with singing birds and baby’s breath, lay across the sandy ocean. Strings, once promising to uplift those that witnessed their noise, were now twisted and coiled. A gift from her mother. Her peace. Her one true love—deceased.

Now the lute was laid to break and all that was left was eternal heartbreak.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Like most days during his two centuries worth of undeath, Astarion woke with the familiarity of his body wrung sore and numbness wedged in places he once considered mortal.

Out of practice—eyes rapidly moving to puppeting shadows beneath his lids—Astarion reached out across the ground, searching for the scraps of cold wet fur attached to four puny legs that would serve as his nightly meal. Grasping fistfuls of nothing, he retracted his hand with a pang of hunger shooting through his fangs and the anxiety that he had, once again, displeased his master.

The pale elf forced himself to sit upon his knees, awaiting for the command to unseal his eyes. Head up. Spine straight. Master would not allow for slouching.

Tongue dry like thick ash, he paused before his instinctual apologies started to spill. His hearing hissed with noises he couldn’t decipher. Did he miss the order? He thought he heard the residual shrill of Cazador’s voice, “Boy, open your eyes” amidst the passing tinnitus. A clammy shiver tore down his chest.

A test? Yes, Master was testing him.

A deep intake of breath. The scent of unnatural smoke tinged with the coppery caress of spilt blood, burned heavily in his nostrils. Had the Crimson Palace fallen?

A brave moment willed Astarion to chance opening his eyes. Streams of a bright light immediately seared his irises. Had mercy finally been granted upon him in the form of the sun beamed god, laden with gilded armor upon his chariot of fire, there to whip the payment of coins from his sight?

He yelped, scrambling to cover himself by batting the light away; danger was in the daylight.

And then, it dawned on him: for the first time in hundreds of years, the sun did not pierce his flesh to dust, it welcomed him into its yoke.

The sudden burst of hues unsullied by tones of shadows, caused his throat to convulse. It was too much to absorb all the colors at once. He heaved over into the dirt on all four limbs, with acidic bile blanketing his palate.

Maddeningly, he laughed aloud, a hand covering his mouth. The mind flayers—of course.

As with all new discoveries, several notions flashed in his frontal lobe: he could now walk in the sun, the presence of a squiggling worm had burrowed itself in his brain, and he was no longer under the thrall of Cazador Szarr.

But, such revelations would have to wait. There were two heartbeats rapidly approaching upon his position and he was wont to put blind faith into any bit of this predicament.

So, Astarion stood up, intentionally leaving the remnants of dirt upon his clothes—for that extra touch of “helplessness”—and the preparation to act with the skills he knew best: weaving deceit.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

The sun blazed down on the two women—demanding they fall to their feet—as they fumbled about for supplies. Leftover carcass from intellect devourers covered their boots. Tav felt like she’d been under a continuous dancing hex from all the stomping she’d done: it proved to be exhausting.

There was ridicule, a silent scoff behind the cleric’s eyes as she followed the bard. She only trusted her as far as two unlucky souls thrown into the fray of such a circumstance would allow. And Tav, with all her tempered patience and quiet observation, decided it best to ignore Shadowheart under that watchful uncertainty.

Upon scavenging, an orphaned rapier surfaced, resting next to its departed owner. Whomever they once were, had recently been reduced to a mutilated corpse. Tav muttered a solemn prayer in gratitude for the weapon and the opportunity to wield its blade.

“I hope you know how to use that. I don’t think squishing an actual flayer under your foot is going to suffice,” Shadowheart commented dubiously.

But, Tav held knowledge within the muscles of her joints, the swiftness of a blade she had called her own. Memories etched into her backbone of adrenaline’s flight. And despite her rather natural guarded demeanor, in the moment, she chose to flourish.

Like a bullet slicing through the wind, she thrusted quickly and steadily. Then, she twisted and cut downward, sweat building upon her brow like a whore in a church. As if to parry, she leaped into the regaling wind, easily coming down for a final paralleled tick before landing gracefully.

“Seems I was correct in choosing you to travel with. We might make it through this after all,” the cleric smirked pragmatically.

Tav presented her with a cheeky smile. She knew she was talented at the blade. The rapier felt heavy and potent in her grasp. She could burn down kingdoms under the servility of her sword, claiming the crown as her own.

However, the bard was no ruler. She would never be queen to any denizens, ruling in the name of power. Being the immolated siren of balladic performances was her calling. She craved—no, needed—adventures of her own and strived to maintain the quiet peace of her heart in between. Because having moments of solitude to observe and appreciate life in slow-moving patterns, served her in ways that no other living creature was capable of.

Yet, hearts can carry many scars. And the breadcrumbs leading to the chambers of hers, have long been consumed. For she waged a holy war and the result was disavowing putting her full trust into anyone. A tactical boundary that often made her feel alone.

They rounded a path, climbing up a hill, and there he was: the ghost of a man. Pallid with partially mussed curls of white silver. Spots of ash and debris clung on the velvety purple portions sewed onto his overcoat. Despite the upheaval of his appearance, it was apparent the high elf was strikingly handsome.

And with his pearly tone of flesh, voice being a lilt to their ears as he begged in earnest, he may be as wicked as they come.

“A little help—if you both wouldn’t mind. Please.”

Both of the women eyed him cautiously. The cleric nodded at Tav, urging her to approach him while she stood afar—mace in hand—ready to act should something go awry. The gentleman pointed over towards a heap of bushes, the leaves shaking with the rustling movement.

“Quickly, I’ve got one of those brain things cornered over here! I saw you earlier with that sword of yours. Just one thrust and it’ll be dead!”

Tav walked forward past the pale elf, angling her head to the side to peer through the bushes. A small boar jumped out as she drew near, hurriedly running in the opposite direction. She placed her hand on the hilt of her blade, ready to unsheathe it. It was unlike her to dive right in like this—without her usual focus on the possible outcomes—but he caught them off guard with that pleading gaze in his piercing eyes. And she was absolutely sure he knew it.

Ah, but it wasn’t long before she finally felt the cold steel of a knife at her throat and her legs being swept from underneath her.

“Now, now, I suggest you keep quiet unless you’d like to lose that darling neck of yours," the man warned.

He held Tav in a hold on the ground, legs pliant, as they tangled with hers. One arm held down her shoulder possessively, while his right hand held the knife pointed directly into the hollow portion of her throat. It didn’t stop her from trying to wriggle out of his grasp, but he was notably physically stronger than her.

There were the occasional noises of boots shuffling a few feet in the dirt behind them and he suddenly seemed angrier as he directed his vision over towards Shadowheart. “Stay where you are or things will become messy! Unless, that’s what you’d prefer.”

“Stow that blade. I need her alive or you will find out just how messy things can get,” she firmly replied.

“Perhaps when my business is through, darling,” he playfully answered.

Turning his attention back to Tav, he pressed the tip of the blade a bit further into her skin. She gasped, staring at it in fear. One small move and he'd surely slice her open.

“I’m going to ask some questions and you’re going to answer. Now—I saw you on the ship, didn’t I? Nod.”

The bard flicked her eyes up bit by bit, directing them from the knife to study his face. His jawline and cheeks were sharp, strong in such a statuesque manner typically carved into the marbles of nude heroes draped in cloth finery. Then, there was the residual scent. One of aromatic notes—seeping into the air from the tender skin of his wrists—as he continued to closely hold the blade. Woodsy with a crisp aquatic citrus. It was oddly sophisticated, somehow suiting him perfectly. If this villainous man hadn't attacked her, she could imagine the most lovely of sighs pacifying her rosy lips as she breathed him in.

And while the many facets of his outward appearance intrigued Tav in a strange way, it was his eyes that made her breath hitch and her body still. The longer she stared, the more lyrical words she came up with to describe them. Initially, they appeared a bright candy apple red in the sun's direct light, but up close, oh, his eyes were an alluring hue of garnet jewels with flecks of a darker maroon encompassing his pupils.

“Wait! I—,” she murmured under his hold. When he cocked his eyebrow at her, she suddenly recalled her predicament and nodded to try and subdue him.

“Good girl.” The pure smoke of his tone accepted her response. “Tell me what those tentacled freaks did to me! And don’t even think about lying.”

Without due notice, their tadpoles connected on their own and they’re suddenly looking out of each other’s unfamiliar eyes as their minds mangled.

Tav saw:

Busy, dark streets. Prowling. Waiting. Watching.

Teeth ripping into a soft object as a liquid spews forth.

Staring up at the stars longingly.

Memories of her past are forced into his mind:

A rapier swung in a vast field while an elven man with wintery eyes smiled proudly.

Walls filled with musical instruments amidst tons of hastily written lyrics on parchment.

A younger handsome man with dark hair, yelling before his calloused hand tilted up her tear-stained chin.

“Argh! What was that? What are you doing,” he questioned harshly.

Tav winced, trying to fully grasp what had just happened. “The mind flayer’s worms, they—I think they somehow connected us. I don’t fully understand what’s happening either. I’m sorry.”

The elf furrowed his brow, seemingly considering her words. He rolled away and stood up, dusting off his clothes. Nonchalantly, he placed the palms of his hands against his lower back, elbows sticking out like bird wings.

Shadowheart was instantly at the bard’s side acting as a crutch while she lifted her to stand.

“My name’s Astarion. I was in Baldur’s Gate when I was snatched up by those creatures; I didn't realize we’re in a similar position. And to think, I was ready to decorate the ground with your innards. My sincerest apologies. And you are?”

Tav straightened up, regarding the man’s full height. He stood around three to five inches taller than her own stature.

“Tavelle Swiftchoir. Tav is fine enough. And I may have acted the same if the roles were reversed. Thank you for apologizing.”

Astarion gave her a brief bow of his head. “You mentioned earlier you had no idea as to what is happening to us?”

“Judging by what I saw back on the ship, I think we may turn into mind flayer’s at some point. I truly do not have any information beyond that,” she remarked.

“Turn us into—Gods. Ha! Hahahaha. Of course it would turn me into a monster. What else did I expect?” he added in scorned disbelief. “Maybe we can find someone that has more expert knowledge of these things. So that we can control them.”

Control? What a bizarre word to use, one that Tav bristled under. “We need to get rid of them! I cannot imagine any good would come from controlling them. That being said, if you’d like to accompany us—at least until we reach somewhere safe—there is room. It’s your choice.”

Astarion brought his neck back, a smarmy grin stretched from pointy ear to pointy ear. “Of course. I was considering going at this alone, but you seem like a useful person to be on familiar footing with and it’s sometimes always better to stick with a crowd.”

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Right away, Tav found Gale of Waterdeep endearing. He was wordy and slightly sarcastic when he spoke. Gleefully, he illustrated the process of ceremorphosis and jested a rather befitting joke asking if anyone was adept with a knitting needle to pry out their new friends from their optical regions.

He had chestnut hair to his shoulders, with streaks of gray swept back from his forehead. The deep brown of his eyes were warm and reminded the traveling minstrel of a tree she used to sit under as she practiced her songs. And there was a certain masculine aesthetic that only added to his attractiveness with his closely trimmed facial hair. The way he spoke was tinged with an intellectual knowing that could come off as haughty, even overly self confident, but he also seemed so very awkward.

“You all have every right to be distrusting of me; wizards carry a certain reputation that not even I have been able to escape. But, I do want to remind you: we share a common goal. And I also do not know any of you. My arcane knowledge will come in handy, should you allow me to journey with you,” he reassured them.

“You seem very promising, especially seeing as you got yourself stuck in that portal of yours,” Astarion mocked.

Tav snorted quietly, "Now, Astarion, it’s his first day. Let’s give the man time to adjust.”

“Har. Har. A minor inconvenience, but one you’re soon to forget once you pay witness to my spellwork—surely,” Gale confidently mentioned.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Astarion noticed Tav first for her heartbeat.

It was vastly different from their other two charges, holding an irregularity like the currents of a river. Hers lacked the strong prideful thrums from the wizard or the confident pounds of the obstinate cleric. Initially, he thought he had heard a quaint misfire of her blood failing to pump properly, but upon willing his senses to zone specifically in on hers, he realized the rhythm was one his vampiric mind couldn’t recall in all his years as a specter.

It did not seem to swiften the pace of its beats—there were simply more of them. The drumming of the bard’s heart was akin to flowing downstream alongside drowning flower petals, oscillating a path away from her, only to be lured back in and managed by the hums of a sweet song once again.

Though, there was something amiss with Tav's quickened stuttering of beats when either him or Gale stood near her. It was so effortlessly knotted into her other unusual thuds, that Astarion had nearly unheard it. A murmur? No. Disease of the organ? Not quite. These gentle quivering rushes were ones he did understand. He had victimized innumerable hearts that bore a similar fleeting spark to hers.

A longing for companionship.

During their journey over the next few days, the spawn monitored Tav from a distance as she bustled around camp. Oftentimes, she sang a calming tune to herself that would make her smile as she performed her tasks—little gestures of kindness he found to be pointless labors of her time.

Every morning, the elven songstress would prepare a pot of hot tea for them from a satchel of loose leaves they found in their supplies. Sometimes, depending on their current stash, she would stroll by Gale’s tent, setting down a bowl full of culled berries for him by the lounging area he formed. He once caught her rubbing Shadowheart’s armor down to save it from dreadfully rusting overnight, when the cleric went to nurse a migraine after a particularly exhausting day of picking off a group of gnolls.

And for him she—

“Astarion! Here. These should keep for a bit until the next time you’re injured and spoil another barracks full of rags again," Tav beamed, pushing a pile of clean rags tied thrice over in twine into his hands. And just because she’s her, there was a stem of wild yarrows placed thoughtfully on top.

Astarion was dumbfounded. He looked down at the linen, noticing some of the blood stains hadn’t washed entirely out, but most of them faded to dulled brownish spots. She didn’t know about his condition—yet. Praise the hells animals still bled red!

“I tried to get the stains out as best as I could manage with what we have in our packs, but at least they’re clean,” she added with a careful smile.

He was taken aback. Why had she done this? And when had she snuck into his tent to remove the rags without his notice? Not even a trace of her snooping left behind—at least, to his detection.

He stared at her, studying her responses to him. “This wasn’t necessary.”

“Of course it wasn’t necessary. I wanted to do it. It’s one less task you have to worry about; one less task you may ask me to help with later on,” she teased.

“Right. I have to admit, all this ‘roughing it’ in the woods seems a little novel.”

The bard nodded introspectively. “It’s definitely not for everyone. I suppose I am used to some aspects of it. A lot of my youth was spent catching butterflies in meadows and falling into muddy creeks trying to knight toads.”

The vampire grinned, watching a soft glow envelop her while she spoke, offering him a small glimpse into treasured memories.

But, he needed to test the waters. A navigated rope of words that may ripple across her body, providing him with a concrete answer he sought.

“Ah, the reverie of youth! Such a wonderful era to engage in a bunch of new experiences. New food. New places. New lovers.” Astarion tilted his head, emphasizing the last word with the faintest overlay of flirtation.

Tav only seemed to humor him with a crinkle to her round stormy eyes, until she tucked a few pieces of hair behind her fair ear—her fair, very flushed ear.

Astarion’s expression fell flat before perking up.

“If you’ll excuse me, the last few days have been quite a lot and I need time to process.” He turned around, heading back to his tent to deposit the clean laundry with that recognizable incessant tug at his soul.

He did need time to process.

Time to process her.

Because he knew the trade of manipulation as an avian knows their migration path.

The lady of musical blades: with kindness etched in the lines of her hands and introversion deciding her demeanor.

And what kind of victim could properly aid him in heralding his security within their group better, than a foolishly humbled nitwit, with a heartbeat that all but gave her away.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

“Tell me Gale, do you have any lovers waiting for you once this is all over?” Astarion wiggled his eyebrows at Tav while the wizard was still turned away, helping to search for a way inside the temple ruins.

“That is—not the easiest of questions for me to answer,” Gale muttered. He found a door leading into the ruins and motioned towards it. “It’s locked.”

Shadowheart scoffed, shaking her head. “You mean just waiting, like a lovesick puppy? Short-term amusements are much less hassle.”

Astarion casually approached the latches on the door, tapping them a few times before exhuming a set of thieving tools. Tav stood at his side watching as his deft fingers worked, jiggling it with a lockpick.

He questioned her in kind, “What about you, my blade-happy friend? Do you have a beau you were plucked from?”

She shifted her weight uncomfortably onto one of her legs. The faintest cast of her expression switched from a yearning to coy saccharine. “I do not. Truth be told, it’s been a while since I’ve been with a lover, but I have also been content without one.”

Astarion regarded her with a toothsome grin, as if he were a kitten she had led to paw at a bowl of cream.

“What about you? Surely, there is someone of interest that has taken to your charming wit,” the bard inquired.

She continued her ardent curiosity as his nimble fingers moved the pick around inside of the keyhole. They were reminiscent of her own, when she meant to play a fast ballad across the strings of her lute.

The pale elf stopped his tinkering, flicking his scarlet orbs to hold her own vision within his own. “You mean a lover anticipating my return with open arms? Ha! Not exactly. However, I’m not opposed to the pleasures of an unexpected affair.”

Oh.

Oh!

Tav chewed on the inside of her cheek, unsure of how to answer. Did he just—?

No. Mayhaps? There had been attractive men who had shown interest in her in the past, peacocking their gait as they strode to her, jingling their pockets of excessive coin as they complimented her. But, with the spell of her melodies heavy in the air, her voice commanding an entire room, it was the mystery of the euphonic song they proclaimed their undying affections for—not the woman they didn’t truly know.

And Astarion may be the first man in quite some time that reacted to her for reasons other than her performance on the stage.

But, would it matter if he had? Her heart was a barren percussive wasteland that betrayed her in the past.

Love lies in a tomb. Covered in weeds, caressed by wandering winds. Frozen in time with the unknown.

Though…she was curious about him.

Astarion was an adventitious encounter that kept Tav on her feet with bewilderment. He would step forward with his charm, only to back away with a distilled gaze, as if he were examining each of them in a specimen jar.

Yet, he was a welcomed asset to their team. Offering to keep watch at night, scouting the area from the shadows, or gods, his skill as a rogue were ones that thoroughly mesmerized her. She didn't think she'd ever tire of being the one in the audience for once when he flipped his daggers around, ready to lead forward at his target.

Shadowheart and Gale were so stuffy in comparison to him. He added the dichotomy of “fun” into the fray and she caught herself gravitating towards his presence on more than one occasion, seeking his brand of levity. He managed to evoke ribbons of laughter out of her with his cynically entertaining commentary when she least expected it. Plus, there was a strange comfort she found in him—as if he had known her for centuries—before even the very blips of matter and capillaries decided to form and create her body in the world.

The door to the ruins clinked opened ceremoniously.

“I doubt this is the first lock you’ve opened. You’re quite skilled with those fingers of yours, Astarion,” Shadowheart jested as they stepped over it’s threshold.

Astarion impishly grinned with a wink, “Oh, you have no idea my dear.”

Tav lightly chuckled, rolling her eyes at the innuendo as she entered through the doorway.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

“Hmm. There seems to be quite a few rooms to scavenge through, should we split up? Gale, come with me—I think there’s another place to explore in that direction according to one of the maps I gleaned off this bandit. If that’s true, there’s a chance the entry may be protected by an abjuration barrier,” Shadowheart stated, rolling the map back up.

“Right behind you! Have you noticed the colonies of bats down here? I’m no wildlife expert, but did you know that the mating ritual of bats involves the male biting the female…” Gale’s voice became an animated echo as they disappeared around the corner.

Astarion quirked a side smile towards Tav. “Well, I guess that leaves the two of us. Don’t worry about them, I’m sure Shadowheart will come to Gale’s rescue if he blasts himself into another portal again.”

“Let us hope she doesn’t decide to abandon him should such an event come to fruition,” she giggled. “Come, there should be some rooms to rummage through this way.”

They trudged on, finding themselves in a chamber of the crypt that had rows of books chaotically shoved into bookcases with a shrine near the back of the room. Most had fallen out into dusty piles, ruined at some point by age and water damage. It appeared to have once been a study of sorts by way of stone benches and scattered doctrines. The cloying scent of moldy musk and rat droppings laid densely in the study: it was almost suffocating.

Tav coughed away the foul smell, attempting to light a few abandoned candles. “Ugh. So, Astarion, I don’t mean to assume, but you don’t strike me as the type that likes curling up to read on a rainy afternoon.”

Astarion sauntered over to a shelf that had a row of old religious texts. He pointed his index finger out, skimming it across the titles about dead gods on the spines.

“Actually, it’s quite the opposite. I’ve had nothing, but time to read,” his face soured. “However, I’ve come to find books can reveal traits about ourselves we didn’t know.”

“The written word has a lot to offer to people. Books give us ideas; ideas can manifest into actions,” she added mildly. “And sometimes, books give us worlds to escape into when life chases us away.”

The vampire observed as she gracefully placed her hands on a book, pulled it out, then pushed it back into place. And then another, until she set her sights on a specific piece bound in weathered leather: it appeared ancient.

He took note of the brightness in her blue-gray irises when she opened the book, a gentle beam upon her lips. Astarion watched how her fingers turned the pages, minding the wrinkled yellowed edges of the paper. The way she glided them delicately across a page as if she were apologizing to it, sent an unexpected shiver down his back.

The Curse of the Vampyr

Harken close and beware the Vampyr. Beware its cold beauty. Beware its charm. Beware its curse. Above all, beware the pale noble, for the Vampyr cannot bear to be of the common folk. How doth one protect from the Beast? Walk not in blackest night, for the Vampyr loves these nights more than any other. If you must walk, do so by the light of our moon and take care. Carry the blessings and marks of your God at all times. But remember, your home is a fortress, if protected well. If you hear a knock in the night, be wary. Let no stranger into your home. If it be a friend, look upon them. Do you find them pallid and wan? See you any mark upon their neck? See you any dirt upon their clothes? Unless their need is great, turn away all but the most trusted. And if the Beast finds a way into your home, flee. Leave love and family behind. You will not save them if you fight. You will not see them again. But they will see you, pale and smiling, calling them into the night.

And then, there was an abrupt diversion he delivered against the back of her neck. Breath cool, exhaling onto the delicate tendrils of fine hair that curled at the bottom of her head. That rousing mixture—aquatic and woodsy—threatening to burrow itself right into the marrow of her olfactories.

Astarion’s voice became a dulcet whisper below the shell of her ear. “Have you ever met one? I’ve heard vampires have an insatiable appetite for both blood and flesh.”

Tav leadenly turned around to face him, her grip slowly tightening on the front and back covers of the book.

His voice grew deeper, a molasses any maid would want to dip their tongues into. “And who could blame them? Some of us were created to tempt, while some of us were created to give into temptation.”

Whoosh. Thrum-dub-dub. Whoosh. Thrum-dub-dub.

Ah, there they were. The delicately reserved beats of her sweet chambers she tried to hide from prying vagabonds. Blood thriving, fighting for space in the channels of veins and arteries they flowed. A signal for Astarion to proceed.

His long fingers tapped on the page. “Read it aloud.”

Tav looked up into his face confused. “You wish for me to read to you?”

“Yes. Educate me about vampires.”

She stalled, her breath warm on the underside of his chin. “Forgive me, but I don’t understand why you—“

“Would you believe me if I said it’s because I find your voice to be soothing? I’ve heard you chirping around our rugged accommodations,” he replied with a craftily composed smile.

A crease in her brow scrunched inward. Her lips parted, exhaling a quiet breath. She meditated on his face, pupils adjusting more to his expression in the dimly lit room, weighing her options on the premise of his delivery.

The purr of her tadpole sloshed up against the gate into his thoughts—an involuntary reaction born of hesitancy. Swallowing, the worm withdrew and she cleared her throat without another word on the matter.

Tav refocused on the book, reciting passage after passage of information. He delighted in the elicit shudder she offered to him when the pads of his chilled fingers lightly grazed against her hand. She peered up at him, owl-eyed as pinky splotches spread to her neck.

“Keep going, darling. You were reading about theories on where vampires originated.”

She nodded courteously, reading aloud in that perfect lilt of her pitch. Enunciating each sentence with a richness only found in buttercream icing.

Astarion craned his neck to be eye level with hers, a few inches shy of her blushing face. He trained his eyes on the rise and fall of her chest—pretending to be fixated on the pages—as her breathing hastened like a fawn’s during a hunt.

He deeply inhaled her scent. Traces of lavender. Sweat. Arousal.

“Stunning, really,” he whispered aloud, causing Tav to flinch from her concentration.

The bard straightened her head, peeking at him through finely wisped lashes. Her voice broke. “What’s stunning?”

Astarion trailed a deft finger along the side of her neck, a move that would cause her to quiver. He touched a strand of her hair that lay limply over her ear, tucking it back in place so he would have better access. With the very edge of his nail, he lightly scraped it from the top of her helix to her lobe, forcing her to release an inviting moan that she swiftly covered with her hand.

“You.”

She stared at him, embarrassment resting on the surface of her skin. Boldly, she grabbed his hand, removing it from her ear. “I didn’t even think you noticed me.”

“I think it’s quite obvious I’m attracted to you.”

He could hear the way she ached for him. The singing in her blood that pulsed like fireflies, as he ghosted his touch with the promise of something more. A wetness he could sense that settled below.

“But, why?” Tav questioned, still holding onto a few of his fingers lightly as if they would break her, letting them rest near the collar of her doublet.

Astarion leaned in, his cool lips hovering in front of hers. He drawled, “For many reasons.”

Her pale lids were half hooded, the tip of her tongue wet her lips. “Tell me one.”

The elf hooked a gentle hand around her hip as his mouth, inch by inch, came closer to its destination. “Your lovely voice could be a salve to anyone’s wound, but it would be the lure that could sink me to the depths of sin.”

He closed his eyes, pressing himself closer as he readied to kiss her—

“Astarion, stop,” her voice firmly muttered, accompanied by a palm pushing flat on his chest.

Scarlet globes flashed open. He backed away from her, allowing space between them.

Fuck.

Tav closed the book, depositing it back into the position she found on the shelf. Bravely, she turned around to face him, skin a pretty rose, still heaving with lust and trying to catch her breath.

She shook her head, her plait swishing down her back as she walked past him without even so much as a glance of her peripherals. “I’m sorry. I can’t. I just—can’t. Not like this.”

Astarion was confounded, like she had caught him in an uncompromising position that was all part of a strategy quickly gone awry.

Because it had.

“ASTARION! TAV! HAVE YOU TWO FINISHED UP IN THERE? WE HAVEN’T FOUND ANYTHING AND SHADOWHEART HAS, ONCE AGAIN, THREATENED ME WITH THAT VERY SPIKY AND HEAVY MACE OF HERS,” Gale shouted from their location.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Meeting back up, the group was successful in finding a hidden lever that opened the door Gale and Shadowheart had been investigating.

Once inside, they found a large statue of ‘Jergal, the Lord of the Dead’ and an entire temple dedicated to the god. Sarcophagi lined the east and west sides of the temple, skeletons strewn about finding rest on the grounds instead of their cold coffins.

It wasn’t long before those dead scribes rose to fight them, loyalty to the dead god exceeding beyond their deaths. As they were struck down, they met Withers, the eccentric skeletonesque creature hidden in a secret room behind the statue. He spoke to them in cryptic riddles, but offered his assistance to them without directly intervening with their mission.

By the time they reached the surface again, the light had faded from the sky. Everyone was exhausted, overwhelmed by the events of the day, and welcoming the distance between them as they individually set up their spaces.

Shadowheart meditated outside of her tent before eventually dousing the incense she had lit, heading off to rest.

Gale studied a few of the scrolls they found inside the crypt before, he too, yawned loudly. He imparted a small wave to the companions before disappearing behind the flap of his own abode.

Tav reconvened with her nightly chores, her body moving in uncertain motions as if she were second guessing herself with every step.

Astarion avoided interacting with her entirely. He glanced at her when she wasn’t paying attention: studying her mannerisms, watching her facial expressions morph, or clocking her behavior.

“Not like this.”

He would not make the same mistake twice.

[johnypage95]

Mars Technology is the leading company that provides services regarding water treatment, water tanks, filtration, cleaning, sewage treatment, AMC, RO repair, etc. If looking for any kind of service, then contact us. Because of our strong team of technical experts, we offer genuine products and services with warranty and support. https://marstechnology.ae/chemical-spill-kit-supplier/

[worldbuildingwanderlust]

Confessions of an Astral Assassin (part 2)

Her favorite time to take a shower was 10:30a.m, when the morning sun pierced through the obscured glass at just the right angle. It always danced upon and between the water, prismatic and gleaming. Each drop a diamond of purification, blessed by the giver of life, to bathe and baptise the flesh of yesterday in preparation for its rebirth today. It became her ritual, and so it became mine.

    This is a place I often return, my consciousness a passenger to her's. I believe she senses me, in those moments her lips cut slight, involuntary smiles with each merge of consciousness. When I can see through her eyes. Feel with her hands. Bask in the healing water of jewels, and smell the scents she infuses with her hair. Relish the majestic stillness of the moment, removed from space and time. It was heaven. She was its Goddess. A Goddess named, Olivia.

     I never pressed too far, nor too deep. I never wanted to. Not from lack of interest, but from a place of respect. Her thoughts are her own, and if she can indeed sense me, and wanted me to leave, I would. Without question. She knows my heart, and intentions. I...feel it. Even now, as we rinse our hair and trace the tingle of rivers down the curves of our back, I feel her open her mind to me. Like she wants me to see more. Feel more. She exhales a laugh that kills my hesitation.

     I tentatively push my consciousness deeper, but only enough to feel the energy of her thoughts without being able to read them precisely. In my line of work, despite the grotesqueness of it, I try to hold myself to a higher standard of decency. Even the targets Im assigned to eliminate are given this measure of grace. Nobody should have the security of their soul's inner sanctum violated. Everyone deserves that privacy.

     Like standing at the base of ruptured reservoir, I am completely engulfed in a deluge of emotions. Joy. Sadness. Pleasure. Pain. Certainty and uncertainty alike. She is a wellspring of all the things I've grown numb to in my own physical form, and I want nothing more than to marinate in the unbridled beauty of it all. I dilate the moment as long as I can, savoring the dance between sensation and emotion. The intermingling of material and immaterial bliss. Even in the present sadness, there is beauty and understanding. There is fluidity in emotions and none exist independently. Each has a relation to, and role among, the rest. A kaleidoscope of conscious and unconscious energy painting a perfect portrait of what it means to be human. Nowhere in the Conflux have I ever felt such divine beauty...

     I feel a smile widen across her face and...is that a tear rolling down her cheek? Or just a drop from the stream? Does she feel my impassioned awe? My grand appreciation of her transcendental complexity?

     Our hands trace down the curve of our breasts, and I see a flash of memories recalled by similar sensations and their associations from her past. The serenity of a lover's sensual touch, married with the ache of its loss twisting a taught tension in her chest.

     Celine. The name manifests with the vision of a bright and vibrant face, before it dims into a pale, dressed-up painting on a corpse in a coffin. I feel the pressure in Olivia's heart seize, and she lets her arms fall to her sides with balled fists. All I want in that moment is to help ease her pain. I let my consciousness take control, just this once, and I coax her arms up, wrapping them around her form like a shawl. She chokes out an accepting whimper and tightens her grip. Streams of tears flow in the shower's rain and ripple in the small pool of standing water below. Sobbing begins to shake her body.

     I extend my mind to her's, and show her some of what I have learned of death in my travels; omitting the role I have played in it. I convey to her, death's illusory permanance and the interconnected beauty of the Astral Conflux. I paint her an ever changing picture of the collective unconscious, and highlight the space she and Celine still share; even though her lover's body has long since left the material plane. I unlock those locked recesses of her mind so she can see that Celine has never left her. That the visions and memories that spring forth without warning are her attempts to tell Olivia this truth. To remind her of her presence, and communicate her love from beyond the mortal grave. They find each other again, and I am pushed back to my outer level of observation as their energies collide and enfold.

   A familiar buzzing vibration snaps at my attention, and I feel my handlers' summons in the back of my mind. An implanted shock collar on the base of my cerebellum, stinging my every muscle like a furious hornet. I feel the distant memory of my muscles tense violently. They want me back. It's as if they could sense me experiencing one of life's many beauties. Like they can sense me using my gift of astral travel to spread awareness and rekindle love, instead of perpetuating their endless agenda of death. I stubbornly resist the call as long as I possibly can, cementing this wonderful reunion of two souls in my memory. May I never forget this sensation and the connection they share....

     The cerebral quakes grow louder. More violent. Until I am snatched away, and snapped back to my reality...

[kiwibeanv]

Astray in the Black Water: Chapter 2

Fatal Frame 5 x Bungo Stray Dogs x Fem! Reader

Prologue --- Chapter 1 ←

Chuuya let out a frustrated sigh as he paced back and forth in his room. Dazai has not contacted him these past two days. Today will be the third. He was getting impatient and worried for Kouyo. The longer she is out there, the chances of her being found alive will shrink.

"That damned bastard," he cursed. "Never telling me anything!" He hit the desk nearby. "Guess I'll have to find out myself if he found someone. They have to be at the mountain."

With that, Chuuya departed to Mt. Hikami alone. Once there, he wandered around the Unfathomable Forest looking for any sign of the ADA. The forest was not as eerie as it was at night. Now that the sun was out, he could see much more of the area. The forest was so quiet, he couldn't even hear the freeway. He went from the Mikomori ponds, passing the Pool of Purification, the Shrine of Dolls, and ended up on the east side of the Unfathomable Forest. He did take his time to observe the structures, in hopes to run into Dazai. The hanging tree gave him eerie vibes and wondered if Dazai ever attempted to hang himself there yet. Something about the Shrine of Dolls haunted Chuuya. Lifeless eyes that stared at his soul as they stood still like a stiff corpse. He continued further into the forest.

Ending up on the east side, he gazed at the pond, looking at the reflection of himself on the clear water. His thoughts wandered from the beauty of the forests to self reflection. Then he heard footsteps and some chatter on the other side of the forest that broke his train of thought. He went back to the Shrine of Dolls and immediately recognized Dazai in the group. Atsushi was there along with a woman walking by his side.

"Oi Dazai!" He called out, glaring at the tall man.

The group turned to the sound of his voice.

"Ugh, the slug caught up…" Dazai grimaced.

You looked at Dazai with a questioning look. "You know him?"

"A little too well," he frowned. "Oh did I keep you waiting? You do know I am not planning to give her up until Kyouka is found, as we agreed."

"You were supposed to tell me who you found," Chuuya stuck his hands in his pockets. "Are you that lazy that you couldn't lift a finger to call me?"

"No, I just chose not to."

Their little argument went on and you turned to Atsushi. "Dazai-san does not get along with people, hmm?" You asked.

"Let's just say he rubs people the wrong way," Atsushi replied as a sweat drop rolled down his head.

"Sounds fitting," you say, looking back at the bickering men. You took his hand to take him through the two. Atsushi's eyes went wide and followed you.

"You boys may bicker if you like. Atsushi and I will be moving forward to the Shrine of Dolls," you say as you walked between them.

"Wait!" Chuuya called out. "Now that I found you, is there a way I can contact you?"

You paused and realized you don't have a paper and pen on you. However, you do have a cafe that he could visit.

"Consider visiting my cafe on 7th Avenue. My coworkers can give you my contact information."

"7th Avenue…" Chuuya repeats to ingrain it in his head. "I'll definitely stop by--"

"Uh, how about no~" Dazai put his arm around you and guided you forward, causing you to lose grip of Atsushi's hand. "We definitely don't need the likes of you stopping by to put your hands on her."

"I will not! You should be getting your own hands off her," he snapped back.

"He does have a point," you say politely to Dazai, taking his hand off your shoulder.

"Wha--?… My lady!" Dazai puts his hand on his chest in dramatic offense. "How could you agree with him?"

Chuuya snickered and smiled with triumph. "See? Even she needs personal space."

You don't respond to that, knowing this can keep going for as long as they want. However, you can't waste anymore time. Else, you could be exploring at night. That you don't want, especially since no one else had the means to fight off ghosts, except you.

"Let us go. We should not be wasting daylight," you say as you got ahead.

"I'll see you later miss!" Chuuya called out before leaving as well.

The three of you continued to re-enter the Shrine of Dolls on the right side. You felt Kyouka's trace go off track from yesterday, as if she got distracted by something. Curious, you took the opposite direction, leaving the two men in confusion.

"(Last Name)-san, didn't we go the other way yesterday?" Atsushi asked.

"I know that but…" You looked at the door. "Kyouka went off track here."

"It could be that of her searching the area," Dazai spoke up, putting his hands in his pockets. "She was sent to search for someone, after all."

"Makes sense… but let me see if there could be something."

The two glanced at each other before following you. You found yourself in a shrine room filled with dolls. They were on the altar, standing along the walls, and you saw an echo of the past of Kyouka looking at the dolls. She definitely looked intrigued by this distraction. However, there was nothing of interest in here.

"Nothing…" You sighed and turned to tell them that they should leave.

You passed the shrine but something white caught your eye. There, sitting on the shrine, was a girl with white hair and wearing a black kimono.

"She's not here," the girl said, looking up at you with her red eyes.

You took a few steps back and watched the girl hop down form the shrine. Atsushi and Dazai noticed you didn't follow after them and went back to check the room. They could see the girl too.

"You want to die, don't you?" The girl asked.

"Well of course I do," Dazai replied, but when he looked at the girl, she was still staring at you. "Oh…"

Your lips pressed tight. Not wanting to answer, you left the room immediately. The girl disappeared and left a cool breeze in the room. Neither of the boys wanted to bring up the question you didn't want to answer.

Internally, Dazai felt ecstatic after that brief conversation with the girl. The possibility of you wanting to die all sounded like his dream of committing suicide with a pretty girl was coming true. He started to daydream about the many ways he could die with you painlessly. Together in death... This is his chance!

As for Atsushi, he started to worry for you. Did you really hold such depressing feelings in you that you are inclining towards death? But you were so young. So gentle and polite. He couldn't believe someone like you had considered death. Hopefully you don't.

After passing through the shrine and the hanging dolls path, you got on the stone path and up ahead, a large shrine sat on top of the stairs, looking down at you. The path had stone lanterns on both sides and there was another dirt path right. However, Kyouka's trace didn't go there. It went up the shrine.

"Kyouka went in that shrine," you say to the two. But then a thought occurred to you. This could be a chance to teach them how to use the camera obscura you had. "Before we go in, I want to demonstrate how you can use my camera. In the likelihood I ever drop it for whatever reason."

Dazai and Atsushi glanced at each other for a moment.

"Yeah, that sounds good," Atsushi nods.

"You first," you hand the camera to him. "Essentially it's still a camera, just with special lenses."

Atsushi looked through and the camera looked ordinary enough.

"Expelling spirits isn't its only use. You can see things that are invisible to the naked eye. Perhaps you might spot a spirit, like I do without the camera."

Atsushi let Dazai hold the camera to get a feel of it too. They walked closer to the shrine. The world flashed before you and the color faded. You saw Kyouka's trace go up the shrine.

"Oh! I see Kyouka!" Dazai exclaimed and took a snap.

"Let me see!" Atsushi tried to get a peek and only saw a second before the color returned.

"What you saw was an echo. A vision of the past. Don't linger on the vision too long, else we could attract malevolent spirits." The two men pulled away, hoping they didn't stare for too long.

"However I must ask… what do you have of Kyouka's?" You asked, knowing that an echo can only be sensed if you had a token of the person.

"I have a pen she gave me," Atsushi replied.

Dazai dug in his pockets. "Oops.. I still have the wrappings of a treat she gave me."

"Oh… I see…" You looked back at the shrine. "Let's keep going then."

You went up the stairs with the other two men following. Upon entering the temple, you were surprised that the lanterns were still lit. Surely they should have ran out of fuel. Still, at least they illuminated the shrine. Kyouka's trace led you to take the right side first. The halls were empty of life. Nothing but the sounds of the creaking wood from your footsteps.

You did notice a few sightings of shrine maidens. Women who wore these white robes and a peculiar head piece. A veil that covered not only their hair, but a black one over their eyes. It was said that these shrine maidens could glance into your soul and see your memories. You had this ability yourself, albeit you had to touch the person. Strangely, you couldn't get a glance at Dazai's memories, despite wanting to take a peek when he touched you. Perhaps you could try touching Atsushi again and look next time, to ensure it still worked.

"Ugh, why is everything flooded?" Dazai asked, raising his foot from the water.

"There was a landslide that damaged the property years ago," you replied to him.

"Oh, no wonder…" Dazai eyed the rotting walls. "Obviously no one ever came in to repair…"

Then you passed through more doors following Kyouka's trace. Finally, you made it into another flooded room with shelves filled with pottery. In the center of the room, a black box sat on a small post. Her traced ended in this room.

"A suspicious black box. Let's open it!" Dazai beamed.

The water level reached above your knees and you had to push through. You tried to open the box but it was shut tight.

"I can't open this..." You said to them.

When Dazai attempted to open the casket, he moaned in struggle until he ceased his labor and called out, "Atsushi! Put your little kitty claws to work!"

Atsushi deadpanned and mumbled, "'M not a kitty..." He sighed and moved to the object on the stand, "On it, though."

He gripped onto the box, trying his own strength first. Again, it was too tight to open. Atsushi activated his ability, his arms transfiguring with more muscle, white fur, and claws. He pulled again and only managed to open a crack. You noticed someone inside the reliquary.

Atsushi let go. "Almost got it..." He tried again and struggled to get it open.

You felt your camera obscura react to the box. It vibrated and you saw the little red light flashing. However, Atushi managed to break it open but, a pale woman with long robes lunged out. Atsushi fell back onto the water while you and Dazai stepped back.

She floated in the air as if she was in the water. "It's over. It's over. The mountain's water are tainted." Her gaze turned to you. "The immortal flower will wither and the black water will overflow."

Atsushi peeked back in the box and saw Kyouka with her eyes closed. Inside, she was sitting in black water. Dazai rushed to her side to help Atsushi take her out of the box.

The spirit did not fade so you took out your camera obscura, ready to repel it. She disappeared shortly, until appearing near Dazai and Atsushi, laughing. Her figured was blurred by the orbs of her faces encircling around her hastily. You had to take two pictures to capture all the bubbles until her form was clear again.

"Dazai, Atsushi! Move!" You yelled at them.

The spirit spiraled around them and unleashed these blue orbs, following after all of you. The boys were trying to wake Kyouka up so she can get up on her feet. You snapped more photos of the spirit, sending her back. You all attempted to leave the room, having to march through the water while you kept the spirit back. Kyouka barely opened her eyes by the time you reached the door. It wasn't until then, you finally managed to take the spirit down.

Once Kyouka awakened, she managed to get on her feet, albeit she felt awfully exhausted. As you all tried to leave the shrine, another more powerful spirit blocked your path. This one wore a kimono black as the night, her hair covered her face, and red eyes glowed. The camera had no effect on her.

So you all ran, wherever to avoid this powerful spirit. More ghosts awakened and tried to hinder your escape. However, their attempts were futile. You all barely managed to escape the shrine and took the cable car down.

It was as if the mountain was enraged. Outside, there was a heavy downpour. The sun had already disappeared and you can hear the cries of the departed. Eerie callings that tempted you to lose your focus and follow the ghostly songs.

Po, po, po...

You could have sworn you saw a woman, tall as the trees watch you from the distance.

The cable car stopped abruptly, so you had to take another path down the mountain. According to the brochure, there was an old road that lead down through a tunnel. You encountered more spirits. A girl with a red umbrella who was harmless. The tainted soul of a man who had a car accident.

Finally, you all made it out of the mountain. You kept a thought to find an extra artifact that can repel spirits so you are not the only one dealing with them.

Post-Chapter Content:

*Note: This time it will be in order descending. Chuuya's chapter is required. As for the ADA, the short gist is visiting to submit a report of the case to them. Just with extra content.

! -> Chuuya!

-> Kunikida

-> Atsushi

-> Dazai