#hermetic house of life

[polyphanes]

Another glorious chat with Arnemancy: "The Nightmare of Hermes Trismegistus"!

So, my good friend, the good Reverend Erik Arneson of Arnemancy, in addition to his blog and podcast, has recently started up his own YouTube channel, doing video-style chats about all and sundry things, sometimes little mini-lectures, sometimes interviews.  It’s a fun new experimental layout he’s doing, and to help bring it about further, he had me on to talk with him!  Unfortunately, it’s about…

[vintagegeekculture]

The Evil Little Hairy Cave People of Europe in Pulp Fiction

From the 1900s to the 1940s, there was a trendy theme in occult and horror stories that the explanation for widespread European legends of fairies, brownies, pixies, leprechauns and other malicious little people, was that they were a hereditary racial memory of the extremely small non-human, hairy stone age original inhabitants of Europe, who still survive well into modern times in caves and barrows below the earth. Envious of being displaced on the surface, these weird creatures, adapted to the darkness of living underground and unable to withstand the sun, still mean mischief and occasionally go out at night to capture someone.... usually an attractive woman....to take to their dark caves for human sacrifice.

Displaced by the arrival of Indo-European language speakers at the dawn of the Bronze Age, these original, not quite human stone age people of Europe were driven deep underground into caves and barrows below the earth, where they went mad, adapted to the darkness and acquired a fear of daylight, became extremely inbred, in some cases acquired widespread albinism. It is these strange little people who gave the descendants of Europeans a haunting racial dread of places below the earth like mines and caves, and it also is these strange, hairy troglodytes who originally built the uncanny and mysterious menhir, fairy rings, and stone age structures of England, Scotland, and Ireland that predate the coming of the Celts and Romans.

In some cases, these evil troglodytes are usually identified with the mysterious Picts, the pre-Celtic stone age inhabitants of the British Isles. In some cases, they are identified with the Basque people of Spain, best known as the inventors of Jai Alai, and the oldest people in Europe who speak a unique language unrelated to any in the world.

The original codifier of this trend was Arthur Machen, a horror writer who is less remembered than his contemporary, Henry James, but who may be the best horror writer in the generations between Poe on the one end and Lovecraft/CL Moore/Clark Ashton Smith on the other. His story, "the White People" from 1904 (a reference to their strange cave albinism) was a twisted Alice in Wonderland with a girl who is irresistibly attracted to dark pre-Roman stone age ruins and who is eventually pulled underground.

In addition to being a great horror writer, Arthur Machen was a member of the Hermetic Society of the Golden Dawn, an occult organization, and was often seen at the Isis-Urania Temple in London. Many of his works have secretive occult knowledge.

H.P. Lovecraft in particular always pointed out Arthur Machen as his single biggest inspiration, though he combined Machen's dread and occultism with Abraham Merritt's sense of fear of the cosmic unknown, seen in "Dwellers in the Mirage" and "People of the Pit."

Another and scarier example of this trend would be "No Man's Land," a story by John Buchan, a Scotsman fascinated by paganism and horror, who often wrote stories of horrific discoveries and evil rites on the Scottish moors. He is often reduced to being described as a "Scottish Ghost Story" writer, a painfully reductivist description as in his career, Buchan wrote a lot of thrillers, detective, and adventure stories as well. In later life, he was appointed Governor General of Canada, meaning he may be the first head of state to be a horror writer.

It was Buchan who first identified the cave creatures with the Picts, something that another Weird Tales writer decades later, Robert E. Howard, would roll with in the 1920s.

Howard is a very identifiable kind of modern person you often see on the internet: a guy who talks tough, but who was terrified to leave his small town. He created manly man, tough guy heroes like Conan the Barbarian, Kull, and El Borak, but he himself never left his mother's house. It's no wonder he got along well with his fellow Weird Tales writer and weird shut in, HP Lovecraft. With 1920s Weird Tales writers, despite your admiration for their incredible talent, you also can't help but laugh at them a little, a feeling you also apply to a lot of Victorians, who achieved incredible things, but who are often closet cases and cranks who died virgins ("Chinese" Gordon comes to mind, as does Immelmann).

With Howard, his obsession with the Picts and the stone age cave dwelling people of Europe started with an unpublished manuscript where at a dinner party, a man gets knocked out and regresses to his past life in the Bronze Age, where he remembers the earliest contact between modern humans and the original inhabitants of the British Isles, the evil darkskinned Picts. This is a mix of both the "little cave people" story and another cliche at the time, "the stone age past life regression novel," another turn of the century cliche.

Still with the Picts on his mind, Howard would later create Bran Mak Morn, a Pict chieftain, who predated Kull and Conan as his Celtic caveman muscle hero. Howard was of Irish descent and proudly anti-Colonial and anti-British, with his Roman Empire and Civilized Kingdoms as a stand in for the British and other Empires, which he viewed as rapacious and humbug, a view shared by his greatest inspiration, Talbot Mundy. His "Worms of the Earth" gets to the heart of why these little cave people scare us so much: they remind us that we live on land that is impossibly ancient and we don't fully understand at all.

It was another Weird Tales Writer a decade later who wrote one of the last stories about the little hairy cave people of Europe, though, Manly Wade Wellman in 1942. Wellman was mainly known for creating the blond beefcake caveman hero Hok the Mighty set in stone age times, and for his supernatural ghost stories of Silver John the Balladeer set in modern, ghostly Appalachia (like many ex-Weird Tales writers, he made a turn to being a regional author in his later career, in the same way Hugh B. Cave became a Caribbean writer), but Wellman also had a regular character known as John Thunstone, a muscular and wealthy playboy known for his moustache who used his great wealth to investigate the supernatural and the occult. Thunstone had a silver sword made by St. Dunstan, patron of Silversmiths, well known for his confrontations with the Devil.

Most John Thunstone stories featured familiar stories, like a demon possessed seance and so on, but one in particular featured a unique enemy, the Shonokins.

The Shonokins were the original rulers of North America, descendants of Neanderthal man displaced by American Indians. This fear that the land we live is ancient and unknowable and we just arrived on it and don't know any of its secrets is common to settler societies, who often hold the landscape with dread, as in Patricia Wrightson's fantasies of the Australian Outback. It was easy enough to transport the hairy cave people from the Scottish Moors to North America. I suspect that's what they are, a personification of a fear shared in the middle class, that in the back of their minds, that everything they have supposedly earned is merely an accident of history, built by rapacity and the crimes of history, and that someday a bill will come due.

A text page in the May 1942 issue of Weird Tales gives strange additional information on the Shonokins not found elsewhere:

Since then, there have been too many examples of evil cave people who predate Europeans. Philip Jose Farmer's "The All White Elf" features the last survivor of a pre-European people who live in caves. A lot of other fiction of course has featured the Picts, but according to our modern scientific understanding, which describes them as much, much less exotically, as a blue tattooed people not too different and practically indistinguishable from the Celtic tribes that surrounded them, and which they eventually blended into.

[pubbamoon]

Planetary Joys

Hello! It's me again! I hope you are doing well and if you're not, then I hope it will get better. Inspired by the one particular comment from one of my recent posts about the astrology misconceptions, I want to make a specific post about planetary joys this time. The point of this observation is to explain you why planets find their joy and function well in some houses. I hope you're gonna like it.

Firstly, I want to introduce you the Hellenistic astrology a little bit. Hellenistic astrology is a tradition based in the late Hellenistic period. The practice of this tradition started in the 2nd century BC in Mediterranean Basin, but it was mostly practiced in Egypt. The whole point of Hellenistic astrology is to describe someone's canon events and to predict what is probably going to happen in someone's life through someone's birth chart, not only to describe the person's personality and psyche. Hellenistic astrology is basically like a traditional tropical astrology, meaning that there's only seven planets present in every birth chart (from Sun to Saturn) and we use the Whole Sign system for houses. Forget about the asteroids (Chiron, Lilith, Ceres etc.) here in Hellenistic astrology. We use Hermetic lots in this type of astrology instead. But that's whole another story. In Hellenistic astrology, there's a thing called Planetary joys, meaning that planets find their joy in certain house and that's going to be the theme of this post. So, let's finally get into it!

Sun in the 9th house: The planet Sun finds its joy and functions very well in the 9th house. Both the Sun and the 9th house represent spirituality. The Sun represents pure intelligence, the knowledge we naturally have, which we didn't gain in school and seeing things as they really are. The Sun is a luminary, representing the light which lightens the day. The 9th house represents higher education, wisdom, religion, knowledge etc. Since the 9th house is connected to the Sun, the planet that represents light, father, authority, norms and how things should be, the 9th house is associated with the spirituality we seek beyond and the type of spirituality which is widely accepted, such as Christianity, Judaism, Buddhism, Hinduism, Islam etc.

Moon in the 3rd house: The planet Moon finds its joy and functions very well in the 3rd house. The Moon is also a luminary which represents the light and seeing things clearly. But, since the Moon lightens the night it's possible that there's hidden aspects or area of this planet. The 3rd house also represents spirituality, just like the previous house, but the 3rd house is mostly related with the type of spirituality we seek within and that is not very mainstream or widely accepted, such as magic, witchcraft, wicca, palm readings or even Tarot readings. The 3rd house also represents cousins we may not be aware of their existence. Have you ever heard that almost every celebrity from Hollywood has a 11th or 14th cousin, but they don't know that they're actually cousins? Although the Moon represents the light, it can also represents something hidden or uncertain in our life, as it illuminates the night.

Mercury in the 1st house: The planet Mercury finds its joy and functions very well in the 1st house. Mercury represents communication, unpredictability, adaptivity, logic, chaos, contradictory and it functions well in both day and night, while the 1st house represents the life itself. Communication is the key everywhere in life. In astrology, we interpret both the cosmos and the human's life. Mercury is the planet that is associated with astrology the most, because in astrology, we describe the movement of celestial bodies, interpret the planets, houses and aspects together to make predictions and give guidance. Mercury represents multitasking, doing everything at once and is the messenger in Roman mythology. Life is like a wheel of fortune, it is very unpredictable, chaotic and sometimes it doesn't make any sense. And if you wonder which planet represents the unpredictable area of your life where nothing makes sense, that's Mercury.

Venus in the 5th house: The planet Venus finds its joy and functions very well in the 5th house. Venus is a benefic and a positive planet, representing fertility, creativity, giving birth to a new idea or a life and the area of our life which favors us or works out in our favor. The 5th house is one of the most positive houses and is connected with Venus because the 5th house represents good fortune, privileges or good things that happen in our life, such as good circumstances, good health, wealth, children, fame etc. Having the 5th house placements might indicate being in a privileged positions, enjoying the life, going into great schools, having a nice car, being lucky that you don't have to work, doing something that fulfills us, having children or even getting the princess treatment.

Mars in the 6th house: The planet Mars finds its joy and functions very well in the 6th house. Mars is a malefic and a negative planet, representing war, violence, labor, taking forced actions, commanders, danger etc. The 6th house represents slavery, hard-work that leads to nowhere, misfortune, working class, challenges, bad things that happen in our life, bad circumstances, bad health etc. Having the prominent 6th house in our birth chart may indicate taking forced actions we don't want to take, but we don't have other choice, like working 9-5, getting a credit to buy a house, paying bills and something similar. It can also indicate going to not very nice school, having a bad car and working a job that drains us and that we hate. Unfortunately, that's usually a story of almost every normal or average person.

Jupiter in the 11th house: The planet Jupiter finds its joy and functions very well in the 11th house. Jupiter is also a benefic and a positive planet, representing luck, abundance and the area of our life that works out in our favor. It also represents the faith, morality, churches, schools, universities and all of the places where there's a lot of people coming together. The 11th house is one of the most positive houses in astrology, representing the success, victory, gains, good spirit or good things that happens in our mind. Jupiter is related to the 11th house because the 11th house represents the privileges in our life and the people that help us to achieve our goals because they want us to succeed. Jupiter represents collectivity, while the 11th house represents friends and that's another reason why they're connected.

Saturn in the 12th house: The planet Saturn finds its joy and functions very well in the 12th house. Saturn is the most distant planet from the Sun, representing darkness, isolation, losses, marginalized people, outcasts, death and ending of a cycle. When there's the darkness, we cannot see things as clear as they are. The 12th house also represents isolation, losses and marginalized people who don't have a community, since the 12th house hides behind the 1st house which represents life. Having the prominent Saturn or 12th house in someone's chart might indicate someone feeling melancholic about their own limited life. That person may feel like an outcast or that they don't belong anywhere. It's a lonely path if you have the prominent Saturn or the prominent 12th house in your birth chart. There's a lot of mental battles coming with these placements, since the 12th house represents mental health.

Well, I guess that might be it. I hope you learned something new today. Keep in mind that this observation is related mostly to Hellenistic astrology. I don't think it is going to work in modern tropical astrology or even in vedic/sidereal astrology. Anyways, I hope you liked it. Have a great and successful week ahead!

Best regards,

Paky McGee

[ersatz-ostrich]

See You Again

Chapter 1: The Coffin

Jason Todd x f!Reader

You were just a teenager when you lost your best friend, Jason Todd. Years later, your life is turned upside down, and you find your way back to him. He's changed. You've changed. But you wouldn't have it any other way.

[A/N]: Me? Publishing a Red Hood fic that's been sitting in my drafts for months? It's more likely than you think. Jason is such an interesting character and there have been so many takes on him and his story that I've lost count. All I can do is hope that I do his character justice, and that I can deliver something worthy to all of the Red Hood girlies (gn) out there!

Anyways, in this fic, f!reader is a researcher at STAR Labs Los Angeles for the Polestar program, a secret research operation investigating an ancient virus revived from the permafrost of the Arctic. She gets infected with the virus while trying to keep it from falling into the wrong hands—and that's when she meets the Red Hood.

Warnings: DC-typical violence

read here on ao3

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STAR Laboratories Los Angeles

9:43:42 PM PT

The Coffin

You hated working in the Coffin.

The Coffin, as some of your coworkers called it—a cramped bunker of a cleanroom with thick concrete walls and vault-like hatches—was practically hermetically sealed from the rest of the world, and for good reason, too. 

The Coffin, STAR Laboratories LA’s so-called Sterile Research Unit, housed world-killers. 

They were all around you, housed in huge humming floor-to–low-ceiling freezers, in vials and Petri dishes. If one of those samples got out and contaminated the outside environment, you would have a huge, messy problem on your double-gloved hands. 

Located in the basement and separated from the rest of the facility by a sizable aseptics and decontamination unit, the only living things that shared the space with you were the dormant pathogens labeled and tucked away in the Coffin’s freezers. Chatter filtered through the radio comms unit on your lab bench, which you used to relay information with the rest of the researchers, your coworkers, involved in the Polestar study. 

“L/N, how are we doing down there?” A voice crackled through the comms. It was Dr. Davis, one of the senior researchers on the Polestar program.

“Hey, Davis. I’m happy to report that the Polestar vaccine prototype seems to be well on its way,” you reply, hearing the whoosh of your breath inside the respirator you donned before entering the cleanroom. “The vaccine seems to be pretty stable right now. I’ll continue to run tests.” You heard Dr. Davis’s hum of approval through the comms.

“Great to hear, Y/N. Just wanted to make sure you weren’t d—” It was an inside joke among the Polestar researchers that the Coffin was where bad researchers who half-assed their theses in grad school went to die. The sterile bunker was indeed a daunting place to run tests, with all of its doomsday-looking decor and freezers full of deadly viruses, but you had spent enough late nights in and out of decon to make the Coffin feel more like the world’s worst bathroom stall-turned-office cubicle.

“Dr. Davis?” You finally turned your gaze to the comms unit. “Dr. Davis, do you read me?” You could hear the faint sounds of commotion filtering through the comms; cacophony that should never be heard in a laboratory. “Is anyone there?” Someone started screaming—you recognized the voice to be Dr. Lee—and your heart jumped into your throat.

The sound coming from the comms unit suggested that the radio on the other end of the line had fallen to the floor. The speaker emitted more crackly yells. 

“ Doctor—” It was Dr. Davis. He was alive, but barely. The sounds of fighting rose around him. “Doctor—dammit, Y/N, do you hear me? Stay where you are and barricade yourself in the Coffin, they’re coming for the—” Dr. Davis’s voice cut out, replaced by garbled radio feedback. Right before the radio dissolved into static, you swore you had heard him howl in pain. You stared at the comms, heart thumping in your ribcage. You were beginning to sweat in your hood and coveralls and the respirator felt heavy on your face. You tore your attention from the comms to survey the frigid lab around you. The Coffin had been reserved by the Polestar program so you could test small lab animals to observe the virus’s behavior in living organisms and develop a vaccine for it, so most of the work laid out on the benches was Polestar’s. Cages sat in neat stacks, housing the lab rodents you had been studying. You could care less about the unbelievably expensive machinery or the infected rodents that could infect humans should they escape the Coffin, though; a dip into STAR Labs and the CDC’s research grants for Polestar would replace it all. Your eyes darted around the Coffin, eyeing the huge, heavy hatches that kept you encased inside the bunker. Whoever was outside, they’d have to get through aseptics and decon, which would keep them busy for at least a few minutes as they forced their way inside. 

“Oh, no, no, no,” you muttered to yourself as you swept glass vials and syringes around on your workbench into a cluster, creating a disjointed melody of clinking glass and metal. The rats began to turn restlessly in their cages. Your breathing picked up, coming out in short, shaky breaths as you ran from countertop to countertop, stowing away glassware still full of solutions and dumping solids into the trash—you’d get back to them later, if there was even a later for you. Screw how much that stuff cost by the gram, and screw how much time you’d spent synthesizing and isolating those precipitates.

No time to think about that , you thought to yourself as you rushed back to the workbench where your radio and the vials sat. You stared at the assortment of glass vials and syringes, panicking. They can all go in the freezer, right? Or the storage vault, or…

There was no time to think. You rushed to the freezer with trays full of vaccines and viruses alike in your arms, hurriedly punching in the code and scanning your retina to open the door to the walk-in freezer. The door unlocked with a hiss, and you silently begged the automatic door to open faster as you heard the sound of a squad’s worth of footsteps stomping through decon. Squeezing through the opening, you all but shoved the tray into the nearest vacant bottom shelf and sprinted out, hammering the button to shut the freezer doors.

You heard clanking against the entrance to the coffin, one, two, three…

A blinding flash of light followed by a deafening explosion shook the Coffin, and you instinctively turned away to shield yourself. You saw tongues of flame licking the entrance to the Coffin, flooded with red light. 

Oh, shit. 

How many of the substances stored in the Coffin were flammable? You hoped the explosion that blew the enormous hatch to the Coffin off its hinges and the flames that followed hadn’t reached far enough to hit the flammable substances storage unit. 

Behind the rubble of the hatch stood a cluster of black-clad figures, outfitted with bulky body armor and gas masks. They swept the Coffin with the muzzles of their rifles before stepping over the threshold and into the Coffin. You stifled a gasp and ducked behind one of the countertops, hoping that you weren’t spotted. Maybe you could find something heavy, like a fire extinguisher, and taken one out—

“Gotcha.” 

You couldn’t help the shriek that escaped your lungs as you whipped around, grabbing the nearest thing off of the countertops—a ring stand, luckily enough, and not something more expensive or fragile—and swung it in the direction of the voice. Your eyes widened as the heavy base of the ring stand failed to meet bone—and was instead stopped in its path by a strong, gloved hand around your wrist. Your hands shook as the hand’s owner, wearing a gas mask with round, reflective discs for eyes, lowered the ring stand with one hand and aimed the barrel of a handgun at you. 

“What do you want from me,” you choked out, your mouth feeling dry as you stared down the cold black barrel of the gun. The soldier chuckled, their voice—his voice?—deep and gravelly, muffled by the mask.

“Just your cooperation.” With a jerk of his hand, he lifted the ring stand, still attached to your hand, and forced you out into the open. “You know what we’re here for.” He wrestled the ring stand from your grip and tossed it away, the heavy thunk making you wince. He took your wrist in a crushing grip, and adrenaline shot up your spine. 

“I’m just a lab aide. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You replied quickly, not quite confident in your skills as a thespian (or a liar).

“Oh, yeah, Dr…” Still holding the gun in front of your face, they cocked their head to check your badge. “...L/N?”

Shit.

“You know how it is…the job market’s pretty tough for Ph. D.’s these days.” You chuckled nervously. “Seriously, though, I’m just here to wash glassware.” The soldier laughed coldly.

“You seem pretty calm for somebody staring down the barrel of a gun…I bet you’re smart. Bet you know a lot about all the super secret research in this shithole, too.” You couldn’t see it, but under his mask, his gaze settled upon something on the floor. “Maybe you could tell me a little about this thing right here.” You followed his line of sight and felt your blood go cold.

How could I have—

He nudged the syringe with the toe of his boot so that it rolled right to you. It took all you had to keep yourself from lunging for it. Your eyes caught the biohazard symbol printed on the label and you felt yourself die a little inside.

The Polestar virus was on the floor. The deadly ancient virus you had resurrected was in a syringe on the fucking floor. 

“Hmm, not sure how that got there—” Your words were taken from you when the barrel of the handgun made contact with the flesh of your chin, forcing your head back.

“Enough! Tell us where the virus is and maybe the actual lab aides won’t have to mop your brains off the fucking floor.” You grimaced.

“It’s right there,” You replied through gritted teeth. “In that syringe.” Keeping the gun’s sights on you, the soldier stooped to pick up the syringe. “It’s in a liquid suspension that was supposed to be for the rats. We were running tests—” You caught yourself rambling before you could divulge anything more damning. Maybe it was the gun pointed at your head and your life on the line, but you felt like your brain was out to lunch and had thrown out all common sense before it left. “—well, the bottom line is…just don’t break that syringe. The virus inside is viable and dangerous.” The soldier laughed again, this time more arrogantly.

“I don’t c—”

“I’d listen to her if I were you.” You, the soldier—everyone in the Coffin—turned to the source of the modulated voice. A huge silhouette passed through the sanguine lights of decon. The glint of the red helmet caught your eye first, then the red bat insignia splashed across the figure’s armored chest. 

Huh.

That posture—the way the helmeted figure stood to make himself look bigger—tickled the back of your brain. Your train of thought, however, was stopped short by your captor yanking your wrist and wrapping his free arm around you in a headlock. He trained his gun at the red helmet before you, who produced a pair of his own firearms.

“Don’t shoot,” your captor barked, and you realized what was in the hand that was clutching the fabric of your PPE. You struggled to break free, but the body behind you felt like a pillar with armor for cushioning. “Or she goes with me.” The helmeted Bat slowly lowered his weapons, which earned a smug huff from your captor, whose grip loosened on your PPE. You sighed in relief and started to extract yourself from you felt his arms quickly wrap around your neck again, making you cry out.

“No!” The helmeted figure called out. You heard the crack of the gunshot and the sound of the bullet meeting flesh. You felt warm blood—not yours—splatter on your face and trickle onto your coverall and you shuddered. You felt the soldier, impossibly heavy, slump over onto your body and slide to the ground. The gunfire of his squad mates erupts around you and you see the red-helmeted newcomer duck behind a glovebox and return fire. You dive for cover, watching the soldiers drop behind you. You see the red helmet emerge again to take out the last of the soldiers, engaging in hand to hand—these fighters seemed to be highly trained—and putting the occasional bullet through the weak points of their armor. The last bullet casing fell to the floor with a resounding ping! and you heard boots moving towards you once more. 

“Are you okay?” 

It hadn’t occurred to you why the soldier had held on so tightly to your PPE—you hadn’t felt the little prick in your collarbone when the gunfire had started. Dread pooled in the pit of your stomach as you slowly lowered your gaze to where the syringe stuck out above your clavicle, only dredges of fluid left, the black-and-yellow biohazard symbol turned up to the light like a bright and deadly flower. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[A/N]: We are hitting the ground running! Hope that was a good start to this fic.

Likes and reblogs are appreciated!

[anncanta]

Elves, aristocracy and life as a personal experience

It's interesting how, among other things, The Rings of Power argues with Peter Jackson's films.

Look, the only one in this series who looks like Jackson's elves is Sauron. I just now realized why.

The thing is that Sauron is neither an elf nor a man, nor even a living being in the sense that we put into this word. This, as far as I can judge, is one of the ‘traps’ of Tolkien's legendarium and his books, where two modes of thought collide – the living one, the mode of beings whose life is finite in one way or another, and therefore is real life, and that of the immortals, who do not know death and decay, do not understand what finitude is – but do not live either. Therefore, the immortals, be they Valar or Maiar, make the wrong choice time after time, because they simply do not understand what life is. To understand it, one must immerse oneself in it.

You cannot look at life from the outside and build it. You are not a foreman at someone else's house. Not an editor of someone else's text. Your life is you. The Valar do not understand this and therefore create a reservation in Valinor, and when this idea fails, they create a reservation in Numenor. In this sense, the story of Mairon-Sauron, who reached the limit in his desire to arrange someone else's life, looks incredibly bold and very ironic.

Take a look at him. Everything in him is beautiful, everything is elegant, everything is new, untouched, everything flows and shimmers. It is as if he has no folds, does not move, does not change, does not smell of anything.

Jackson's elves are like this because this is the typical idea of ​​elves as representatives of a ‘fantasy world’ where everything is beautiful and epic. But Sauron is like this because he is not an elf, but only imitates elves, without understanding who he imitates.

Sauron cannot be like them, he cannot share their life, because to do so, you need to be born into this world and live this life from the very beginning. Like Gandalf. When we see Gandalf falling from the sky, it is not only a reference to the film Wings of Desire, where an angel can become a man only by crashing to the ground and dying, but also a literal depiction of the only path a deity can take to understand a human. It is not about ‘the suffering that people endure,’ but about the taste of life, its essence. About how life grows through your body and soul, through every day you live, through joy and sorrow, through this incredible, incomprehensible, stunning mixture of colors. You are born, you look at the world, you breathe, you learn to speak. You are looking for your name. That is why Gandalf was able to become a part of the world and bring changes to it. Because he acted honestly and loved this world truly, honestly. Love is an action, not a reflection of the one you feel it to.

Sauron can only reflect and integrate into an existing system. He cannot give himself up, cannot change, and cannot distract attention from himself at all. This form he has taken is completely hermetic. Ultimately, it causes nothing but irritation. Because, listen, how long can you stand by a beautiful statue? A day? Two? A week? You will get bored anyway. But, as we can guess, Sauron's original desire was to turn the world into such a beautiful statue. At this point, he and Morgoth parted ways, because the latter simply wanted to destroy the world.

But here's what's interesting.

In Jackson's films, Sauron is confronted by equally beautiful statues. Elves, frozen in their sophistication and beauty. I can't help but think that in Jackson's system of images, elves are an analog of a hereditary aristocracy. Creatures whose world has not changed for centuries and who want it to remain the same.

But it doesn't happen that the world doesn't change. If changes don't happen naturally, the world gets sick, and they are initiated by illness. What Sauron represents at the end of the Second Age, and this is very well shown in The Rings of Power, is literally a boil breaking through. The world cannot be locked in the same state. All that can come out of it is an abscess. As a result, the abscess bursts, and the world develops further.

In The Rings of Power, unlike Jackson's films, the elves are just another humanoid race. They begin to realize that there is something wrong with their way of life. That their life is like a beautiful melody that repeats itself. They have not yet figured out that it is possible to escape from this cycle, but they have already realized that it hides pain and darkness. In the finale of the second season, we see how the elves, having realized what is happening, stand and look at this reality.

I absolutely love this solution. It is very smart, very reasonable, and mature. And promising.

It is what makes the viewer ask the main question of storytelling, ‘What will happen next?’

[no-where-new-hero]

The house in the hollow was "a mile from anywhere"--so Maywood people said. It was situated in a grassy little dale, looking as if it had never been built like other houses but had grown up there like a big, brown mushroom. It was reached by a long, green lane and almost hidden from view by an encircling growth of young birches. No other house could be seen from it although the village was just over the hill. Ellen Greene said it was the lonesomest place in the world and vowed that she wouldn't stay there a day if it wasn't that she pitied the child.

I don't think LMM is necessarily a master at openings, but I do think this opening paragraph does a lot to foreshadow the rest of the series. She hits us with several establishing situations at once: 1) the house takes center stage. We are introduced to a house before any other people, and houses will continue to remain important. 2) we're told what the local people say about it. LMM's novels are suffused with rumor, hearsay, and gossip, but this series in particular is one where the heroine needs to fight against the voices of other people in order to listen to her own. 3) the natural world is wild and yet hermetic. You have to walk a long way to find something hidden, and it's "lonesome." It's representative of Emily herself. 4) Finally we meet Ellen Greene, another side character whose opinions we're privy to, and whose opinions of Emily herself are immediately rebutted in the following paragraph.

Unlike Anne, though, we do meet Emily immediately, and we get the benefits of her thoughts and opinions with a certain forcefulness that's not exactly present in other LMM heroines. We know things she loves (Pilgrim's Progress , her cats, her father) and things she hates (Ellen Greene). Her world is complete. In fact, this opening chapter perfectly conveys this world as a trifle Edenic--the Adam-and-Eve trees, her communion with nature, and her supernatural "flash" reinforce this, as well as Emily's own unorthodox ideas of religion. Even the fact that "Emily didn't know she was being pitied" plays into this, because she's as yet innocent of other people's opinions, that societal evil she will have to fight through the rest of the series.

Other things I noticed this time around:

Douglas's eyes are "fixed dreamily and unseeingly" on the wall. The only other man with "dreamy" eyes is Dean, which makes me wonder how much LMM just wanted Dean to be a Douglas replacement in Book 1. Emily is the only other character who merits "dreamily/dreamy" as a description.

Emily's birthday is May 19 (we learn in Book 2), so since the book begins in early May, Douglas seems to have died right around her birthday. I think this is more of LMM's sloppy chronology, though, because this anniversary isn't really referenced again.

More religiousness with a touch of the pagan: Emily's "rapt little face" when she returns to Ellen Greene, the ecstatic "flash" (LOVE @batrachised connecting this to the ecstasy of St. Teresa), the hill calling to her and her calling back in some inimical conversation.

A thing that I've always loved:

"You put on your hood and mind you scoot back if it starts to rain," warned Ellen. "You can't monkey with colds the way some kids can."

I ALSO could never monkey with colds when I was a kid because I have a shit immune system, so Emily was the most representation I'd ever had in my life.

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

“Our coming of age has come and gone, suddenly this summer it’s clear,” makes me wonder about that time in their lives, where they’d been through so much in the previous early years of their relationship (and not without their share of anxiety and insecurity as noted in Lover, and as we’re likely about to find out on TTPD), and then all of a sudden they’re in stasis, the world has shut down, and all those seemingly external factors always at the door threatening to tear them down (or so she thought at the time) were (temporarily) gone. As though it may have seemed like the worst was behind them finally.

I wonder if it felt like, “huh, see, if we just get rid of *that*, we’ll be ok,” like a sick kind of positive reinforcement that this thing worked so long as their bubble was hermetically sealed. Which of course is impossible, because we live in a society (lol) but they couldn’t have known that at the time. And it just makes me sad for her again that it seems like what she took out of the experience at that point. That she could have the life she and they dreamed of, albeit with caveats, if the rest of the world didn’t move. It must have been comforting for a time, but at what cost later on?

I know we’ve talked about how anxious Lover (the album) is, and that it seemed like she was always worried that the world was going to tear them apart (when really the call was coming from inside the house). She shouldered the burden of it and took it as an Us vs. The world plight, when really it was a her vs him and the rest of the world kind of balance.

Of course, they great cosmic joke was that the art that came out of that brief period cemented that the bubble was never meant to last and would never really exist, because again, the reality is that she and they existed in a world. They couldn’t cut themselves off forever (nor would either of them wanted to for their own careers), it’s just that they couldn’t both exist separately and together in this life they built and make it work. (Why is… another discussion which we’re about to have on Friday I suspect.)

[weidaoduzun3]

ΑΒΡΑΣΑΞ -- ABRASAX From a Hermetic Viewpoint.

To the Gnostics, Abrasax is the great archon who created the whole world. There is quite a bit of nuance considering how Basilides Gnosticism views this deity. Nuance that I am not qualified to go over at the moment. Carl Jung refers to Abrasax as a truly terrible entity that encompasses all evil and all good, in his Red Book. I've seen negative reactions from people on Discord to this entity, but also some positive reactions.

But to the Hermeticist…who and what is this weird rooster head, snake-legged deity that is found all throughout the Greek Magical Papyri (PGM)? Let’s find out? 

In the Discourse of the Ogdoad and Ennead (D89) we are given strings of vowels and nomina Barbara for the Hermetic student, namely Tat as he is being taught by Hermes. To Christian H. Bull in his The Tradition of Hermes Trismégistōs, the string of Greek vowels and nomina Barbara/voces magicae is the totality of the Kosmos. Tat asks to receive the imprint of fullness by ways of hymns of praise to God. Bull seems to agree with Alberto Camplani that the “imprint of Fullness (Pleorma)” is coded within these string of vowels and voces magicae. 

From personal experiences — I have to agree with this, but I had to fuck around and find out for myself as I read this book many months ago when vowels and voces magicae were not big in my praxis. Anyways, here is the full hymn: 

Great! So how does this tie into ΑΒΡΑΣΑΞ and what is this names value to a Hermeticist? For starters — This name, has a numerical value of 365, according to isopsephy. 365, as the majority of you know, is the totality of days our Earth revolves around the Sun. In PGM VIII. 1-63, specifically in lines 45-50… we see a love spell invoking Hermes to which we are given the name of ABRASAX equaling 365 explicitly, and quite possibly a voces magicae for Hermes.

The Sun's importance in Hermeticism is ever-present. Most explicit in my opinion is SH 2a from M. David Litwa’s Hermetica II:

Also important to note: Thoth. Many believe Thoth is just the god of the Moon, yet Thoth has a Solar form: the Baboon. Baboons and their screeches are believed to be connected to the language of the gods. This is confirmed in the Demotic Book of Thoth. Where a scribe of Thoth’s Scribal College: The House of Life [𓉑], says this about the great teacher, Thoth: "The signs revealed their form. He called to them and they answered to him. He knew the form of speech of the baboons and the ibises." Thoth is also believed to be the creator of not just words and language but also vowels (Philebus 18b-c). For clarity's sake, Thoth is an extremely important figure in Hermeticism. Our teachings are based upon a syncretic god: Hermes & Thoth — Hermēs Trismégistōs. 

More evidence for the importance of ΑΒΡΑΣΑΞ is found in PGM XIII.1-343 — the famed Heptagram Rite, which we can perform more clearly and neatly here. This is a ritual that invokes Aiōn. Aiōn is believed to be the power of the Unknowable, Ineffable Godhead in Corpus Hermeticum XI. In lines 80-89 of PGM XIII, we are given voces magicae to Aiōn in 7 different languages as seen below.

Birdglyphic: ΑΡΑΙ Hieroglyphic: ΛΑΙΛΑΜ Hebraic: ΑΝΟΧ ΒΙΑΘΙΑΡΒΑΘ ΒΕΡΒΙΡ ΕΧΙΛΑΤΟΥΡ ΒΟΥΦΡΟΥΜΤΡΟΜ Egyptian: ΑΛΔΑΒΑΕΙΜ Finally, in Baboonic: ΑΒΡΑΣΑΞ 

(The voces magicae for Aiōn is continued in 'Falconic' and lastly hieratic languages). Thus, we can see a clear link to baboons and Thoth, the name Abrasax to the baboons, and their "language." We see a connection between Aiōn and Abrasax, and we also saw above in PGM VIII that it could also be used as a voces magicae to Hermes!

But let’s look at the imagery as well. A rooster head with snake legs. The legs, to me, are Chthonic of course, and curl up to shape an Ω, the seventh sphere, Saturn. The connection to Omega is something Christian H. Bill points out. The rooster is also a Solar animal. So to me, we have a beautiful image representing the totality of All Things from the Sun whose an image of Truth, directly subordinate to the One Primal Deity (SH 2a), down to the Du’at/Underworld. Both Hermes and Thoth are connected to the Underworld as well as the Sun. Hermes' planet, Mercury is the closest planet to the Sun. Hermes is also famously known as a psychopomp, a traveler and mediator between Hades and Mount Olympus, Death and Life. Thoth, with His solar connections stated above, is also a key member of the Ancient Egyptian Underworld. In the Ani Papyrus, we see Thoth as the recorder/scribe that lists every heart that is weighed up against the Divine Feather of Truth -- Ma'at.

Thus what we have here, from a Hermetic standpoint, is that Abrasax is not a malevolent archon or a demon as denoted by the early Catholic Church, but rather a beautiful deity that is worthy of reverence whose name equals our revolution around the Sun, the Image of God. Abrasax — a name that is connected to both Hermes and Thoth, for reasons stated above. A name that also has a connection to Aiōn, an extremely important power/god in Corpus Hermeticum XI.

That is my interpretation, from a Hermetic standpoint. There are many interpretations of this elusive yet captivating deity. Abrasax can be a voces magicae for Hermes, or for Aiōn, it can be what I said, or you can take the Gnostic approach, or Jung, or Catholic approach to Abrasax. Regardless of what you do with the information, I shall continue to raise my voice in jubilation and cry out:

ΧΑΙΡΕ ΑΒΡΑΣΑΞ ! 

[enaelyork]

[Headcanon]- Dating Thrawn

🌙 Thrawn loves you. How do you know ? He accepts that you make a mess of his life.

🌙 It's Mitth'raw Nururodo. Does he constantly correct you in the most serious way. You apologize and giggle because you find it so cute. And maybe you even distort his name on purpose to see him react that way.

🌙 You shed a tear the first time he held your hand in public. It was so unexpected and unpredictable that you almost had a cardiac arrest.

🌙 Thrawn shows you his affection by talking to you about everything he is passionate about. You can listen to him talk for long hours without stopping as the glow in his red eyes fascinates you.

🌙 When something worries you or upsets you he doesn't necessarily see it. He perceives a change in you and will work to understand it.

🌙 He sometimes feels helpless in the face of your emotions. But he is understanding and his clumsiness in making you smile touches you from the bottom of your heart. You love the way he tries to tame you as much as you try to do it with him.

🌙 You both love art. You might play music or paint. Everything that comes from you is a form of art in his eyes. He is honored to be your muse.

🌙 Your meetings often take place in places conducive to sharing your common passion: concert hall, museum, opera house, etc. You love exchanging your interpretations on the subject.

🌙 Thrawn is still trying to figure out why you're so busy preparing for each date. In his eyes your beauty does not lie in your hairstyle or how you dress but in you : your spirit and the wonder he sees in your eyes.

🌙 Thrawn considers you a masterpiece. Your body fascinates him and if he had to tell you what he prefers, it would undoubtedly be your eyes and all the mysterious nuances he sees there. You like the way he looks at you.

🌙 If Thrawn is not physically demonstrative, he will demonstrate his love for you and turn to you for any advice regarding the society in which he lives. He will also count on your presence during important maneuvers and will not make a decision without speaking to you. Your opinion matters more than anything.

🌙 On the other hand, concerning war and military tactics, he will never allow himself to be contradicted. Revealing his somewhat psychorigid side which you find quite adorable.

🌙 You like the detached way in which he approaches a problem that you entrust to him. He always manages to see things differently and calm you down.

🌙 Your relationship has never been official (even if you dream of a marriage proposal), but everyone suspects it. Your closeness escapes no one, although Thrawn has always strongly protected his privacy.

🌙 If you share your workplace he will not show any sign of particular affection towards you and will never favor you, favoring objectivity.

🌙 Since the Chiss perceive the reactions of bodies differently, it manages to sense your temperature variations.

🌙 Are you feverish? It's not a fever, Grand Admiral. It took him more than ten seconds to understand where this sudden burst of heat was coming from.

🌙 Thrawn is very hermetic to all love and romantic manifestations. As long as it sometimes puts you in awkward situations.

🌙 Why are you kicking me under this table, Y/N? Do you have ankle pain? Was probably the most embarrassing question you've heard at a business dinner.

🌙 He found it ridiculous when you explained the meaning to him once in private before showing you how a Chiss indicates his desire to you.

🌙 He doesn't laugh at any of your jokes. You love him for that.

✨STAR WARS HEADCANON ASK IS OPEN✨

[capricorn-0mnikorn]

(Dead) Woman-in-the-fridge, (alive) Girl-in-the-box, (fragile) Boy-in-the-Bubble

A tip-o'-th'-proverbial-hat to @athelind for tagging this post/poll with "Boy in the bubble." I don't have many coherent thoughts on this (yet).

But I'd like to get some more thoughts to sprout. And I think a Tumblr discussion thread might just be the perfect little seed-starter cup.

My immediate thoughts are two-fold. First, that "Bubble Boy" is a Disability trope in a way that the "Fridged" woman and "Girl in the box" are not, (necessarily). And second, that (although it started out as a "Based on a True Story!" TV movie from the 1970s), I think the fictionalized versions of "Bubble Boy" evolved into a variation/branch of the "Munchausen Syndrome (by proxy)", in that it turns out what's keeping them in the bubble is not really all that serious, or is easily overcome.

Quote from the Bubble Boy on TV Tropes:

So obviously, this trope is almost always played for comedy. [...] If the bubble is broken, expect the character to be fine.

(But no, neither this entry, nor the one on Munchausen Syndrome, linked back to each other)

It wasn't listed as an example in the Munchausen entry, but my mind goes immediately to the 2017 Warner Bros. film, Everything, Everything (link to the official trailer on YouTube; no captions [ableism eyeroll]); quoting the official description under the video:

What if you couldn’t touch anything in the outside world? Never breathe in the fresh air, feel the sun warm your face…or kiss the boy next door? “Everything, Everything” tells the unlikely love story of Maddy, a smart, curious and imaginative 18-year-old who due to an illness cannot leave the protection of the hermetically sealed environment within her house, and Olly, the boy next door who won’t let that stop them.

The fact that I'm referencing this film it this post should be a big flashing spoiler that it turns out that Maddy's mother has been lying to her, her entire life, about her being immunocompromised, and she and Olly have the happy-ever-after they wanted, since she wasn't really disabled, after all.

I think it should also be noted that Maddy is Black, and the boy-next-door is White, and so this also [might] double as a White Savior and an Abled Savior story.

But in this story, and in the 2001 film Bubble Boy, which gave the trope its name, it's the promise of heterosexual romance that gets the plot rolling (sorry).

What I'm curious about, and uncertain of, is how gendered these two versions of the trope can get. How much more likely is it to be a comedy if the character at the center of the trope is a "boy"? How much more likely is it to be a tragedy (or horror) if the character is a "girl"?

[sirowsky-stories]

Collision

Part 7

Description: Pero returns to the safehouse, not knowing if he's coming back to a bloodbath or an empty house, or if they could all be fine, in which case, they still won't be safe anymore.

Warnings: Pero Tovar x OFC, no reader insert, Pero's pov, conspiracy, cursing, angst, mentions of graphic violence, friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, secret identity, AU fic. Rating: Mature/Explicit 18+ONLY Word Count: 5200 Series Masterlist

Author's Note: Sorry for the wait! I've been in Oberyn's dungeon... But hey, I've managed to post a chapter to each story today!

-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-

   Because of the precautions he must take to ensure that no one can use him to find the house, it takes him two whole days to get back there.    He’s on foot for the final ten miles, just to be sure, coming in from the south, which takes him along the edge of the ridge that leads up to the cliff, so when the building finally comes into view in the evening fog, he’s seeing it from the side.    It looks dark and ominous where it sits, tightly guarded by the sturdy old trees.

   Even if all the interior lights had been turned on, it would be hard to notice from the outside, because the large windows have a concealed tint to them. Exactly like how modern mobile phones can be fitted with a safety film which turns the screen dark to anyone trying to look at it from the side.    It’s barely noticeable from the inside because the filter only works one way, but from the outside, even someone looking straight from the front would only see faint shadows moving around in there. Virtually no indoor light at all filters through.

   But even though he knows all this, the haunting feeling that he’s gonna open the door to a sight of absolute horror, won’t leave him alone.    He sneaks around to the front, which feels more like it should be the back because there are almost no windows there, to help conceal the structure within the natural environment, and sees that the door is closed and that everything looks exactly as he left it three weeks ago. Which does nothing to soothe his nerves.

   He pulls out a handgun as he approaches the door, remembering to punch in the separate code required to unlock it after the kill-switch has been triggered, and it clicks open. Taking one breath to center himself, he slips inside and quickly and quietly closes the door behind him, while scanning the front hall and what he can see of the kitchen and living room.    The lights are dimmed, but it’s nearly 10 pm, so that’s to be expected. The rooms on this side of the house are empty, but there are signs of life everywhere.

   A deck of cards and a few boxed up board games sitting on the living room table. Cartons of cereal, pasta, and a bag of bread on the kitchen counter. Plates where the remnants of sauce haven’t completely dried yet, in the sink. A sweater hung over the back of a chair. All of which relaxes him to see, because it means that someone was alive this evening at least. But it still doesn’t mean that everything’s alright.

   With the weapon at the ready but pointed at the floor, he sneaks further into the house, stopping to listen at the stairs which are right at the junction between the kitchen and the inner hallway, but there are no sounds from the library, so he carries on.    There are three bedrooms on the bottom floor. The master on the right, with the bathroom next to it, and two smaller on the left.

   Niki should be in the master, possibly joined by Gillian if there’s still a need for her to be monitored, and since she’s his primary concern, that’s where he starts.    The door falls open with a slight hiss as the hermetic seal always activates whenever it’s closed, and the sight before him makes his lungs deflate in the most relieved exhale he’s ever felt.

   All three of them are in there. Niki in his bed, Gillian on the hospital bed, and William on a mattress on the floor, obviously brought in from one of the other bedrooms.    Something has happened, Pero’s absolutely sure about that now. Something scary enough to make them feel like they need to sleep together in the safest room of the house, and it tugs at his heart to know that whatever happened, he wasn’t there to help them.

   He wants to ask them about it, but they’re already asleep, and they look peaceful, so he decides not to wake them. He leaves the room but doesn’t close the door behind him. Both because he wants to be able to hear it if something happens in there, but also because the hermetic seal makes more noise when it’s engaged than when it’s disengaged.    Returning to the kitchen, he places the gun on the counter and leans his back against the pantry door. Suddenly feeling exhausted, he lets his legs bend so that he slowly slips down to the floor. And once he’s seated, sorrow rocks through him like an avalanche.

   Quickly throwing his hands over his mouth to try and muffle the sobs, he feels himself begin to tremble from his shoulders to his knees, while his abdomen painfully contracts in ever hardening spasms.    He’s not sure where it comes from, or why it hits him so abruptly or with such tremendous force, but within seconds, it’s completely crippled him.

   Trapped within this merciless feeling, he has no choice but to ride it out, so he sits there. For how long he doesn’t know, but when it finally begins to let up, every inch of him is hurting from the sheer effort of crying like that.    The sorrow leaves an emptiness behind when it fades away. Something he can’t quite name, but which seems to want to be filled again. Although why he would ever want to get to this point again, he can’t even imagine.

   Feeling hollowed out and strangely void of all emotion, he gets to his feet under strenuous complaints from every damned muscle, and then starts to clean up the kitchen. There’s no rational cause for him to do that right now, especially not when the others are sleeping, but for whatever reason, he needs to do something. Just something. As if his brain has temporarily lost connection with his body, requiring a physical task to be performed to reestablish communication.

   Once that’s done, he picks up his gun and holsters it, before heading for the living room and tidying up, putting away the games and wiping the coffee table clean, and then sits down in one of the sofas. And as he sits there, just breathing calmly for a few minutes, the hollowness fades away.    He’s not aware that he’s filled it with anything but there’s no mistaking it. He feels good. Not great or fantastic, but not terrible either. Just good.

   And that’s where he falls asleep. For the moment not concerned about their safety or the uncertainty of their futures, which is enough to let him rest.

-=¤=-

   He wakes up with the very first brightening of the morning, but since it’s autumn, the sun isn’t horrendously early to rise. A quick glance at his wristwatch shows 07:23, which makes this the longest he’s slept in over three weeks, and he’s feeling somewhat rested for once.    But when he sits up in the sofa, with a slight groan as his body reminds him of the long trek the previous evening, he’s met by shrieks and yelps from the direction of the kitchen.

   Bewildered, he leaps up to his feet, automatically scanning the visible space for a threat, before he realizes that he’s the one who’s triggered the reaction in the two women, standing in the kitchen with shocked expressions.    They must’ve only just walked in there or they should’ve already realized that no one else would’ve broken in just to clean up the kitchen.

   “Oh… Sorry. I got in late, I didn’t wanna wake you,” he apologizes, unable to tear his eyes away from Niki.

   She’s up and about. And she looks so much better. There’s color in her skin again, her hair has been regularly washed and has regained its shine, and overall, she just looks less fragile. Thicker and sturdier.

   “…Hi,” he adds, still staring at her and starting to feel a bit awkward, for some reason.

   But before she’s had a chance to respond, Will comes barreling into the kitchen, clearly fresh out of bed and barely even awake yet, no doubt drawn by the screams.

   “Wha’isit?! Whasgoin’on?” he slurs, first squinting at the women and then looking around the room. “The hell…?” he adds once he spots the new arrival.

   “Good morning,” Pero greets, unable to hold back a small smile at the unintended comedy of the man’s appearance. “Shit… you look hungover. Been partying over here?” he adds, parroting what Will had said to him when he’d called in the middle of the night.

   “Fuck you, dickhead,” the veteran replies, looking like he just swallowed something extremely sour and clearly not appreciating the joke.

   But when he turns to go back to bed, or whatever he intends to do, he beckons for Gillian to follow.

   “Come on, Gills. Let’s give these two a minute.”

   “Don’t call me that, it makes me sound like a fish…” she grumbles at his use of a hard g for the nickname, but she still goes with him.

   Although, not before shooting what seems like a look of guilt at Pero. It’s so brief that he isn’t sure of what he sees, but he gets the feeling that something’s weighing on her, and he makes a mental note to ask about it later.    Once they’ve left, he steps into the kitchen so that Niki won’t come to the living room. He wants her to eat breakfast, and he’s hungry himself as well.

   “Want some eggs?” he asks as he heads for the stove, passing right by her on his way in behind the island.

   She stops him with just a brush of her fingertips against his lower arm. He’s missed her touch so damned much that it grinds him to an immediate halt, and he turns to face her. She clearly didn’t expect such a direct reaction and startles slightly at the abruptness of his movement, so he takes a breath to encourage his shoulders to drop. But that’s as much as he manages before the need takes over.

   He’s wanted to hug her ever since this whole shitshow began, and now here she is. He needs to feel how alive and warm she is. Needs to feel her breaths and the strength of her body. He’s careful, though. Keeping his arms loose around her back and curling himself around her instead of trying to pull her into him.    But once she realizes what he’s doing, she’s suddenly the one who’s pulling. Her arms are steady as she forces their bodies together, pressing herself closer still, as if she’s trying to melt into him.

   He lets her. Loving every sensation, but still worried about hurting her, he merely holds and lets her decide how much pressure she can take.    And for the first time, possibly ever, he feels like happiness is possible. It’s a small and timid feeling, but it’s there, taunting him with fleeting images of waking up beside her in golden morning light, or sitting on a porch together, watching their child try to catch a butterfly.

   It vanishes the moment she pulls away, and he returns to the grim present, where there are questions to ask and answers to give, and no happily-ever-after in sight.

   “What happened?” he asks, and he can see that she knows what he means.

   “William could tell that the Chinese were getting close, so he deactivated all the communications equipment. But they still found us a few days later.”

   That’s what he was afraid of. He leads her to a chair while they talk, so that she won’t overexert herself. He doesn’t know how much her condition has improved, but he knows her body extremely well. So, he can tell from how carefully she moves that she’s still in pain and probably not as well as she’s making it seem.

   “Did they get in?” he asks, as she takes a seat, grimacing when her scars are provoked by the tension in her abdominal muscles.

   “Yeah. They had some kind of code reader device. It only took them a couple of minutes, but they’d managed to sneak up to the house without alerting anyone to their presence. So, when they breached, Will and Gillian came running into the bedroom and slammed the door shut just in time to avoid capture.    And then…” she tries to continue, but the words won’t come out.

   “Then they hit the button,” he finishes for her, because the look on her face as she recalls that moment, is all he needs to work out the rest.

   She closes her eyes and nods, but she isn’t done talking. She appears to have been waiting for someone to say this to, so that she might be able to free herself from it.    He’s momentarily distracted by the thought that it would seem like she hasn’t spoken to either of her companions about it, which would suggest that she doesn’t trust them, despite what they’ve all been through together. Which, oddly enough, makes him proud.

   “The way they screamed… I’ve heard people who are dying before, but that was… I can’t get the sound out of my head,” she says, grimacing at the memory.

   “It’s a truly horrible way to die, which also makes it a deterrent for anyone else trying to get to us. But I’m sorry you had to experience that.”

   “I just… I really need some good news, Pero.”

   She opens her eyes again and looks up at him, a small spark of hope glistening within her eyes when they meet his, and he can’t bear to break it.

   “I’ve made some progress,” he starts, trying to phrase things as positively as he can, but he won’t lie to her. Her trust is far too important to him. “The men who came after you at the hospital are working for me now, and so are a lot of other people in strategic places.    But through them, I’ve learned that a general within the government has a good idea of where to look for us, so we’re gonna have to move.”

   “When?” she asks without hesitating.

   “As soon as I find us a safe place to go.”

   She doesn’t look terribly defeated by that, but she does look very sad.

   “Is there a safe place for us anymore?”

   It’s a valid question, and he understands why she asks it. But he hates it. Hates that she even thinks along those lines.

   “If I have to destroy the entire American government to make you safe, I will do it,” he promises, and then idly pinches a strand of her hair between his fingers, and it isn’t until it dawns on him that he’s trying to commit the feel of it to memory, that he stops himself.

   Does he really not have better faith in their chances than that?

   He tries to step back, to return to the stove and get started on breakfast. But again, she stops him. This time, by taking his hand and pulling him back.

   “You’re allowed to be scared. And you’re not weak for showing me that you are,” she whispers, and he tries to meet her gaze, but the care he sees there is too much.

   His head falls forwards against his chest as he fights against the same sorrow that keeps trying to claw through him every chance it gets.

   “I can’t…” he replies, but his voice breaks before he can finish, so he swallows and tries again. “I can’t go there… because if I do, I’ll fall apart, and I’ll be no good to you.”

   He’s not sure why the words make him feel ashamed, but they do. Enough that he can’t stand it, pinching his eyes shut and pulling his hand from hers.    But before he can turn away, she’s there. Right in front of him. He can feel her presence before the waft of air caused by her movements have even reached him. And he can feel the soft sweetness of her lips against his before he’s even had a chance to open his eyes.

   Unable to resist her intoxicating invitation, he caves. Pulling her closer, he begs for more, even though he knows that she can’t give it right now. He just needs to feel her. To know that she still wants him, that he’s still good enough.    She lets him. Guiding his hands to where his touch won’t hurt her, she settles into him, letting him lick into her mouth and press his groin into hers.

   He’s not hard and he isn’t going to be. Not when she’s this fragile. It’s just a gesture of comfort and familiarity and she knows that, which is why she doesn’t stop him. That’s the payoff from the trust they share. The knowledge that one’s pain will never give the other pleasure and that neither of them will ever have to fear that from one another.    Instead, this moment becomes one of those that further solidifies the true strength of their relationship, when he pulls back to find a small, contented smile on her lips.

   “You’ve always been good to me, Torkie,” she reminds him, sneaking a smile from him with that nickname.

   It’s a play on Tovar and forklifter. The other warehouse workers licensed to drive the trucks and forklifts are known as forkies, but Niki had decided that he should have his own. Primarily because he’d had a fondness for annoying her in the beginning, and the name had been her way of getting back at him.    He’ll never forget the first time she used it, calling him out over the inhouse com-system for having played her a small prank involving a plastic spider in her toolbox.

   It was just a few weeks after they’d first met, and he’d been trying to get her attention because he’d already decided that he liked her.    But she’d been thoroughly unamused and had made sure to get him back, by blasting obnoxious 80’s pop music, which she’d already learned that he hates, over the radio, knowing that he wasn’t allowed to turn his comms off no matter how irritating it was.

   “Here’s a few songs for the forkie, let’s call him Torkie, who thinks he’s the funniest guy on the floor. Let me know when you’ve had enough.”

   He’d laughed for the first time in years as he’d heard the music start playing, instantly knowing that it was directed at him and that he would forever more be Torkie. But he was fine with it. And he still is, five years later.

   “Okay, we really should eat something now,” he says to break the seriousness of the moment, and she nods and pulls back.

   She knows that he isn’t brushing her off. That the reason he changes the topic is in fact because her words are actually threatening to bring him closer to that breaking point, which neither of them can afford right now. That’s why she isn’t disappointed in his response.    Instead, she joins him in the cooking, offering to chop onions and tomatoes for an omelet, and so they set to work.

   The smell eventually draws Will and Gill back to the kitchen, and while they all sit down to eat together, Pero fills them all in on what he’s been doing for the past three weeks.

   “Wait, are you seriously telling us that you’ve singlehandedly managed to infiltrate the highest levels of the United States government, in just three weeks?!” Gillian exclaims in minor shock, once he’s covered the broad strokes. Then after a stunned moment of silence, she adds: “Please tell me it’s not that easy…”

   “It’s not that easy,” he confirms, easing her nerves a bit. “I just have a talent for knowing how to get people to do what I need them to.    But the point is that we’re not gonna be safe here for much longer, so we need to come up with a plan. I made the choice for all of us last time, but I’m not gonna do that now. You all deserve a say in what you wanna do.”

   “Well, technically I came here by my own volition,” Will counters, and then continues. “And it’s my intention to see this through, so I’ll help you look for potential safe zones.”

   That surprises Pero.

   “I thought you only came here to keep your house and business safe. You’ve already had one close call, why would you put yourself at risk for more when there’s nothing for you to gain?” he asks, and suddenly the veteran looks terribly sad.

   “Well… for you, actually.”

   No answer could’ve been less expected from the reclusive computer expert. Pero just sits there, staring at him, unable to think of a single thing to say, because why would this man that has every reason in the world to hate him, want to do anything for him?    Tovar all but threatened him to get him to take on Niki’s case, and now he’s suddenly saying that he’s here to aid the very man that only ever uses him for his skills and completely disregards him beyond that. It makes no sense at all.

   “I’m sure it’s shocking for you to hear this, but I really do want to help you,” Garin persists, keeping his gaze fixed on the other man, and he still looks so sad.

   “It’s a bit more than shocking, Will… considering what I had to do to convince you back in the beginning,” Pero reminds him, but it has no effect.

   “Yeah, cause I was still only thinking of myself then. But by working with you, I’ve learned what it is to put other people first and I need to keep doing that.    Because that’s the only salvation I’ll ever have.”

   And just like that, Tovar understands.    All those years, he tried to shift people’s perspectives, tried to get them to see how harmful their actions, but most especially their attitudes, were, without ever seeing any real proof that it made one lick of difference.    But apparently, William is that proof.

   “Thank you,” he says to the vet, who nods in return.

   “Um, as… adventurous as this has been, I’m not sure that I can tag along anymore,” Gillian picks up the thread. “Ever since the gas… the bodies… I just can’t.”

   “I understand. We’ll do what we can to keep anyone from associating you with us,” Pero assures her, but he also needs to remind her of the risk she’s taking. “You do realize that people will be able to connect you to us because of the hospital, right? And that there is a significant risk that no matter what we do, someone might try to use you to find us?”

   “That’s why I’m gonna go upstairs and put some headphones on while the rest of you discuss where to go next, because at least if I don’t know, I can’t tell anyone anything, no matter what they do to me.”

   Her determination is admirable. Not many people would choose a clear risk of torture and death just to protect people they have no actual relationship to.    She gets up and leaves immediately after saying that, and out of respect, none of them start talking until they’re certain that she’s out of earshot.

   “So, what are you thinking, Pero?” Niki asks, not bothering to give her consent for whatever they’re doing next, because it’s not like she has much choice.

   “I’m thinking that if we can’t hide in the wilderness, then the thick of it is probably our best option. New York, preferably.”

   “I can work with that,” William agrees. “There’s more than enough digital mayhem there for me to hide any signals we might put out.”

   “What about your personal signals?” Tovar asks, earning a blank expression in return, so he elaborates. “What’s the risk of you running into old acquaintances? And are you sure that you can cope with the emotional strain of going back there?”

   At first, Will looks defiant, maybe even a bit indignant to be asked those questions. But he knows that they’re valid. That the guilt he still carries concerning Christine isn’t some minor issue to be disregarded, and that Pero is actually being kind by bringing it up right away, giving him a safe space to air out those questions.

   “Honestly… I don’t know. Given how much I’ve changed since those days, I’m not sure that anyone even could recognize me, but there’s always a chance.    And as for Chrissy… I doubt that the city holds any more power over my heart than the memories do. I don’t think my guilt is any greater there than here.”

   “Okay. Then I’ll get started on finding us a good spot. I’ve got a lot of former marks in the big apple, so it shouldn’t take long,” Pero declares.

   “If you can, try and get us into a modern skyscraper, preferably somewhere in the middle of the building,” William says while getting out of his seat.

   “Why? Wouldn’t an older building have less cyber security?”

   “Yes, which is precisely what we don’t want, because both the hardware and software that I work with would stick out like a red flag among all the degraded stuff. We need to blend into something of similar potency,” he explains while making his way towards the stairs.

   “Right. I’ll look into it,” Tovar assures him, then adds: “But I guess we’ll need to get this place up and running first.”

   “How long do you think we’ll have once this little gem pops up on the grid again?”

   “Not long. A day, tops.”

   “Shit. Fucking government… Alright, let’s not waste a second then, anything that needs to be packed, have it ready within two hours,” Will suggests, to which Niki nods and starts moving towards the bedroom.

   “Hey,” Pero stops her, and she turns to look at him. “Tell me how you’re really doing, because there’s a risk that we might have to trek out of here to where I stashed a car on the way in, and that trek took me seventy-two minutes with no bags to carry.”

   She looks worried, hearing that, and a deep sigh falls over her lips as she considers her answer.

   “If I have to, I can walk that distance. But it won’t be quick, especially if there’s no trail to follow. And if I fall, even just a small bump on the wrong spot could be fatal.”

   “Okay, then pack light. Nothing that isn’t absolutely essential, and try and fit it into just one bag, so that I can carry you if it comes to that.”

   She doesn’t look happy with that thought, but she doesn’t object. No matter how independent and strong she usually is, in these circumstances, she won’t survive without their help, and she doesn’t have the luxury of feeling like a burden to them. That’s just how things are for the time being.    Pero and William have both chosen to be here, despite any burdens it might place upon their shoulders, so the responsibility ultimately lies with themselves, not her.

   While the men work upstairs, one on the phone and the other on the laptop, mapping the safest route and finding the right place to hide, the women work downstairs, discussing how many weapons they might reasonably carry, against how much medical supplies they should consider absolutely necessary.    Clothes and soaps aren’t even brought up in conversation.

   They’re ready to leave in the late afternoon, just as the sun has begun to set. Whether or not they can use Will’s car is dependent upon how close their enemy has gotten, if there’s a chance that they might hear the engine or see the headlights at any point of their journey.    And to find that out, they need to put themselves at great risk, which is why they wait until they’re all dressed and standing outside the car.

   “Alright, everyone ready?” Garin asks, standing at the front of the SUV with the laptop resting on the hood.

   “Ready,” Niki announces, and William hits Enter.

   Once he does, a signal that will be painfully visible to the experts that are spending thousands of dollars a day searching for them, is sent from the device, essentially creating a beacon. And when they lock onto it, Will can backtrack their signal as they relay the location data to the team that’s searching the woods, giving him a real-time location on them in that moment.

   It takes the experts less than two seconds to acquire the signal and forward it to the teams.

   “Fuck…” Garin mutters. “We’ve got six units out there, the car’s outta the question. I’m not sure we can get past these guys even on foot,” he worries, tapping a few times on the computer to prompt it to destroy its own servers before he douses it with battery acid, which will make quick work of the plastics and then slowly make its way through the metals.

   “Yes, we can,” Pero counters. “Just follow me and pay attention to any signal I give you. I know these woods better than anyone.”

   He’s given them a quick tutorial on the signals he might use to communicate danger and what they need to do in those scenarios, so if they all keep calm, there is a chance that they might make it.    Obviously, his biggest concern is Niki and how well she’ll be able to move out there, but since they have no other options, they’ll just have to make it work.

   “Remember, don’t be afraid of the dark, your eyes will adjust if you just keep from looking at anything bright. You won’t see far, but you’ll be able to make out what’s in front of your feet. Trust yourselves. And no matter what, don’t make a verbal sound.”

   They all nod, looking more terrified than anything else, which is entirely understandable for three people who have spent almost no time at all in the woods. Will might be military trained, but that knowledge has been tainted and repressed along with the painful memories, so it won’t do him much good here. Especially since his training was focused on mountain and desert survival, not thick forests.

   With Pero in the lead, they set off into the darkening world, once again prey on the run from the predators. The hyenas and wolves, closing in around them.    It’s gonna take a minor miracle to slip past them all undetected, but in these past few weeks, Tovar has come to understand that miracles aren’t quite as rare as he’s always believed.

   Perhaps that’s what now gives him such confidence. He’s never been a hopeful or particularly positive person, but as he helps Niki down the first treacherous steps on the side of the cliff-face, it isn’t fear that motivates him or sets his mind to the task with such ease.    It’s faith. Not that some higher power will save them, but that they can and will do that themselves.

   In these most dire of circumstances, Pero has somehow discovered the true depth of the human heart, and the power it possesses.

-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-

Part 8

Thank you for reading, and if you want to keep up to date with this story, follow @sirowsky-stories and turn on notifications. Or if you don't wanna do that for some reason, just ask nicely, and I will still tag you, just for this series :)

@pedrostories

[myhauntedsalem]

6 Dark Places Aleister Crowley Performed His Particular Brand of Magick

Born in the late 1870s, England, Aleister Crowley was one of the great characters of the 20th century—a poet, a magician, a journalist, an alchemist, a philosopher, a spy, a self-affirmed drug fiend, and a sex addict. He was also known as “The Great Beast” and the “wickedest man in the world.” He played a major role in the creation of alternate religions like Wicca, the A∴A∴, and the Ordo Templi Orientis, and he founded the Order of Thelema, a semi-Satanic cult whose famous edict was “do what thou wilt.”

Crowley is to the occult as Tolkien is to fantasy—he set the stage that everyone else plays in. Basically, if you’re dabbling in things dark and dastardly, Aleister was probably there first.

In all of his doings, Crowley traveled a lot. He pursued exploits in Egypt, India, the Far East, Australia, all over Europe and North America, dotting the map with sex magick and weird stunts. Here are a six places in the Atlas where the infamous occultist left his mark.

1. 36 Blythe Road

LONDON, ENGLAND

Though he was interested in the occult from childhood, Crowley’s first foray into organized magic (or “magick,” as he preferred to spell it) was with the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn. Well liked by its co-founder, Samuel Liddell MacGregor Mathers, Crowley advanced in the ranks very quickly. However, not everyone was a fan. The London chapter, which had already found faults in Mathers’ leadership, particularly disavowed him for the eccentric, bisexual Crowley. This caused a decisive rift between two factions of the Order, but Mathers wasn’t ready to concede his leadership.

In 1900, while the poet and London chapter leader W. B. Yeats was heading a meeting, he was attacked by an “astral siege” from none other than Aleister Crowley. Crowley, wearing a black Osiris mask and a kilt, and his mistress burst into the temple, casting spells and brandishing daggers. They intended to take the temple for Mathers’, but were unsuccessful. The police came, the scuffle went to court, and the London chapter of the Golden Dawn won (as they paid the rent on the space). Now the nondescript George’s Cafe resides in the former site of the secret society’s temple, with no indication of its former life.

2. Boleskine House

INVERNESS, SCOTLAND

Boleskine House was steeped in darkness long before Crowley moved in. The manor is allegedly built atop the ruins of a 10th century church that burnt to the ground during a service, killing all the congregants inside. Crowley bought Boleskine House to seclude himself and perform magic from The Book of Sacred Magic of Abramelin the Mage. It was during this period that Crowley became famous for his occultism and black magic, both around the Scotland and later, the world. Sometime during this period Mathers called Crowley to Paris. He left without dispelling the “12 Kings and Dukes of Hell” he had summoned, and many locals blame the house’s unlucky history on evil spirits left behind.

First, Crowley’s housekeeper’s two children died mysteriously and abruptly. Crowley also bragged that one employee of the estate who had long abstained from alcohol got drunk and attempted to murder his entire family. After the house had changed hands, it still wasn’t free of dark energy. In 1965, the army major who owned the house committed suicide by shotgun. The next owner, Led Zeppelin’s Jimmy Page, spent very little time at the estate, instead bequeathing it to a friend who didn’t mind the unexplained creaks, groans, and various ghostly apparitions, but was bothered by the Crowley and Page fans who frequently attempted to break into the house and defile the grounds. Later owners dismissed any notions of hauntings or witchcraft at the house, but in 2015, the residents returned from a shopping trip to find the house completely in flames.

3. Crowley’s Magickal Retirement

HEBRON, NEW HAMPSHIRE

In 1916, Crowley spent four months at the home of renowned medium Evangeline Adams in what he called a “magickal retirement.” This didn’t mean taking a break from cocaine, heroin, sex magick, and prolonged rituals. Quite the opposite in fact. In Hebron, Crowley doubled down and did a great deal of writing, poetry and magical instruction alike. He was even a ghost writer on several of Adams’ books of astrology.

4. Esopus Island

HYDE PARK, NEW YORK

In another magickal retreat, Crowley spent 40 days and 40 nights (a la Jesus Christ) on a tiny island in the Hudson River. His mission was translating the Tao Te Ching, a 4th century Chinese philosophical text. He hadn’t brought much food but had packed plenty of red paint, and also put himself to work painting Thelemic graffiti on the island’s rocks. Curious families watching the bald, robed man on the island from the banks of the Hudson began bringing him rations. He was also visited by fans and artists, who brought him food, drugs, and company.

Much later Crowley reported experiencing visions of his past lives during his stay on Esopus Island, all of which were somehow very influential figures. His former selves included legendary Taoist Ge Xuan, Renaissance Pope Alexander VI, alchemist Alessandro Cagliostro, and the magician Eliphas Levi. Today, the island is open to the public so long as they can reach it by boat. There are even camping amenities for those who wish to follow in the footsteps of the infamous occultist.

5. Boca do Inferno

CASCAIS, PORTUGAL

Any eccentric worth his salt has to fake his own death at least once. When visiting Portugal in 1930 and feeling annoyed by his current mistress, Crowley gave appearance he had committed suicide at the Boca de Inferno (“Mouth of Hell”) caves. His friend, poet Fernando Pessoa handed Crowley’s suicide note to newspapers, helpfully explaining the magical symbols and translating the mangled Portuguese to police and media alike. Three weeks later, Crowley reappeared at the opening of an exhibition of his works in a Berlin gallery, suggesting this whole affair was more publicity stunt than anything else. Today, there is a small white plaque mounted on the rock provides the text of Crowley’s note: “Não Posso Viver Sem Ti. A outra ‘Boca De Infierno’ apanhar-me-á não será tão quente como a tua,” which translates roughly to “Can’t live without you. The other mouth of hell that will catch me won’t be as hot as yours.” That might be touching if any of it were genuine.

6. The Abbey of Thelema

CEFALÙ, ITALY

Crowley’s magickal career came to its peak in a little Sicilian town. For a small amount of money, he, his two lovers, their small children, and miscellaneous followers moved into one story house facing the Mediterranean sea. They called it the Abbey of Thelema. The common room was dedicated to ritual practices and held a scarlet “magick” circle marked with the sign of the major Thelemic deities. Crowley’s own bedroom, labeled by himself as “la chambre des cauchemars” (or “the room of nightmares”) was entirely hand-painted by the occultist with explicitly erotic frescos, hermaphroditic goblins, and vividly colored monsters. This private room was used for specific night initiations involving psychoactive drugs which gave terrifying cinematic life to this Bosch-like vision of hellish debauchery.

Crowley considered his temple a school of magick, and gave it an appropriately collegiate motto: “Collegium ad Spiritum Sanctum”—”A College towards the Holy Spirit.” The Cefalù period was one of the most prolific and happy of his life, even as he suffered from drug addiction and had to write the scandalous Diary of a Drug Fiend to finance his community. The growing interest in dark magic and the occult provided him with an ample student body (pun intended). But in 1922, the experience in monasticism ended when Raoul Loveday, a young disciple, tragically died from typhoid fever contracted from drinking contaminated spring water, though Loveday’s wife maintained it was from drinking cat’s blood.

Crowley and his people were evicted by Mussolini’s regime in 1923. The dictator had no sympathy for pornographic art or mysticism. Once the Abbey closed, the villagers whitewashed the murals, which they somewhat correctly saw as demonic. This erased much of the history and work of Crowley in Cefalù. The Abbey of Thelema is still there, a hidden monument of mysterious, magickal decay.

[drleevezan]

My very brief thoughts on each story in "The Book of the Snowstorm"

My very brief thoughts on each story in "The Book of the Snowstorm" (other than the ones which I wrote, of course):

Framing Sequence by Aristide Twain

This is a brilliant way to present the various stories within the overarching narrative, and is fantastically successful at being a compelling story in its own right and at tying the whole book together into a proper Coloth novel. The characters, both pre-existing and new, are all very enjoyable, and the dynamics between those stuck in the Library and between Coloth, Rich, and the Scotland division of the M.F.S. are extremely fun. The Deadline and Roarke are fantastic creations, as well.

"Magic Bird of Fire" by Micah K. Spurling

A very lovely story which does a fantastic job making its characters feel like thoroughly real people. The direct prose style is a perfect match for the personality of the lead character (which comes across very succesfully) and the nature of the events depicted, and there are some very evocative descriptive passages throughout. The emotional beats are well-handled and very effective.

"The Dinosaur in the Snow" by Thien Valdram

The relationship between Rosanna and Tirion is very enjoyable, and the story presents a lot of fascinating and well-constructed worldbuilding. The use of Los in a Third Universe context is fun to see, and the story handles it very well.

"Neither Warrior or Thinker" by Katherine MacEachern

A very sweet vignette which does a great job expanding on the close relationship between Coloth, Maritsa, and Callum and delving into some well-thought-out, backstory-influenced character exploration for each of the trio.

"Jenny Over-There's Wonderful Life" by Callum Phillpott

As is the nature of the 925-Universe stories, this is incredibly funny, deriving a lot of very clever comedy from reinterpreting various elements of pop-culture through the unique satirical humor-style of the series - in this particular case, the trappings of It's a Wonderful Life. The characters are, as ever, very compelling beyond their initial jokes - Gabe is a very fun presence throughout.

"The Claus-Rosen Bridge" by Ostara Gale and Elodie Christian

A delightfully fun romp through various aspects of the winter holidays. In addition to being great fun, it's brimming with ideas, and introduces a variety of new characters and concepts which make for great additions to the ever-expanding worlds of the Third Universe and the Library setting in particular. And it makes great use of Auteur as a presence lurking in the margins and altering things.

"Still Proceeding" by Charles E.P. Murphy

An enjoyable outing for the SIGNET team, with an appropriately-holiday-themed incident for them to investigate and a clever sci-fi recreation of the nativity story at its center. Perkins' joy at seeing real aliens manages to be both funny and touching, as does much of the rest of the story.

"Abstract Tales" by me

Not going to review this, obviously, but perhaps I could give some thoughts from a having-written-it perspective:

The framing sequence: I didn't originally intend to write a mini-anthology inside of an anthology, but I couldn't pick between the various ideas I'd had, and eventually decided to write all of them. My plan was to use every Abstract thus far established, and I believe I succeeded in doing so: The Illumination and the Misfortune (and Chaos) from Benj Christensen's The Chronicles of Jenny Everywhere, the Luminance from Benj Christensen's The Jenny Everywhere Roleplaying Game, the Life from my The Disappearance of Jenny Everywhere (mentioned there, but making her first appearance here), the Knowledge from Jeanne Morningstar's The Hermetic Garbage of Jenny Everywhere, the Terror from Aristide Twain's Jenny Everywhere in the House of Terror, the Remembrance (created by Aristide) and the Oblivion from my Remember, and the Luxuriance, who was created by Aristide but had never appeared in anything until now.

The first story: I thought it would be fun if there was a side-story to the Copper-Colored Cupids 2023 Christmas serial in Snowstorm, showing the effect of Tarsa's disappearance on a different section of her creations - but due to various delays, the 2023 Christmas serial doesn't actually exist yet, so I suppose it will only become a side-story retroactively. I am amused by the fact that, unless I'm forgetting something, the first pre-established Copper-Colored Cupids characters to appear in print, in the flesh rather than as mentions, are now the three wacky wild-west-outlaw toys who made a brief appearance in one of my earliest stories and were never seen again until now.

The second story: I wanted to give the Caradans a proper debut and establish some worldbuilding about their planet, since their previous appearances have mostly been brief mentions. My intent was to tie together the various elements seen in those previous appearances, as well as some details which will be mentioned in [REDACTED FUTURE STORY] by [REDACTED]. The Caradans were notably previously seen fighting the Cyberons, which I naturally can't use anymore, so it was fun to slot the Mecharons - my cookie-themed gag-cyborgs from "The Crew of the Copper-Colored Cupids" - into their narrative role in one of the "nightmares", since the name originated as my briefly-serious proposal for a Cyberon replacement until I realised that it sounded like 'macaron'.

The third story: A tribute to Joe Macaré and Nelson Evergreen's Jenny Everywhere comics. The present-tense style was my attempt to translate the energetic pace of the comics into prose. The Mecharons are in this one, too, because cyborg conquerors suited the format and I figured I may as well use the same ones and have a connection between two of the stories.

"The Ties that Bind" by Lena Mactíre

A well-constructed portrayal of a less-than-pleasant holiday gathering, and the elements that serve to improve it. The various characters depicted ring very true to life, and the protagonists are very likeable.

"A Buggy Little Holiday" by James Wylder

I hadn't read any Starlight Ranger stories prior to this, but this has definitely interested me. Cleo Mentia is an extremely fun protagonist, and the structure of the series seems like a compelling and successfully-constructed vehicle for episodic stories. The story is very funny, and James Wylder's distinctive writing style is as enjoyable as ever.

"The Two Auteurs" by Aristide Twain

Absolutely brilliant prose, which is to be expected from Aristide, and a wonderful exploration of Auteur's character enabled by the meeting between his past and current selves, and expressed through the symbolic world of the mind-battle. And full of very well-constructed and -presented worldbuilding, as well.

"Trauma and Tinsel" by James Hornby

A sweet story returning to the ever-enjoyable setting of Dionus's clinic on Gulliver's Rest, with great character-work and a touching ending that's very fitting for a holiday special.

"Love and War" by Aristide Twain

(Potential bias disclaimer: I wrote the extract from Sideridis's diary, but that doesn't really factor into my review of the rest of the story) This has a delightful, intensely metafictional, academic style, filled with reams of brilliant worldbuilding. It does a wonderful job exploring the fundamental, unchanging mindsets of the Sun Builders through a variety of perspectives, and continuing to expand the Morning Star into an ever-more-fascinatingly-detailed setting. The central plotline is extremely compelling, and Dionus and Susit's story ends up being very touching.

"The Goblin, the Witch, and the Kitchen Sink" by Ismaeel Clarke

A delightful and very funny story with an extremely fun style which draws brilliantly from early-20th-century children's fantasy literature, featuring a variety of whimsical and very enjoyable characters, an energetic central plot, and a very sweet ending.

"The Revelry of the Redacted" by Ryan Fogarty

An effective story of hope during war, featuring some wonderfully inventive worldbuilding and a compelling cast of characters. The Yule Bearers are great here, and the Christmas carols with altered lyrics are a fun touch.

"The God Who Came for Christmas" by Aristide Twain

A lovely little tale which provides a very effective epilogue to the FASA roleplaying story to which it is a sequel, as well as a wonderful exploration of its two central characters, whose distinct voices and dynamic make for a great two-handed story.

"Presents" by Erika de Atayde

This is an extremely inventive story, playing on elements of the history of comic book superheroes and the tropes found in their stories to tell a very effective and touching tale with an intriguing setting.

"The Cathedral of Winter" by Ostara Gale

An adventure story taking place in a very fun setting (I love the snow-themed variant of the Morning Star) and introducing a variety of very compelling new characters and ideas. Abraytha and Xiantio are very likeable protagonists, and the Katioka is a fun central element.

"Just Dropping In" by Scott Sanford

A very fun tale - Scott Sanford demonstrates his usual skill at writing in-medias-res vignettes, deftly weaving in a variety of elements of an in-progress Jenny adventure. Jenny's first-person perspective is well-handled, and as usual the Parallax-Jenny is delightful.

"Conspiracy-1263 and the Christmas Conspiracy" by Peter Guy

(Potential bias disclaimer: for obvious reasons I am probably biased towards Cupids stories in general) A fantastic use of the Cupids and their world, with a lot of great character details, unique ideas, and very funny moments, and a wonderful grasp of the varied characters' personalities and how they might respond to the central crisis. The story explores a variety of different perspectives, all of which are extremely well-handled, and the central crisis in itself is a great idea for an inciting incident with a lot of well-realised potential.

"Our Bleak Midwinter" by Theta Mandel

An extremely compelling and very touching story with very well-handled and well-thought-out central themes and a wonderful talent for character- and world-building. Abby and her family are very believably-depicted, and the backstory related by Abby's grandmother and the influence of its ideas on her struggle against the harmful megacorporation is a particularly effective element.

"The Gift of the Renegades" by James Wylder

A very enjoyable semi-sequel to 'And Today, You', bringing back some of the fun character dynamics and humor of that novel and making for a delightful holiday special. Jhe Sang Mi remains an extremely likeable central character, and Lady Aesc and Blanche are as fun as ever.

"The First Noel" by Nate Bumber

A fantastic story which makes great use of the Borgesian-infinite-library-as-a-recurring-sci-fantasy-setting concept which is the basis of the Library - further exploring the idea of a culture built on finding valid books from among the Library's unending collection. The concepts of ancestrally-inherited journeys to distant shelves, veins of validity, and using the books themselves to find other areas to search are all brilliant.

"Our Finest Gifts We Bring" by various

It's always great fun to see Aristide's brilliant take on the Consistency Imperium, and this is a very good introductory segment for establishing the central idea of the collaborative story.

This has a very enjoyably poetic style, and Urizen being gifted an hourglass and beginning to ponder the idea of time is a great concept.

Interesting worldbuilding about Dionus and Gulliver's Rest, conveyed through well-crafted dialogue.

Abraytha and the Katioka continue to be very compelling central concepts, and the central gift idea is a fun one.

Very fun dialogue between the central characters, and their initial befuddlement and then fondness for the toy pony is quite good.

It's great to see the Medic in a solo role - her central concept lends itself very well to carrying stories on its own, and this is a very fun use of that concept and another great idea for a gift.

A very funny one, featuring a gift that the central characters can't actually use, which is another fun variation on the concept.

Another great use of the Library, and some interesting worldbuilding about Gabriel.

(I wrote this one, so fun fact instead of review:) Several months ago I showed Aristide a little green-clothed figurine holding a mushroom which I'd found at a thrift shop, and he jokingly suggested that it might be competition for the Toadstool Salesman, which is what the "little green gnome hawking mushrooms" seen arguing with the Salesman in this one is obscurely referencing.

A very lovely epilogue to "The God Who Came For Christmas", continuing the extremely effective characterisation and dynamic seen in the earlier story.

A touching wintertime scene - it's very nice to see the ever-likeable PROBE team again, and to know that they're still able to make appearances even though their home series has been snatched away by the Big Bad Villains.

(I wrote this one, so fun fact:) The descriptions of the Blue Feather's various failed attempts at investigating the parcel are written to mimic the style of the descriptions of Pessimist's attempts to participate in winter activities in my 2019 holiday vignette, "Ally Builds a Snowman".

A lovely Christmas vignette, with very good character interactions between Cwej and Vicky, and well-crafted dialogue.

A pitch-perfect impression of the style of the Winnie-the-Pooh books, and a very lovely story told in that style.

A very effective and touching scene of Horatio Topper finally reuniting, at least to some extent, with his Lady in White.

A fun scene of Lotto at home, giving an enticing look into further adventures of Lotto and Mae beyond "The Claus-Rosen Bridge"

The appearance of a younger Sang Mi and Sang Eun is very fun, and the bickering between the disguised Aesc and Blanche is quite funny

This has a very fun, whimsically-chaotic style, and has succesfully caused me to want to read about further adventures in this world, despite the characters' concerns.

A wonderful use of Sun Builder lore, as is to be expected from Aristide, and a very enjoyable dynamic between Monk and the Corsair Queen.

A very cleverly humorous vignette with a fun idea for a central gift (or not a gift, perhaps).

A touching vignette starring an intriguing central character with a fun concept.

Martin and Maurice are as endearing as ever, and Lucy is certainly fun.

A delightfully silly story, and very succesfully so.

(I wrote this one, so fun fact:) Here are the various parts of the Multiverse which I was intending to reference, though it's not set in stone, and one could theoretically interpret some of the references as referring to other things: A woman in a scarf and goggles (Jenny Everywhere), copper robots (The Crew of the Copper-Colored Cupids), a firmament (10,000 Dawns), a timeship (the Evil Renegade), superheroes (The Cosmic Beholder), spaceships (Starcatcher), songs of war (WARSONG), skeletons (Auteur), nightclubs (Name's Not Down), men in grey (The 925 Universe), abstract families (The Abstracts), adventurous ducks (certain residents of the Prime Universe), ancient mammoths (the Original Mammoths), animated bunnies (Bunny Everyhare), paradox cults (Faction Paradox), emerald cities (Oz), haunted mansions (a place to which foolish mortals are welcomed), strange and wonderful houses (Our Strange and Wonderful House), talking cactuses (Coloth), teenage scientists (Scott Sanford's Jenny stories), blond-haired clones (Cwej)

A beautiful ending-scene which finishes the story on some very touching sentiments.

[monvenusblg]

Eight of Wands & Motorsport Racers

You don’t need a license to heed the siren call of the open road.

💋Motorsports or Biker fashion aesthetic and the individuals who wear them embody the energy of the 8 of wands best. Mandolin-collared racer jackets, belted boots, and chunky zippers all preferably in leather equipped these warriors for an urban apocalypse. The highly durable, high-speed clothing symbolizes protection against the dying city streets of a post-apocalyptic world. In comparison with ancient suit of armors, however, current styles are far more playful and sexier. The aesthetic’s created fantasy of crime and speed attracts people to them in recent years. Muses of the 8 of wands tempt us to strike while the iron is hot. To live a life of adrenaline. Their style represents what living in the fast lane and/or wide expanse looks like.

☄️The final stages of the fire suit in tarot (wands) had left the drive to conquer in Aries and the celebration and trials of leadership in Leo. When we arrived in Sagittarius, the heroine became legendary for her previous deeds. At the end lies a burden to sustain one’s legacy. Hence, in the 10 of Wands imagery, a man is weighed down by his many accomplishments. The 8 of wands is exactly where the action is. A mutable fire or a wildfire is on the move. Here in a Jupiter-ruled fire sign, ambition changes gears to higher realms. Ruthlessness and conflicts seemed to be left far behind in Aries and Leo. So why is there something immoral about Sagittarius first decan? Why the association with crime?

☄️Boldness, Malice, Liberty headline the decan’s Agrippa image. We encountered a warrior braving the open road. Perhaps for an adventure or…in most cases, to get away with something. Mercury who co-rules with Jupiter gives this decan its shadow qualities since he is the god Hermes who travels between the underworld and the surface world. Constantly lurking between worlds often pushes them to the fringes of society. It is one of the many hermetic explanations for Sagittarius' bohemian or free-spirit stereotypes. They are sometimes deemed dangerous for being part of the counter-culture. Often they are tasked to carry the collectives' shadow representing the antithesis of whatever was the norm at that time. Another significant Hermetic symbolism is the fixed stars of Lupus the wolf which can be seen in three degree groups of this decan. In ancient times wolves were powerful shamanic creatures representing higher learning (9th house) and the human drive to investigate the existence or nature of God. A very Sagittarian theme. Unfortunately, by medieval times wolves became negatively associated with heresy. Women especially are vulnerable to allegations of dark witchcraft practices. Believed to seduce “wretched” people and entrapping them.

💋Etymologically, Lupa in Latin (lit. she-wolf) translates to a prostitute who seduces through her rapaciousness. Interestingly, a key feature of the biker aesthetic during its peak fame (2022/2023) is a luscious deep red dubbed ‘cherry cola’. It was in every subsection of beauty (hair, nails, makeup). The star muse of this shade is a leather jacket-wearing and over-lined lipped Kylie Jenner, emphasizing yet again the sex appeal of biker/racer-inspired clothing. Although the clingy materials of biker aesthetics are mainly worn to shield them from the rough asphalt, they naturally complement the body’s natural curves. I think this resonates with the 8 of Wands persona. Natives of this card play the forbidden fruit, the dark bittersweet cherry who is likely to scare you as much as she entices. Mercury’s wit and Jupiter’s jovialness bestow a charming and humorous attitude to individuals of first Sagittarius. The humor is not without irony, however, a little black and morbid. Still, this gives them a uniquely intoxicating charm, capable of making illicit subjects and dangerous antics at best, cathartic and simultaneously fun.

☄️Sagittarius Decans are represented by the Centaur creature (half-man, half-beast). They reveal the unification of our animalistic nature with our human (strategic, meaning-making, rational) mind. our pursuit of higher learning and philosophy can’t be separated from the physical prowess of our lower, instinctual nature. Instead, in Sagittarius, we learned that it is on our basest nature to enquire about the physical world around us. Hence, there’s an understanding among racers and bikers to merge with their vehicle. Akin to ancient Amazonians and warriors who built genuine deep relationships with their horses. Together they become formidable warriors. Moreso in this decan than the ones after do we see the full result of this unification. Austin Koppock named Decan one of Sagittarius: “poisoned arrows”, which I think testify to the swift precision of its natives in obtaining their goals. Whether it is a race to the finish line, a beloved to seduce, or dreams to chase, it'll surely be attained fast and decisively.

💋To feel the 8 of Wands in its entirety I suggest watching the Fast and Furious movies. They feature styling and female characters who embody the card/decan's bold, fiery, and intense energy with a hint of malice. The garments and styling worn in the "Fast and Furious" saga testify to its global settings (Puerto Rico, Tokyo, London, Los Angeles, and more). Since Jupiter does not understand boundaries and only expansion, travel is expected. Elements such as muscle tees, jeans, leather, etc. are modified through color and cut depending on levels of practicality as well as settings and characters. The women share an element of vulgarity overall though, especially in the earlier installments. Each look is adorned with silver metal jewelry and chunky leather footwear. The clothes show equal parts skin and fierceness, fitting for the characters' rough lifestyle as professional drag racers. A personal favorite of mine are the looks worn by Suki (Devon Aoki) in 2 Fast 2 Furious (2015). She clearly wasn't denied any restrictions with colors. Dressed in multicolored ensemble of crop tanks and shirts paired with the internet famous hot pink low-rise jeans which display cheeky crossed threads at the crotch and thigh area. Then there's a tartan schoolgirl skirt paired with studded boots number, as well as a monochrome look of matching short-shorts and racing tee with knee-high white boots. Suki's overall wardrobe is an ode to the spunky enthusiasm of Sagittarius Decan one/8 of Wands personality.

☄️Alternatively, "Mad Max" films feature a grittier take on the “men being one with their machine” trope. Here there’s an added touch of ecological doom where the desert becomes a character of its own. Both franchises rely on “horsepower” aka the speed of their chosen machines. It's a testament to the double mercurial influence in the 8 of Wands; quick instinctual movement and action is emphasized as important skills to survive the harshness of each respective environment. The costumes carry the 8 of Wands message for proper mental and emotional preparation before you embark on a journey or face a war zone. In Mad Max, the threat is very much physical, depicting environmental devastation and civilization collapse. The outfits consist of tattered rags, harnesses, and armored chest pieces. ID-magazine describes 2015 Mad Max movie’s aesthetic as the "scavenged and wanderlust". The female characters of this world have no choice but to roam. Their clothing provides immediate protection from the post-apocalyptic desert. With Furiosa's (Charlize Theron) tactical attire, we see someone who possess mastery over her environment. Her femininity is hidden underneath the ashy face paint and accessories made from cars and motor parts. Including a symbolic asymmetrical shoulder armor. She dress similar to that of the opposing ‘war boys’. I think this signifies her alignment with the 8 of wands message I wrote above. In contrast, the nymph-like tattered white fabrics covering the rescued maidens, expresses human vulnerability against such conditions. They were previously held hostage and therefore are yet to subtilize the high velocity energies around them. Violence, warfare, and oppression are some thematic commonalities of this film with the 8 of wands. So, although the outfits of Mad Max aren't acclimatized into the mainstream biker/racer aesthetic, I believe they represent the energetic essence behind this aesthetic in its most pure and rawest form.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Check the gallery below for more contemporary fashion/visual inspirations:

🫶Let me know if you enjoy this post! I’m thinking to turn this into a series about all 78 tarot cards and each corresponding aesthetics. So far, I’ve seen really fascinating patterns emerge and I’m so excited to share them. I hope my posts will get better as i adapt to writing my downloads. x Jess

[mysticmercurial]

Lucid Dreaming: A Key to Mastering the Physical Realm? From a 12Her's Perspective 🤔💭

The 12th house is commonly known as the house of the undoing, subconscious, bed pleasures, nighttime routines, dreams/nightmares, spirituality, the deceased/spirit realm, isolation, hospitals, things done in the dark or behind the scenes, nocturnal animals. In my experience, the 12th house is also disorienting and creates realistic illusions. Illusions based on your fears, your greatest desires, things that we suppress and allow to ferment in the flourishing abyss of our subconscious mind.

I believe that we can manifest the things we want by dreaming of them first. The very concept of the 6th/12th house axis is that of your day and night routines; the 6th house, in this context, representing the physical nature of things and the 12th house representing the spiritual nature and things that go looked over, unseen or misunderstood. Afterall, what is more confusing than the nature of our jealousies and carnal desires? The 12th house IS triggering as it forces us to shine a bright light on our shadows not to remove them but to embrace them and use them to our advantage.

HOUSE CONNECTIONS TO DEATH/REBIRTH AND UNDOING 💀☯

From a derivative perspective, the 12H is 5th from the 8H of taboos and the 8H is 9th from the 12H. The 5th house represents things that bring us joy, make us passionate and things that make us feel good. The 8th house represents taboo topics, occult activities like tarot/divination, death, bdsm. The 9th house represents travel, learning, inner discovery, the freedom to expand, our morals and beliefs. If "it's not what you did, it's the principle" was a house it would be the 9th house and the principle in question would be the sign/planets aspecting that house.

**I'm still learning derivative astrology so bare with me**

The 12H being the derivative 5th house of the 8H could mean that in transforming and alchemizing our lives we find joy and give a voice to the ignored parts of ourselves. Or rather that our deepest wounds often lie in our subconscious mind waiting to be expressed in one way or another. Some express that via drug abuse, hypersexuality, alcoholism, egocentric spiritual practices, all of which are topics that fall under the 12H. To die and be reborn again (8H), one must dive deeper into the self and commit to undoing(12H).

Similarly the 8H being the derivative 9th house of the 12H could mean that the things we bury, the things we do not understand in others is what often we don't understand in ourselves. The hermetic saying as above so below, as within so without describes this very well to me because it suggests that our inner world is always influencing the world around us. Our perspectives shape the lens through which receive information. The 8H isn't always a literal death, like in tarot, it can be metaphorical deaths throughout one's life. "If you aren't evolving, you are staying the same" would describe the relationship of the 8H/12H.

Finally...

Lucid dreaming is simply defined as being aware that you are dreaming. That means from the moment you acknowledge you are not in the real world you are lucid dreaming! If you want to master your subconcious world, try going to bed before you are exhausted and seeing what you find. Set the mood for bedtime; whether that be with candles/incense, lofi jazz or rain sounds, it's all about the ambiance.

Thank you for reading this unintentionally long rant, i hope you enjoyed it 🙂

--mysticmercurial

[maeviuslynn]

Perdurabo: The Life of Aleister Crowley has an audiobook out now. I had the pleasure of interviewing the author, Richard Kaczynski, all about it. We also get into some fun questions sent in from our friends on Discord. "The name “Aleister Crowley” instantly conjures visions of diabolic ceremonies and orgiastic indulgences—and while the sardonic Crowley would perhaps be the last to challenge such a view, he was also much more than “the Beast,” as this authoritative biography shows.  Perdurabo—entitled after the magical name Crowley chose when inducted into the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn—traces Crowley’s remarkable journey from his birth as the only son of a wealthy lay preacher to his death in a boarding house as the world’s foremost authority on magick. Along the way, he rebels against his conservative religious upbringing; befriends famous artists, writers, and philosophers (and becomes a poet himself); is attacked for his practice of “the black arts”; and teaches that science and magick can work together. While seeking to spread his infamous philosophy of, “Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law,” Crowley becomes one of the most notorious figures of his day.   Based on Richard Kaczynski’s twenty years of research, and including previously unpublished biographical details, Perdurabo paints a memorable portrait of the man who inspired the counterculture and influenced generations of artists, punks, wiccans, and other denizens of the demimonde."