#social Justice Alchemy

[somerandomg33k]

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[magdalene-spirit]

WHEREVER IN THE WORLD

THERE REMAINS

EXPRESSIONS OF THE FALSE UPSIDE DOWN

PATRIARCHAL PRISON

PARADIGM

WE ARE BEING

ASKED-

LOUDLY & CLEARLY:

"DO YOU BELIEVE

YOUR FALSE PERSONAL

IDENTITY, IS WHO YOU ARE IN TRUTH?"

[deadsetobsessions]

Okay I got some sleep- here’s pt. 2 of my nightmare:

——

They spoke to each other as they moved, the surroundings that had egregiously attacked the group of heroes earlier easily parted way for his sister.

‘How has everything been, habibi?’

They talked to each other in a language known only to them. The rest of the Justice League team, the members of this mission: Batman, Flash, Superman, and Zatanna did not understand the signs, a feat worthy of his sister.

‘Alright. They are not bad. I like it here.’ He told her, eyes not quite wary but fear of disappointing her running through his small frame apparent all the same. ‘I would… like to stay.’

She ruffled his hair once more, wistfulness growing in her heart. How her little brother had grown. It seemed like yesterday she held him as a babe, swaddled in even more opulent green and gold silks than her own clothing. Now, he stood in front of her, daring to express his own thoughts with a domino over his face and strength of free will in his eyes. ‘That is good. I am glad you are happy.’

Batman lurched forward to stop her from touching Damian, only to freeze as his son accepted the touch without a hint of resistance. Even Dick couldn’t get that reaction, not without some grumbling and scowling. Who was this…?

The rest of team agreed to wait and watch. Part of it was strategy. Most of it was the wonder of a such Bat-like Robin being so open with someone.

‘Have you been here before?’ Damian, relaxed as she all but gave him her blessing to stay with father, peered at the local fauna as it bowed away from her sister. She shrugged, his katana sheathed on her back. She was at ease with it as he was with her blade, the training they did to get there unwavering despite the time they spent apart.

‘Sometimes. The tower we’re headed to, I often go there to relieve stress by training with the monsters there. They like to… attack everything that moves.’

Something told Damian it was more of a one sided massacre on his sister’s part.

‘Why would the magician hide there?’

‘It would serve adequately as a natural barrier, should he have a safe space put there ahead of time.’ His sister tilted her head, masked face still in the way he knew meant that she was thinking. Her hands moved. ‘Perhaps it was Grorgiantue that attacked you. He often goes there to experiment with alchemy and demonic remains. He often wears a maroon headband.’

“That’s him.” Damian confirmed.

“Are you going to clue us into what you’re saying, you two?” The Flash zoomed around the pair, skidding to a stop in front of them. Damian’s sister simply stepped around him, slicing apart a thorn bush that attacked when it got startled by the Flash’s speed. He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly as Robin scowled at him and the unknown ally spared him one quick, neutral glance of displeasure.

“No. Do not ask again, you eavesdropper.” Damian curtly replied, surly Robin mask back up.

“Robin.” Father reprimanded. Damian acknowledged it, but did not offer an apology. His sister remained silent and watching.

She’s relying on him to navigate these allies, Damian realized. His shoulders went back at the show of trust. He does not acquiesce to Father’s silent command. Had it been Richard… perhaps.

“Ouch, but still, if your… friend knows what’s up ahead, it’s be good to let us know.”

“We do need to take care of this as fast as possible, Robin. And we’re not the best team against magic.” Superman hovered. He would have gone and scouted ahead, but magical planes always had nasty surprises that he found extremely hard to escape.

“Speak for yourself,” Zatanna joked. Regardless, she looked askance at Damian’s sister.

Damian scowled and opened his mouth. His sister placed a hand on his shoulder and Damian sighed, readying himself to act as a translator. He knew she could sign in practically every standard sign language there was, damn it. She’s lucky he loved her enough to be a translator when she’s unwilling to socialize.

——

“Your sword,” Damian tried to hand her sword back. Her little brother, for a genius, was an idiot. She huffed, pushing the sword back.

‘Keep it. How will you cut through a magical tower without a magical sword?’ She signed to him, emphasizing her amusement.

“What about you?”

��I must report back. I am... a bit late. I’ll see you later, habibi.’ She tapped her hand four times. A reminder that she cared about him. Before she disappeared through a swirling portal of mist grey and acrid blue, she saw him repeat the sign.

Behind her mask, she smiled.

——

“Who was that, Robin?”

Robin stared up at Batman. Damian Wayne stared up at his father.

“She... protected me.”

Not quite an answer. But it was an olive branch, to tell him who she was to Damian himself, but not who she truly was in relations to Damian.

“That’s it?”

“That is all you’re getting.” He replied, hands tightening around the hilt of his sister’s sword. Her magic hummed beneath his fingertips, the feeling of indescribable violence softening to a sense of protectiveness the moment the sword felt his presence. Damian respected Father. He might even love him. But Damian loved his sister first, and he would not betray her trust.

A new file is added to the database. Nightwing gets an update. When a familiar masked face pops up, Dick Grayson sped out of Bludhaven to interrogate his littlest brother.

And so the wheels turned.

——

“Tell me, granddaughter, what it is you truly think of me.”

Despite the conversational tone, she knew it was an order. The scars on her back burned, a reminder of another rebellion and the cost of failure.

There were many, many ways she could answer. All of them unpleasant. Yet, she must be pleasant. He must hear how she’d been broken, or else he’d keep trying to break her.

She tilted her head down, so he would not glimpse the hatred brewing in her eyes.

“I respect you, grandfather.” Because she did respect his ability to bend her at his will, for all that she hated him. It took a special kind of scum to be so cruel to one own blood. “I wish to obey your every order.” Because if she didn’t, pain would follow. But that wish was a temporary one, only in effect until she managed to kill him and come out on top.

Ra’s laughed, a warm and rich sound. Hollow, because he loved none but himself and so only reserved warmth for his own flattery. It sounded like the sharpening of a blade and it felt like balancing on a precipice. On one side, an eternity of torture. On the other, the pain of those she loved. Damian... and maybe, just a little, Talia herself.

"Do you love me, granddaughter?" He crooned, mocking and cruel, in a way one might ask a jilted lover. The reincarnation held her breath and answered. She will not lie. She can not lie, not to him. He had gouged the order into her tongue with magic and brutality. And so, she will not lie.

"No, grandfather. But I do not dislike you." The reincarnation said, soft as velvet. It was true, because what she felt for Ra's al Ghul was the cold, pervasive hatred. "I respect you."

"I see I've managed to beat some of that foolish sentimentality out of you," he said, taking a sip of his wine. Oh, how she wished she could slip poison in his cup. How she wished to make him choke on his own words, his own blood. But she could not. Not. Yet. "Alas, I can not undo the magic. I suspect you'll be serving at my feet for... quite a long time more."

She snapped her mouth closed, phantom rage hovering between her teeth. The world swirled around her, greens and purples, and the revolting touch of his hands on her.

No, she will bide her time.

She knelt, the motion familiar, on plush carpet that she could not appreciate. Luxurious cloth rustled in front of her.

And when her time comes, she will revel in Ra's al Ghul's agonizing death.

——

"Damian, you have to tell me who that is!"

Damian could be stubborn at times, he knew that. He worked with him on it. Damian was as much, if not more, Dick's Robin as he was Bruce's Robin. So why...?

"And for what reason do you wish to know her identity, Richard?"

Dick paused. He couldn't. He couldn't tell him. No one knew, except for that masked person. It happened so long ago- not long enough- and Dick could not wash the taint, could not wash the trauma from his brain, his heart. Whispers that sounded like Catalina surrounded him when he thought of that rainy night, telling him how disgusted his family would be, if they knew. Those things went away, now that he's pulled up the file on the batcomputer. The whispers fade a bit as he looked upon the masked face of the person who saved him. Just in time.

"For your safety!"

Damian crossed his arms, a look that spoke of an unbending unwillingness present in his eyes. Dick knew then that Damian would not tell him. "I will never be in danger if it's her on the other side of the blade."

"Come on, Damian, I won't tell B. Promise. Don't you trust me?"

Damian's face softened, and for a second, Dick had thought that he'd managed it. "I do... trust you." Damian struggled to say. "That is hardly ever in question, you imbecile. But to tell you would mean betrayal. And I will not betray her trust. Especially not for your personal satisfaction."

Dick wondered what this masked woman did for Damian to be unhesitatingly confident in her. He wondered if his own desperation meant something he had yet been able to put into words.

"For what it's worth, Dick, I think we should trust Damian and not pry."

Dick and Damian turned to Tim in surprise. Damian, because it was an unexpected vote of confidence.

"Woah, I do not want to hear that from you, Mr. Tiny Tot Stalker McGee."

"It's called preparation!" Tim said hotly back. Then, he subsided. "She, uh, saved me once. Back then, before I was... associated with Bruce."

"What?" Dick and Damian demanded.

——

Innocuous. The worst and best things always happened on innocuous days.

The beginning of her slavery began on a regular, if painful, sunny day.

The beginning of her freedom began on a regular, if painful, cloudy one.

She'd have to thank the little photographer later, she decided. His work all but forced her grandfather to rely on a handful of backup Lazarus pools only he, mother, and herself knew about. She stared at the green pools as her grandfather stripped to his waist to step in.

"Guard me," he commanded her as he stepped towards the pool. The sting of the command settled familiarly around her neck. “Once I am done, you will depart to force Damian or the detective back to Nanda Parbat. By any means necessary.”

It was his first time ordering her to hurt her brothers, past physical pain disguised as training.

His first mistake today.

That's the thing with her grandfather, she mused as she silently unsheathed Damian's sword. He was so complacent, that he could fathom her betrayal.

His second mistake. His last mistake.

Then again, it was her who lulled him into it, with the shows of loyalty and seemingly willing obedience outside of her magical collar's commands.

After all, he had commanded her to guard him. From outside threats, surely, but he hadn't commanded her to guard him from herself.

"You-!" He coughed as her- Damian's- blade slid in between his ribs and straight towards the other side. It missed his heart by a hair's breadth, Ra's having moved the moment he felt the blade. Truly, it was hard to beat a near-immortal's experience.

"Kill yourself!" He barked at her, clutching at his chest, trying to stumble towards the pool.

To kill herself, she had to remove the blade lodged in his chest. The magic urged her to follow his commands immediately with searing pain. But she's had over two decades to endure and adjust to it, to grit her teeth and learn how to move with the torture of being alive. So she follows it just to dislodge the blade. The reincarnation then, with the magic trying to break her, cripples Ra’s with two blows.

He collapsed, screaming bloody murder and slurs at her. Before he could say another command, she stabbed down and to the side, cutting deep enough to cut his voice box and spill his life-blood, his unceasingly irritating throat, over the craggy rocks surrounding the pool.

Then, she slit her throat with a cut that was a touch too shallow to kill her right away.

"I do not dislike you," she said, the pain easing as she spoke to him. The red she's taken from others now spilled on the front of her shirt. She stared at his enraged glare, vicious glee at making him choke on his own actions. "No, I hate you."

She bent down, twisting and breaking his arms with little effort. She patted his cheeks and raked a trail of pain down his face with her metal tipped gloves. Her blood dripped onto him, blinding his eyes.

Fitting, she'd thought. "No one will come for you, grandfather. But... I do have to ask," She looked down, voice tilting in the cruel way that he'd unintentionally taught her. "Don't you love me, grandfather?"

She walked backwards until she reached the edge of the pool. She knelt once more, a mockery of every time she's knelt for him.

The reincarnation watched his blood spill, the light leave his eyes, and the way his body stilled and the way his rage was stifled like he'd smothered her voice so long ago. She memorized it, because hate was an active emotion. But she was tired, and she wanted to rest. So she watched him die and felt nothing but peace.

Then, as she felt the magic take hold and tear her soul from her body, she tipped backwards and plunged her corpse in the glowing pits that awaited her.

——

It felt like drowning.

(did y’all know cats lay on your chest?? bro i straight up couldn’t breath bc of that)

Breathless. Corrosive. Freeing.

The Pit felt like freedom.

And she’d long forgotten what that felt like.

It tasted like shit water though, and suddenly she felt bad for everyone whoever swallowed some of the water here. She’s going to need her stomach pumped out after this-

Her thoughts were washed away in a haze of green tinted fury.

——

“Habibi.”

Nightwing slid in front of Robin with a well practiced flip. Batman emerged from the shadows, followed Spoiler and Red Robin.

“Talia. What do you want?” Batman growled. Talia ignored him, an uncharacteristic action that had the vigilantes putting their guards up.

“I… you know I would not ask this of you- I would not ask you to return,” Talia said softly.

“Then don’t.” Red Robin cut in sharply, bo staff at the ready. Talia ignored him too.

“But she needs you, habibi. I can not… I can not help her.”

“Who?” Spoiler asked, curious but ready to rumble.

“What happened?” Robin stepped around Nightwing, who made an aborted movement to try to pull Robin back behind him.

“Something terrible.” Talia al Ghul closed her eyes, a sliver of vulnerability and regret showing on her face. Robin straightened, fear thudding through his heart. What happened to ukhti, he wanted to ask. But he could not, not without betraying the promise of silence he’d made to her. “I… I have failed her greatly. And she was paying the price for it, this entire time.”

“Wait, is this about the masked woman?” Nightwing asked.

“Alright,” Robin- no, Damian- stepped forward once more. His decision was made. Had been made, the moment his mother allowed the rare instance of vulnerability to come across her face. “I’ll be going back, once…”

“Of course. She would not let me keep you, habibi. She knows you are happier here.”

“Then, let’s go.”

“Robin!” His family tried to stop him but Damian slipped between and out of their reach. “Do not!”

“I’ll be back,” he declared, like he was daring his mother to say otherwise. “Try not to raze Gotham into the ground with your incompetence.”

“I’ll kill Ra’s if something happens to him.” Red Robin pointed the bo staff at Talia as she and Damian turned to leave. He stopped an alarmed Batman when he tried to lunge for Robin.

“No need,” she threw back. Damian whipped his head up at that. “He’s already dead.”

And they disappeared into a whirling purple cloud of magic.

——

Snippets of reality return to her bit, by bit. Her mother had cautiously entered the pit with her guards- worried, no doubt, by their absence- and stilled upon seeing her father’s dead body.

She laughed, and dug her hands into the bodies of the assassins she’d trained until her nails dripped with blood and pieces of organs. She felled them, one by one, until only mother was left.

She’d attacked, like a rabid dog, until the green slipped and her mother came into focus.

“I killed him,” she’d croaked out. And that was what broke her; the smooth way air wrapped her around her throat where only ripping pain had existed. Her voice came out unhindered and recklessly so, without the tinge of agony carefully picking her sentences.

“I killed him,” she repeated, and set Ra’s al Ghul’s body on fire. “I killed him.”

Her mother stared at her, hands dropping carefully to her side. “Why?”

She smiled, teeth bared and bloody- oh, she must have ripped into an assassin with her teeth, how messy- and endlessly joyful. “Because he dared to chain me- because he threatened Damian.”

She broke, and she told her mother everything. No, not everything. Just, enough. At the end, when her back is bowed with pain and heart empty, her mother knelt before her and quietly, tremblingly, apologized.

“I am sorry, habibi. I…”

The reincarnation’s made a small, wounded noise and lost herself to the green.

——

Damian trembled with rage. With grief.

With regret.

He followed mother into the caverns, mind turning and whirling with everything he’d learned in the hour that had passed since he’d left Gotham. His sister’s inclination towards magic was incredibly helpful, but Damian wished that she had never had the cause to go delving into magic like she did.

He thought it was passion.

His mother had informed him of what Grandfather had done to his ukht all these years. She told him of what his sister had sacrificed so that he remained free.

“Every time she spoke to us, to tell us that she loves us… father had made sure she paid for every word with unceasing agony.” His mother had muttered, eyes more lost than he’d ever seen it. “The magic at her neck ensured that she obeyed unquestioningly or she paid the price.”

“She is paying the price right now,” he’d snapped at her.

“Yes.”

Damian had thought ukhti’s collection of magical tomes were a sign of her interests. He thought it was passion for a subject. He had even envied how she did not have to hide her hobby like he had to with his art.

Now, he knew it wasn’t passion. No, it was desperation; a scrambling for freedom, a wish for dignity, and the fear of the same restrictions being placed on his ukht’s loved ones- him and mother.

When he entered the cave, lit up by swirling, sickly green, he saw his ukht, drenched in blood and sclera, tearing apart another group of assassins. There were ashes and the smell of burnt flesh around them.

Her eyes- green, glazed, furious- turned towards them.

His mother tensed. His ukht lunged, pitted sword aimed at his eyeball.

But if there was anything Damian knew, it was that ukhti would never hurt him.

So he stayed still.

And she stopped. Blade a centimeter from his eyes, his sister stopped.

“Damian?”

How his heart broke when she spoke, confusion in her voice that sounded as if she had been screaming for decades and nobody had heard.

As Damian’s hand wrapped around her wrist and she dropped the sword, he morbidly thought that she might have been doing that. It’s not like they heard her, after all, not until she’d freed herself with broken fingers and steel spine.

——

Bruce paced around in the cave. With the disappearance of their youngest, the entire family gathered in the cave, the night after. Except for Barbara, who had been scouring the cameras and had prior engagements, and Cass, who was on a plane back from Hong Kong, the family watched as Bruce slowly lost his mind.

“Relax, B. Look, even Dickface and Timbers aren’t worried, and you know how they get.” Jason said, kicking his feet up on the table.

“Ahem.”

Jason quickly put his feet down.

“We know nothing about this woman! She could be a danger- she could-!”

“B, if it really is about the masked woman, I think we should give Damian some trust.” Dick spoke up.

“And what if they keep Damian captive?”

“Then we go get him, Bruce. Simple.” Duke said, yawning.

Whatever Bruce would have said next was cut off by the opening of the cave’s underground entrance, with an approving beep of a recognized and authorized entrance.

Damian stalked in, hands wrapping around the hilt of his sword like he was going to cut through the next fool who tested him. His face was in a frown.

“Damian. Are you alright?” Bruce rushed towards his youngest, only to be dodged.

“I need to break something. Then, we shall talk.”

Damian headed towards the training dummies at let out his fury. He let out his heart break. Splinters of wood and cloth and ripped padding laid testament to his grief.

Then, the younger brother of the true heir to the Demon’s Head turned around to speak to his chosen family.

——

Clarity.

Her brother, her fool, dumb brother who had just stood there as she tried to gouge his eyes out, had been exactly what she needed.

She avoided his concerned eyes as she muttered calculations under her breath.

“Ukhti, what are you doing?”

“Freedom, habibi. I am… creating my freedom.”

At his confused look, she made the signs for Pit Rage. He nodded and guarded her back.

Damian was so adorable. And now, now that there’s not collar around her neck, she could say that without awaiting internal agony!

Her mouth spoke the words she’d found all those years ago, magic flaring bright white and blue as the circle she laid down on crumbling rocks shuddered.

The magic soothed her frayed mind and seeped the poison from her mind.

——

“I have a sister.” He’d told them. He turned to his father, who had a blank look on his face. “An older sister. She is yours.”

“You fucked Talia, twice?!”

A scowl. “Keep your trap shut, Todd.”

Bruce felt his world shudder to a stop.

——

Her fingers, her left hand as her right was busy scratching absently at Damian’s head, found purchase on her back and neck. The skin wasn’t so soft anymore, time and scars making for a rougher feel.

There were worse things than death. Bitter, painful things.

Loosing her freedom. Loosing her voice.

But… there were better things than life. Sweet, gentle things.

Regaining her freedom. Getting revenge. Securing her family’s safety and freedom from the grotesque thing that wore the skin of a grandfather.

Her brother, tucked safely against her side, and a mother that finally understood.

“Come to Gotham with me,” Damian had suggested. She hummed, delighting in the way the sound came out with out the ringing pain.

But one does not erase two plus decades worth of trauma in one night.

Her hands came up.

‘Not yet. Mother will think-”

“It is a good idea.”

Her gaze darted up. Her mother’s eyes… softened. Odd. No… her gaze was heavy with guilt.

“It would… do you good to be away from here, my daughter.”

Well.

It’s not like she was opposed to that, at all, but still…

‘Two weeks. I’ll tie up loose ends… and I’ll go to Gotham in two weeks, if that’s alright with you, Damian?’

“Of course.” He leaned against her, hand clutching at her shirt in a motion that she wasn’t sure was meant to comfort himself or her. “May I tell father about you?”

Ah. She hadn’t thought of that. The pit really scattered her mind. She nodded.

——

“Why… why didn’t you tell me?”

“She asked me not to.”

“And since when did you do things people ask of you, demon brat?”

Damian scowled. It did not make his next sentence any less genuine.

“Since it was ukhti that asked.”

Tim spun around on his wheel chair. “Holy shit. So the masked person was your sister. No wonder you were so….”

Protective, they all finished the rest of the sentence silently. They all sat back to contemplate that Bruce had one more kid… and that Tim had met her before Damian was even born.

“So, why were you so upset, baby bird?” Dick asked, an odd feeling of both gratefulness and mild jealousy towards Damian’s sister- his savior, because holy shit- gathering underneath his heart.

“Apparently, grandfather put her under an enslavement spell all these years.”

“Damian… say that again. I- I must have heard you wrong.”

Damian closed his eyes, hating how unsteady and fearful his father sounded. He obliged, because he knew what it felt like.

“Grandfather put her under an enslavement spell and used her to further the League’s reach.”

Damian had wondered why he had encountered his sister so often while passing by grandfather’s chambers and why she always looked tired when she goes past those ornate doors.

Now he knew.

“Does that- does that mean what I think it means?”

“Yes. She,” Damian’s hands gripped harshly on his forearms. He breathed in and out slowly. “She was… assaulted. Most likely regularly. To broker more favorable agreements. She could not refuse. The magic demanded complete obedience or risk the punishment of unbearable pain.”

Dick looked away. They had a lot in common. She saved him… but on her end, she was not saved. His hands itched to punch Ra’s al Ghul in the face.

“Fuck.” Stephanie cursed. Her eyes met Duke’s and Jason’s.

Tim’s hands stopped moving, eyes staring blankly at Damian. He should have tried harder to kill Ra’s al Ghul.

Bruce got up, trembling, and stalked over to the training dummy. They sat in silence.

“What else?” Bruce rasped. He hung his head.

��She was ordered not to speak a word.”

“But she… spoke to me.” Tim said. Damian felt an irrational flare of jealousy.

“Then it most likely caused her unimaginable pain as punishment.” Damian snapped.

“What do we have to do to free her?” Stephanie demanded.

“Nothing, Brown. She freed herself.”

“How?” Duke leaned in, expression serious. “Did Ra’s al Ghul free her before he died or something?”

“I… am not too sure of the details, but it involved killing him… and jumping into the pit.”

Jason stood up with a clatter. “She was in the pit?!

“Yes. I think… she might have died. I’m not… sure.”

Bruce closed his eyes, working on his breathing like Dinah had showed him.

“Is that why Talia came? Because you could stop her pit madness?”

“Yes. I- there-” Damian struggled to get the words out, the ball of upset sitting on his chest made it hard to breathe. “Ukhti would never hurt me. Unless it’s training, but even then, I am sure she fought against her orders to wound me.”

Dick nodded. Yeah. He would have too, if he were in her shoes.

“I… can ukhti come here to recover?”

“Of course. When?” It was at times like this when he appreciated his family’s sentimentality and ridiculously large hearts. Unhesitatingly kind, even when they should have been furious at him for keeping ukhti’s secrets.

“Two weeks.”

“Then we shall make adequate- no, better than adequate preparations. Master Damian, what were her preferences for food?”

——

She should probably prepare a gift. Multiple.

“Ukht.”

She tilted her head to show Damian she was listening.

“I am sorry.”

‘There’s nothing to be sorry for.’

“But-”

She squeezed his shoulder and forced the words to come out. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I should have noticed.”

‘I did not want you to notice. If I hid things from you, do you think you could find them so easily?’

“No, I suppose not.”

She smiled at him and tapped her hand four times. He tapped his own four times in response.

——

The dream ended there, well, no, there was actually some more nonsense about a corgi, a room full of strings and slenderman or whatever but I didn’t include that part. There’ll probably be a part three bc I kinda wanna know what happens when she comes to Gotham to recover from trauma.

The oc, relatively well adjusted: *dies*

The oc, reincarnated and got fucked over (figuratively and non consensually literally): “yes, I should go to Gotham (aka trauma central) to recover from my trauma. Sounds legit.”

[sensualnoiree]

astro notes: venus ♾

Venus, in both alchemical and esoteric traditions, holds profound significance as one of the classical planets. Its symbolism extends far beyond its astronomical presence, delving into realms of love, beauty, balance, and transformation.

Venus is actually much more than just the planet of love and beauty; it's considered the embodiment of the soul's essence. Venus represents the substance of the soul, the harmony of beauty, and the talent for art. It symbolizes grace, intelligence in proportion and rhythm, and the principle of "relatedness."

This relatedness is crucial, as it's the expression of the soul of the world and the feminine aspect of Divinity. Venus acts as a vibratory field that resonates between different aspects of existence—between individuals ("me" and "you"), between the ego and the soul, and even between the unit and the universe.

When this resonance is ignited, it sparks love and reveals the soul's fire. This essence of Venus is always present, like an awaitingness for mutual "relevance" to emerge between seemingly indifferent parts of life. This relevance can manifest in various ways, such as when social interactions transform into genuine connections, when artistic endeavors become infused with deep feeling, or when nature's beauty evokes a profound response.

Venus symbolizes a latent field and flow of relatedness that permeates the fabric of the world. This concept is often symbolized by the infinity symbol (∞), which represents the structure of the Ajna center ruled by Venus, or by the number 8, associated with the soul principle and the Christ consciousness. This symbol of infinity reflects how the universe's life of relationship is the substance of its relative infinity.

The pentagram, or five-pointed star, also has deep symbolic significance in various esoteric traditions, including alchemy, astrology, and mysticism. Each point of the star represents one of the four elements – earth, air, fire, and water – with the fifth point symbolizing spirit or ether, the quintessence that unites the elements. The pentagram is often used as a symbol of protection, balance, and spiritual transformation.

Earth: Represents stability, materiality, and the physical realm.

Air: Symbolizes intellect, communication, and the realm of thought.

Fire: Represents passion, creativity, and transformation.

Water: Symbolizes emotions, intuition, and the subconscious.

The fifth point, symbolizing spirit or ether, represents the divine spark within each individual and the higher spiritual aspects that transcend the material world. Venus, as the harmonizing force, is associated with the pentagram because it represents the balance and unity of these elements. Venus's influence helps to bring these elements into equilibrium, fostering spiritual growth and transformation.

Taurus (April 20 - May 20): Venus is the ruling planet of Taurus, emphasizing qualities such as sensuality, stability, and material abundance. Taurus is associated with the earth element, reflecting Venus's connection to the physical world and its pleasures. Under Venus's influence, Taurus seeks comfort, security, and beauty in life, often valuing stability and the finer things in life.

Libra (September 23 - October 22): Venus is also the ruling planet of Libra, but here its influence is more focused on partnerships, diplomacy, and aesthetic pursuits. Libra is an air sign, reflecting Venus's influence on intellectual pursuits, social interactions, and the arts. Libra seeks balance, harmony, and beauty in relationships and the world around them, often valuing fairness, cooperation, and justice.

In both Taurus and Libra, Venus's influence enriches the symbolism of the pentagram, emphasizing the importance of balance, harmony, and transformation in both the material and spiritual realms. Venus's role as a ruling planet further highlights its significance in astrology and its impact on the human experience.

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[cheriecelestial]

Luminary Pt.1

pairing *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Yan Emperor!OC X Swordmaster!OC

disclaimer *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ yandere thoughts. hurt/no comfort. angst. mentions of violence and character death. lovers to enemies.

a/n *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Reposting a very old piece post editing (not really lol). According to my old a/n this was “very 3am spontaneous writing” meaning the idea was spontaneous not the process. Very manhwa-esque historical plot ig. Please listen to Joel Sunny’s Luminary for the whole experience. like always COMMENT LIKE & REBLOG (☆≧▽^)

Pt.2

Ceaseless noblesse chatter, clinking of glasses and rustling of ball gowns blurred into an unintelligible myriad of sounds. Cecily massaged the bridge of her nose in an attempt to calm the pulsating migraine in her forehead. As much as she loved dressing up on her own accord and dancing, she felt much repulsion to high society. Whosoever had compared high society to a sandalwood tree must’ve been a wise person - exquisite and ambrosial smelling but intertwined with serpents waiting to pounce. Her sharp gaze, reminiscent of a relentless hunter, swept the expanse of ballroom to locate her target attendee. He wasn’t here, not yet at least. But he was expected to be here soon, after all what king doesn’t show up to the party he hosted in his own honour ?

Everything the room exuded an elite air of grandeur. Golden tendrils resembling vines creeping up the wall and colluding in a labyrinthine pattern of flowers and leaves against the stained glass ceilings. Lush roses filled each vase placed exactly five meters apart from each other. In the centre of the dome were three collinear alchemy powered faux stars, the centre attraction and the nominative factor of the ballroom — the Syzygy Hall. Leaning against the stone wall, the crisp night air fills her lungs while the stars twinkle in the dark, velvety sky, and she watched them with a nostalgic sense of appreciation. The flashing memories of her stargazing in this very hall with a certain gifted mage tugged harshly on her heart stings but she forced herself to shun them and focus on the task ahead.

Cecily shifted her attention to the noblemen and women drift across the smooth marble floors like clockwork nutcrackers in grandfather clocks. It all looked so beautiful and for the lack of a better word, rich. A part of her would’ve wanted to join to the festivities had her heart not drowned in waves of indignation for the host. But then as having danced her fair share of high society parties — she knew of the incessant debauchery, corruption and vicious yet sugarcoated calumny at the core of this diamond and silk adorned marvel. Nobility was a word that evoked images of artifice, undeserved riches, wastefulness and textbook narcissism. Albeit belonging to the pinnacle of non-royal nobility — Cecily’s lineage was both a blessing and a curse. As the daughter of one of the three dukes in the empire and the daughter and successor of the continent’s finest swordsman , Carlisle Reginald, Cecily was taught to be wary of desperate social climber with saccharine laced tongues at a young age. Just the thought of her family flared the inferno of negative feelings further.

“This far behind enemy lines ? Can’t tell if it’s brave, audacious or plain stupid.” Cecily rolled her eyes at the new admission. “What would you know anything about bravery Marcellus ?” The red haired paladin flinched at the woman using his full name and bit his tongue to restrain himself from answering her verbal jabs.

“I did what I had to do” He muttered quietly with his gaze fixed on the floor as if it was the most scintillating creation known to mankind. “You mean leaving your men to die mid-battle and defecting to the enemy’s side ?” Cecily scoffed at his confession. She couldn’t help be reminded of the past when they were trainee knights and how they were a symbol of valour and justice. The nights they spent at taverns celebrating after successfully completing missions and training. Cecily couldn’t pinpoint when everything changed and when people she knew digressed beyond recognition but it left a bitter taste in her mouth. Marcel’s words were slow to come out but he sighed and answered, “I merely chose the winning side . Unlike you, I have a sense of self preservation.”

“Where I’m from , we call it cowardice”

“Probably why that place burnt to the ground,”Marcel was hit with a sense of instant regret the second those words left his mouth. He muttered a quick apology as if that ever solved anything .

“Don’t say what you don’t mean. Genuine care doesn’t suit the self-serving likes of you.” Cecily spat out with anger laced in her seemingly calm tone. Had it been some other place with someone else, she wouldn’t have hesitated to draw her sword. Knowing her temper, he saw fit to change the topic of the conversation, “ It’s a fine dress you’re wearing. But I have to say - had I not known better I’d say it was a wedding gown. One refined enough for a duke’s daughter”

“It is a wedding gown. I just repurposed it since I don’t need it anymore and my other gowns were burnt along with my house. I’m sure you remember, you were there.”Cecily spoke in a monotone as she absentmindedly fiddled with the lace trimmings of her dress and the silver corsage on her wrist.

Marcel gulped at the realisation and looked away to the sea of jolly nobility dancing their evening away but he still couldn’t seem to shake off the chills floating in the air. Luck truly wasn’t on his side today “I know it was a purely political arrangement but Cedric was a good man. You have my condolences.”

His words evoked a humourless laugh from Cecily. Just how shameless could he be ? Leading the campaign that killed her fiancé and still have the guts to offer his sympathies.

“Losing a fiancé ? I’m sure you know what that’s like. Considering how you let Lucia Arden die just to save your own skin.”

Cecily remembered the sweet and gentle field medic who stopped at nothing to consistently heal her comrades and boost her fellow knights’ morale with her encouraging words. And she also remembered watching the radiant light leave her eyes and her skin turn frigid pale after Marcel defected and ambushed his own squadron. Cecily and Marcel were the closest of friends, maybe that’s why his betrayal stung so much. Had someone told about Marcel’s betrayal to her younger self from two years ago, she would’ve laughed at them and wonder if they lost their mind.

“What happened to her was regrettable. I asked her to join me. But she refused. Because she was -” so loyal to you, is what he wanted to say but something told him that not completely the sentence would serve him better. Cecily didn’t respond to him nor did she look at him. Marcel’s gaze fell to her fist which had clenched so tight that her knuckles were turning white.

“I tried you know. I really tried to convince her. That was more what I should’ve done considering what her family did to Genevieve—” despite his attempts to mask his emotions, venomous contempt seeped into his voice.“Lucia wasn’t her family. She didn’t know. She had no part in it.” Cecily countered firmly.

“She was going to be a mother ! And they—”Marcel swallowed thickly, unable to continue. Cecily sighed and massaged the bridge of her nose. Genevieve - the feisty barmaid at their favourite tavern who managed to capture Marcel’s heart and subsequently died a tragic death the hands of the Marquis Arden who couldn’t bear the disgrace of his daughter’s fiancé choosing a destitute orphaned commoner over his well-bred aristocratic daughter.

“What happened to her was unjust, but that doesn’t justify your treachery. You let your own men die. The very men that swore loyalty to you. The ones that fought, ate and bled by your side.” Cecily eyed him with simmering hatred. Marcel looked uncharacteristically startled for a moment by the her disdain but covered it up quickly. Silvers of guilt flashed in his eyes when he realised that even if he had managed to secure a future for himself as the commander general of the new king’s knights, he lost something truly important to him. The past him would’ve really hated him now.

“Of all people I thought you’d know what it’s like to lose the one you love the most. But in hindsight, you’re probably worse off than me. I’m sure you know, he isn’t what he used to be. The King’s scouts have been looking for you and the other rebels . You should leave before he sees you.” Warning her was the most he could do for her now. He had sworn loyalty to the new king but standing in front of his childhood friend - he couldn’t help but feel a tinge of conflict.

“Why ? Is he planning to send me and my men to the gallows ?” Cecily scoffed as if impressed that the king was putting in so much effort to locate her. “Your men ? Yes. You ? No. Corrupted or not, not even he could get himself to kill the woman he loves so dearly. But I’m positive whatever his plans for you are, would make you wish that he sent you to the gallows instead. He won’t kill you but beware— he won’t be soft either. He’s changed beyond recognition.”

“That’s exactly what I’m counting on,”she muttered to herself as she watched Marcel vanish from her side and melt into the sea of guests.

For a moment the entire ballroom stilled and she knew he was here. Her eyes swept the length of the ballroom till she met the gaze of the devil himself. Unlike what he used to wear when she knew him, he donned the most lavish robes and jewels she’d seen on a person. His unruly platinum hair were styled perfect to accentuate his looks. The crystalline vivid blue eyes she fell in love with were replaced by a sinister shade of ruby red. He stared intently at her, it is as if his eyes intended to pierce her skin and rip out her soul. Her stomach twisted and the chill in the air sent goosebumps down her neck and back. He never looked more glorious. The corners of his lips curled up into a slight smile as he made his way through the crowd. Her breath shallowed with each step that he took towards her.

“Duchess Reginald. It truly is you and here I thought my senses were deceiving me.” Cecily flinched at the title knowing full well that she never got to ceremoniously inherit the title since the previous Duke died at the emperor’s sword following the coup d’état and the estate was burned to a crisp not too long ago. His gentle expression of adoration cut off air from her lungs and she felt as though the string of pearls around her neck turned into a noose. She wanted to scream, to cry, to seek retribution for all the havoc he wrecked but swallowing her emotions down she placed her hand on her heart and bowed lightly,“Glory and blessings upon the rising sun of the Asterin empire,” Cecily heard melodious laughter as response to her words. Her heart dropped from the sheer impact. Cecily Reginald was a creature of pure control and the idea of losing control, especially just by his mere presence, was offensive to her. Her heart burst into multitude of emotions as she tried to rein them and stay calm.

“And I never thought I’d see you bow. But then, bowing isn’t always submission. Now is it, my dearest Cecily ?” Electricity coursed her veins at the way her name rolled off his tongue in the same tender fashion as he used to when they were younger. He’s changed beyond recognition, Marcel’s words ringed in her ears. Cecily didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of eliciting a reaction so she shifted her gaze away. Much to her dismay, her refusal just swelled his need to provoke her further .

“Please don’t shy away duchess. It’s a glorious party, would you be so kind to grant me the honour of a dance ?” The king outstretched his hand towards her with seemingly innocent intent. The emperor’s first dance of the evening, an action that symbolised winning the favour of the emperor. Which was why — traditionally it was done between courting, betrothed or wedded couples. After a moment’s hesitation she took his hand and was guided to the centre of the dance floor. The king placed a hand on her waist and interlaced his other hand with hers. The position seemed so natural to them like two pieces of a puzzle that were created to fit together. He actioned the orchestra and the waltz began without a hitch as the band of musicians weaved pleasant melodies into the air.

“You look ravishing my dearest.” Cecily’s breath hitched as the king tugged on her waist, pulling her closer. His smirk widened in satisfaction at her visceral reaction. “Thank you your majesty.” She looked at him with her eyes betraying traces of emotion even though she was restraining herself to her best capacity. But the memory of his touch still fills her heart with longing but she still hated how much the sensation excites her.

“I was informed that troops stationed north of Demaris were brutally slaughtered by the rebel forces spearheaded by a certain raven haired general. You wouldn’t know anything about that, now would you duchess ?” Cecily’s face hardened and she replied in a sharp tone,“Depends on why those troops were present in the first place your majesty.” The king’s troops were sent to forcefully evict war immigrants that were rendered homeless by the conquests of the previous emperor since he regarded them as a political liability. The villagers were kind enough to house some of the rebels in exchange for protection against the monsters near the border.

Vivacious laughter bubbles from his chest and he responded ,“Very well dearest. And please, drop the formalities. Call me by my name. Your majesty feels unnatural.” She knew provoking him any more than necessary would only spell trouble for it. Her scheme had to work out as planned. “Atticus,” she breathed out with much difficulty. Saying his name was a tougher task than she had initially thought. A pleased smirk made its way onto his lips, leaving Cecily feeling as if she had lost.

“I know blue is your colour but I have to admit, you look utterly angelic in white. You are, without a doubt, the most beautiful person I have ever laid eyes on. What a fine bride you would make.”

Under different circumstances, she would’ve blushed and accepted the compliment graciously. Cecily felt a strange feeling of melancholy and what ifs shrouded her. She was so determined before coming here and she couldn’t afford letting her purpose dissolve just because she was holding onto the ghost of the man she loved.

“What use is beauty when you’re cursed with rotten luck the way I am. I have two dead fiancés on my tab already.” She laughed humorouslessly and eyed him with an insinuating sharpness. Atticus smiled with his evergreen charm before continuing knowingly ,“ Hmm. Maybe it’s a sign from the goddess of marriage that those men and you weren’t meant to be .”

Cecily arched her brow at his revelation. Is that what he was trying to paint them as ? Twists of fate ? She may not have loved either of them but they weren’t deserving of the end that befell them. “I know you’ve taken many aliases in your lifetime but goddess of marriage ? That’s a new one your majesty.” Atticus’ mocking clearly struck a nerve. She half expected him to take offence to her words but instead he looked at her in bemusement.

He clicked his tongue in a ‘ah’ gesture and suggested ,” Well you know what they say m’lady. Third time’s a charm .” Cecily knew exactly what he was implying but she didn’t want to grant him an ounce of satisfaction by giving him a favourable reaction .

“Unfortunately your majesty, I am above wedding kinslayers and dark magic practitioners .” She scowled at him as if testing to see if he had even an ounce of conscience intact . Atticus’ smile faltered and there was a brief flicker of discomfort in him as the implications of her words sunk in. His eyes narrowed slightly at her reaction.

“Ces I —,” but before he could respond Cecily cut him off ,“ And even if they had it coming . It doesn’t change the fact that you killed my father.” Memory of the pain of finding out about her father’s death on accounts of treason was clear as day in her heart. Carlisle Reginald was many things but not a traitor. He was so loyal to the crown that there were times when she resented him for choosing his duty over his own family.

Atticus visibly grimaced and his eyes turned to icy resentment ,“ The same father that abused you and caused you unimaginable pain in the name of training ? The same father who burnt the side of your face to destroy any chance of marriage because noblemen don’t wed women with scars ? The same father that nearly pushed you to end your life because you couldn’t handle the mantle of becoming the next swordsmaster ? Do you truly resent me for it my dearest ?” Cecily felt her throat tighten with emotion. She glanced away as though trying to think of an answer. There is no right answer to that question.

“ I don’t but —,” She admitted, her eyes still fixated on the corners of the room ,“ What about my Silas? Why did you kill him ? He looked up to you. He chose to pursue alchemy over swordsmanship because of you. He was a child . He didn’t deserve it.” The night her father died, the king’s men burnt her family estate to the ground and her brother with it.

Atticus stared at her for a couple of seconds before letting out a pained sigh ,“ My love, you must believe me. I never intended to put Silas in harm’s way . I just wanted to get rid of the duke because he was the only one standing between me and the throne. I was sure that Si would be at the academy. But unfortunately he was at the wrong place at the wrong time. If it provides any solace just know I had the informants and soldiers who failed to convey that Silas was in there executed .”

There were many things she wanted to say, to vent her frustration and anger but when the time came - her grief was too severe to be expressed in words so she just looked at him, hoping he’d see how much he made her suffer. Atticus tore his gaze away from hers and clenched his jaw as if keeping himself from saying or doing things that would just worsen their situation. Uncomfortable silence befell them as they continued to dance. For the first time she realised, that they were is a ballroom filled with people. The world seemed to have dissolved into nothingness when it came to Atticus but now she was starting to feel the weight of the other guests’ curious stares and whispers. Of course rumours would make their way across high society at the speed of lightning. Two star crossed lovers forced on opposite sides by fate. Cecily and Atticus had love, one for the ages but one chose the duty to her homeland over love and the other chose power over love. Love had no place in this fight of morality and duty. It was quite a pity really.

“But your crimes don’t end there. You delved into a form of magic that was forbidden for a reason, there is always a cost for power that wicked. Always.” She looked straight into his ruby red eyes. The vibrant blood red swirled in a way that resembled shadows obscuring a ravenous beast lurking underneath.

“Is that why you got engaged my brother ? To dispose of me and make him king ?” Cecily felt the temperature around them fall as Atticus’ eyes shone with a newfound sense of fury. Gone was the sweet and gentle man she knew, instead he was replaced by this - this thing. His fingers twitched where he held her waist as if wanting to tear into her skin.

“Sure. Let’s go with that .”She replied cooly. Logic be damned, she just wanted to shatter the mask he was wearing and truly see what he’d become.

“You think I’d let him have you ? Let him make you his queen ? I‘m so sorry if it hurts you my darling but I will slay any man who thinks he can have you . If you really want to be queen, I could make you this very moment. Just say the word.” For the first time, his suave facade cracked. He sounded almost desperate, so much so that Cecily was tempted to believe that a part of the old him was still in there. Regardless of Cedric somewhat sanctimonious and saintly character, he always lacked the vigour and the ambition it took to become king and most of all - to deserve Atticus’ goddess. Cedric was the only pure blooded prince who showed an inkling of kindness to a bastard of the previous emperor so Atticus granted him the mercy of a quick and painless death. But the idea of him wedding his beloved was beyond blasphemous and filled him with unimaginable rage; making him want to give Cedric a slow and painful death instead.

To him, Cecilia Seraphina Reginald was the closest humanity has attained to godliness. The passion she projected in her art and the fire that burned behind her eyes is enough to drive anyone to insanity . She used the sword as if it was an extension of her own body and where most fought with the crude desperation , every movement of her body was deliberate and precise as if she was floating like a butterfly through the air. With each step, she seemed to move through space and time, transcending the boundaries between ordinary and extraordinary. Each slash and strike was like a paint stroke on canvas, drawing a picture of beauty and grace in motion. Her raven hair striking a beautiful contrast against her emerald eyes . Even when her father burnt the side of her face , it barely obscured her beauty. Atticus had seen her in sickness and in health. At what she considered her worst, to his eyes — she was far more enchanting than any of the excessively powdered noble ladies he’d seen in court . There is something religious about the way he adored her. There never was a God in Atticus's life. No one deserved that title after what life had thrown at him since he was little.

He remembered the first day they met when she fended off the third prince bullying Atticus at their first day at the Royal Academy. She never once discriminated against for being an illegitimate child of the emperor. Atticus was born as a result of acts of cruelty on an elite battle mage of an enemy nation who was taken by the previous emperor as spoils of war. Despite his actions, the emperor never even bothered to officially make her his concubine so Atticus’ status in the Royal Palace was akin to that of a servant’s. Throughout his childhood, he had been a prince solely in name. His entire life, everyone looked at him as if he was some sort of abomination — except her. Despite that the dignified and legendary duke’s only daughter, the lady with the highest status after the empress and princesses themselves, when faced disapproval for befriending the emperor’s bastard, she never once turned her back on him. And not necessarily because she was kind but because it was the right thing to do. Cecily was first person in Atticus’ life who made him believe that he was worth being treated as a human.

“What have you become Atticus ? We could’ve—”

“We could’ve what exactly ? Huh ? There was no other way. And you know it.” Atticus spat out through gritted teeth, a look of abject misery flashed by Cecily’s face. He was right, unless there had been some great power intervention there was no way he could become king. It didn’t matter if the most elite swordsmaster or the nouveau rich nobles that supported him, he could never get past the old nobility and the six legitimate pure blooded princes.

“What is worth it ?” She asked with her words dying by the end of the sentence. For a moment, she felt as though she was back when they were kids and how he would talk about making them pay. No rebels or tyrants, no duty or thirst for power — just as Ces and Atty .

Something in Atticus’ snapped as he gripped her wrist tighter,“ Better than anything I ever imagined. They always acted so high and mighty, you should’ve seen how they grovelled and begged . It was worth it, all of it.”

“Was it worth losing me ?” Cecily knew she shouldn’t have asked something she didn’t want him to answer. She knew she shouldn’t have crossed that line. She shouldn’t have because she knew the answer. But she had to— in order to move on, to let him go, to fulfil her duty and destiny.

“I haven’t lost you” Out of all the responses he could’ve given , this was the least expected. Did he truly believe that ? Cecily searched his face for any signs of fallacy or trickery but found none. Her mouth fell open in disbelief and after composing herself she asked ,“ What makes you say that ?”

“The way I feel for you.” He answered without even skipping a beat. Cecily scoffed internally, the way he felt for her ? What a jest. It was common knowledge that the starting price for dark magic is a person’s humanity. Dark magicians were known to not be able to feel anything let alone remorse or guilt .

“That’s not true. You can’t feel anything.” She jeered at him. Atticus didn’t respond and twirled and lifted her into the air in accordance to the rhythm of the waltz. His lack of reaction almost made her think that he didn’t hear what she said, she opened her mouth to say that again but was cut off by his reply ,“Contrary to popular beliefs my darling , dark magic doesn’t completely deprive a person of all emotion. It merely diminishes emotions that were present in silvers and amplifies the most emotions felt by the person. In short, the user becomes absolutely sure of what they feel and what they want. Anger becomes rage , sadness becomes despair , fear becomes horror and love becomes –” As he spoke, he pressed his lips against her hand. She can feel the heat of his breath in the centre of her palm ,“ — unbridled obsession.” Cecily breath hitched as he moved his lips up her wrist to her palm again, tracing her veins with his lips.

"Pray tell, is that how it went ? Your barter of soul with a devil for dominion only to find yourself upon the throne, consumed by anguish not because you killed your family but rather by the realization that your affection for me would impede your ambitions ?"

Atticus got closer to her. His eyes were locked on hers, and his lips had a slight twitch to them. Lust. He was never the type to give into such base urges, but in the her presence - he craved her. A part of him hated this feeling even more than her tormenting comments. If only he could kill her and rid himself of this weakness of the flesh. “You aren’t far from it . You know I never understood the appeal my father saw in my mother but I guess I do see it now. Fiesty enemy general that just refuses to concede and all.”

“And here I thought you said you were never going to be anything like your father. I guess you kings are doomed to repeat failures of your predecessors. After all the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” He absentmindedly hummed in response to her words as if neither agreeing nor disagreeing. His eyes were fixated on his thumb caressing her wrist, Cecily noticed it and tilted her head to her side as if silently asking ‘what’re you thinking ?’

“You aren’t wrong my darling. Maybe I am the same as him. But it doesn’t matter anymore. I have everything I wanted. Except for a couple things and I don’t intend on stopping until I’ve got them.” Atticus’ eyes gleamed with a glint of great impending danger. He paused for a second as if debating whether he should disclose his plans or not but in the festive atmosphere decided the former. “You’re quite a stubborn little thing you know. I wonder if I were to incapacitate you from wielding the blade ever again, would your resolve shatter ? All the princes are dead, there’s no one to succeed me. I’ve made sure of it. Who would you crown king after me ?” He wondered if he chopped her wrists off so that she couldn’t use her sword again, would she stop resisting then ? Or perhaps if he snapped her ankles then maybe she wouldn’t be able to run away ?

“Incapacitate me ? You think you could do that ?” Albeit Cecily knew she was playing with fire, she wanted to see to what limits she could provoke him before he took extreme measures. They were playing a dangerous game. Both were waiting for the other to make a mistake, to lose their cool and to drop the civil facade and settle the score .

Others might see Atticus as this stone cold man with no feelings, but his heart was beating loud and clear in his chest, seemingly for one purpose. He hoped that his emotional conflict would clear out once he made the deal but it didn’t help. Not one bit. He often found his eyes subconsciously searching for the familiar figure in the crowds of people he’d address every day, wanting nothing more than to reach out and have her with him again. The scent of her skin and the light lavender fragrance haunted him as he tried to sleep, the vivid image of her following him in his dreams. If it were up to him, he’d drag her to the church alter this very moment and make good on the wedding gown she was wearing. He knew she wore that to mock his guilty conscience, that is if he had any left.

“I have my knights stationed at every corner of the ballroom. One action and they’ll attack.”

“You think fresh recruits could even hold a candle against a swordmaster ?” She was right, no matter how trained they would never able to best her. The only one who stood a chance against her skill was he himself. No one else.

He chuckled at her spirit, it was one of the things he adored most about her. “No. Not really.” Cecily smiled with a victorious expression but at the same time she knew if he were to use his magic, things were bound to get messy. Although not their own, but much blood would be spilt and in a room full of the empire’s finest — it wasn’t a risk she was willing to take.

a/n 2.0 – After reading this my current writing seems so crappy wtf. I guess there is a reason this took three months to write. Tho good to know I couldn’t articulate my thoughts well enough to make a respectable plot even back then. Sorry for the abrupt ending, tumblr kept glitching so I had to split it in two. I’ll upload pt.2 in a week.

[bluecheeseinmyoffwhites]

RWBY SIMIN'S ALLUSION

To celebrate the exciting news of RWBY finding a new home, I want to celebrate the fans who kept moving forward & never gave up on our beloved franchise. And what better way than to review the most popular RWBY OC Team? SLVR is a fanmade project by Mark Zhang. These fanmade trailers blew the internet away with just how CLOSE he replicated Monty’s style with the RWBY trailers. Music, settings, weapons, moon shot, everything. One thing he does the best, however, is his incorporation of fairy tales & mythology. Today I want to honor his characters beginning with the one who started it all, Simin Megistus (video linked below if you haven’t watched his Silver Trailer).

Simin Megistus is based on Hermes Trismegistus from Greek mythology. Hermes’s Roman counterpart is Mercury, who has a reference character in RWBY proper with Mercury Black. This explains the similarities between the two characters. Luckily, Simin fights for justice. His name means “silver” which is why it is spelled that way. This can be a nod to mercury also being known as “quicksilver”. His last name, Megistus, means “greatest”, and is derived from Hermes’ last name, Trismegistus.

Hermes was a famous author who wrote several pieces of historic text. His most famous work was Kore Kosmou, detailing several ideals & cosmetology (moon, stars, etc,). The book continuously references the 4 elements (Fire, Water, Air, Earth). Simin’s weapon is named Kore Kosmou & can conjure weapons made from the 4 elements. Hermes is often depicted with a traveler’s cloak said to have magic abilities. This is why Simin’s weapon is a jacket.

Hermes practiced alchemy, which is basically the foundation of chemistry. It is the study of changing the characteristics of matter. This is done by extracting, merging, or manipulating elements like metal, fire, gold, etc. Simin’s weapon allows for him to manipulate dust & form different elemental weapons, allowing for various fighting styles.

All of Team SLVR has a moon/lunar theme, but it is the most present with Simin’s character. He represents the element of the moon, silver. He has a moonshot in the trailer (standard). His symbol is a moon & it's different craters. His weapon has 4 different “moon phases” where each of the craters hold a different types of dust. The song used in his trailer is “Paper Moon” from Soul Eater. Also, Hermes & his counterparts are said to be deities of the moon.

Hermes is the protector of thieves, merchants, & orators. This translates to Simin fighting the White Fang in his trailer, thieves who are trying to smuggle dust (merchants) & spread the word for social justice as Faunus activists (orators).

Hermes was also known as the “Argus-slayer” for defeating Argus, the 100 eyed giant, with his mighty sword. This is referenced with the final boss in Simin’s Trailer, Banesaw 2.0. His White Fang mask is significantly more detailed than the others, having emphasis on circles & dots in its design, resembling several eyes.

The white fang is smuggling dust, as they do in Volumes 1-2 of RWBY. Simin in a way represents the dust “fighting back”. Simin can also represent the full moon itself, causing the beasts of the night (White Fang) to ravage. Notice the trailer takes place at night & stars are surrounding him.

Simin has become more than a simple fan character over the years. He is the symbol of the RWBY Fandom, & his creation shows how inspiring & beloved the show is to its audience. Mark Zhang has said that he was deeply motivated by Monty Oum's work, & this led to the creation of the Silver Trailer. Everyday I hope Monty could somehow see the impact he had on others. Rest In Piece❤️

Here is the Silver Trailer for those who haven't see it or just want to look back on it :) love you Mark & keep moving forward.

[understandableparadox]

WHY IS MY FETID CORPSE BEING PUPPETERED INTO DOING THIS STUPID BIT? IS THERE PERHAPS SOME DOUBT THAT IM BI? IS THERE PERHAPS AN INKLING OF DOUBT THAT I AM NOT A FUCKING RAGEING BISEXUAL???? PLEASE, ALLOW MY SWEET SCREECHS TO ASSUAGE ANY AN ALL FEARS THAT MY COMMUNICATION SLAB ISNT MOISTIONED BY THE MERE THOUGHT OF A MAN SCHLONG AND WOMAN TUNNAL, LET ME LAY TO REST EVER SO SWEETLY ANY NIGHTMARES THAT MY RUMB ISNT POSITIVLY PERKED AT THE THOUGHT OF SOME MASSIVE MACHO MAN FLEXING IN MY GENERAL PERCEPTION. THAT I AM NOT TITILLATED BY THE BUXOM SWAY OF A TROLLS ANTI GOREING FAT PADDINGS. I AM BI JOHN. OTHERWISE THERE WOULD BE NO WAY THAT I COULD LASH MYSELF TO WHATEVER UNEVOLVED APE LIKE CREATURE DAVE IS WITHOUT REMOVEING SMALL CHUNKS OF MY PREFRONTAL CORTEX. MY RAGEING BISEXUALITY PREFORMS MIRACULOUS ALCHEMY THAT TRANSFORMS WHAT SHOULD BE DISGUST EVERYTIME DAVE SCRATCHS HIS ASS WHILE WALTZING BUCK ASS NAKED AROUND THE HOUSE INTO A PERSISTENT LOVING ENDEARMENT. IT WRANGLES REVULSION EVERY TIME I LISTEN TO EQUIUS EXPLAIN THE BODY BUILDER MLP AU INTO THE FLUTTER OF BUTTERFLIES IN THE DEEPEST PITS OF MY ACID SAC. EVERY SINGLE SOCIALLY MALADAPTIVE SPEECH OF WHATEVER EXCUSE OF VILAGNTE JUSTICE TEREZI SPEWS AT ME MAKES ME WANT TO SKIP ALONG HOME LIKE A FUCKING SCHOOL GIRL BECAUSE IT MEANS TEREZI TALKED TO ME. I WAS READY TO SLATHER THE RICH LEATHER OF FEFS BOOT THE MOMENT SHE GOT TO BE A TYRANT, IF SHE SAID STOP TALKING, I MIGHT JUST CONSIDER IT! FUCK, DO I EVEN NEED TO EXPLAIN GAMZEE?! THE DEPTHS OF SIMP HELL I WAS FOR THAT CLOWN!? LETS BREAK IT DOWN FOR THE CLASS. I AM BI, I WANT MEN, I WANT WOMEN, I NEED TO BE WANTED AND PRECIVED BECAUSE LETS BE HONEST! I AM A SAD SHRIVLED SPONGE DESPERATLY SOAKING UP ANY BIT OF WAY WARD ATTENTION THOSE AROUND ME DARE AFFORD ME UNTIL I MOLD OVER WITH THE ROT OF RED FEELINGS MISPLACED TOWARDS LESBIANS AND HETEROSEXUALS ALIKE. BEHOLD MY IDIOCY FOR IT IS UNMATCHED, BEHOLD MY DESPERATION. WATCH OUT, IF YOU SAY SOMETHING STUPID NEAR ME I MAY JUST SWOON DIRECTLY INTO A FURNACE AND ALLOW THE SWEET LICK OF FLAMES TO CARRY ME ON TO A SIMPLE INANIMATE LIFE STYLE AS WIND SWEPT ASH. ALSO, HI IM KARKAT, I WANT A LARGE PIZZA WITH THE PRIDE DAY SPECIAL... YEAH NO SAUCE, EXTRA CHEESE AND PEPPERONI... THE EXTRA CHEESE COUNTS AS TWO TOPPINGS? FUCK, FINE ILL JUST GO FOR IT FULL PRICE. THANKS.

[mewpangxin]

How Much Do I Worth For You?

Characters: Jade Leech X Trey Clover

Summary: Trey spends his time getting to know what kind of person Jade was.

Note: This is my first character x character fic in twst fandom. I'm gonna be honest, it's not that good.. but I do hope this short drabble do this ship justice? It's one of my favorite pairings after all.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The vice leader of Heartslaybyul was in a predicament at the sight.

Darn, he shouldn't be careless-!

Trey prayed that he did not jinx himself up on this.

He tucked his arms in between his chest, worried etched across his expression as he rushed in his lab coat to his partner for the project in their class.

I'm starting to hate Alchemy lessons.

He shouldn't have volunteered to stay. Alas, it's the professor's request wasn't it? He mused to himself.

“Jade..?! Jade, can you hear me? Hey..?”

His hands rubbing the back of said victim of the unexpected explosion of his failed experiments with ease as if he were a glass about to break.

“Do you want me to take you to an infirmary?”

The moray eel wrinkled his face as he coughed out smoke. He looked dreadful and worn out.

“Trey-san.. I’m sorry to bother you.”

And he went into a fit of rattled pants, startling the green haired boy beside him who was in distress.

“...I’ll finish your assignments for you, don’t be upset about it, alright?” His golden eyes filled with guilt.

If Jade was dejected, he didn't say it as he begrudgingly followed him from behind.

What type of error did Jade brew in his cauldron?

The teacher lets them go as a result. And here they were pacing around at the corridor in haste.

“......”

A few seconds later after walking in silence.

“..........”

How do students usually socialize?

“...Why do you smell nice, Trey-san?”

I don't think that's an ordinary thing to say, Trey thought to himself as he was torn on how to respond.

“Did… I make you disconcerted? I-”

Never mind, ugh.. it's just a puerile question.

“Do you think so? I use floral shampoo today.” He adjusted the rim of his glasses happily.

The blue haired second year stifled a snort at him.

“...I meant something else, Trey-san. Don’t be frightful, I’m confident your hygiene routine is clean.”

“Huh?” There was an authentic smile coming from the third year as he burst out laughing from it.

“Man, why am I this bad at guessing games?”

He saw his underclassman pointy teeth broadened.

I’m a real moron, aren’t I?

His side cheeks heated up like Riddle's ones.

Jade is striding alongside him and his anxiety dies down. How..? Dear Sevens, I am so confused.

“Yes, your scents are like flour, butter and icings.. Did you bake earlier before coming out of your dorm?”

“You hit the nail in the head because I was making some sweets for an upcoming birthday party.” Trey explained with a single motion to visualize his words.

“How envious. Your desserts are delightful.”

“You flatter me. But.. that’s my job.” Trey murmured albeit absentmindedly. “And I’m nothing special.”

“Oya? I must disagree. Since you are intriguing to me.” Those mismatched eyes meet his briefly.

“Your twin brother wouldn't say that.” Trey sighed. “I’m boring for many people, aren't I? I’m plain.”

“They are missing out then, Trey-san.” He flashed a comment as he held their hands together.

“Well, I’m unlike most humans on land, don't I?”

Jade raised his chin to emphasize what he spoke.

I don't understand you.

“Trey-san, are you uncomfortable with it? This?”

He was not familiar with physical interactions.

Are you toying with me, Jade Leech?

Trey watched back with a callous face.

He was rendered speechless as he felt black gloved fingers interlaced into his, the touch was.. like they were lovers. It was ironic, they weren't even dating.

Not that he can imagine that happening.

“Yeah, that's true.” Trey accepted with a grin. “I do feel this is a bit embarrassing for me. Haha, it's not.. breaching the rules or anything so don't dwell on it.”

This will definitely be a comical day for them.

[eastgaysian]

it's a dak-wai post it got long. freeing it from the limbo of late night drafts

dak-wai's interest in remembering who they were diminishes pretty quickly after killing alfira, to a purely functional level of 'i need to understand what the hell is going on but there's definitely some things i Don't want to know.' after incidents such as 'i tried to remember how this cat knew me and when i came to the cat was dead' followed by Ah shit bhaal's my dad, by the time they're in baldur's gate they just don't want to know fucking anything anymore. and become a little fixated on killing orin and gortash as a way of also killing whoever they used to be, by getting rid of the last people who remember that person. guy who came back wrong but was already wrong in the first place.

i do think they're still pretty recognizable in behavior for people who knew them in the past. apart from the 'i'm not murdering in cold blood i'm doling out justice and enacting vengeance' thing. their interest in women who could/would kill them is the same lol

they've also always had an almost comical level of discomfort in social situations, which are easier to avoid when you're the head of a murder cult and less so when you're a wandering adventurer. they go into most conversations with the intent of getting out of them as soon as possible, speak softly in a very concise way, which combined with their general vibe ends up coming off intimidating (not always intentional). their first instinct is to view people, particularly themself, through the lens of usefulness. so they actually feel more comfortable around people who want something from them (preferably something violent which they view as the only thing they really can do). it takes a minute for them to get genuinely interested in getting to know/befriending other people and attempts to befriend them usually get met with one-word answers and uninterested looks.

they're fixated on self-control, ruthlessly efficient and methodical in accomplishing tasks, but work best when someone else tells them what to do. just with pre-game dak-wai this was usually applied to like, Dad says i gotta do vivisections and murder art while current dak-wai would eventually start gardening as a hobby to supplement their interest in alchemy, buy 20 books about soil acidity and planting seasons, and have a blood feud with weeds and garden pests. < still not totally sure what their canon ending is going to be actually.

so really, though i don't think this is something dak-wai would ever be comfortable thinking about and acknowledging themself, the Fundamental difference between them now and in the past is. getting overcome by The Urge and killing their foster parents -> having literally nothing and no one other than bhaal, orin, and associates who they are resigned to-resent-revere. the only thing they know is doing what their father wants, the only time they ever feel good/they allow themselves to feel good is when they're doing what their father wants, there was never any other option. it's what they were made for. vs getting a do-over in a different place and with different people where it becomes possible to establish their own identity and believe that they can choose who they are, have a value outside of immediate usefulness, and literally just Do other things than kill people. even if they're bad at those other things it's worth trying

also getting a wife (who is also learning how to find beauty in things and accept tenderness). and becoming worsties with gay ass vampire and forming kind of a tacit pact where either they both make each other worse or believe they can both be better

[otg2012]

Great Series (& Films) I’ve seen in 2022

This is a list I’ve made for myself but I won’t make it private in case anybody wants to check it out. Of course, this list is made of shows I love for different reasons but they have in common a great cast, excellent performances and very good writing, so I recommend all of them.

I’ve made a TOP 20 in order of preference and they’re also included with all the other shows I’ve enjoyed which I’ve organized by nationality but they don’t follow any order. I’ve only included the year when the series didn’t air in 2022. At the end I’ve also included a few movies. Posted: 02/02/2023

The collage covers my TOP 10 (from left to right).

                       TOP 20

To My Star 2: Our Untold Stories (S2)

Flower of Evil (2020)

Choco Milk Shake

Semantic Error (S1)

Young Royals (S2)

Through the Darkness

Cherry Blossoms After Winter

Under The Skin

Reset

She and Her Perfect Husband (Need to finish it)

May I Help You? (Need to finish it)

Reborn Rich (Need to finish it)

Alchemy of Souls (S1)

The Golden Spoon

The Sound of Magic 

Café Minamdang

DNA Says I Love You

Triage

KinnPorsche

Cutie Pie (S1)

South Korea 

To My Star 2: Our Untold Stories (S2)

Choco Milk Shake

Semantic Error (S1)

Through the Darkness

Reborn Rich (Need to finish it)

Let Me Be Your Knight (2021-22) (It should be top 20 so I will include it in the 2021 top 20 instead)

May I Help You? (Need to finish it)

Please Don't Date Him (2020) (Need to finish it)

Avengers Social Club (2017)

The Golden Spoon

One Dollar Lawyer (Need to finish it)

Alchemy of Souls (S1)

Why Her? 

The Sound of Magic 

Tinted With You (2021-22)

Big Mouth

Kissable Lips 

Roommates of Poongduck 304

Cheer Up (Need to finish it)

Healer (2014) (Need to finish it)

Racket Boys (2021) (Need to finish it)

Revenge of Others (Need to finish it)

Seasons of Blossom (Need to finish it)

The Director Who Buys Me Dinner (2022-23) (Need to finish it)

The New Employee (2022-23)  (Need to finish it)

I Hear Your Voice (2013) (Need to finish it)

Adamas

Behind Cut (2021-22)

Blueming (S1)

Café Minamdang

D.P. (S1)

Cherry Blossoms After Winter

Extraordinary Attorney Woo (S1)

Flower of Evil (2020)

Again My Life

Two Weeks (2013)

Moon Lovers: Scarlet Heart Ryeo (2016)

Lawless Lawyer (2018)

First Love Again

Juvenile Justice 

Miracle 

Squid Game (S1)

Oh! My Assistant

Japan

Silent (Need to finish it)

Fukou-kun wa Kiss Suru Shikanai! 

Minato Shouji Coin Laundry 

Old Fashion Cupcake

Eien no Kino - Eternal Yesterday (Need to finish it)

Sweden

Young Royals (S2)

Thailand

KinnPorsche

Cutie Pie (S1)

The Miracle of Teddy Bear (Need to finish it)

The Eclipse (Need to finish it)

Bad Buddy (2021-22)

Not Me (2021-22)

Secret Crush on You

Triage

Star and Sky: Star in My Mind 

The Tuxedo

My Secret Love (Need to finish it)

Love Mechanics (Need to finish it)

China

Reset

Under The Skin

The Long Night (2020) (Need to finish it)

She and Her Perfect Husband (Need to finish it)

Taiwan

Papa & Daddy (S2)

DNA Says I Love You

USA

Echo 3 (2022-2023) (Need to finish it)

Severance (S1)

Andor (S1)

Stranger Things (S4) (Need to finish it)

Ozark (S5)

Germany

Das Boot (S3) (Need to finish it)

UK

Heartstopper (S1)

Movies

West Side Story (2021)

Love and Leashes 

Justice High (2020)

The Box (2021)

Val (2021)

Boku mo Aitsu mo Shinrodesu / We're Both Grooms

The Batman

Seventeen Power Of Love: The Movie

[rhetoricandlogic]

A Steampunk Mystery with Real Bite: P. Djèlí Clark’s The Haunting of Tram Car 015

Alex Brown Wed Feb 20, 2019 11:30am

On the eve of one of the country’s most important votes in years, a spirit takes over a tram car. Agent Hamed Nasr has been at the ministry for a long time, too long perhaps. He’s seen just about everything. Joining him is a fresh recruit, Agent Onsi Youssef, an eager, learned young man. What starts off as a standard exorcism explodes into the unimaginable. This is no ordinary haunting, and to solve the case Hamed and Onsi will have to make some unexpected alliances in the city’s underbelly.

For years now, P. Djèlí Clark has quietly been cranking out short fiction that is as fantastical as it is attuned to social justice. Through captivating characters unlike any we’ve ever seen before and sumptuous worldbuilding that twists the familiar into something exciting and new, Clark works his own magic. Back in 2016, Tor.com published his novelette “A Dead Djinn in Cairo,” a supernatural murder mystery set in an alternate Cairo. With The Haunting of Tram Car 015, Clark expands on his “Dead Djinn” world here with masterful effect. Agent Fatma el-Sha’arawi and Siti from “Dead Djinn” both make appearances in here, but the main protagonists here are Hamed and Onsi.

The early twentieth century Cairo of Haunting isn’t the Cairo you’re familiar with. In this alternate steampunk-ish 1912, djinn and angels and necromancers and mystics share the city with opinionated citizens and agents from the Ministry of Alchemy, Enchantments, and Supernatural Entities. With the discovery of magic in the late nineteenth century, Egypt burst on the world stage as a major power player, driving out imperial threats and thriving on fantastical innovations. Airships and trolleys ferry Cairenes to and from neighborhoods of new money, magical beings, and hardworking immigrants. Country bumpkins and those longing for more freedom and educational and employment opportunities flow in from far flung regions as the metropolis expands and evolves.

However, while advancements in technology, aided in large part by the djinn and their supernatural ilk, have made Egypt a place of wonders, society is still catching up. All that’s about to change if women’s suffrage is passed. For years, women activists have been pushing for equal rights. Now with the backing of the queen and a groundswell of support, they have a real chance to win. But victory is not guaranteed. The old ways of restrictions and limitations based on gender are hard to shake and many are unwilling to accept women in pant suits, much less gaining equal rights.

It’s this complicated world that Hamed and Onsi live in. They are modernists who aren’t afraid of the future, but middle-aged Hamed perceives those changes differently than young Onsi. Onsi is young enough to still be unjaded. He’s ambitious and inquisitive enough want to try the unorthodox but remains respectful of the past. Hamed isn’t rigid or conservative, but he’s had years of the old ways and it isn’t always easy to keep an open mind about the wild antics of kids these days.

If Hamed straddles the line between the future and the past, Clark cleverly places the women characters (with one key exception) on the side of the future and the men (other than Hamed an Onsi) on the side of the past. It’s not that men are bad and women are good but more that men in a patriarchal society often feel they have something to lose when women gain rights. They don’t, but in a world built upon a foundation of oppressors and oppressed, those on top typically either dismiss the push for equity as a silly fantasy or try to reframe it in the context of a hierarchy. Through Hamed, Onsi, and Abla, Clark resists not just the notion that equity demands sacrifice and subtraction but that enlightenment requires Westernization.

As much as I love the idea of steampunk, I often have a hard time with the subgenre because it tends to if not outright glorify then simply ignore colonialism and imperialism. Without the Victorian era, you don’t get steampunk, but you also don’t get the Victorian era without the brutality, exploitation, desecration, and destruction of imperialism. It’s easy to set aside what Queen Victoria was doing to her colonies if all you care about are airships and goggles on top hats. Clark uses the British invasion of 1882 as a springboard—the newly arrived djinn helped repel the imperialists—then takes it one step further. Often, in both fiction and non-fiction, a society isn’t deemed “civilized” until they adopt Western rules, including those regulating the subservience of the conquered by the conquerors.

In Haunting, Clark shifts the focus from the British to the Egyptians. Agent el-Sha’arawi wears English menswear because to her the attire is exotic and unusual—she is, in fact, turning the imperialists’ obsession with exoticism against them. Abla explores the themes of immigration and migration by bridging the chasm between ancient beliefs and contemporary traditions. The djinn, angels, and other supernatural entities use their knowledge and gifts to benefit Egypt and prevent further invasion from Westerners. Cairo develops according to its own goals, needs, and socio-cultural interests with no influence from the Western world. In young adult science fiction and fantasy, the trend of POC authors deconstructing colonialism has been gaining traction recently, but it is still fairly uncommon in adult SFF. Here’s hoping Clark is only the tip of the iceberg.

If last year’s stellar novella The Black God’s Drum hadn’t already solidified P. Djèlí Clark as one of the best under-the-radar writers today, The Haunting of Tram Car 015 will. In just over 100 pages filled with monstrous creatures and fanciful magic, Clark critiques the patriarchy, imperialism, and Westernization under the guise of a slight plot about a haunted public transit trolley. This book should be on every recommendation list of the best fantasy fiction for 2019. I can’t wait to see what he writes next.

[somerandomg33k]

What is happening in Syria and South Korea? What did Joe Biden do this time? Why am I working on Sundays? All this and more on the Patron edition of Social Justice Alchemy. Come and join us. Bring your questions too.

[witchofthesouls]

Megatron is a really fascinating character because he has so many takes across the franchise and fandom.

G1 has the 80s/90s cartoon Big Bad Evil along with his treacherous second and faction of henchmen and goons. He's the leader with not much brains but all the brawn, so he commands through his fists and fusion cannon. And yelling. A lot of yelling.

Animated was a very refined and calculating Megatron that slew his predecessor to become the new Decepticon Warlord. Some believe he was the coldest iteration as he killed his Starscream.

Bayverse introduced a Megatron that was once a High Lord Protector who threw away his position and relationships to Kickstart the war. It also adds questions about whether or not the Fallen was able to corrupt to him, so it muddles on his motivations that driven him.

Cyberverse had a Megatron that was willing to entertain bouts of armistice.

TFP had a very charming, charismatic, and social Megatron. @saltysaltdog really voiced what was lingering in my subconscious about this guy. Yes, he's violent and aggressive and brutish, but he still cares in his own way. Even after millions and millions of years of attrition to a slow extinction, he still enacts policies in an attempt to protect what remains of his crew. He's literally that super buff jock that dabbles in so many subjects with a sprinkle of anime protagonist. He's not stupid, but he's his worst enemy because of impulsive decisions. (And his Soundwave doesn't help. That Soundwave isn't the brakes, he's the fucking gas pedal.)

IDW/MTMTE really delved into a Megatron that's a Fallen Hero into the "He Who Fights Monsters" trope. Unlike a lot of the other iterations, this Megatron implemented policies to not only harvest civilized worlds but to destabilize those societies with the end goal of eradication. The Phase Sixers. Pink alchemy. The Warworld fleets. The extremist and genodical mission of the Black Block Consortia as they eradicate mechanoid species as a result of the widespread destruction of Cybertron's civil war. This Megatron, who once was a poet, who once dreamed of a free Cybertron, became the very person he sought the movement to challenge. The Decepticons, which once allowed many to decide their futures and voice concerns, eventually warped into a totalitarian state. It wasn't Decepticon ideals. It was only Megatron's. K-Bombers. Combiners. Deathsaurus' desertion as he takes a Warworld and his crew. Look at the Justice Division. Particularly at Tarn. Megatron deliberately crafted and guided a naive and lost Damus into the zealot that was Tarn. The guy who literally commandeered the Grindcore prison that smelted living prisoners into raw materials for M.T.O.s. All to literally prove a point to someone else in the most cruelest and most callous way possible. And then Megatron just dumps the guy after he loses interest in the project. He's done.

Earthspark has a Megatron that left the Decepticons. Old Man is having moments with the new babies and kids as he fights his old faction and deals with so many eyes on him.

[sapiavividus]

“A thing's real nature has a tendency to conceal itself.” — Heraclitus

The Inherent Dangers of Modern Values and the Need for Timeless Principles: A Call for Ethical Responsibility

In the depths of our digital era, where the captivating glow of modern advancements lures us with assurances of improvement and ease, we must take caution from the age-old insights of Heraclitus: “A thing's real nature has a tendency to conceal itself.” In our journey through the complexities of today's social, political, and religious frameworks, it becomes increasingly evident that we face a critical imperative: the necessity to challenge the dominance of contemporary ideologies that shape our lives.

These current systems, riddled with polarization, misinformation, and ethical vacuity, often mask their detrimental effects on our humanity. As we delve into this philosophical inquiry, we will explore five essential arguments for revitalizing enduring values that ground us in compassion, justice, and integrity. By doing so, we can reclaim our autonomy and navigate the murky waters of a society steeped in moral ambiguity, fostering not only individual empowerment but also communal resilience in the face of systemic failures.

As we critically assess the failings of our current paradigms, it's crucial to recognize how the rapid technological advancements have exacerbated societal divides and disillusionment. The algorithms that govern our online interactions often amplify conflict and misinformation, creating echo chambers that further distance us from shared understanding. Political and religious spheres are no longer unifying entities; instead, they reflect the fractures within our communities. In this backdrop, the call for timeless values becomes more than a philosophical stance; it transforms into a necessary framework for reestablishing trust, empathy, and dialogue.

The Veil of Convenience: Disconnected from True Nature

In this era of palpable paradox, we find ourselves ensnared by the very conveniences we once pursued with zeal. The modern world has intricately devised a façade of connection, wrapping it in an alluring veil that, upon closer inspection, reveals a grim truth: we are puppets dancing on the strings of our own indulgences. The technologies designed to liberate us from the pain of isolation have, in their cunning duplicity, shackled the soul, compelling us to surrender our most profound humanity for the hollow satisfaction of ephemeral likes and false camaraderie.

As we navigate this treacherous landscape, we must acknowledge the dark alchemy at work, where genuine connection is entwined with transactional deceit, each interaction reduced to a mere commodity. What was once a rich tapestry of human experience is now a wasteland of superficial engagements, where the hungry ghosts of lost authenticity haunt our screens. In this pernicious game, empathy is sacrificed at the altar of convenience, and the depth of our emotional landscape is reduced to a barren flatline, oscillating between indifference and isolation.

Observe how society has contorted itself into a battleground of ideologies, where the sacred constructs of community, identity, and belonging are weaponized against us, and a collective sense of purpose is obliterated. Fear-mongering narratives exploit the frail seams of our consciousness, tethering us to divisive factions while masquerading as sanctuaries of truth. Yet, in our frantic pursuit of certainty, we become unwitting accomplices in our own disenfranchisement, trading our autonomy for the intoxicating illusion of belonging—an arrangement fraught with psychological peril.

To emerge from this labyrinth, one must undertake a ruthless examination of self, peeling back the layers of complicity that bind us to this cycle of distortion and disconnection. Embracing our vulnerability becomes a courageous act of defiance against the pervasive apathy that threatens to engulf us, transforming the very essence of our interactions from transactional to transcendent. Where others see weakness, the astute observer will recognize the potential for a renaissance—a reclamation of the values that have sustained the human spirit throughout all history.

Yet, let us not be deceived; this journey is fraught with treachery. For as we strive to bridge the chasms that divide us, we must confront the duality of our nature—the propensity to oscillate between connection and isolation, compassion and self-interest. The time is ripe to unravel the complex web of discontent, to wrest control from the machinations of an indifferent system, and to reclaim the sacred significance of our shared humanity.

In this stunning reclamation, the stakes could not be higher. By aligning ourselves with timeless values, we harness the transformative power of connection, not merely as an aspiration but as our foundational weapon in the fight against the pervasive alienation that defines our age. Thus, we embark on a collective odyssey, a relentless pursuit of a reality where empathy and solidarity are not just cherished ideals but are woven into the very fabric of our existence. In transcending the murky depths of modern disconnection, we not only reclaim our individual agency but craft a powerful narrative, one that galvanizes the spirit and illuminates the glorious complexity of our shared experience.

The Tyranny of Relativism: Navigating the Abyss of Absolute Truths Amidst Modern Extremes

In the tumultuous landscape of our modern times, where social, political, and religious extremes intertwine, we find ourselves ensnared in a web of relativism that warps our understanding of moral clarity. This reigning ethos, amplified by the chaos of polarized opinions, breeds ethical confusion, leading us down a disorienting path where every viewpoint is considered equally valid. Psychological manipulation, fueled by social media and echo chambers, exacerbates this phenomenon, creating a sense of legitimacy around the most fleeting beliefs while undermining the foundation of timeless ideals that was once as brutally solid as concrete.

As we navigate this chaotic milieu, it becomes evident that the promotion of relativism is not merely an abstract concept; it is a conscious strategy employed by various factions seeking to impose their agendas. In this environment, steadfast principles become indistinguishable from the whims of the cultural moment, leaving us battered and unanchored against the rising tides of conflicting ideologies. The fracturing of our moral landscape results in the erosion of ethical clarity, as we are urged to abandon firm convictions in favor of an all-encompassing acceptance that suffocates dissent.

Psychologically, we are conditioned to recoil from absolute truths that challenge the status quo. This conditioning is reinforced by the relentless barrage of social narratives that prioritize emotional resonance over logical consistency. Simultaneously, the sociopolitical climate fosters an environment where dissent is not only discouraged but often branded as dangerous or intolerant. This pervasive pressure creates a paradox where individuals feel compelled to conform to the dominant narratives, sacrificing their own beliefs at the altar of social acceptance.

Religion, too, is not immune to this transformational wave. Extremist factions exploit faith to propagate divisive ideologies, often distorting timeless spiritual tenets to serve their narrow interests. In the process, the foundational values that once united us—compassion, integrity, and respect—are marginalized and dismissed as outdated relics unfit for our contemporary fight.

Yet, within this dark labyrinth of relativism lies a profound truth: the reclamation of timeless values is not just a personal endeavor but a vital necessity for the collective good. To commit to absolute truths that transcend fleeting cultural whims is to arm ourselves against the insidious and malevolent forces that seek to manipulate our every thought and emotion. By advocating for these enduring principles, we reclaim our moral compasses and assert our capacity for critical thought, accountability, and ethical responsibility.

Only by actively resisting the seductive comforts of relativism can we foster a culture that prioritizes discernment over blind acceptance. This requires not only individual courage but also a collective willingness to engage in rigorous dialogue, challenging the extremities of our current era with empathy and intellectual rigor.

The decision that lies before us is urgent and crucial: to capitulate to the chaotic allure of relativism or to rise with unwavering conviction in the principles that underpin our shared humanity. In choosing the latter, we not only shine a light upon the shadows of moral ambiguity but also redefine our understanding of right and wrong in a world ravaged by discord and deceit.

Let us embrace this formidable challenge together, rekindling the flame of timeless ideals that guide our actions and inform our judgments. In doing so, we illuminate the path through the darkness of our modern extremes, reaffirming our ethical foundation and rediscovering our humanity amid the disorienting void.

The Illusion of Individualism: Confronting the Abyss of Shared Obligation

As we spiral deeper into the seductive vortex of modernity, we find ourselves ensnared in a cunningly spun tale—the parade of individualism. It beckons us with glittering promises of freedom and self-truth, yet it conceals a darker nuance: profound isolation. Like moths darting toward a flame, we are drawn to the notion of self as supreme, unwittingly severing our threads from the intricate tapestry of society. Yet, in this dizzying dance of self-aggrandizement, we obscure the bedrock of humanity—our interconnectedness and deep intrinsic responsibilities to one another.

Consider the currents of today’s social, political, and religious extremes, each a potent catalyst for this disintegration of communal bonds. We are bombarded with the relentless drumbeat of divisive rhetoric, inducing a hypnotic state where loyalty to the self eclipses our allegiance to the collective. Herein lies the twisted irony: in our desperate quest for self-assertion, we sacrifice the very virtues that enrich our lives—like the shared values of community, empathy, and real solidarity.

Psychologically, we become fragile puppets, our strings pulled by the machinations of media and ideologues who thrive on the chaos of disconnection. Each click, each share, fuels our isolation, embedding us deeper into our chosen echo chambers. The fleeting joys of individual triumph—a like here, a retweet there—blind us to the consequences of our detachment. Our actions become mere ripples on a still pond, anesthetizing us to the waves they create in the lives of others.

Yet, as we teeter on this precipice, it is imperative to question: what do we lose when the altar of individualism becomes our only sanctuary? The morality forged in the fires of collective responsibility reveals itself not as a restriction, but as liberation. When we align our individual pursuits with the imperatives of our communal existence, we cultivate a robust ethos that can withstand the extremities of today’s world.

The urgency of this realization is profound. We stand at a crossroads, where the siren call of selfish interests conflicts with the power of collective action. To reclaim our ethical existence, we must cast a discerning eye upon the gilded promises of individualism that seek to ensnare us. Binding ourselves to the timeless ideals of community encourages not just resilience, but also rebirth—a flourishing of mutual support that shields against the soul-numbing effects of isolationism and moral disengagement.

In this era marred by extremism, we must resist the hypnotic allure that assures us that we can thrive alone. Instead, let us galvanize our spirits and embody the age-old wisdom of shared responsibility. In doing so, we rewrite the narrative of our time, transforming the illusion of individualism into a tapestry of collective strength—where each thread shines brightly, yet remains inseparably bound to the whole. In the dance of life, let us remember: the beauty lies not in the solo act, but in the intricate choreography of togetherness.

As the narrative of modernity extols the virtues of individualism, we find ourselves increasingly isolated, our aspirations detached from the broader social fabric. This deceptive glorification of self-centered pursuits blinds us to our interconnectedness and shared obligations. An ethical society thrives when we embrace collective responsibility, recognizing that our actions ripple across the lives of others. By adhering to timeless values that underscore community and solidarity, we can foster a culture of mutual support and upliftment, steering away from the harmful tendencies of isolationism and moral disengagement.

The Devouring Serpent: A Portrait of Modern Extremes

Envision, if you will, a monstrous serpent; its scales shimmering with a predatory glint as it writhes through the fabric of our existence, a relentless predator feasting on life itself. This insatiable beast embodies the grotesque reality of modernity, squeezing every drop of joy, every morsel of fulfillment from our weary souls. We are left gasping, entrapped in its suffocating coils, desperate for the lifeblood of happiness it voraciously devours. This snake is no mere creature—it symbolizes the suffocating grip of social, political, and religious extremism that lurks in the shadows, gradually strangling the very essence of our individuality.

In this bleak landscape, the snake represents the scourge of division, the poisonous ideologies that have slithered into our lives with a creeping malaise. With each squeeze, it strips away the vibrant threads of connection and community, replacing them with a monotonous struggle for survival under the weight of dogma. The laughter that once reverberated in our homes now withers, silenced by the venomous tone of absolutism—those relentless forces that perpetuate discord, rendering us strangers in our own families.

Politics transforms into a grisly theater, with this serpent slithering through the ranks, inflating our fears and amplifying our divisions. Factions rise like rotting corpses, feeding off our resentments and converting neighbor into enemy. In a landscape ruled by extremities, disagreement morphs into a brutal scrimmage, where compassion is a discarded relic, lost in the quest for dominance. Our communities, once thriving with vitality, devolve into vicious battlegrounds, where the simple act of unity becomes a dangerous gambit.

But the serpent’s reach does not end there. It wraps around the sacred, infiltrating religion and stifling the very soul of spirituality. What was once a lifeline to understanding and connection has been entwined, twisted into a tool of control worn by zealots who shun inquiry for blind obedience. Genuine exploration of the spiritual is cast aside, buried under dishonest and dogmatic fervor. Our encounters with the divine, once illuminating, now shrouded in darkness, eclipsed by the suffocating weight of zealous but empty beliefs.

As this serpent continues its insidious feast, we find ourselves shackled to a life of drudgery. The pride and pleasure we once derived from our work dissipate, leaving behind a hollow shell. Tasks that should have embolden us are reduced to mere monotonous chains, draining us of drive and purpose as this snake demands more sacrifice. Our workplaces, once arenas of dignity and fulfillment, become merciless machines, crushing the spirit of every worker in the relentless pursuit of profit. Here, glory gives way to despair, rendering us to the unspeakable chaos of mere cogs in a soulless apparatus.

In the end, the serpent serves as a crude manifestation of our slow, insidious decay. Families crumble under the weight of bitter conflict, while joy becomes a distant memory, snuffed out by the choking extremes that encroach upon our lives at every turn. If we are to escape this grotesque predator, we must unfurl ourselves from its grasp. We must rise against the forces that threaten to obliterate our humanity, reclaiming the pleasures that once tethered us together—community, meaningful work, and the rich tapestry of spiritual experience. Only by confronting this wretched serpent can we hope to break free from the insidious chokehold of modern extremisms and rekindle the vibrancy of existence that has been so cruelly snatched away.

The Deceptive Allure of Secular Religion: Chasing Meaning in a World Gone Mad

In our frenzied scramble for significance, many find themselves enraptured by secular ideologies, glitzy illusions dressed as modern religions, which can only offer a shiny yet vacuous dogma. This new breed of faith, draped in the seductive robe of moral relativism, entices the weary soul with promises of comfort, but leaves behind a deep abyss where once stood the profound truths that forge our shared humanity.

Consider the psychological cage we inhabit, ensnared by the incessant clamor of contemporary thought. Our minds are bombarded by social media feeds that prioritize the trivial, nudging us to conform to the absurdity of the moment. In this swirling ocean of opinions, where intellectual rigor is sacrificed at the altar of virality, we lose sight of the timeless wisdom that has historically anchored our existence. This relentless chase for approval and affirmation distorts our values, leaving us adrift and vulnerable in a sea of confusion—where the transient reigns supreme and the eternal is almost completely forgotten.

But the assault doesn’t stop there; it seeps into the very marrow of our social fabric. We are pitted against one another by political extremes, dressed up in the garb of righteousness, determined to vilify inherent virtues that once offered solidarity and strength. The lines drawn are stark—good versus evil, us versus them—trapping us in a worldview that vilifies dissent and demonizes tradition. In this landscape, the rich inheritance of our ancestors becomes mere collateral damage in the battle for ideological supremacy.

Herein lies the existential peril. The call for genuine moral action—an urgent call that echoes through the corridors of time—remains unheard amidst the deafening din of modernity. It is imperative that we reclaim the invaluable lessons that lie dormant within our ancestral legacies, daring to resurrect them from the grave of gross disregard. By infusing our lives with the time-tested values that once animated human experience, we can begin to navigate this tumultuous present—not as mere pawns manipulated by the forces around us, but as architects of a renewed existence.

We must twist and turn on this linguistic chase, peeling back the layers of contemporary thought to expose the rot beneath. The seductive whispers of these ephemeral ideologies must be drowned out by the resounding truths that continue to bind us all. Only then can we resist the seductive grasp of the secular charlatans who promise meaning and deliverance but give us nothingness.

As we stand defiantly against this onslaught, let us not be deceived by the mirage of fleeting ideologies, for it is through the revival of our deepest, most profound truths that we may chart a meaningful course through the chaos. The path ahead is fraught with danger, but it is also rich with potential. Embrace the power of the ancients, for therein lies the key to reclaiming our agency, purpose, and ultimately, our humanity in a world that seeks to completely destroy it.

A Call to Moral Action: The Reckoning of Our Time

As we confront the myriad of challenges now facing down our age—the forces that warp and obscure our grasp of true essence—we must step forward as torchbearers of time-honored values, illuminating the shadows that threaten to overtake us. This endeavor transcends mere philosophical discourse; it is a call to arms, a summons to awaken the sleeping warrior within each of us. The stakes are monumental.

We bear the weighty responsibility of rekindling sincere connection, weaving threads of unity in a tapestry frayed by division. In this fractured landscape, collective responsibility beckons us, urging a return to a shared ethics that transcends the anarchic whirlwinds of modern existence. This journey towards a meaningful life through ethical action is not optional; it is essential. The urgency of this call is deafening—our moral agency is the lantern that can pierce the prevailing darkness.

In reclaiming this agency, we cultivate a path through the suffocating fog of contemporary ideologies that inhibit our growth and diminish our humanity. The time for passive existence is over; we must rise as guardians of a living worldview, a vibrant testament to what we hold dear. It is not enough to survive; we must strive for a flourishing life, allowing the immemorial principles—those deep, resonant truths forged by countless generations—to guide us toward a brighter tomorrow.

Failure to heed this desperate call risks sealing our fates in the very darkness we seek to escape. The tides of history are unforgiving, and if we remain ensnared by complacency, the very essence of who we are could vanish into obscurity. So let us stand resolute, armed with the convictions of our forebears, ready to reshape the narrative and ignite a transformation rooted in timeless values. Let us not falter in our quest for meaning, purpose, and ultimately, our deepest shared humanity.

Thank you for reading!

[epistolizer]

Hit & Run Commentary #151

Comrade DeBlasio, in the spirit of the Antichrist, is suggesting that employers should compel their human capital to submit to the invasive sacredotal alchemy of the Plague cult. Don’t be shocked when such sparks a forced reallocation of resources similar to that of Antifa. Somehow looting a Lego Death Star is intrinsic to the furtherance of social justice but those denied the means of sustenance in a manner similar to the prophecies foretold in Revelation 13 similarly appropriating resources in order to survive would not be?

A column in the New York Times declares there is no reason why one should have to be a U.S. citizen in order to vote. Yet there are those now of the mainstream media mindset of which the editorial board of the New York Times resides as a sort of priestly overclass that hold that those failing to acquiesce to the demands for the Plague Cult inoculation should be denied access to nutritional sustenance, continued employment, and even protection from financial ruination as a result of exercising their conscience in regards to this particular health policy.

There is no more inherently political a statement than to repeatedly insist that a statement is not political.

Wonder how long until someone pens a work along the lines of a Plague Cult alchemy version of the Turner Diaries. Such a book might end up being banned from e-commerce platforms. However, one could not easily ban it from being photocopied from patriot to patriot unless our technocratic overlords intend to ban private ownership of that form of technology as well as in the case of the Soviet Union.

It is claimed that the vaccinated can spread the delta (or Indian) variant to an extent similar to the unvaccinated. If that is the case and policy is to be based on evidential science rather than unassailable dogma, shouldn’t the vaccinated be subjected to the exact same testing requirements as the unvaccinated? To hold otherwise is to admit that testing is not about stopping the spread of the illness but about propagandistically otherizing in order to dehumanize the unvaccinated similar to the Jews and Kulacks in other forms of totalitarianism that also assured the subjugated that measures shocking the conscience were necessary in the name of public health and biological hygiene.

The delta (or Indian variant) has apparently spread around the world. Given this microbe rose to prominence well after the Plague became a pervasive reality, my contention has been confirmed that, to prevailing elites, appearing tolerant in terms of open borders and mass migration is indeed deemed a higher priority than survival itself.

If men can not only dress like women but rather like the skanks along the Vegas strip and can compete in women’s athletic events, who really gives a flip if someone wears white after labor day?

Some debates go on for decades. Sometimes these will go on even after the subject that they are about has passed into death. In an exchange, a hardline theological linguist questioned the propriety of David and Rush Limbaugh being referred to as brothers because of certain inquisitors doubting the sincerity of Rush’s religious faith. Evidence consisted primarily of Rush not repeatedly or continuously attesting to the divinity of Christ on the broadcaster’s daily radio program. Yet Rush never said that his was an explicitly or solely a religious broadcast. For pointing that out, I was accused of compartmentalizing Christianity where I am a Christian on Sunday yet likely not in the workplace. This accusation makes as much sense as someone in a supermarket calling for the abolition of the bread aisle because it is ultimately Christ as the Bread of Life, rather than the baked good sold as such on the shelf, as the source of existence.

Is it really “informed consent” if one is obligated to take the Plague Cult injection to keep one’s employment?

A Christian comic depicts a pastor standing before a flock of sheep warning “Danger! Danger! Wolf!” in regards to the wolf sneaking up behind them. One of the sheep snaps back at the pastor, “Who are you to judge? You don’t love like Jesus. You are a bigoted, legalistic, hypocritial Pharisee.” What is not taken into consideration is that often a sheep will respond that way when they see repeatedly that what sets the pastor off is not so much something clearly spelled out in the pages of Scripture but rather something that is more the pastor’s personal preference. For example, women in pants. Or, perhaps more importantly, the inconsistency of the pastor condemning the use of mood-stabilizing medications for those that have depression yet admitting from the pulpit that he cannot get his day started without coffee. Is that not also dependence upon a chemical rather than God?

On Fox News, it was insisted in an interview that in regards to the Coronavirus, individuals need to think like the Navy SEALS in putting the team first. First, I did not agree to join the military. Thus, one should not be forced into the false altruism scandal against one’s consent. Second, the military doesn’t have that great of a track record as to taking care of those damaged as a result of the institution’s bad decisions. Agent orange or Gulf War syndrome, anyone?

If tenants shouldn't be evicted over Covid, why should the rest of us be required to pay our property and income taxes?

The Autarch decreed that those in areas of high vaccination rates such as his home Soviet are not required to wear masks. And if the patriots of the Red State Alliance refuse to obey either vaccine or mask mandates?

In response to those reluctant to acquiesce to the demands for universal Plague cult alchemy or who even outright refuse such violations of their biochemical autonomy, it is asked who are those without medical credentials to oppose what are merely “recommendations” on the part of public health authorities? So to what extent should such control over our individual lives be surrendered? If such functionaries have the right to inject substances into our bodies against our will for the sake of the COMMUNITY, why do they not possess the right to turn off your lights at an early designated hour to coerce you into getting the amount of sleep necessary to optimize immune responses or fine you if what you purchase at the supermarket does not comply with governmental dietary guidelines?

I remember when Francis Collins was looked upon as a respected Christian of science and not some leftist buffoon shilling on before of a regime aspiring towards tyrannical technocracy.

In promotions for the movie “Jungle Cruise”, Applebees and Disney are urging America in the soundtrack to the commercial to “rock the boat”. So then on what grounds do these corporate shills demand compliance with countenance concealment, Plague Cult alchemy, and documentation attesting to such? Aren’t those refusing simply complying with the messaging to “rock the boat”?

By Frederick Meekins

[aliyasthoughts]

Alchemy: "We Move in Relationship: Sites of Practice in the Midwest"

This chapter is divided into subsections about organizations and people in the Midwest who are connected through relationships and their origins in the US Social Forum in 2010. Listed below are a select few...

The Young Women's Empowerment Project was created by and for people in the sex trade and street economies utilizing harm reduction. I was especially intrigued by their project Healing in Action, which encouraged people to use basic household/grocery store items for wellness remedies. I have a friend whose mom grew up on a Native American reservation and swears by hemp pills as a natural remedy for numerous ailments. I do worry that for some people who aren't properly educated about or immersed in traditions and cultures, at-home remedies allow them to ignore their problems.

East Michigan Environmental Action Council fights environmental racism in southeast Michigan on a community basis

Healing by Choice! is comprised of women of color healing practitioners who prioritize consent and the choice to partake in healing. Coercion is antithetical to healing justice, so this recognition of agency is important to their work.

The minimization of personal rights and agency happens frequently when the concern is "health," because, within industries, health is easily divisible into healthy and not healthy, where not healthy needs to immediately be fixed to become healthy. But issues like drug addiction are so much more nuanced with deep backgrounds and contexts. Forcing individuals into healing, typically also with punishment systems run by outside professionals (for profit) strips away dignity and personal choice.

I wanted to include a poem here about someone experiencing drug addiction, but the first probably 10 that I read all demonized drugs and villainized the person. Here is one...