cetus09

[cetus09]

tw:gore

In the ashen woods, where the sky bled with sorrow, three birds lived under the weight of their own curses. The raven, blacker than forgotten shadows. The crow, its feathers shimmering with an unnatural sheen, reflecting a world of lies. And the magpie, sharp as a dagger, hunger burning deep within her. They were not bound by kinship, but by affliction—by an insidious sickness that ate at their insides, like a parasite born from despair. A gnawing hunger that could never be satisfied, whispering endlessly of a cure. The raven and the crow, bound by something darker, shared a love that was quiet but fierce. Their hearts beat together, stitched in a bond that neither of them could break. And then there was the magpie, who watched them with a heart full of envy and a desire that seethed beneath her chest. She wanted them—both of them, all of them. The raven’s dark wings, the crow’s honeyed voice. She wanted their hearts, their devotion, their love. She listened to the voice inside her head, the voice that promised everything: “Take them. Take their hearts. You deserve them. They are yours for the taking.” And so the magpie set her plan into motion. She found the raven, curled up with the crow, both of them nestling together in a quiet solace beneath the dying branches. With cold eyes, the magpie struck, tearing into the raven’s chest, ripping through its heart as if it were no more than paper. The parasite, slick and vile, squirmed inside her as she devoured it, feeling an empty rush of power—nothing more than a fleeting, hollow satisfaction. She felt no love, no joy. Only hunger, and the still-gnawing emptiness that would never cease. She turned her eyes to the crow, its wings fluttering in distress. The magpie was quick, faster than the wind. She lunged, tearing into the crow's side, and though it fought, desperate to protect the one it loved, it was no match for the magpie's greed. She tore out its heart, consumed it with the same merciless hunger. For a moment, silence fell over the forest. The magpie stood amidst the ruin, blood dripping from her beak, feeling nothing but a gnawing ache inside her. The raven’s heart was in her, the crow’s heart in her. But still, the hunger burned. She realized too late. The love she had wanted, the love she had taken, was never meant for her. They were meant to be together, bound in a love that she could never destroy, that she could never claim. Some hearts, no matter how fiercely you yearn for them, are not yours to take. And so, the magpie understood the cruel truth: Some hearts are meant to remain closed. Acceptance, she thought, might have been the only true love she had never known. But now, it was too late.

[cetus09]

Goodbye Letter From Chassis

My dearest friends,

I don’t know if you’ll ever see this letter, but I need to send it. My heart won’t let me keep these words to myself any longer.

Edmund, Beatrice, Elowen, Alistair, Isolde—there was a time when we felt invincible. Together, everything made sense. Edward, you were the steady one, always there, like a brother. Beatrice, you were the heart, the one who made everything feel safe. Elowen, you were my closest friend, the one I trusted with everything. Alistair, you made me laugh, and I always knew you had my back. Isolde, you were rare, like something precious that everyone admired but few could truly understand.

I miss you all in ways that words can’t explain. You were each something different to me, and without you, everything feels a little lost. When we were together, I thought it would last forever. But things changed, and I didn’t know how to stop it. Life pulled us in different directions, school, new challenges, new people. And some things were left unsaid, and others were said when we should have stayed silent. And now, here we are, apart.

I’ve tried to hold on, tried to keep us together, but it feels like I’m the only one still pulling. I don’t blame you for letting go. People grow, they move on. But I can’t help but feel that something is missing, something that can’t be replaced.

I don’t know what I want from this letter. Maybe just to say goodbye. Or maybe to ask for a little bit of what we had, even if it’s just in memory. You were my best friends. I don’t know how to move on from that, but I have to try.

If this is the end, then I want you to know that I will always carry you with me. Always. And I hope, wherever you are, that you’re happy, that you’ve found what you need.

Goodbye, or maybe not goodbye, but a promise that I will never forget you.

Always,

Chassis

[cetus09]

untitled #14

You are 17. Sitting in the passenger seat of a car that smells like cigarettes and air freshener. The night is loud and alive, but all you can hear is the hum of what's next. Your best friend talks about forever like it's a given, but you can't quite see past next Tuesday. You think about leaving, about staying, about the pull of both directions, like a rubber band stretched too thin. You are 23. The passenger seat feels different now, emptier somehow, though you can't put your finger on why. Your playlist still sounds like 17, but the world is quieter, and the nights end earlier. There's an unopened letter from your old high school friend in the glove box. You tell yourself you'll write back tomorrow. Tomorrow never feels close enough.

You are 35. And the letter is gone. Recycled, maybe. Or burned. There's a different kind of quiet now- the kind that settles into your bones like an old sweater. You sit in a driveway at 9:47 p.m., waiting for the courage to walk inside, where your kids will be asleep, and the dishes will wait for you like they always do. The passenger seat is covered in crumbs from drive-thru dinners. You miss yourself.

You are 60. At a table for six, but it feels like 10, because memories take up so much room. The wine tastes like forgiveness, and someone's laughter is loud enough to break a heart open. You are a mosaic now, a little bit of every person you've ever loved or lost. You talk about old songs like they're old friends, because maybe they are. Someone says, "Can you believe we're here?" And the silence after feels holy. You are everything. Every passenger seat, every letter unopened, every table, every laugh. You are the loud hum of what's next, and the aching beauty of what has been.

[cetus09]

why is social liberalism the best "doable" political ideology?

Social liberalism is the quiet revolution we’ve been waiting for. Not the loud, chaotic upheaval of extreme ideologies, but the steady, unwavering insistence that society should work for everyone—not just the powerful, not just the wealthy, but for every individual, regardless of their identity, their background, or their station. It’s the ideology that says: We can make this work—if we choose to.

What makes social liberalism so compelling is its balance. It’s not about rejecting capitalism or toppling the systems that hold us up, but it’s about making sure those systems don’t crush us in the process. It’s about keeping the structure, but ensuring it doesn’t become a cage. It’s the belief that progress isn’t a luxury for the few—it’s a right for all. It’s freedom, but with responsibility. It’s security, but without the surveillance. It’s love, but with a dose of logic.

Unlike its more radical counterparts, social liberalism isn’t about grand gestures or utopian fantasies. It’s pragmatic. It’s doable. It’s the quiet promise that we can create a society where human rights, environmental protection, and economic opportunity exist side by side, not in opposition. It asks for something simple: equality, respect, and the space to thrive.

It’s the doable dream. And in a world that’s always teetering on the edge of crisis, isn’t that exactly what we need? Not a promise of perfection, but a promise of progress. One step at a time, pushing for change without losing sight of the here and now. It’s the best of both worlds: an ideology rooted in values that shape our hearts and minds, while staying firmly grounded in the reality of today’s world.