#all the visible world is intentions of the invisible

[kunthug]

A poetics of blank space, then: “The visible world is soon emblematic of the intentions of the invisible.” Some days I wake and the fog is already crowding my window, my little green plants, and I know what humans have known since the beginning: we belong and also we do not belong. Somehow we sensed how the fabric surrounding us was not whole but punctured through. Our bodies absorbed a tempo: we search, we suffer, and we search again. In the midst of a buried hour when everything around me is sleeping and straining and I do not know how shallow or deep, my friend H writes to me from the other side of the world: “Prayer cannot exist if there’s any certainty that it will be heard.” This, I suspect, is at the heart of the contradiction that propels me, though I barely know what it means.

— Jennifer S. Cheng.

[attichaos]

Colour Magick Correspondences & Ideas

*longer read*

Pretty easily applied for both beginner, closet and experienced practitioners alike! Can be used in most areas of mundane and magickal life (with some ideas listed below).

White

→ Cleansing, clarity, blessing, healing, innocence, truth, connection to spirits or the spiritual world, divine connection, consecration, dream work, psychic connection, purity, rest, moon magic, angelic work, devotion, harmony, prayer, peace, purification, universal truths. White can also be used as an all-purpose color for your intention when the color you want is not available.

Black

→ Banishing, transformation, uncrossing, endings, domination, protection, reversing, repulsion, freedom from evil, cursing, cloaking, sophistication, security, emotional safety, closure, breaking patterns, grief, mourning, absorbing, removing, trapping, encasing, the unconscious, mystery, shielding from the evil eye, *similarly to white - as black is an absence of colour it can be used for any colour if you don’t have them available* - personal opinion

Red

→ Passionate love, energy, action, attraction, sexuality, magnetism, will, force, anger, fire within, courage, warmth, lust, drive, pleasure, vitality, vigor, excitement, desire.

Orange

→ New opportunities, new ventures, new beginnings, change of plans, encouragement, opening the way, removing blocks, physical comfort, warmth, security, ambition, creativity, courage, optimism.

Yellow

-> Optimism, prosperity, happiness, good luck, attraction, success, confidence, visibility, fame, self-esteem, communication, concentration, focus, inspiration, intellect, logic, memory, knowledge, learning.

Green

→ Prosperity, abundance, wealth, generosity, money luck, career, growth, fertility, gambling luck, business, a good job, harmony, balance, healing, self-love, altruism, universal love, contact with fae and nature spirits.

Blue

→ Reconciliation, harmony, peace, kindness, healing, ideas, intelligence, wisdom, loyalty, sleep, meditation, communication, creativity, dream work, trust, blessings, calm, forgiveness, truth, bliss, inspiration, fidelity, honesty.

Purple

→ Healing, calming, tranquility, spirituality, meditation, pacification, cooperation, sensitivity, compassion, empathy, selflessness, empowerment, controlling, commanding, mastery, power, ambition, achievement, charisma, luxury, expansion, psychic ability, spirituality, authenticity, truth, transformation, insight, justice, wisdom, politics, divination, ESP, intuition, wishes, influence.

Pink

→ Romantic love, friendship, soul mates, sweet feelings, emotional healing, heart connection, affection, family love, admiration, physical tranquility, nurturing, warmth, youthfulness, healing grief, compassion, forgiveness, beauty, unconditional love.

Brown

→ Justice, balance, grounding, court cases, legal matters, being down-to-earth, practical matters, seriousness, reliability, support, stability, safety, earth, nature, animals, home, nostalgia, basic needs being met, balance.

Grey

→ Neutrality, neutralizing, invisibility, working in “gray areas,” anonymity, hiding from others, working in-between worlds, secrets, occult and arcane wisdom, reversing, uncovering mysteries and secrets, lifting curses, undoing prior spell work.

Silver

→ Dreams, intuition, psychic work, courtesy, honor, moon magic, rhythm, cycles, divination, illusions, glamour spells, wisdom.

Gold

→ Prosperity, fame, luxury, generosity, optimism, wisdom, enlightenment, victory, sun magic, confidence, life force, power, attraction, magnetism, vigor, charisma.

*highly recommend Madame Pamita’s Book of Candle Magic - covers colour magic especially in relation to spell work with candles.

Ideas

→ candle magick

→ glamour magick - also wearing/makeup using a colour which corresponds to the property you desire (good for closet witches)

→ sigil magick

→ craft magick

→ kitchen witchery - eg. Putting a specific colour food dye in a cake or drink etc

(Essentially anything you want!)

Merry meet,

Atti <3

[vesora]

detachment - mindyourreality

original post by MIND YOUR REALITY (i will make it into a series because this site helped me a lot) please read until the end of the post! :)

Attachment is Doubt, Detachment is Faith

Whenever you are attached to someone or something you effectively strip yourself of your authentic power to consciously create the life you choose because you are living from the vantage point of 'me and outside things and people' with no true conviction in the belief that your reality is a projection of your consciousness. Moreover, you cannot be grateful or feel joyful or feel any degree of certainty when you are attached to the unfolding of a specific outcome. To be attached is synonymous with doubt while to be detached is synonymous with faith. So let's learn how to detach by first taking a look at what attachment looks like.

What Does Attachment Look Like?

Attachment is a feeling of obsession with having to have what you want and if you don't then you cannot be happy. It is to place so much importance on whatever it is you are desiring, that you have made it more important than you, you have placed it above you. And when something is above you, you feel that it is superior to you and so you feel that attaining it is very unlikely because you are not worthy of it. Whenever you are attached to something you want to happen in this way, you are indirectly thinking of it not happening and so inadvertently send your creative thought power to your current circumstances that you want to change.

What it Means to be Detached

Detachment is a mindset. The essence of how to detach is to feel that you already have your desire in the present moment and to believe it! When you already have something, it's yours so you can no longer desire it! Learning how to detach also means to be at peace with what is, knowing that whatever you are experiencing, whether wanted or unwanted, is a product of your mind, only that to date your circumstances are mostly a seemingly random projection of your countless subconscious beliefs that you did not choose to begin with and that you may not even be aware of.

How to Overcome Attachment

The most direct answer to how to detach is to have faith. Not the kind of faith that is blind or based on wishful thinking. But rather, the kind of faith that comes from 'seeing' the invisible plane with the eyes of your mind, with the same clarity with which you see the visible 3D world with your physical eyes; and knowing that it is the invisible that changes the visible in time. Learning how to detach comes naturally when you internalise the truth that your circumstances are a reflection of your inner world and that to see any transformation in your outer world, no matter how miraculous you may deem it to be, all you need to do is imagine what you want, feel as if you already have it and believe it.

How to Detach in the Face of Panic

Panicking that your intention may not manifest is usually a sign that you are attached. Instead of trying to desperately detach from your intended outcome in the face of panic, just take a deep breath, relax and gently tell yourself that there is no need to panic, that you are one with Universal Mind, that your unwanted circumstances are just shadows of your past imaginings that are subject to change through your imagination, and that your mind is the creative centre of your reality. When you gently remind yourself in this way, your panic will dissipate as will your attachment. When you first set out to consciously manifest what you desire, this can prove very useful in learning how to detach.

What Detachment Feels Like

Do not confuse detachment with no longer wanting your desire or not being allowed to ever think about it. Of course, you are not attached to those things you do not want or even to those things that you have a lukewarm desire for. But nor are you attached to all those things that you already do have. Herein lies the paradox of somehow feeling like you no longer want something in order to detach—the reason you may feel as if you don't want it is because you believe that you already have it. You can only want and be attached to those things that you do not have but desire to have.

When you imagine your desire persistently in the present moment, having felt what it feels like to already have it and believe it, then any sense of attachment will fall away. This can happen in the first visualization or after many sessions. And if you happen to think of your desire in your normal day-to-day moments, gently smile knowing that it is done and be grateful.

The 'How' is None of Your Concern

You may find that your attachment is a result of not being able to see how what you want will happen given the current 3D world circumstances. And when you can't see how something can manifest, you can't see how to detach either. Rest assured, however, that how something will happen is none of your concern. All possibilities already exist timelessly so when you imagine something you are simply imagining an already-existing possibility. 

Leave the how up to the All-Powerful Universal Mind or else to your Higher Mind. Part of learning how to detach is to not limit Universal Mind by thinking that something is difficult or can't happen because if you think something is not possible for you, then it usually isn't. Since Universal Mind is Absolute, your mind is Universal Mind in Its entirety, so what you think, It thinks.

Detachment in My Experience

Thoughts such as 'what if it doesn't happen', 'why hasn't it happened yet' or 'what if none of this works' are the breeding ground for attachment, more so if you think that having these thoughts will alone keep your desires away from you. For this reason, I want to share my experience in this regard.

I have found that even if I think such thoughts, my desires still manifest as long as I remain faithful to imagining what I want, feeling it real in that moment and taking the inspired actions that may arise naturally. For this reason, I have concluded that imagining and feeling you are already experiencing a certain condition in the present moment is more important than detachment in this sense. After all, fleeting thoughts of attachment are only thoughts and as long as you don't become obsessed with them, they should be countered by what you are imagining. By approaching detachment in this way, learning how to detach becomes easier.

The last thing you want to do is stop imagining the fulfilment of your desire just because you can't get such thoughts out of your mind. And then when what you desire doesn't happen you think it's because you did not detach, whereas the real reason was that you stopped imagining. When I have such thoughts I just put them out of my mind and say to myself that all is good, all is done and go back to remembering my True Self. Admittedly, I tend to have such thoughts when visualizing for healing because the stakes 'appear' to be higher and the worry more exacerbated. Nevertheless, I have still experienced the fulfilment of my imaginings with great success as long as I persist. This does not mean that you need not learn how to detach, but rather do not become attached to its idea.

Thy Will be Done

Now, let's get back to how to detach from the outcome because it does make the experience more enjoyable and simpler while also bringing your manifestation into 3D physical reality in the shortest amount of time. When you are truly detached, there is no sense of desperation because you have access to your true will power. But not the kind of will power that is generally associated with forcefulness, self-control and overcoming obstacles.

In contrast, true will power does not require force. Your True Will belongs to your True Self. And as your True Self, you gently declare a 'thing done' through the power of knowing your oneness with The Absolute that is your God Self. When you consciously imagine what you want to create, you declare that what you have imagined is done without any need to force anything or anyone. 

Where is the force in 'thy will be done'?

This, however, must not invoke arrogance within you because arrogance and pride are extremes that in time will be subject to the Law of Rhythm's swing and cause you to 'fall'. Remembering and being your True Self is accompanied by a sense of joy and unconditional Love for all because you know that everything and everyone (including the physical you) is a projection of your mind, in the same way that a dream is but a projection of your consciousness.

When You Truly Know and Believe

Think about it, if you truly knew and believed that you create your own reality and that through the power of your imagination you could create for yourself and others anything you may desire right now and even better, would you be attached to anything or anyone? Of course, you wouldn't.

If you truly knew and believed that your physical 3D world is but a projection of your consciousness in the same way that a dream is and that nothing is 'real' because everything is an illusion that is subject to change through your imagination, would you be attached to anything or anyone? Of course, you wouldn't. 

Just relax and take it easy sweethearts. You are God, be still and KNOW you are God. ♡

[carionto]

Just a little push

The conflict between Humanity and the United Federation was in it's early slow stages. After the rather unexpected attack on the symbolic Death Kebab there was a lot of buzz and light skirmishes in the nearby systems, but no noteworthy confrontation.

The placement of the Death Kebab was provocative by design, and with both sides so far away from one another, there could not be any mass fleet formation without plenty of advance notice. Special operations units, however, are everywhere.

Unlike Humanity, who currently only has Earth as a planet under their direct control and with a notable population, the Federation is vast - core worlds surrounded by buffer manufacturing and agriculture and all manner of other production focused systems, which themselves are further surrounded out by new colonies, annexed planets, "contract" aka slave worlds.

Getting close to Earth without being spotted by any number of civilian organizations is nigh impossible, and when you count the military intelligence and surveillance networks, there's hardly an atom that remains unregistered. Certain people with, let's say, less than honest intentions, still manage to find ways to keep their activities hidden. For a while at least.

These kinds of skills, when employed by a trained operative with the highest grade equipment, make them virtually invisible everywhere else. A poorly guarded third-rate mining colony? Why, with just a little preparation, you could float an entire Dreadnought up to their atmosphere before they noticed. Assuming they would even care after offering a slightly more lucrative deal than the Federation.

For this particular mission, however, they would care.

Vrontaria was a very productive system with nearly a dozen orbital shipyards and hundreds of mining, processing, and export operations that account for roughly 4% of the entire Federation military hardware supply, and nearly a fifth of all their capital ship production. Thus, it was quite heavily guarded, with every nearby system monitored for any suspicious activity.

What they didn't monitor all too well were the mostly useless planets and moons within the Vrontaria system itself. Of particularly little interest was the resident gas giant - Omk.

And why would anyone bother regularly scanning the interior of a gas giant for foreign matter, everyone knows entering the "atmosphere" of a gas giant will just crush everything. Right?

*glances sideways*

:D

It took the better part of a month, but the special unit managed to covertly install about five thousand gravitational pulse thrusters and all necessary power generators within the upper layer of Omk, but just far enough below the storms to make their activity not make any visible change. For comparison, one such thruster can accelerate an entire Dreadnought. Slowly, sure, which is why they have at least 6 to be able to maneuver, and Omk was not the largest gas giant in the Galaxy, about two thirds of Jupiter.

So, one day not long after, someone on Ja'Ulnika, the main planet of the Vrontaria system, noticed that Omk was a little bit further along its orbital path than it should be.

Concerning.

Then they took more precise measurements and realized it was going faster than before.

Very concerning.

Finally, they had someone go up to it and then they noticed all of the thrust force coming from one side of it, changing its orbit to get far too close to Ja'Ulnika for comfort.

Panic inducing to say the least.

By the time a full force of combat ships arrived to sort out this mess and start disabling all these planet-moving thrusters, scans showed they had self-destructed. Even if they had the ability to retrieve anything from the inside of a gas giant, at this point it would be worthless scraps.

The final orbit of Omk would put it on a course to capture Ja'Ulnika in its gravitational well in two years time and take it along for a joyride to orbits outside the habitable zone, rendering it inhospitable in around 5-6 years. Not to mention the carnage tides would cause on a world without its own moon. Or any other catastrophic events that might occur when a planet is essentially kidnapped into a becoming moon.

Wars are fought on many fronts. inevitable devastation and unavoidable future reduction in capacity force you to act in ways you would rather not. Sometimes creating a logistical nightmare that your enemy has to deal with no matter what can be the greatest killing blow that a swift and spectacular showdown space battle could never be.

[libbee]

Feeling Powerless in the 8th House?

Power is a strange thing. At first, it provokes the images of government, corporates, police, institutions, leaders in mind. On a personal level, it provokes images of parents, partner, inter-human relationships, schools, and even social media. Likes, reblogs, followers, public engagement give a sense of "power".

Power is not even a bad thing. It gives you competence, strength to get things done, self defence, self preservation and to live in society, you need power. Power is the child of socialization, how else will you get things done? How else will one survive in this world?

But where we do feel powerless is in the 8th house. "You are not in control of your life", this sentence alone is enough to create crisis in mind. That your relationships, goals, desires, personality, actions, intentions, thoughts, looks, luck, life story, fortune and misfortune, nothing is your own is a scary thing to realize. I cannot even afford to lose this tumblr account, let alone lose my identity, possessions and ego, then how can I happily surrender my power to the forces of the 8th house? If I don't have any power then I am as good as a dead body.

Ego v/s Powerlessness

8th house is like the reverse of everything you have been told by the society. Ever since my confrontation with this house, I feel like everything that is visible, written, told is a lie and only that is truth which is invisible, unwritten and untold. As soon as something is brought outside in the surface, it loses its truthfulness. No amount of spirituality and mysticism can explain the truth because it will not remain truth if it is brought to the surface. Everything that is brought to the surface is immediately influenced by the ego, vanity, narcissism, arrogance of the outside word. Bring a fish out of the ocean and it immediately dies. Its real place is inside the ocean. What belongs to the ocean be left in its original place. Then how do we know that the fish exist? We know because we "feel". 8th house is one of intuition (gut feelings and hunches) and feelings (that thing in your body that eats you alive). We "feel" love but as soon as try to describe that love it loses its truthfulness. You are now looking for the words, language, sentences to express your love and then you look for appreciation, acknowledgement, reciprocation and acceptance of your love. All this is vanity in a micro level.

Humility and Detachment

Okay guys, I am a humble person because I am self aware and talk about humility, so I am a down to earth and nice person, ok? But isn't it .... self-contradictory? 8th house teaches you real humility, the real thing that is not about self expression and preaching, it is about hiding yourself in the closet because you are really feeling humble. Ironically, we are a society that thrives on goals, aspirations and advancement then the 8th house is like the party pooper that tries to make you humble when all the other kids are being cool and dancing around. Not fair, sir, I hate such schools that don't treat all students equally and fairly. But 8th house is the teacher that chooses few students and teaches them real humility and brings them back to the track every time they go astray. This humility is strange because it is not in the words or performance or poetries; real humility is a thing that you know inside and then keep your lips closed because those who know don't need understanding and preaching, while those who are not there yet look for all kind of guidance and tuition. 8th house chooses its own students and they don't even know they are the chosen ones because there are no regular classes. Some days, everything seems normal, life is fine and then 8th house will summon you for emergency classes because you let something go to your head, you were vain and dishonest, you were selfish and acted against your conscience, so the teacher will call you back to the classroom and teach you real humility once again. 8th also has no notes and lessons, you are your own teacher, you will be just made to face your feelings, memories, behaviours, sometimes in isolation all alone for days or weeks, until you understand the pattern and interconnectedness of everything and change your behaviours for the future.

A Nobody in Nowhere

Even in the occult community, we have people who are egoistic, narcissists and vain, so why call out "others" when it is the humanity itself that is deeply entangled in the dirt of vanity. The other end of vanity is that you are a nobody in nowhere. If I completely surrender all my vanity then I close this account and never share my opinion on anything because conversations are impossible without some layers of ego. When two people sit and talk, they see each other's ego. Every time they open their mouths, it is their ego that speaks. It is just impossible to live a life without some ego, even if a thin layer of it. Writing this post is "my" assertion of "my" ego. And the silliest thing is that this enlightenment comes and goes, one minute one feels like they are finally enlightened and the next minute they are again confused. I think it is because there are 12 houses in a birth chart and there is more to life than what happens in 8th house alone. Whereas your 8th house may want you to surrender your ego, but your 1st house placements may want you to become a poster boy in your workplace. Two conflicting desires - To be somebody and To not be somebody. This is why self awareness and deep insights into your feelings will keep you sane here. It is a scary house when you are a newbie, but with enough training and understanding, it becomes the door to even greater understanding of 9th, 10th, 11th and 12th houses. These are the houses of the collective, greater, bigger than life and larger than an individual.

Still Feeling Powerless?

Me too. But I guess this is the challenge, to find a personal power deep within and to preserve it. Perhaps this is the reason why these natives sometimes get really spiritual, celibate and mystical. Because they preserve and protect their personal power against the world. To stand in the face of uncertainty and yet trust the patterns. To stare into the darkness and yet have scotopic vision. To get things done and yet surrender your power attitude. 8th house is like living in the dark nights when you were accustomed to living in the bright mornings and sunny afternoons. The only problem is to let go of the bitterness, resentment and frustration that comes with seeing other people still consumed in their illusions. But if we are to accept our own ignorance then we have to be tolerant with others as well, because knowledge itself is ignorance as they say. Perhaps the language of the unconscious is "silence" because the moment we start speaking all the demons and dangers of mind are summoned.

The journey to this realization comes in many ways. For me, it came from healing my childhood traumas and family inheritances of behaviours, thoughts, attitudes and emotions. "Dysfunctional family" but it turns out that there was this deeper meaning underneath all the dysfunction. Perhaps there is no such thing as "functional and healthy". Of course I am not romanticizing abuse at all. But it is surprising to see how healing childhood trauma leads to the point of spiritual path, it leads you to realize that the society as a whole is pretty dysfunctional and the only functional place is the underworld.

[dmitriene]

❝𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗡𝗧❞ 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘺 𝘹 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳. ❝𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗦❞ 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵, 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘬𝘪𝘥𝘯𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘮 𝘴𝘺𝘯𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘦, 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘺 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯, 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘺𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘴.

 ✎ 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵. 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘴. 𝘢𝘰3. ˑ༄

In the dimly lit basement, the air was heavy with foreboding, the musty smell of damp concrete mingled with the cool metallic taste of fear, and the cold that permeated the room sent a shiver down your spine as you sat on the soft mattress, a silent prisoner in this gloomy, dark prison.

As you strained your eyes for any clue as to your whereabouts, you saw nothing but cold, unforgiving walls, not a single window offering any glimpse of the outside world, and your only company in this eerie place was the inky darkness enveloping you.

Despite the dire circumstances, you couldn't help but notice a strange feeling of attention from your invisible captor, the mattress beneath you was surprisingly comfortable, the sheets clean and inviting, as if in the midst of the uncertainty and horror, someone had tried to provide you with a modicum of physical comfort.

However, at the same time, your leg was tied to the wall with a heavy chain, you could hear the clanking of shackles as you moved slightly, testing the limits of your captivity, and the metal cuffs surrounding your ankle were cold and unyielding, a constant reminder of your imprisonment.

A shiver ran through you, but it wasn't just the temperature in the room, it was the knowledge that you were at the mercy of a faceless kidnapper, and the uncertainty of what fate awaited you gnawed at the edges of your consciousness with its sharp kanines.

And yet, despite the fear and anxiety, there was something special in your reaction, you did not feel a frantic desire to escape and did not try to break the bonds that bound you, but instead you were strangely reserved, almost detached from the horrors of your situation.

At that moment, you heard a faint creak as the basement door slowly opened, interrupting your train of thought and revealing a small sliver of light from the world above from which a silhouette appeared, and your heart quickened as you tried to make out the features of your captor.

And then he fully entered the room, his presence was mysterious, haunting and intriguing at the same time, the man was tall, broad and strong, he moved with a silent grace that hinted at a lifetime of training, a shadow in the dimly lit room.

But it wasn't his physique that caught your attention, it was the mask that hid his face, a ghostly skull like face covered his features and all that remained visible were his piercing, intense eyes, the eyes that held a depth of mystery and darkness, which sent a shiver down my spine.

The ghost of a man looked at you with his piercing eyes, and his mask hid any noticeable expression, he also turned out to be a man of few words, and his silence only increased the tension in the room, his intentions were impossible to predict, and the uncertainty was driving you crazy.

When Simon, the mysterious figure behind the mask, finally introduced himself, there was a hint of warmth in his eyes, a subtle confidence among the shadows surrounding you, for a moment you couldn't help but wonder if you had seen the real man behind the balaclava, the man behind the ghost.

His real name was a secret, a revelation that hung in the air, and it was impossible to be sure whether it was a rare moment of vulnerability or a calculated move, or perhaps not his name at all.

Simon, or Ghost as you had grown to call him in your head because of his balaclava, was good natured and kind enough to check on your well being, his touch surprisingly gentle as he undid the metal shackles from your ankle, allowing you to stretch your legs after a long captivity.

There was a mark on your ankle, a subtle reminder of your ordeal, but Simon's touch seemed to bring comfort, as if he understood the trauma you had endured, even if he was the one who initiated it.

He led you out of the dimly lit basement and into the spacious house, and the sudden transition from darkness to light was disorienting, the absence of other people, the vast emptiness that extended beyond the house filled you with a feeling of isolation, there were no more houses in sight, only the expanse of wild nature, as if the world had dissolved into an unknown wilderness.

In the midst of your confusion, Simon ushered you into the bathroom, a kind of of comfort place and familiarity in this strange setting, he offered you the opportunity to cleanse yourself of the dark memories of the basement and you found some relief in the warm water flowing from the shower, washing away the remnants of captivity, the stench of fear and mud of uncertainty.

The clean clothes he provided were in stark contrast to the ones you were wearing when you got here, they weren't yours, obviously these things were his, but they were fresh and free of the memories of your captivity, and as you dressed, you couldn’t help but notice the smell of Simon’s t shirt, a smell that was oddly comforting in its strange familiarity, like you’d smelled it before.

Simon watched from afar, his gaze never leaving yours and you couldn't help but wonder about his motives, his actions, although unexpected, carried a strange underlying concern, as if he felt responsible for your well being.

Once you were dressed and freshened up, he led you through a house that felt both luxurious and remote, the rooms were tastefully decorated but the place had an air of desolation, you had countless questions, but Simon remained elusive, offering no answers.

Days turned into weeks and your life in captivity became a strange mixture of comfort and despair, Simon became a mystery in your life as you adjusted to your special circumstances, it seemed like he was both your captor and your protector, he rarely spoke about his past or reasons for his actions, but his presence in your life was constant — feeding you, tending to you and your needs, showing an alarming mixture of care and restraint, however, the passage of time began to wear on you as captivity and isolation took its toll on your sanity.

Simon's presence was initially a source of comfort as he looked after you with meticulous, almost possessive care, combing your hair as you took a bath, his fingers gently brushing your scalp as he didn't want to give you a hairdryer — a simple but eloquent message a detail that reveals the extent of his fears.

The food he prepared for you was delicious and a strange contrast to the life you had led before your abduction, you couldn't help but wonder if the man, Simon, who imprisoned you had a desire to cherish someone, a desire for something — more than just control, and it was an unsettling thought that left you with mixed emotions.

Simon's care was not limited to just the basic necessities, he often carried you in his arms around the house, a peculiar display of intimacy, his touch was both gentle and authoritative, as if he considered you his personal ward, and the line between captor and companion was blurred in a disturbing way, where at night you found yourself sleeping next to him, his strong arms wrapped around you as if he was afraid that you might slip away.

You found yourself in a strange daily routine — sharing food with him, taking long walks in the deserted area surrounding the house, and even engaging in casual conversations that covered a variety of topics, it was as if you were living a dual existence — captive and comrade.

Stockholm Syndrome, a psychological phenomenon in which hostages develop positive feelings towards their captors, began to invade your mind like a parasite — it was a confusing and unsettling sensation as you were torn between fear and a strange feeling of attachment to the person who was holding you kidnapped, you couldn't understand the depth of your emotions, and captivity became disorienting and a surreal reality of your surroundings.

However, as the days turned into weeks, the novelty of your circumstances began to wear off, you longed for the old life, freedom and independence you had taken for granted, your confinement, no telephone and inability to communicate with the outside world became an unbearable burden.

One evening, as you watched another mundane movie on Simon's lap, you couldn't contain your disappointment any longer — «why am i here?» your voice is a mixture of confusion and anger — «you didn't do anything that could hurt me, but you took my life, what's the purpose of all this?»

Simon was silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on the flickering screen, the tension in the room was palpable and you wondered if you had pushed the limits too much.

He finally turned to you, his eyes reflecting a complex mixture of emotions — «it doesn't matter why you're here» he answered in an infuriatingly quiet voice, filled with humility — «you're here because circumstances dictated so»

The vague answer only left you with more questions, you couldn't help but feel a deep sense of frustration at the lack of answers, the uncertainty of your fate, it was like you were living in limbo, a strange existence that defied explanation.

Simon tried to divert your attention by putting on another movie, but the screen now held little appeal, the house that had once been a kind of refuge began to resemble a prison, and the growing frustration and despair was no longer possible to ignore.

The air in the room became tense as you stubbornly stated your desire to break free from this confusing existence, the despair and frustration you had been harboring inside for so long finally spilling out into the open, causing a torrent of angry words and harsh accusations.

Simon, once gentle and caring, underwent a startling transformation as your protests escalated, his warm, brown eyes becoming cold and unforgiving, silently warning you that you had crossed the line, and the softness in his gaze disappeared, replaced by palpable displeasure.

In an instant, his mood changed from benevolent to imperious, his reaction a stark reminder of the precarious balance that kept your strange coexistence previously intact, the power dynamics always in his favor and you forgot about this fact, preoccupied with searching for answers to your questions.

Before you could react, his strong, rough hand was gripping your neck, the rough texture of his calloused fingers squeezing with enough force to hurt but not enough to cause lasting harm, and you were pulled back into the basement, the world outside the room fading away in an ominous void quickly.

The familiarity of the dank, oppressive basement greeted you like a cruel friend, Simon's grip on your neck loosened as he threw you onto the mattress, the once comfortable bed now seemed anything but inviting, the cold, unyielding chains shackling your ankle again, a harsh reminder of the power that he had over you.

He left you there alone in the dark as your sobs echoed through the room, the tears that had eluded you for so long finally falling as you clutched the pillow to your chest, feeling the isolation and vulnerability more acutely than ever.

Over time it became clear that Simon's harsh response was meant to serve as a lesson, it was a stark reminder of his control over your life, a chilling display of his power, you couldn't help but wonder if he was willing to go to any lengths to keep you captive, what secrets and dangers lurk behind the walls of the basement, why he keeps you locked up so zealously.

And so the days turned into weeks again as you struggled with the duality of your captor, Simon continued to care for you throughout the day, tending to your needs and providing you with small comforts, however the cold nights in the damp surroundings remained a reminder of his inexorable power, of yours own miscalculation.

taglist: @roseglazedlens, @scar-crossedlvrs, @daydreamrot, @valsthea, @kennedyswhore dm me if you want to be tagged in my works or open my taglist

[belabellissima]

flicker in the night - chapter 3

gift fic for @darling-archeron as part of the @acotargiftexchange

Pairing: Feysand Chapter Warnings: mentions of blood Summary: In her dreams, there is a beast. With scales like a lizard, leathery wings at its sides, and fangs the size of her head, Feyre knows she should be terrified. But the beast is too bleeding itself dry, too busy fighting some invisible barrier to ever turn those slit pupils on her. Until, that is, she touches its blood on the walls, and it stains her fingers silver. Suddenly able to see her, her beast has no intention of ever letting her disappear from its sight again.

Meanwhile in the waking world, a stranger has come to her village, one with hair as black as night, and blue eyes Feyre would swear shift purple the second before she looks away.

But that’s impossible - magic doesn’t exist in the human lands.

So why do her fingers still sometimes shine in the moonlight?

Featuring a modified curse, an overabundant use of the word “salt,” and a human!Rhys with a twist.

Read from the beginning on AO3 or tumblr Read Chapter 3 on AO3 or below:

Feyre was dreaming again, that same strange dream trapped in labyrinthine caves and tunnels. She still held her bow, her quiver empty of all arrows save one. She slung the bow back around her shoulders, keeping her hands free as she walked with light feet down the halls.

The torches still flickered and shadows still danced in the corners, following her and tangling around her feet like mist. Every few minutes, Feyre heard laughing in the distance. It was never a kind laugh, never one born from genuine humor. She dreaded the idea of running into whoever it was making that sound, dreaded seeing whatever event was prompting its creation.

Whenever the sound grew too loud, she would take a different tunnel, turn around and head away. Anything to steer clear of that horrible ruckus, the fear that dripped down her spine at the sound. She might not fear the beast, but that beast had feared the intruder. Feyre wisely decided she would do the same. She heard footsteps down the hall and ducked into a doorway alcove, pressing herself against the shadowy corners just in time.

A man walked by, talking lowly with another at his side. They were both dark-skinned with glowing white hair, and one of them had a beast trailing behind, his own creature of half-visible light that calmly walked in his footsteps. This beast was different than hers - it had scales more like a fish than a lizard, and those scales were blue, rather than black. A white mane ran along the back of its neck, and rather than ears, it had fins that stuck up. Gills ran along its neck, and a tattered, rotting fishnet was slung over its back like a saddle. Half horse, Feyre realized, and the lower half that of a fish. The fish half dragged along the ground, leaving a trail of salty water in its wake. The water never seemed to run out, and the scales on its thick tail didn’t seem dried out - a lucky thing in a place such as this.

Its eyes were fathomless, black as the depths of the sea, and its hooves on its front feet the same. And then it opened its mouth to heave a sigh, revealing rows and rows of needle sharp teeth designed for tearing flesh from bone.

Feyre didn’t dare breathe as it passed, eyes wide with her terror. This beast was dangerous - this beast wouldn’t hesitate to rip her throat out and drink her blood if she disturbed it.

It didn’t seem to notice her, too busy pressing its head against the back of the man it followed. Its head went right through the man’s chest, sticking out on the other side like it was a ghost, completely incorporeal. Without stopping his conversation with the other man, the first absently pet at the forelock of the horse until it settled, closing its eyes and dropping back again so that the two were once more separated.

Feyre turned her attention back to the man. When she saw his ears, she flinched backward, almost gasping and giving away her position.

His ears were pointed. The man was fae.

“He’s running out of time,” the other fae said, keeping his voice low enough that Feyre had to strain to hear him.

“He’ll succeed,” the one with the beast replied. “He has to, for all our sakes.”

“And if he doesn’t? There’s barely six months left. That’s hardly enough time.”

The one with the beast shook his head. “We must keep hope, Brutius.”

“We ought to try and escape,” Brutius said, and the other man shot him a look so severe that Brutius shrank back, dipping his head away. Feyre, risking it all to keep eavesdropping, silently emerged from her hiding place and followed. “Tarquin, please.”

Tarquin shook his head. “I will not risk our people when there is still a chance. After, if Tamlin fails us. Then we try. But for now, no more talk of treason.”

Feyre’s curiosity burned, and in her haste to catch up, her foot slipped audibly on the stone floor. The horse-fish beast flicked its ear fins backward toward her, bucking its head up. Feyre turned on her heel and ran, not waiting to see if the two fae would be able to sense her as well.

Feyre ran for minutes, ducking down hallways and through doorways, praying she wouldn't come across any other fae in the halls. She ran blindly, following the barest hint of a tug that promised safety, if only she could just reach it. Get there.

At last, she began to recognize the halls from her last dream. She slowed, her breaths coming harsh and loud in her own ears and the echoes they caused bouncing off the walls. But she heard the growling too, the pacing of her beast at that open cave mouth, and she allowed her heart to settle as she rounded the final bend and saw it there in all its glory.

It didn’t notice her again until she reached out and touched its heaving shoulder, smearing her hand across one of the slowly weeping wounds. The pressure of her hand made it still instantly, before it slowly turned its head on that long, serpentine neck until it could look her in the eyes again.

The silver blood still speckled the walls, still hung in midair on the invisible barrier that kept the beast trapped. Feyre pulled her hand off the beast, glancing at it to see her other palm was now fully silver. Bringing the two hands together, it looked like she was cupping starlight in her palms. She lowered her hands, looking back at her beast.

It pressed its chin into her hands, letting her cup its giant face as its eyes fluttered closed, the second inner eyelid moving a fraction of a second before the outer. A flight lid, just like a bird of prey had to protect their eyes while diving for fish and other game.

Feyre’s heart ached for the beast, its pain her own in that moment. The knowledge that it had wings, had a nictitating membrane on its eyes, and yet was trapped beneath stone, unable to escape into the sky it could see mere feet away.

Footsteps chasing after her startled both her and her beast out of the moment. It snapped its eyes open, lips curling back as it snarled at the intruder. It stepped over her, its foot and leg forcibly pushing her out of the way, so that the beast’s whole body was between her and the threat. But its tail - that lashed wildly back and forth, knocking into Feyre and sending her careening off balance toward the cave entrance.

She expected to hit the same barrier of resistance that her beast did, so it utterly shocked her when she fell right through the cave entrance, landing on her back on the rocky ground, staring up at the night sky.

Her breath had been knocked from her lungs, and she sucked it back in greedily as she pushed herself up, spinning around to take in the area.

The mountain.

It sloped downward toward that chilling forest and unsettling bog. But it also sloped up, and Feyre could see all the way to the peak, the stone clawing at the sky as if cursing it for being free, while it was trapped on the ground.

Someone cursed inside the cave, drawing Feyre’s attention back to the situation at hand.

Feyre crept forward quietly, until she could hear the same two fae as before.

“It’s just Night,” Tarquin said.

“It was a spy,” Brutius said back.

“It’s not anymore,” Tarquin replied, a touch sardonic. “Night is too territorial to let anyone get close without losing their life. Probably swallowed whoever it was whole.”

Feyre carefully looked through the beasts legs. The two fae stayed a healthy distance back, far out of reach of her beast, and therefore too far away to see her hiding beyond. Tarquin’s beast pawed at the ground, snorting its furious challenge at her beast, sea-mist billowing from its nostrils.

Tarquin backed up, never taking its eyes off Feyre’s beast, even as it pressed a calming hand to his own beast’s chest and gently nudged it backward.

“Still fighting to break free,” Brutius murmured, a frown crossing his face, white eyebrows drawing together over ocean blue eyes, just like Tarquin’s. “Who do you think is the High Lord?”

Tarquin shook his head. “I have no clue. I’d thought the majority of his whole court here, but it didn’t seek out any of them when…” Tarquin trailed off. “Perhaps the Morrigan had a son at some point and no one ever knew, and that’s why she’s not here. She’s off with him, keeping him safe until the power can return to Keir’s bloodline. Either way, some poor sod in the North has no clue he’s going to be the next High Lord. Assuming we ever get free,” he added a moment later.

“Come on,” Brutius said, reaching out to nudge Tarquin back and put himself between his friend and Feyre’s beast. “Let’s leave it alone.”

Tarquin held out for another long moment, before turning and following his own beast back down the hallway into the torch-lit darkness.

When at last their footsteps were inaudible, her beast turned to look at her, eyes wide and frantic as it pushed its head against the barrier to try and get to her. It bared its teeth when it failed, claws digging into the stone so sharply Feyre winced at the scraping sound. She cupped its chin again, easily stepping through the non-existent barrier to let the beast press its whole head against her chest. She had to brace against the force, but didn’t dare ask the beast to stop. Not when she swore she could feel its panic in her own chest, its fear that she would be hurt without it there to guard her at all hours.

It was bleeding again, old wounds torn open from its strain and sharp movements to defend her.

Feyre sighed, reaching out to trail her silver fingers along the edge of one such wound. “Why are you doing this to yourself?” she asked softly. “What did they mean about being trapped?”

She was certain she’d never had such an active imagination before. She wasn’t quite sure where this whole dream sequence full of fae and magic was even coming from.

The beast hesitated, holding her gaze with its own, its eyes a pitch black all the way through the sclera, with the iris itself the violet of the stardust that spilled across the sky.

Night. Hadn’t that been what Tarquin had called it?

The beast stretched its wings out in answer. Or rather, it tried to.

As it spread them, glowing copper chains appeared as if by magic, binding the wings closed and tight against the body of the beast. In the torchlight, the copper looked like blood. Normal blood. Human blood. The beast growled, biting at the metal and pulling, trying to free itself to no avail. A leash hung from the collar at its neck, trailing off in the same direction Tarquin and Brutius had departed.

She never would have known it was there if the beast hadn’t shown her. The moment it stopped fighting, the chain, collar, and leash all faded into nothing. Hidden, invisible to the eye but not to the heart. Not now that she knew.

“Who did this to you?” she whispered.

Her beast flicked its ears back, laying them flat against its head as it turned around and stared down the hallway. Feyre couldn’t stop herself from laying her hand on its flank, keeping close as her beast began to slowly limp away from the mouth of the cave. It helped her balance as they climbed the steeper slope caused from years of pacing, then curled its tail around her to keep her other side protected, keep her cradled within reach should another threat appear.

It led her down endless hallways. Feyre could have sworn her dream logic was changing the paths, that the fork they approached hadn’t existed even a few minutes earlier, let alone in the previous dreams she’d had.

More and more torches began to appear on the wall, illuminating the space without it actually feeling any brighter. Everything was still seeped in a miasma of misery, and it didn’t help that a warning rumble had taken root in her beasts chest a few turns back , not letting up the closer they got to their destination,. To the answer to Feyre’s question.

She heard the screaming first, then the laughter again, that same laugh that had gotten her lost enough to stumble upon Tarquin in the first place. It made her heart leap into her throat, and Feyre froze, stopping mid stride. The beast continued on anyway, until it paused in a large arched doorway. The room on the other side burned golden yellow from the flames, but a stench of blood and death coated everything. Whoever had cursed her beast, trapped it, they were evil. Feyre could feel it in her bones.

And she did not want to see them. Did not under any circumstances want them to see her. She took a step back.

In the hall, the laugh paused, trailing off.

“Oh,” said a feminine voice. “He actually stopped fighting and deigns to join the party. Are you finally giving up on him and searching for a new lord?”

The beast pulled its teeth back in a snarl. Along its neck and jaw, spikes flared up like hackles. Feyre hadn’t even noticed them before, they blended in with the scales so well. But then again, the beast hadn't faced something like that voice before.

At least not in her dreams, that was.

With one last snarl, one snapping bite at another fae that got too close for an instant, her beast turned tail on the open doorway and bolted straight for her.

[runwayrunway]

No. 13 - condor

Condor Flugdienst is a German airline which operates medium-to-long-haul scheduled and charter flights with a specialty in flights from Europe to locations associated with vacation and leisure, such as the Mediterranean. They’ve been doing this for 70 years now, but in April 2022 they unveiled an overhaul of their livery. They would get a quick start on rolling it out, as they very confidently ordered 59 new planes to paint it on!

Oh boy.

The worst thing about this livery is that it’s not a thoughtless choice. It’s very intentional and very thought out, and that makes me sad because I’m about to angrily insult someone’s earnest hard work. In fact, they have an entire webpage dedicated to their inspiration and thought process. It will be the source of all images and quotes used in the remainder of this review.

Vacations are striped. And Condor is vacation. Umbrellas, beach towels, ice cream shops..who doesn’t love them and the stripes will make you smile. They stand for easiness, freedom to experience the world, for the gentle breeze in your hair, sunshine on your face and now for Condor. In the future our fleet will also be in this new design.  For decades, stripes have had meaning in our way of life. Timeless, elegant and recognizable – just like us.

I hate to say it, but they’re right (despite the fact that the paragraph is written pretty jankily). That’s a really clever association that’s clearly been thought out and is very recognizable. Like, in isolation I really like this idea. It just sucks that it’s very ugly? 

I mean, it really doesn’t help that they picked a colorway that blends right into this picturesque island landscape for this particular shot, but I think what I’m angriest about is that despite committing to this absolutely vile candy cane look they didn’t even extend it to the wings and nacelles, which would have really hammered home the beach blanket look! Also, the black text is practically invisible and looks super out of place. It feels like they have this vision but they get so wrapped up in it that they mess up all the details and forget to make it good. 

But the green is very purposeful, too. 

Our five colors: Sunshine, Passion, Sea, Island and Beach. Colors are not only found around the globe on holidays, they also stand for the fact that our world cannot be defined by a single color. Therefore our “Fleet” is looking forward to a new design, visibly striped and colorful in Sunshine (yellow), Passion (red), Sea (blue), Island (green) and Beach (beige).

I really really like these! This feels really nice, the rare airline livery with an explicit meaning that reflects what it doesand isn't just vague corporate jargon about how the color blue somehow reflects Scandinavian identity. If you’re going to do a jellybean livery this is how you should do it - every aspect of the livery swapped, visible at a glance, bright and exciting, everything intentional and explicit in its purpose. 

I love the idea and it makes me angry that it looks hideous. 

Like, it could be good. They could have tried horizontal stripes, maybe, even diagonal stripes, or some sort of wave pattern to them. I don’t know. With how much care was put into the idea surely someone could come up with something better than I have. 

My friend @elyvator's (who took the above photograph) mother recently flew on a condor flight. There's something so surreal about seeing this big garish thing parked in a miserable soggy grey airport next to tarmac and a jet bridge and concrete.

You could miss the text entirely if you weren't looking for it. The stark white engine adds to the perception that the wing doesn't even look attached to the fuselage - like it's floating away. This doesn't belong here, and not in a good way. This isn't a plane that screams 'I might be on an awful rainy airport apron but I'm going to take you to a magical faraway beach', this is a plane as seen by someone still half-asleep after a party with a throbbing head while they're going downstairs to get a glass of water. And it had so much potential to not be that, to be something good. They came up with a great idea and then made every possible wrong choice in implementing it.

I can at least work up a bit of ironic affection for it, a sort of charm in its ugliness. It’s not the planes’ fault, and they wear it as well as they can. They’re still fundamentally cute to me. But that’s not what I’m here to judge. I’m sorry, airplanes. I'm sorry they did this to you.

This...this hurts me. It really does. 

condor is getting Runway Runway’s first ever grade of F.

I love the thought process. I love everything about the idea. This could have been so fantastic if only they didn’t make it ugly.

AN ADDENDUM

I still agree with everything I have said here. However, I have since slightly reframed condor's standing. To fully understand how I feel about this airline, I recommend this as a sort of part two to this post.

[haggishlyhagging]

By the end of the second millennium, the religious thinkers of Mesopotamia saw the cosmos as controlled and regulated by male gods, with only Ishtar maintaining a position of power. When we see such a pattern of theological change, we must ask whether the religious imagery is leading society, or whether it is following socioeconomic development? Was the supplanting of goddesses in Sumerian religious texts an inner theological development that resulted purely from the tendency to view the world of the gods on the model of an imperial state in which women paid no real political role? Or does it follow in the wake of sociological change, of the development of what might be called "patriarchy"? And if the latter is true, is the change in the world of the gods contemporary to the changes in human society, or does it lag behind it by hundreds of years? To these questions we really have no answer. The general impression that we get from Sumerian texts is that at least some women had a more prominent role than was possible in the succeeding Babylonian and Assyrian periods of Mesopotamian history. But developments within the 600-year period covered by Sumerian literature are more difficult to detect. One slight clue might (very hesitantly) be furnished by a royal document called the Reforms of Uruinimgina." Uruinimgina (whose name is read Urukagina in earlier scholarly literature) was a king of Lagash around 2350 B.C.E. As a nondynastic successor to the throne, he had to justify his power, and wrote a "reform" text in which he related how bad matters were before he became king and described the new reforms that he instituted in order to pursue social justice. Among them we read, "the women of the former days used to take two husbands, but the women of today (if they attempt to do this) are stoned with the stones inscribed with their evil intent." Polyandry (if it ever really existed) has been supplanted by monogamy and occasional polygyny.

In early Sumer, royal women had considerable power. In early Lagash, the wives of the governors managed the large temple estates. The dynasty of Kish was founded by Enmebaragesi, a contemporary of Gilgamesh, who it now appears may have been a woman; later, another woman, Kubaba the tavern lady, became ruler of Kish and founded a dynasty that lasted a hundred years. We do not know how important politically the position of En priestess of Ur was, but it was a high position, occupied by royal women at least from the time of Enheduanna, daughter of Sargon (circa 2300 B.C.E.), and through the time of the sister of Warad-Sin and Rim-Sin of Larsa in the second millennium. The prominence of individual royal women continued throughout the third dynasty of Ur. By contrast, women have very little role to play in the latter half of the second millennium; and in first millennium texts, as in those of the Assyrian period, they are practically invisible.

We do not know all the reasons for this decline. It would be tempting to attribute it to the new ideas brought in by new people with the mass immigration of the West Semites into Mesopotamia at the start of the second millennium. However, this cannot be the true origin. The city of Mari on the Euphrates in Syria around 1800 B.C.E. was a site inhabited to a great extent by West Semites. In the documents from this site, women (again, royal women) played a role in religion and politics that was not less than that played by Sumerian women of the Ur IlI period (2111-1950 B.C.E.). The causes for the change in women's position is not ethnically based. The dramatic decline of women's visibility does not take place until well into the Old Babylonian period (circa 1600 B.C.E.), and may be function of the change from city-states to larger nation-states and the changes in the social and economic systems that this entailed.

The eclipse of the goddesses was undoubtedly part of the same process that witnessed a decline in the public role of women, with both reflective of fundamental changes in society that we cannot yet specify. The existence and power of a goddess, particularly of Ishtar, is no indication or guarantee of a high status for human women. In Assyria, where Ishtar was so prominent, women were not. The texts rarely mention any individual women, and, according to the Middle Assyrian laws, married women were to be veiled, had no rights to their husband's property (even to movable goods), and could be struck or mutilated by their husbands at will. Ishtar, the female with the fundamental attributes of manhood, does not enable women to transcend their femaleness. In her being and her cult (where she changes men into women and women into men), she provides an outlet for strong feelings about gender, but in the final analysis, she is the supporter and maintainer of the gender order. The world by the end of the second millennium was a male's world, above and below; and the ancient goddesses have all but disappeared.

-Tikva Frymer-Kensky, In the Wake of the Goddesses: Women, Culture, and the Biblical Transformation of Pagan Myth

[cardentist]

something that frustrates me is when you see an exclusionist or a bad actor say "X group doesn't experience oppression like Y does" the common response will be "you're right but that doesn't mean that X group doesn't still suffer."

the problem with this is not that it's an issue in a vacuum, that's a perfectly compassionate argument and an important one. people don't need to suffer "enough" to "deserve" to have their experiences taken seriously. comparing the suffering to two groups and punishing one of them for not meeting the standards of the other is an evil thing to do no matter what.

the problem is that nearly across the board it is wrong.

what it comes down to is that people Recognize invisibility and under exposure for certain groups. they recognize that certain marginalized identities aren't going to show up in the news or on a show, that they won't hear certain labels out of the mouths of their bigoted uncles at thanksgiving.

and that is taken As The Issue. that it is ignorance and ignorance alone that plagues the lives of the marginalized among the marginalized. what people don't understand is that invisibility doesn't mean that the marginalized do not suffer, it means that suffering isn't reported.

it's easy to take for granted the idea that X group doesn't experience outright violence when it's something that you haven't seen. And That's An Aspect Of Their Oppression. because when people don't know your rights are being violated then they don't know to help in the fight For those rights. even well meaning people will exclude marginalized groups from certain conversations because they don't realize they need to be there.

when people say, for instance, "Yes trans mascs don't face outright Violence from terfs, but the infantilization they face when terfs treat them like poor confused women that don't know what they're doing is still a kind of oppression"

what they Don't realize (and aren't taking into account) is that Statistically trans mascs face corrective rape and assault on similar levels to other trans demographics (among other forms of violence for that matter [Link 1, Link 2]. they Don't realize that there are Many Many instances of terfs openly fantasizing about doing Exactly That, of forcing trans mascs to turn into lesbians by having sex with them.

what they don't realize is that infantilization is a part of the Dehumanization and desire to strip autonomy and control away from trans mascs that they use to Justify their violence. that the perception of trans mascs as incapable, as needing to be rescued from blindly mutilating their own bodies, is a call to action.

sometimes that call to action is used to justify stripping the human rights of all trans people away through legislation, which we've seen most starkly with the focus on trans mascs in the uk. sometimes that call to action is personal violence. sometimes that call to action is indoctrination with the intent of abusing a trans masc into detransitioning.

what people see as Hurtful in words alone the victims see for the threat that it is.

I could make dozens of examples exactly like this (for instance, historically when trans mascs have been murdered it's been reported as violence against women. because when you're buried as a woman you don't have the voice to argue otherwise), and for a dozen other identities within the queer and lgbt+ communities (asexuals have a Very Similar story with their corrective rape statistics).

but what I want to impart with this post is the idea that you question assumptions about what a group does or does not experience. there's an entire world happening where you don't see it, and when somebody tries to cut an entire group of people out of an experience they're not doing it because they've Seen every corner of said world. question more than just the conclusions that they draw when they make these assumptions.

another thing of note: the more that these marginalized groups Do increase their visibility, the more we champion for their voices, the more this violence Will become overt. the more you Will hear about them in the news and on tv and from your bigoted uncle. and that violence won't be new, it'll just finally be drawn to the forefront. we've seen it before, and we're seeing it now.

[muchymozzarella]

Extremely cool deep cut about the opening of Rings of Power (more info if you visit the threat)

I adore this because the world of Tolkien was created through music, as mentioned in the Silmarillion.

And that was clearly the intention:

From the plainsofyonder:

We conceived and created the opening title sequence for The Lord Of The Rings: The Rings Of Power.  The prequel series is based thousands of years before The Hobbit - a time of Sauron’s ascendency when dragons flew and Proto-Hobbits roamed. We set out to portray a universe both primordial and timeless. Taking inspiration from J.R.R Tolkien’s Ainur, immortal angelic beings that sing such beautiful music that the world is created from their very sound, we conceived of a main title sequence “built from the world of sound.”

Cymatics is a natural phenomenon that makes sound visible to the eye.  Vibrations of fine particles on a flat surface display striking symmetrical patterns that reflect audio frequencies.  Cymatics are understood by physicists and mathematicians, but to us mere mortals, they are nothing short of magic.

The sequence conjures an ancient and invisible power, struggling to be seen. Symbols form, flow, push, and disappear as quickly as they came. The unknowable realms of sound create fleeting visions of conflict and harmony that move in lockstep with Howard Shores’ opening title score.

It all came together through a digitally connected caravan of creators that ran from Seattle to Chicago to London, Barcelona, Madrid and New Zealand - thanks to our spectacular key collaborators Anthony Vitagliano, Fernando Cózar, Germán Diez, Colin Davis, Nicole López Naguil, Visual Effects/Animation Studio Nexus Studios, and Digital Studio MakMac.

[orthodoxadventure]

Prayer for the Self

Lord, into the hands of Thy great mercy I commend my body and soul, thoughts and acts, desires and intentions, needs of my body and soul, arrival and departure, my faith and hope. To Thee I commend the end of my life, the day and hour of my expiration, the repose of my soul and the resurrection of my body. Do Thou, O Most Merciful God, O gentle Lord, Whose clemency is ever unconquered by the sins of the world, take me, who am more sinful than all others, under the wings of Thy protection, and deliver me from all evil.

Cleanse the great multitude of my iniquities, grant the reformation of my wicked and hardened life, and ever defend me against approaching evil transgressions, that I in no manner ever anger Thee. Shelter my weakness from passion and evil men; guard me against visible and invisible enemies, lead me on the road to salvation and to Thyself, Who art my harbor and the heaven of my desires. Grant me a shameless, peaceful Christian death, protect me from evil spirits, be merciful to me, Thy servant, on Thy last judgment, and number me among the blessed flock on Thy right, that together with them I may glorify Thee, my Creator, forever. Amen.

[reflections-in-a-critical-eye]

I've been thinking about The Zone of Interest and how its formalist approach is used to to add another layer of meaning to the story or it might actually be the only way through which the story could be understood.

It boils down to stylistic elements like sound editing, shot composion and editing. Perhaps it's easier to understand if I talk about it in opposition to Old Hollywood techniques, but it's more or less the same for current mainstream Hollywood anyway. There's that thing of ''invisible editing'' or more exactly continuity editing. It's made in such a way that the viewer forgets there's cuts in the scene they're watching, creating this illusion of realism in a way. As an audience, we get immersed into the story, without consciously noticing how it's made. Formalist theory in cinema comes in opposition to that, particularly in the second half of the 20th century (French New Wave is a perfect example of playing and changing all the rules).

But coming back to The Zone of Interest, frame composition and editing are done in a way that become not only visible if we pay attention, but they represent the core of it. Almost the entire film is made of full and wide shots, the close-ups are quite rare and the camera is fixed. Apart from one scene in which the camera is following a character in a tracking shot, it's almost always still and from a multitude of angles. It is most visible in the house in which the characters live, with cameras in various places of each room (I think Glazer actually said they added cameras all over the place without any crews around so they captured everything the actors were doing in those spaces, without knowing how they were shot. The had hundreds of hours of footage for editing). This, paired with multiple cuts, shows a deliberate distancing from the characters. It not only brings forth the technicality of the medium, but through that, it reveals the artificiality of the life that is being built there. In a way, we're refused the oportunity to immerse ourselves in something that is actually grotesque and very far from a somewhat idylic or banal life.

Arendt's banality of evil concept has been used for film interpretation many times and has been brought to attention again with The Zone of Interest, but I think it's been misused. There's never the illusion that as evil as it is, those characters are leading a banal life. They are aware that they are trying to build what they consider extraordinary, a new world, one which is adjacent to the horrors that are happening behind the wall that separates them. A wall that that even with the flowers next to it, cannot in any way ''help'' in creating that mundane life because the separation is impossible and the characters are aware of it. It's done very well through sound mixing because its purpose is to reveal the violence auditory. It's constant, day and night, seemingly not affecting those behind the wall, except it does through the constant revving of a motorcycle engine meant to muffle the screaming. There's intent on part of the characters to hide what has it deemed as having no place in their life in that little courtyard with a pool, while through camera angles and sound we're made aware of what is peaking from above or what can be heard constantly. The characters might try to compartmentalize and choose when to engage, but as an audience, we are not in that position.

[dear-evan-fansen]

It frustrates me when people say "If I Could Tell Her" is Evan trying to use the memory of Connor to "seduce" Zoe. Usually they're joking but some people seem to genuinely believe that's what that song is and I feel like you REALLY have to not be paying attention at all to come away with that conclusion.

The show makes it pretty clear that his only intention going into the song is to make Zoe feel better about the memory of her brother. He doesn't just bring Connor up out of nowhere to get on her good side, Zoe ASKS him what Connor meant in his note and is visibly upset about it. So he tells her all the good things he's noticed about her and attributes them to Connor hoping to make her feel better. He's basically doing the OPPOSITE of trying to get her to fall for him, because he's saying all these sweet things but giving someone else the credit for noticing them, because he knows that's what Zoe wants to hear.

I think the misconception around this song comes largely from the fact that he tries to kiss her afterwards, (which was obviously not a good move at all and no one's denying that) but I feel like it's painfully obvious that that wasn't planned and it came from him misreading things in the moment? If you've never had any kind of experience with romance or intimacy or anything of that sort (which Evan very obviously hasn't), the proper timing for something like that wouldn't come easy to you. It wouldn't be something you just instinctually understand, especially if you're already bad at reading people and constantly overthinking everything they say and do. When you're used to feeling invisible, someone treating you with kindness or making an effort to connect with you can pretty easily be misinterpreted as romantic interest.

And we're talking about a character with crippling anxiety whose idea of flirting was saying "I've seen you play guitar in jazz band I love jazz band I love jazz well not all jazz but definitely like jazz band jazz". Do you really think he understands social cues well enough to know the right timing of that sort of thing? Do you honestly believe he's thinking far enough ahead to plan out some elaborate scheme to make someone fall in love with him? That's crazy. He has a moment of connection with the girl he's been in love with for years and he mistakes her interest in what he's saying for interest in HIM for a split second at the END of the song. Kissing her was not a thought in his mind until that very moment, because he didn't even believe there was a chance in hell that she could ever like someone like him until that moment where they sit on the bed together and actually connect. That was the moment where they stopped being a million worlds apart, and Evan didn't know how to handle it. I feel that every actor I've ever seen play the role has made this abundantly clear. Was it a bad move on Evan's part? Absolutely! But it's not at all the the same as actively trying to manipulate someone into liking you and I'm really tired of people pretending that it is.

[blackjackkent]

Lorroakan loot:

[fahrquad pointing meme] Athkatlan!

Interesting. The staff is pretty okay for Gale but the robe isn't really even that impressive, at least as compared to the Potent Robe we got from Alfira all the way back in Act 2. So that will go towards the HGS Potions Fund.

I was gonna talk with Rolan but he seems to have disappeared so I'm assuming he's back downstairs and we'll talk to him later? Quick look around the tower first though.

First interesting thing - a note confirming that Lorroakan was a bastard, in case anyone needed it:

[fahrquad pointing meme again] Sellout! Asshole! Liar!

Honestly I'm relieved because if it turned out that he really HAD found some way to use her magic without hurting her then all of this would have felt a lot more complicated than it does. XD

He also has tried to write a book about himself to submit to the "Wizards of Note" book series, apparently:

That's more or less all that's up here, so heading back downstairs...

OK, going back downstairs we are caught by one of Lorroakan's projections and once again ejected from the shop for "HABITUAL VIOLENCE." No sign of Rolan.

INVISIBILITY AND BACK UP TO THE TOWER AGAIN!

Aha there you are. How you doing, Rolan?

"Lorroakan is dead. The bastard is dead."

"Are you all right?"

"I am. Now that the bastard's in bits." There's none of Rolan's old cocky confidence now. He just sounds extremely tired and sad. "Lorroakan was a cruel and vicious man. By day, I'd tend the shop, but at night - he'd fire the most nonsensical questions at me. And for every one I answered 'wrong', he'd beat me."

A pause. He looks down at his own palms. "I could've killed him with my own two hands, but I kept thinking it was all a test. It had to be. I thought it was the price I had to pay to become a true wizard. I realize now he was just a sick, sick man..."

Poor guy. Hector is no stranger, by now, to the terrible things that people in this world are capable of doing to each other. But it never fails to strike him with new ferocity every time he encounters it. Rolan has been a blowhard at times, but he's a good man at heart, and he doesn't deserve how his desire to better himself has been taken advantage of.

"He's dead now," he says quietly. "It's over. And you've won."

Rolan smiles slightly, with a hint of his old air of confidence - though muted now with experience. "I have," he agrees. "With your considerable help." He looks around thoughtfully. "I see things clearly now. If I wish to master the Weave, I must do it myself. Thankfully, I have everything I need - right here."

Hector grins. That sounds more like the Rolan he knows, and cocky though it is, it's good to hear it back, even a little. What he's proposing -- to take Lorroakan's tower for himself -- is certainly aiming high, though. "You'll be challenged," he points out. "I'm sure there are others who want the tower."

Rolan laughs softly. "Let them come. I happened across a book on the tower's defenses, and they are considerable." He's visibly starting to come out of the shock of the battle now, growing more energized. "I'll move Cal and Lia in immediately. Lorroakan refused to let them stay here. The are going to love the tower."

He pauses, then looks at Hector intently for a moment. "I wouldn't have this - the tower, my family - without you," he adds, with a more earnest tone than Hector has ever heard from him before. "What can I do to thank you?"

Hector smiles. The other man's gratitude and respect is worth more than any reward to him, and in truth he never expected to truly earn it. Were there less at stake, he would demand nothing at all.

But very soon, he will need people to stand with him against the terrible threat on the horizon. And Rolan has more than proved himself, over the time they've known each other.

"The city is under siege, from the inside out. I need allies," he says soberly.

"And you'll have me," Rolan agrees at once, nodding. Given everything they've been through, Hector is more than a little impressed at the lack of even a moment's hesitation. "I'll learn everything I can about the tower in the meantime, even if I have to rip this place apart. But know this - Ramazith's Tower, and its master, are now your friends. And when the time comes, we will stand by you as allies."

[mello-when-hi]

A little Drabble for cDnF week! Day 1- Early SMP days

Dream thinks he would like to live forever.

Not as some all-knowing deity or cursed hero, no. That’d be a tragic life to bear.

No, what Dream craves is infinity. To live forever as one with the earth, forever watching over the lands he has brought into existence.

His hand roams over sweet smelling grass, and he thinks that maybe he’d like to be a tree, having his roots become tangled with the earth.

Content with his place in the world, he collapses onto the soft grass, face straining towards the sun as a flower would. His eyes fall shut, the sun bathing his face in a dazzling light. He sighs. Content.

Though the world is still young, Dream knows that he holds a deeper connection with it than Georege or Sapnap or Callahan. He feels tied to the world, some invisible lead wrapped firmly around his heart, proclaiming him to the land.

He’s toyed with the sensation in his heart before, probing it, searching for a reaction. But no matter how hard he concentrates or how earnestly he spins the sensation around within him, it always ends with nothing spectacular happening.

Dream wonders if he should share this idea with George, but he already knows the reaction it will earn out of his boyfriend. An enamored smile accompanied by a sigh. George has long-since become accustomed to Dream’s wild assumptions. It is rare that Dream can take him by surprise.

In the end, Dream caves in and shares his secret hope whilst cuddled up against George. They sit on a fallen log, a flickering fire, courtesy of Sapnap, crackles warmly before them.

Mindlessly, Dream links their hands together before whispering, “Would you love me if I was a tree?”

A smile has already bloomed on Dream’s face, and he waits for George to turn to face him so that they can smile together under the stars. The joy between them is infectious. Dream knows it’s only moments until he hears George’s tinkling laugh, and he grips tighter on the smaller hand kept safely in his.

Rather than laughing immediately, George looks curiously as Dream before a grin cracks along the surface of his pale face.

“What?” He asks, amused.

Without missing a beat, Dream quickly begins his spiel, elaborately explaining the concept of becoming one with the earth, inseparable from the thing he treasures most.

By the time he’s finished, George is listening intently, giving serious thought to the matter Dream has presented.

“I think I understand what you’re saying, but how will you become a tree?” A asks, intrigue in his voice.

Dream only shrugs, attention drawn to the way the moonlight reflects off of George’s pale skin.

“That’s a problem for future Dream. I have my whole life to figure it out.” He says dismissively.

Now that he’s freed his idea into the world, his mind finally knows calm. He relaxes against George’s back, tilting his head so it rests on his shoulder. The position puts an uncomfortable amount of strain on his neck, but it allows him to see his two favorite things simultaneously, so he silently endures.

George scoffs, stars twinkling brightly behind him.

“As long as you don’t become like, obsessed with your pursuit of immortality.”

Dream laughs.

“Yeah no.”

George smiles at him.

“One really good life with you is all I need.” Dream admits, earnest.

He visibly sees George soften, his gaze bearing such tender fondness that Dream fears he may seep into the earth.

George presses a gentle kiss to his forehead, lips warm. Dream sighs.

Life is perfect.