#empowerment temple

[jaynasti69]

Rebuild Your Temples Music Video

#youtube #Salvation #Rebuilding #Heaven #Hell #Breakout #Matrix #Temples #Fragments #Angels #Celestials #Healing #Trauma #Exonerate #Freedom #liberation #Soul #Empowerment #Higher Consciousness #christ consciousness #spirituality #Chakras

[magicpotatothoughts]

TGCF reread new finds #1

Xie Lian actively and consciously knows that he is attracted to HC the MOMENT THEY MEET in the Ox Cart. Like it’s not just blank gay panic, he knows.

His beauty was deadly like a sword, sharp and mesmerising. Xie Lian only met his eyes for a moment, then lowered his eyes in defeat.

MATE, normally wouldn’t you continue to be mesmerised and can’t peel your eyes away? That is, UNLESS YOURE WHIPPED. XL knows that SL's looks affect him to this degree. Defeat is the key word here.

Also

The distance between them had closed too fast. he suddenly didn't know what to do[...]Xie Lian blanked on the spot. He watched as the tall and slender youth walked away with his giant bag of junk as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do, and it made him mutter inwardly, Forgive my sins.

Making a rich young lad carry your things? Making him sleep in your crappy temple? That doesn't warrant the weighty thought? FORGIVE WHAT SINS Xie Lian??!!!

Many village girls saw (HC) and blushed [...] Xie Lian didn't know what they were going to ask, but felt instinctively that it must be stopped at once, and cried, "No!"

Jealous jealous boi! XL WAS POSSESSIVE after ONE night spent together at Puqi Shrine. Didn’t XL just say to SL that he will have no problem in the love department because girls will throw themselves at him? Yo, why are you cock-blocking? Everyone says HC is insane, no XL is equally insane for the other!

Also, when HC revealed that it's his real skin after the Banyue arc, XL instinctively poked him. Then

He looked at his own finger then hid it away, betraying nothing of his thoughts.

What thoughts XL ?!! Explain yourself right now!

Jumping back to OX CART scene, Xie Lian's character development was foreshadowed when they were talking about the gifting of ghost ashes.

Book 1: Xie Lian sighed. "It certainly is painful to think about, to have given everything for love and lose everything in return."

This is what Xie Lian is most afraid of! Like even thinking back to Xie Lian pushing Feng Xin away in Book 4, he definitely operated under that mindset. Love is a risk, it's something to be feared. Even now 800+ years later, he still feels that way and doesn't allow himself to get close to anyone. It just hits so much harder thinking that he operated under that for so many centuries.

Then Hua Cheng says

"What there to be afraid of? If it were me, I'd have no regrets giving away my ashes"

Which I think really changed the way that Xie Lian thought about love. Book 5 Xie Lian completely operates with Love is empowering and isn't something to be afraid of.

TGCF isn't about XL realising his feelings, literally from Book 1 it's about him wondering if it's worthwhile to act on them.

Three things, is this person worth losing cultivation over for?

He needs the reassurance that this person must reciprocate his feelings.

Then HC changed his perspective on love from FEAR -> EMPOWERMENT.

XL is soooo self-aware (unlike SQQ from SVSSS and WWX from MDZS), he's an unreliable narrator in the way that he doesn't reveal everything to the reader, especially his own feelings until he was absolutely sure that there really was both a physical and romantic attraction. I wanted to make this post to dispel the assumption for XL it was easy to forego 800+ years of cultivation. It was not? He ABSOLUTELY thought about it carefully.

#honestly without the thousand caves reveal these two gays would still be 👉👈🥺 at each other #I was inspired by grimbravado's tumblr #tgcf #mxtx #heaven official's blessing #also these are my own perspectives #take it with a grain of salt #hualian #hua cheng #tian guan ci fu #xie lian #feng xin #fenglian #TGCF meta

[desigirldairies]

AFFIRMATIONS —

These affirmations blend elements of spirituality, mindfulness, gratitude, and empowerment, reflecting the holistic approach to life often found in Indian philosophies and teachings. How do these resonate with you?

1. I am a manifestation of divine energy, worthy of love and abundance.

2. My mind is a temple of peace and clarity, rooted in ancient wisdom.

3. I embrace the cycles of life, knowing that change brings growth and transformation.

4. I radiate positivity and kindness, spreading joy to those around me.

5. I honor my ancestors and carry their resilience and strength within me.

6. I am connected to the universe, in harmony with nature's rhythms and cycles.

7. I trust in the unfolding of my journey, guided by the wisdom of my heart and soul.

8. I celebrate diversity and unity, recognizing the beauty in every culture and tradition.

9. I cultivate gratitude for the blessings in my life, big and small, with a grateful heart.

10. I am a co-creator of my destiny, manifesting my dreams with intention and perseverance.

11. I am worthy of love, kindness, and respect from myself and others.

12. I embrace my imperfections, knowing they are part of my unique beauty and strength.

13. I forgive myself for past mistakes and release any self-judgment or criticism.

14. I trust in my abilities and believe in my potential to achieve my goals and dreams.

15. I prioritize self-care and nourish my mind, body, and soul with love and compassion.

16. I set healthy boundaries to protect my well-being and honor my needs and values.

17. I celebrate my progress and achievements, no matter how small, acknowledging my growth.

18. I speak to myself with kindness and encouragement, nurturing a positive inner dialogue.

19. I let go of comparison and embrace my unique journey, trusting in my own pace and path.

20. I am enough just as I am, worthy of love, happiness, and fulfillment.

AFFIRMATIONS are made not only to be recalled or spoken every morning for a good morning, you can always remind yourself with all these beautiful AFFIRMATIONS whenever you are free, not being in a good mood, need some motivation, not feeling good about yourself or just want to! ✨️

#desicore #desi tumblr #desiblr #desi #india #indian #affirmdaily #affirmyourlife #affirmations #girl blogger #beacoming that girl #it girl #girlblogging #just girly things #wonyoungism #pink coquette #pink pilates princess #pink pilates girl #self love #manifestation #positive suggestions #advice #girl tips #self care tips #romantizing life #self growth #self care #self confidence #girl advice #positivity

[oh-snapperss]

Medusa: The Much Needed Shift from Monster to Survivor in Percy Jackson (2023)

I am posting this on request of a couple folks! This is a part of a much bigger portfolio I submitted to my college mythology course, so if anything seems abrupt or short, that's why. Enjoy!

Reader discretion advised: the analysis below includes non-explicit discussion of sexual assault and rape.

From the beginning of the Percy Jackson series recently released on Disney+, it was clear that many changes were going to be made throughout the series both from the book series it derived from, and the myths Riordan first retold in his books. One of the most remarkable changes to the series can be found in episode three, and stood out with the dialogue below:

Percy: “So you’re not a monster, what are you then?”

Medusa: “A survivor.” (“We Visit the Garden Gnome Emporium” 23:22)

The decision to portray Medusa in this light is in stark contrast to any other adaptation involving her. Moments before this, Percy tells Grover and Annabeth that he thinks they can trust her, and that his mother had always told him Medusa’s story with the point “She isn’t what people think,” (21:52). This sets the stage for the following conversation, and the idea that Medusa in the myths may have been misunderstood as just another monster of Greek mythology.

In fact, Medusa’s physical appearance in the series is also markedly different from the original myth. Instead of being “monstrous” with wings, tusks of swine, and hair made of hissing snakes (“Medusa in Mythology”), the actress wears a veil over her hairand eyes, a nice dress, and has perfectly done makeup, with red lipstick. Her appearance brings empowerment to Medusa while also humanizing her, and a sense of fear or apprehension to the watcher. The answer to why these changes were made can be found in the relatability Medusa’s story has for today’s victims of rape and a patriarchal society that is unfair to women who have been assaulted.

Myths of Medusa describe her story without much pity: Either Poseidon rapes her in Athena’s temple or they willingly have sex; Athena, enraged, punishes Medusa by turning her into a monster. Poseidon goes unpunished, as he is a god (“Medusa in Mythology.") However, in current day climates, it is impossible not to draw similarities in Medusa’s story to the way victims are treated often in society. The assaulter goes unpunished, while the victim must live with the emotional, physical, and mental harm of such an attack. In fact, from my personal experience and things I have seen in the tattoo parlor I have gotten tattoos from, some victims have chosen to get tattoos of Medusa as a sign of being a survivor of such an assault. Thus, this brings back the director’s choice to portray Medusa differently in Percy Jackson than before.

Another notable difference in Medusa’s behavior is that she does not immediately attack Percy, Annabeth, and Grover (who would be considered the heroes of the story), instead offering them lunch and her perspective on what happened to her originally. By allowing Medusa the chance to speak her perspective on what happened to her, the directors of the show push for a world where women and victims are able to speak. With the show being watched by many younger teens and children, in addition to adults, an important message is carried to watchers, and her story is handled in a way that any victim watching can hear the message that they are not alone.

The director’s decision to show Medusa in this other light comes to a conclusion with Percy refusing the chance to betray his friends for her (28:03) a few minutes later, and from there the story aligns closer to the myth it derived from. The fight between the heroes and Medusa is not long, ending after Annabeth puts her hat of invisibility on Medusa, and Percy beheads her. Visually, this fight is markedly different to the myth—Medusa’s beheading is done with a hat of invisibility on, so there is no blood or gore shown (31:41). This change can easily be explained by the shows rating of TV-PG, combined with the fact that most likely, Disney would not have wanted such a gore filled scene on their platform.

Overall, the changes to Medusa’s story are headed in a positive direction much needed in the current climate of society, despite not staying exactly true to the source material.

Works Cited

“Medusa in Greek Mythology.” Greek Legends and Myths, https://www.greeklegendsandmyths.com/medusa.html. Accessed 20 March 2024.

“We Visit the Garden Gnome Emporium.” Percy Jackson and the Olympians, season 1, episode 3, Disney+, December 26, 2023. Disney, https://www.disneyplus.com/play/7a078c8a-2a03-4171-a647-a4f5ed12e738.

#laurie thoughts #percy jackson #medusa #tw sa mention #laurs' academic writing #<-new tag omg

[comparativetarot]

Divine Love. Art by Rubi Do Trinh, from the Star of Inanna Tarot.

As we were trying to conceptualize the second Oracle Card for Star of Inanna, many things came into our discussion. One of which was to have something about the Bull, since for some reasons, the ancient civilizations were obsessed with these animals. The Sumerian crown of divinity is also said to have pairs of bull horns on it. Though that subject led through many interesting corridors of research, we finally decided instead to go with this card expressing the Unconditional Love that Inanna has for her subject. Just like the wild Descent oracle card that can appear anywhere in the deck, we feel this Divine Love card can also manifest anywhere in your reading when you need it most. The message here reminds us that the unconditional love and light from the Goddess and higher beings always surround us. We only need to find a moment of stillness to tune into ourselves despite all the chaos and heartbreak. Personally, I (Rubi) believe in self empowerment AND that divine connection can only happen when we are deeply in touch with our core essence. No matter how hard Inanna or our higher help tries to assist us, if we are only open to the brutal external circumstances and close ourselves off to the inner guidance, they can’t reach us. They can’t resonate and activate that which is divine within us because we deny it ourselves. The painting for this card depicts the scene where Enheduanna in her exile wrote the hymns to celebrate Inanna, her beloved Goddess late in the night. While her home temple in Ur fell into the hand of the usurper Lugalanne, being stripped of her title, thrown out of her city into the land of the dead, she managed to find the immovable center within her to connect with Inanna and plead for the return of justice. As the world’s first known author, a prominent historical figure of Earth, Enheduanna’s appearance helps ground the deck into our human timeline.

#Rubi Do Trinh #Star of Inanna Tarot #Divine Love #Extra Cards #Tarot #Folklore #Sumeria #Inanna #Enheduanna

[ultra-rockart]

Another Thing Blue Eye Samurai Got Wrong

There were women who fought as fighters and samurai (or more often called as onna-bugeisha or onna-musha) for their clan. They didn't have to hide their femininity. There is a long history of female warriors in Japan that date back to an Empress named Jingū (she ruled from 201 to 269 AD). I bring you two of the greats:

Tomoe Gozen

She was skilled at archery, the sword and the use of the naginata. Tomoe is one of the most feared women because of her cleverness and offensive tactical skills. Her men trusted and respected her. During the Battle of Awazu, she killed the Musashi clan leader. Sadly, there is no more records of her after that. Tomoe is the most known and celebrated of the onna-bugeisha.

Nakano Takeko

Like many samurai of her time, she wore the typical samurai armor but instead chose to wear a red hakama. This red hakama became a symbol of not just her femininity but empowerment. She fought in the Boshin War against Imperialists who wanted the Emperor to rise to power (they eventually won during the Battle of Toba–Fushimi).

Similar to the Kiheitai (or the ad hoc army by the Imperialists), she led the Jōshitai or women's army fighting on the side of the Tokugawa Shogunate.

Nakano was wounded with a rifle shot and rather than allowing her enemies to parade her lifeless body as a trophy, she ordered her sister (also a capable warrior as with her mother. all 3 women fought alongside each other) to cut her head off and burry her head in secret so her enemies would not have a reason to disgrace her. Her head was buried under a pine tree and her beloved naginata was given to a temple.

In Aizu during the Autumn festival, girls parade around the streets wearing a red hakama and a white headband to honor Nakano and the women fighters of the Jōshitai.

Other female fighters include Yamamoto Yae aka "Bakumatsu Joan of Arc" and Hangaku Gozen or Lady Hangaku.

______________________________________________________________

There is a reason the filmakers of Lady Snowblood (a film Blue Eye Samurai heavily borrows from) didn't chose to disguise Yuki as a man when she enacted her revenge.

#women samurai #sometimes reality is better than fiction #blue eye samurai #tomoe gozen #nakano takeko #break the stereotype #red hakama #why can't netflix make a series about these women

[mariacallous]

Shafiq Bagwan was hanging out with a few friends in his village of Hasnabad, which is in the Maharashtra state in western India, when he opened Instagram on his phone and saw that his younger brother Taufiq had posted an update. When he clicked on it, his heart fell.

Taufiq, who is 18, had posted a picture of a 17th-century Mughal emperor, Aurangzeb, with a description of him as “the father of Hindu nationalists.”

“I immediately called him up and ordered him to delete the story,” Bagwan says. “I got scared for him, and I hoped that nobody had seen it.” It was too late. The next day, June 20, Taufiq was arrested and charged with“deliberate and malicious intention of outraging the religious feelings.”

Taufiq had been caught up in an online crusade, initiated by Hindu nationalists in Maharashtra, who have taken it upon themselves to police social media for anything, no matter how tenuous, they can spin as offensive to Hindus. These groups, which appear to have links to local government and law enforcement, are turning Instagram and WhatsApp into hostile spaces for Muslims, who face harassment and arrest for seemingly innocuous posts. It’s another demonstration of how the Indian internet is coming to mirror the Hindu nationalist slant of politics under the government of Narendra Modi.

“What has happened offline has happened online,” says Osama Manzar, founder of the Digital Empowerment Foundation, an NGO. “The attitude remains the same. Social media is just another tool to subjugate.”

Aurangzeb died more than 300 years ago, but he’s recently become something of a protest symbol for Muslim youth in Maharashtra. During his rule, which lasted from 1658 to 1707, he expanded the Mughal empire across much of the Indian subcontinent. To some Hindus, he’s a tyrannical figure who imposed discriminatory taxes and destroyed temples and who was resisted by Shivaji, another warrior king who is revered in Maharashtra.

With tensions between communities running high, Aurangzeb has become an emblem for both the Hindu majority and its 13 million Muslims, who make up around 12 percent of the population of the state.

“Aurangzeb, a Muslim ruler, is just a political tool to target today’s ordinary Muslims,” says Surendra Jondhale, a professor in the department of politics at the University of Mumbai. “The right-wing groups have used Shivaji versus Aurangzeb—a battle between two kingdoms—to propagate a Hindu versus Muslim binary.”

In February 2023, led by Modi’s Bharatiya Janata Party, the union government renamed the city of Aurangabad in Maharashtra—named after Aurangzeb—to Sambhaji Nagar. In rallies that followed the renaming—and which were attended by members of the BJP—T Raja Singh, a party member and (currently suspended) lawmaker, said that any Muslim unhappy with the name change would be considered a traitor.

The BJP has been widely accused of stoking religious tensions across India, and of promoting a Hindu identity for India that runs contrary to the country’s founding principles of religious pluralism.

In response to often brazen hate speech and discrimination from public figures, young Muslims have adopted Aurangzeb as a symbol of defiance. “It comes from a place of angst and humiliation, where the Muslims are continuously being provoked,” says Imtiaz Jaleel, a lawmaker from Aurangabad. “Under normal circumstances, I don’t think the Muslims even think about Aurangzeb.”

But posting the former ruler’s picture often elicits serious consequences. Right-wing Hindu groups, which have been publicly supported by members of Modi’s BJP, have been keeping a close eye on Muslims’ social media posts, claiming that even a photograph of Aurangzeb hurts their religious sentiments.

This is what happened to Taufiq, who, Shafiq says, doesn’t understand English and so wasn’t aware of what was written alongside the image he posted. But before he had time to delete the story, someone in his village had taken a screenshot.

Rupesh Rathi, 40, works in Hasnabad for Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS), a parent organization of BJP. He says that ever since Aurangabad was renamed, these situations have become more prevalent. “A Hindu friend of Taufiq in the village saw his story, took a screenshot, and sent it to me,” says Rathi. “After that, some seven or eight of us had a discussion on what to do about it.”

The consensus was to file a complaint. “Everybody found it objectionable,” Rathi says.

Armed with those screenshots, some 20-25 people turned up at the local police station and filed a complaint against Taufiq. Gradually, more people from the neighboring villages joined in, and the mob grew to over 100 people. The police were “extremely cooperative,” Rathi says. “We were assured that there will be a proper investigation into this. There were four or five more Muslim boys that had uploaded that status. As a result of the complaint, they deleted it.”

When authorities arrested Taufiq, they confiscated his phone so they could investigate who else might have circulated his post.

Shafiq bailed Taufiq out. The charges are still pending. Shafiq says his brother is scarred by what happened. “He is just 18,” Bhagwan says. “His health deteriorated quite a bit after the incident. He is still shaken because of the hostility with which he was targeted. The matter could have been resolved within the village.”

At least 13 similar cases in Maharashtra have been reported in the national media over the past four months.

Shirish Inamdar, a former deputy commissioner of police in Maharashtra’s intelligence department, says he thinks the police aren’t acting fairly, but that the cases reflect the state’s politics. Until June 2022, Maharashtra was ruled by a coalition government of three regional parties, but a year ago the BJP poached 40 of the lawmakers from one of the parties in the ruling coalition and came to power in the state. Ever since, Inamdar says, the persecution of Muslims has increased. “The local police do it to save their own skin,” he says. “The powers that be have told the police to register as many cases and vitiate the atmosphere.”

Inamdar says the cases filed against Muslims over social media posts are unlikely to succeed in a court of law. “Everybody knows that,” he says. “But the cases drag on, and it becomes a blot on the person’s record. They have to appear for court dates, they have to spend money on the lawyer. The process becomes the punishment.”

Madhav Bhandari, vice president of Maharashta BJP, defended the police, saying that “police cases over social media posts have happened under previous governments too” and that he also believes pictures of Aurangzeb “hurt religious sentiments in Maharashtra.” He adds: “Everybody is entitled to be proud of their religion.”

Prateek Waghre, policy director of the Internet Freedom Foundation, an NGO, says that this kind of campaign is a form of lateral surveillance of minorities, where people have to be constantly alert for anything that could be exploited to attack them. “It points to broader societal issues, where there aren’t too many degrees of separation between people reporting Instagram or WhatsApp updates and the ones being reported,” he says. “Many of them are on their contact lists. There is also a possibility of watch lists being maintained. It is scary.”

Since Modi became prime minister in 2014, there has been a notable increase in hate speech across the country, with Hindu nationalist groups calling for the mass rape of Muslim women and the extermination of the community. The RSS and other groups affiliated with the BJP have fueled unfounded conspiracy theories, including the “love jihad,” which alleges that Muslim men are seducing Hindu women en masse and converting them to Islam. There have been multiple incidences of assaults on minorities, and even lynchings.

“There will be people dismissing these as isolated events and saying there are only so many cases in a country of a billion people,” Waghre says. “But the ripple effect is hard to ignore and also hard to measure. It impacts people’s minds and their behavior.”

In Maharashtra, the campaign has widened the divisions between communities.

In June, police filed a case against a 14-year old Muslim boy in the central region of Maharashtra over an Instagram photograph of Aurangzeb. His parents are small farmers, and his uncle is a tailor in the village. “He is just a kid,” says the uncle, who WIRED is not identifying to protect the boy’s privacy. “He even made an apology video and promised to not do it again. He deleted his Instagram account and is scared to join back. But still a case was filed against him. We had to pay a lot of money for a bail bond in court to avoid arrest. This can potentially ruin or jeopardize his career. Is this where we want to head as a society?”

The boy’s Instagram post was reported by a young man living nearby who was working for a radical right-wing group. In the complaint, he said the photograph “hurt his religious sentiments.” The police charged the 14-year-old with “deliberate and malicious acts, intended to outrage religious feelings of any class by insulting its religion or religious beliefs” and “intention to incite offense.”

The uncle says that over four decades of living in the village, where he has developed relationships with people across communities, this is the first time he has felt exposed. “I have participated in Hindu festivals, I have very close Hindu friends,” he says. “But the politics of the state has ruined everything. Is there a ban on sharing pictures of figures from history?”

[disease]

Hi, I know you’re not a therapist or anything so you can absolutely ignore this but idk where else to put it… I feel like you are somebody who would understand.

I’m a young woman who found out about Gen January last year. I have never, ever felt more connected with a person. I can’t even listen to their music without feeling physically ill, when I look at a photograph of them it’s like looking at an old lover who’s died (I apologise if I’m using wrong pronouns by the way I’m just not sure which to use so I usually use they)

It was okayish, just an admiration until I had a manic episode (I’m bipolar) and subsequent depressive episode where I became convinced they were literally living in my body. Like I could feel their presence 24/7, everything I did was to do with them, I couldn’t read anything that wasn’t read by or related to Gen in some way. I couldn’t even look in the mirror because I would see Jackie. I became so jealous of her I couldn’t listen to any of Gen’s music past 1990 because the specific way that they loved with pandrogyny was everything I had ever wanted - Genesis was everything I had ever wanted. Genesis was the love of my life I thought.

It felt like all the confusing feelings and emotions and authors I have liked and poets and painters I’ve admired and just EVERYTHING was shared by them when I never even knew it. The more I learnt the more I felt connected. I couldn’t sleep at night because all I could do was just think about Genesis, and Neil, and all the versions of who they were in their lifetime. It felt like being reborn in a way… I felt like a prophet for them. I’ve never related to anybody more in my entire life. It’s like I found my twin flame but I know so many other people think that about Genesis as well. But I can’t explain it, this just feels different.

It subsided a bit when I got a boyfriend but Genesis is always in the back of my mind even now. Even after being medicated, I still feel like we are connected somehow and I feel this sorrow for them almost 24/7. It feels like I have lost a child. Like some sort of grief. I’m not the best at putting my thoughts into words, but I just can’t handle this. I love Genesis so, so much. More than I can write down or explain. I get this stomachache when I think about their life and how beautiful they were.

Do you have any advice or any helpful words? I’m really struggling. I feel so crazy. Sorry that this is so out of the blue. Sending love! ❤️

this message is extremely touching—and you shouldn’t feel ashamed by the intensity of your emotions toward Gen! however, i’m glad to hear medication helped to some degree, as these situations can prove to be very exhausting.

regarding Gen—as last i knew ‘they’ sufficiently addressed the Pandrogyne—they certainly had an incalculable influence on countless many during their lifespan on this realm. speaking for myself, i’ve worn a psychick cross pendant for years, along with it having been my first tattoo. Thee Temple Ov Psychick Youth was/is yet another brilliant idea of Gen’s… but, as we know, Gen disbanded from the concept upon feeling that it had shifted into somewhat of a religious cult. its intention was always to be an influence for artistic expression and self-empowerment—sort of an evolution from COUM Transmissions—but nothing beyond those basic principles alone.

fast-forwarding to more current times, i felt it to be such a privilege that they utilized contemporary media (notably Instagram) to remain virtually connected and provide further documentation. in one of their conversations with Carl Abrahamsson, i recall them accurately predicting the potential significance of technology, and what it could/would become. [i highly recommend obtaining a copy of this book: Sacred Intent.]

when Gen eventually did transcend beyond their mortal vessel, i recall this same feeling as you’ve noted… somewhat of a ‘unity’ between them & self. unselfishly, it was a relief to know they no longer had to suffer from ongoing cancer. but, beyond that, there was purely this feeling of their presence still being here… perhaps a universal feeling which then manifested into S/he Is (Still) Her/e.

the only advice i could provide given the circumstances are essentially the root of what you’ve already been doing: learning about, discussing, and manifesting the lessons & artistic creations they provided to the universe. if you’re an avid lover of music, do recall the role they played in pioneering both the Industrial and Acid House genres. if Gen desires anything from you, it’d likely be at the core of their teachings in TOPY, which was recognizing and seizing your unlocked potential as a Human Be-ing. forgive yourself for your behavior in the matter; then continue to be influenced by the infinite wisdom of their words and actions.

S/he Is Still Her/e. 丰

#g #ask #genesis p-orridge #psychick youth #TOPY #COUM

[hard--onthe---outside]

i always thought it harsh that the Goddess Athena turned Medusa into a gorgon because she got raped by Poseidon in her temple. but as my friend explained that the power to turn men into stone for the empowerment of women was a good thing

#gorgon #interesting perception

[empressessence]

The Art of Sacred Self-Care: Nurturing Your Inner Empress

Welcome back to Empress Essence, where we continue our journey of self-discovery and empowerment. In our last blog post, we explored the essence of feminine energy and the importance of embracing our inner Empress. Today, let us delve deeper into the practice of sacred self-care—a cornerstone of our journey towards embodying our fullest potential.

Honoring Your Temple: Your body is a sacred vessel—a temple that houses your divine essence. Treat it with the reverence it deserves by nourishing it with wholesome foods, movement, and rest. Practice self-care rituals that honor your physical, emotional, and spiritual well-being. Whether it's a gentle yoga session, a nourishing meal, or a soothing bath, prioritize activities that replenish and rejuvenate your body.

Cultivating Mindfulness: In the hustle and bustle of daily life, it's easy to become disconnected from the present moment. Cultivate mindfulness as a means of anchoring yourself in the here and now. Take time each day to pause, breathe, and tune into your senses. Whether it's through meditation, mindful movement, or simply savoring a cup of tea, allow yourself to fully immerse in the richness of each moment.

Embracing Ritual and Ceremony: Rituals and ceremonies hold profound significance in honoring the sacred within and around us. Create rituals that speak to your soul—a morning gratitude practice, a full moon ceremony, or a sacred space for reflection and intention-setting. Infuse these rituals with meaning and intention, allowing them to serve as potent reminders of your connection to the divine.

Setting Boundaries: Boundaries are essential for preserving your energy and maintaining your inner harmony. Learn to discern what nurtures your soul and what depletes it. Set clear boundaries around your time, energy, and relationships, honoring your needs and priorities. Remember, saying no to what no longer serves you is an act of self-love and empowerment.

Cultivating Creativity: Creativity is a powerful expression of feminine energy—a force that flows through you, inspiring innovation, beauty, and growth. Engage in activities that ignite your creative spark—whether it's painting, writing, dancing, or gardening. Allow yourself the freedom to play, explore, and express your unique essence without inhibition.

As we conclude our exploration of sacred self-care, I invite you to incorporate these practices into your daily life with intention and reverence. Remember, nurturing your inner Empress is not selfish; it is an act of profound love and devotion to yourself and those around you. Embrace the art of sacred self-care and watch as it illuminates your path towards wholeness and fulfillment.

We invite you to share your own self-care rituals below, and stay tuned for upcoming  community events focused on sacred self-care practices.

#self care #self care routine #self care reminder #self love #healing rituals #sacred feminine #divine feminine energy #feminine energy #embrace your femininity #divine feminine #ritual #healing journey #rituals #ritual cleansing #ceremony #wicca #goddess energy #ritual magic #ceremonial magic #boundaries #mindfulness #creative inspiration

[onwacollective]

Womb Healing Masterpost

 Please share far and wide.

With the increase of hormonal imbalance as a result of the collective being fed constant cycles of stress through the media, I’ve felt called to organize info that’s been useful to me on healing the womb and healing hormonal imbalance. While menstruation pain has been normalized, it is not natural to regularly be in pain during your cycle. Consistently painful cycles are the body’s way of communicating that something is wrong and that the womb needs attention.  I’ve provided some tools below to help.

I’ve broken the info up into three categories: energetic, physical, and gut health. I’ve found it to be true that womb related issues are always energetic first. Fixing the physical issue without addressing the emotional/energetic wounding will cause the illness to manifest in the body in another way. The physical category focuses on how to address womb imbalance by making changes to diet and behavior. The gut health category is gut specific healing because many hormones are created in the gut or called into creation by the gut microbiome. If you have hormonal issues it’s likely you have gut health issues as well.

The most important element of healing your womb is discernment. Use your discernment when moving through this information. Some things will be helpful and relevant to you and some will not. Everyone’s body is unique. Honor that on your journey to healing.

**note: some of these resources advise restrictive dieting (example vegan, low/no carb or otherwise) to heal the womb. While using these diets to detox for a little while may be beneficial, I’ve personally found restrictive diets to be more damaging long term. I’ve found the most benefit from prometabolic eating or eating ancestrally.  With any dietary info provided in these resources, use your discernment and prioritize listening to your body’s unique needs.**

Energetic

VIDEOS

Caroline Myss: Why People Don't Heal

The Truth About Uterine Fibroids In Melanin Dominant Women (Black Women) - Dr. Jewel Pookrum

5 Mindset Shifts That Have Completely Transformed My Health Journey

PODCASTS

S3E07. HOW TO GIVE YOUR BODY A “SOFTWARE UPDATE” - the art of updating your physical body on emotional breakthroughs for better lymphatic drainage, emotional release, and brain-body connection w/ Julie Tracy

BOOKS

You Look Like Something Blooming: A Memoir of Divination Seeds to Cultivate Your Feminine Garden Temple by India Ame’ye (you can also check out India’s tumblr HERE)

Sacred Woman: A Guide to Healing the Feminine Body, Mind, and Spirit by Queen Afua

Set Boundaries, Find Peace by Nedra Glover Tawwab

Physical

VIDEOS

HOW TO V STEAM AT HOME | DIY Yoni Steam

The Goddess Collection aka KrystalTheHealthAdvocate YouTube Channel

DIY Castor Oil Pack Tutorial | How to Castor Oil Pack for Fertility, Fibroids and Liver Health

BOOKS

In the FLO: Unlock Your Hormonal Advantage and Revolutionize Your Life by Alisa Vitti

Hormone Intelligence by Aviva Romm, MD

PODCASTS

S3E02. FROM WELLNESS EXTREMES TO A HEALTHY FOUNDATION - why getting back to basics, saying no to fads and fueling our bodies is the medicine women need with Nina Passero, FDN-P

S3E05. BEYOND BIRTH CONTROL - tracking your menstrual cycle, reproductive empowerment + ways to take control of your fertility and health with Lisa Hendrickson-Jack

S2E12. PCOS: WHY ARE SO MANY WOMEN SUFFERING? - a conversation about carbs, body temperature, metabolism, stress and phone addiction with Amanda Montalvo, RD, FDN-P

S2E2. WHY HORMONE IMBALANCE IS ON THE RISE - Dr. Aviva Romm shares tangible solutions for endo and PCOS

BLOGS/INSTAS/WEBSITES

What is Yoni Steaming?

Herbal Tea Nourishment - https://thealkalinegoddess.com

@thegoddescollection on insta

@JessicaAshWellness on insta

https://www.jessicaashwellness.com/

Gut Health

BOOKS

Gut and Psychology Syndrome: Natural Treatment for Autism, Dyspraxia, A.D.D., Dyslexia, A.D.H.D., Depression, Schizophrenia by Dr. Natasha Campbell-McBride

Glucose Revolution: The Life-Changing Power of Balancing Your Blood Sugar by Jessie Inchauspe

BLOGS/INSTAS/WEBSITES

@GlucoseGoddess on Instagram

@JessicaAshWellness on insta

How to make your own Saurkraut

How (and why) to do an Enema

PODCASTS

S2E13. THE LIVER GUT CONNECTION - Dr. Asia Muhammad on why fatty liver is exploding, leaky gut, and the root of most health concerns

APPS

Monash University FODMAP diet (for locating food sensitivities)

I’ll add to this list as I continue to find and remember resources that have been supportive. If we let it, womb healing can be a beautiful initiation into feminine power. Be gentle with yourself 💗

#reblog to save a life #reblog to save a womb #womb health #pcos #fibriods #endometriosis #chronic illness #gut health #self care #black women #eatmangoesnekkid #beauty tips #sacred woman #spirituality

[birdie-told-me]

Red Sky at Night (D&D Fic, ~7.5k words)

Fandom: Dungeons & Dragons (homebrew setting)

Rating: Explicit Summary: On the final morning of the holy festival of Truatonalia, Faustine, a priestess of Truatoni is drawn to the seashore. What she finds there is unexpected

Contents: M/F; tiefling female x water genasi male; oral, handjob

Header art by vampariart!

Faustine is intensely aware of the approach of the festival’s third day: the Veneration of the Sea. The closer it gets, the more she feels that tug, deep within her, to venture down the rocky cliffside to the shore, to immerse herself in the crashing surf, allowing the salt water to overtake her. Twice, now, she has felt the elemental power of the Storm Maiden coursing through her, having been struck with divine lightning in both the holy Grove and the Temple, and received boons thereafter. She imagines submitting to the power of the sea would carry a similar terrifying thrill, the same new empowerment afterward. 

The sea is both refuge and restlessness. 

It is a constant, ever-present. The sound of waves crashing upon the cliffs beneath her window had been her first lullaby. The smell of it on the air is a familiar comfort. The sea featured in her earliest hopes and dreams: a promise of freedom, carrying her away from all of her unhappiness. 

It is a mystery, ever-changing. Its churning waters reflect the Storm Maiden’s moods: sometimes peaceful, sometimes violent. Its currents tug on the hearts of those connected to it, pulling them from the stability of home, imbuing them with wanderlust, yearning to embark on its rippling waters.

Naridius carries the sea with him. On his ship it hadn’t been as obvious, surrounded as they were by the thing itself, but here in the city, it clings to him even as it releases everyone else. His skin, his hair, even the air around him - he smells of a fresh salt breeze. His skin is the color of the sea on a warm, inviting summer day, and glistens enticingly with droplets of water, as if he has always just emerged from beneath the surf. His hair is a riot of seafoam: pale, tumbling curls forming a corona around his head, setting off the lovely aqua shade of his skin, giving him the look of a cresting wave. She longs to run her fingers through it. 

She knows the Maiden would not begrudge her this, but resisting the lure is a habit borne of years of practice even before she swore her life to the goddess. Faustine has always been an expert at resisting temptation. Too cautious has she been, seeing Fierna’s phantom smirk behind every opportunity for pleasure. Too frightened to give in and allow herself to slip for even a moment and open the door for infernal influence. (Not to mention, of course, the thought of baring herself in such a way. Being seen beneath the swathes of fabric she always keeps her body concealed by). She has trained herself to be as remote and untouchable as the clouds.

But, she thinks, what if I want to be touched?

She has grown accustomed to it, lately, and she must admit, she craves it more now that she knows what she was missing. So many years of her life spent isolated, contact with others limited only to the most necessary of functions. Now she travels among friends who do not flinch when she reaches out a hand to touch them, even if said hand does not carry a spell to bolster them. She is still cautious, always watching for the slightest indication that her flesh is an unwelcome presence among theirs. But she has not seen one yet. And Naridius….

He had asked her to dance on the first night of the festival. Despite having invited him earlier in the day to come find her, she had still been surprised and a little flustered. She is not graceful - never was lithe and delicate, and now even less so since separating body and spirit, never fully fitting the two back together even after leaving the Astral Plane - but he did not seem to mind her stumbling feet and her flushed cheeks. He had offered his hand, and when she took it, pulled her against the solid planes of his body. 

Never had she been pressed so intimately against another. She hardly knew how to process the feeling of his muscle against hers, his hand resting on the curve of her hip, his sturdy shoulder under the hand she had drawn up to steady herself. A faint buzzing filled her ears, and she is quite certain her face went slack for a moment as she felt his warm breath against her skin. But the lively music wound its way to her ears, sparking her senses back to life and drawing a smile to her lips. She cannot pretend that their dancing was in any way polished or worthy of spectators, but she found that she did not care. It was enough to feel the rush of joy as she clutched him to her, allowing him to twirl her through the crowd. She tilted her head back and offered her delighted laughter to the heavens. She reveled in the feeling of him moving with her, against her, alongside her, as the music swept them up. He was close enough that his lovely curls brushed against her cheek, releasing a burst of his clean, fresh scent, and she wished she could breathe him in forever.

Inevitably their dance had ended too soon - duty had called her away, and Naridius had melted back into the crowd. She found herself cold and irritable, resenting her friends and their silly foibles for drawing her away from the moment of happiness she had managed to snatch. Perhaps she was harsher than she ought to have been with them, but she found it difficult to tolerate their continued foolishness as she enviously noted other couples slinking away from the crowd with clasped hands and furtive caresses. Her night would not end with such a tryst.

(In fact, her night had ended with a shadow fiend stalking her through the city streets and trying to kill her instead. But such is the life of an adventurer.)

The second day of Truatonalia had been a whirlwind worthy of her goddess. Official duties beginning very early in the day, blessing and cleansing and above all trying to retain a dignified yet approachable manner. And once the ceremonies were over, she was pulled from event to event, presiding over games and races and contests, all the while spending every spare moment shoring up what support she could from the various noble houses, wheedling and charming and complimenting and persuading. It was a relief when the evening performance finally came around and she could simply let loose and confront her problems with spellcasting and trident.

But now, in the silent predawn hours of the third morning, she feels that tug again. An urge to head down to the shore and submerge herself. While she has proven herself inconsistent at best when remembering the official rituals and ceremonies Maurina taught her, her individual veneration of the Storm Maiden has always been guided by urges like this: an insistent feeling that she ought to be doing something, allowing her intuition to guide her through the Maiden’s desires. And in this time, at the height of her patron’s power, on her holiest of days, who is she to deny a calling? 

She forgoes the heavy regalia she wears at most ceremonies - the robes of fine-woven chain and the fearsome breastplate. She does not need her shield. There is a moment when she lingers over the trident, but ultimately she decides to go empty-handed, trusting in the goddess to protect her. Instead she dresses only in the gauzy linen stola she had worn to the cleansing ceremony. The air is balmy enough she does not wrap a palla about her before she sneaks out of the villa. 

The path down the cliffside is one that her feet remember from years of childhood antics, and so she picks her way down easily. Even the few times she stumbles over scattered pebbles or slickened rocks, the wind itself seems to lift her and prevent a fall. She closes her eyes and smiles into the breeze as it pushes fallen locks of hair from her face: this is how her goddess shows her love. 

When she reaches the bottom, the sea is gentle and the tide is low enough to have revealed a minuscule beach - no more than a narrow bar of sand and some flat rocks. Soft waves rock back and forth, lapping at her feet with only the barest of splashes. She removes her sandals and steps in, wading out into the brine. The water lifts the gossamer fabric of her skirt and saturates it until one can hardly tell the difference between cloth and sea. It clings and drapes around her legs and she cannot resist the contented smile that tugs at her lips: she is clothed in seawater. Her tail loosens from its habitual coil around her ankle, and she allows it to float behind her as she wades deeper, up to her hips, where her fingertips can skim the surface of the water as it ripples around her. She swirls her fingers in a semblance of somatic spellcasting, leaving eddies and ripples in their wake.The water is warm as it slips and slides against her, rising up from hips to waist as she ventures deeper and deeper. Tendrils of seaweed brush against her legs. With a laugh, she tilts her head back to the sky and raises her arms in exultation, droplets of water trailing from them in streamers. The official public rituals for the festival are so rigid and unyielding; this spontaneous private ritual feels more like true worship, delighting in the Maiden’s domain on a personal level.

A sudden noise startles her, and she whips her head around to spot its source, instinctively crouching so that she is nearly immersed in the water as she scans the shore. He is easy to find, even in the dim predawn light; his bright, dewy skin picks up and scatters the last reflected glints of moonlight. He seems as surprised by her presence as she is by his. From this distance, she cannot quite make out the expression on his face, but his posture is hesitant, weight rocked back on one foot, hand raised slightly in surprise, as if to fend off an attack.  For a moment she wonders if she should be upset that he has interrupted her communion with the sea, but she finds she cannot bring herself to be. 

“I - I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean - “ His voice calls out from shore, more hesitant than she has ever heard him. He is backing up, his hands now both before him in a placating gesture. “I didn’t know you were - I just -“ She is struck by the realization that she doesn’t want him to leave. She feels that same tug deep in her belly that drew her to this place, drawing her to him. Her legs straighten to her full height once more, water sluicing up off her as she emerges, holding her hands out to him in a pose that mirrors his, beseeching. 

“Wait!” She winces at the tone of command in her voice, and softens it. “You can stay.” 

She picks her way carefully back to shore, somehow more difficult in this direction than it was on the way in. The rocks feel slicker and the tide slightly higher, while the waves beat with more intensity now, kicking up little splashes against her sides. He is rooted in place, watching her approach. He has not spoken again, but his hands have dropped limply to his sides, and his lips are parted. Only when her feet touch sand rather than rock does she let her own hands drop, tilting her head as she watches him in turn. The silence is heavy, and she cannot think of the proper words to break it, so she takes another tentative step toward him instead. 

The tiny strip of sand is barely large enough for them both to stand on, but he does not back away. He, too, seems caught up in the hazy atmosphere, unwilling or unable to cut through it with a word. The only sound around them is the steady rushing of the sea, and the rustling of a gentle breeze. The air around them feels thick and charged, as if a storm is about to break. 

He is staring at her. His eyes dart back and forth, from horns to lips to eyes to décolletage. She is suddenly very aware of the way her dress clings to her, translucent and waterlogged. There is but a momentary twitch of her fingertips, ready to call a swirl of fog to cover herself, but she defiantly forces herself to allow him to look. She wants him to look. She wants to keep looking at him. The expression on his face is one of…adoration. Nobody has ever looked at her with that expression before, and the realization is a bittersweet twinge that catches in her breast. 

The hand he lifts is slow enough to give her time to back away. She does not. His fingertips graze her cheekbone with such tenderness it feels much like the caress of a gentle breeze. She closes her eyes and tilts her head, leaning into that touch so that his fingers tangle into the curls at her temple and his palm cups her cheek. Like this, she can feel the rough calluses of his sailor’s hands, can hear the rasp of his breath so close to her, can sense the heat of his body leaning infinitesimally closer. She opens her eyes to find them locked to his. She has stared down dragons and her heart did not race as fast as it does now. 

“Can I - ?” He starts to ask, and she has not even registered the words themselves before she is nodding and he is drawing her closer with the hand still wrapped in the long strands of her hair, his other hand cupping the back of her neck as his lips meet hers with a frizzle of lightning that whisks her breath away. She is dizzy. She is floating. She steadies herself by grasping on to his broad shoulders. Their bodies align so naturally, curve against slope against plane. She cannot press herself close enough, though she tries, molding herself into him the way water fills a vessel. Her arms drape atop his shoulders and she finally, finally threads her fingers through those seafoam curls that have been enticing her for weeks. They are as luxurious as she had imagined. 

She does not know how long they stand like that, entwined together, with the rising waves lapping at their ankles, but it is not long enough before she must pull her mouth away, panting and gasping. They part just enough that she can see how wide his pupils have grown, black overtaking so much of his eyes that they almost resemble her own. His cheeks are flushed and for some reason the pink at the tip of his regal nose causes her heart to swell so much she can hardly contain herself. She grins, a smile broad enough he can surely see the sharpened canines she is usually so careful to conceal. A huff of startled laughter escapes him in return. His eyes are wide and his jaw a little slack, but he does not make any move to escape her embrace. Instead, he moves his hands, careful as he untangles them from her hair, and brings them to cradle her cheeks reverently before bestowing the most chaste of kisses upon her. 

“Come sit down,” he says, his voice roughened and deep. He trails his fingers down her arms until they interlace with her own, and he draws her toward one of the flattened rocks framing their little sand bar. She obliges, though her brow crinkles and her mouth twists into a moue of displeasure when their bodies are no longer pressed together. The distance between them serves to remind her of the state of her dress - the air rushes in to the empty space and chills the soaked cloth, causing a wave of goosebumps to ripple over her. 

The rock he leads her to is conveniently sized and shaped, large enough for them both to recline on, low enough to step onto without trouble, and situated up against the cliffside such that one could comfortably lean against it. She does not know enough about stonecutting to tell whether it has been formed naturally or purposefully carved out, but she finds she does not really care. If this is a place for trysts, it must be only fitting that she has been called here, and a partner as well. There is no room for serendipity during the holy days. In the pause as she steps onto the stone and seats herself, she takes a moment to consider why the goddess would arrange such a thing. This does not feel like a command - the itching feeling at the back of her mind when the Maiden desires her to do something specific is not present. This feels more like…approval. Encouragement? Relief rushes over her and loosens the tension in her limbs she didn’t realize had crept in: this is still her choice - she can walk away if she wants to. 

The sight of Naridius kneeling beside her is enough to remind her that she wishes to stay. His lips are swollen and his tunic is askew. Her fingers carding through his hair have left it wild and untamed, and as he leans in toward her, she is struck again by that thought that he is the sea itself, a foam-capped wave come to engulf her. She had come here this morning to embrace the sea and she decides to do just that, pulling him to her so that she can reach his lips once again. The fine silk of his tunic crumples as she clutches at him, but he does not seem to mind; he is too busy complying with her unspoken plea. 

His mouth is warm and gentle against hers, his kisses soft and lingering as he cradles her face between his palms. While she finds this perfectly lovely, she can feel the restrained tension in him beneath her hands. She pulls back for a moment and looks at him directly, taking in the whole of him. Instantly, he also draws away, putting more space between them, and for a moment she is hurt before she realizes that he is following her lead, taking things slowly to make sure she is comfortable. He is holding back for her. She licks her lips, uncertain of how to encourage him. 

“You can - “ her voice is husky and raw. She tries to make a gesture to encompass the two of them, and gives a helpless little shrug, unable to even begin to find the words to tell him everything she wants. “If you want. Don’t worry.” 

He hesitates, weighing her words, so she underscores them by drawing him close once more, pressing her fingers firmly into his flesh. This time, he surges back into her like a wave crashing upon the rocks. No longer confined to gentle caresses of her hair and cheeks, his hands roam their way down her body, electrifying her skin in their wake. Every place he touches sears with heat - her throat, her ribs, her hips. The chill on her skin dissipates as he replaces it with delicious warmth that seeps through her, soaking in to her muscles and pooling deep within her very core. 

His mouth strays from her lips and down her jaw, her neck, her collarbone, alternating between kissing and sucking and licking. She gasps at a spot that sends a jolt through her, and he rewards her by lingering there, running his tongue over it again and again as she moans her encouragement. But then he is moving on, raining kisses across her collar and to the spot at her shoulder where her fibula pins her dress in place. He pauses and shoots a glance up at her, but makes quick work of unfastening the pin as he sees she is already nodding, reaching for the brooch at her other side. 

The sodden linen of her stola sticks to her skin, so he must strip the fabric away in order to reveal her breasts, and the exposure causes her nipples to tighten into peaks in the open air. Her tail flicks nervously as he stops and stares, and she almost moves to cover herself once more, but she allows him to continue unimpeded. Now his movements are slowed by reverence rather than reluctance. He is caressing and stroking the sides of her breasts, murmuring praises to the softness of her skin, the firmness of her flesh. He presses his lips to the exposed column of her throat and sucks that same spot that had stolen her breath before, while his thumb grazes across a nipple. The air she sucks in is a sharp hiss, and her back arches instinctively, offering him more access. He accepts her offer, granting her a deluge of attentions as he rolls the hardened nub between his fingertips, pinching and squeezing first one, then the other, as she writhes beneath him. The sharp, insistent burst of pleasure tinged with pain contrasts so keenly with the sensuous rolling of his tongue along her neck. Her hands roam, searching for something to clutch on to, sliding over the broad musculature of his arms and shoulders and chest. 

Their legs are a tangle, hers still wrapped in gauzy seasoaked fabric. She can feel little splashes spraying her feet as the sea churns beneath them, waves crashing more insistently upon their rocky refuge. Naridius, emboldened, bestows her with a searing whirlwind of lips and tongue against hers that she hurries to follow, returning his intensity with her own. There is a perplexed wrinkle on his brow when he breaks away from her to catch his breath, and his hand comes up to cup her jaw, thumb pulling down at her lip so that her mouth drops open for him. She is confused until she realizes he is peering at her tongue. Before the mortification can even begin to creep through her, he is grinning, returning to his ministrations, unperturbed by the revelation that the tongue that slides against his is forked in two. 

It takes her a moment to catch up, overwhelmed as she is by the dizzying series of emotions this conjures. She tries to cut them off and focus only on the sensations as he works his way back down her body with both hands and mouth. The wonderful frisson of lightning under her skin in every place he touches. The building warmth that is smouldering and pulsing within her, shooting sparks through her veins. The solidity of his body as it presses against hers. She is mostly successful, though tears do still prick at her eyes as she registers the words he is whispering against her skin: murmured homages to her beauty, her power, her perfection. This last, spoken as his questing mouth finds a nipple and engulfs it in the most delicious wet heat she has ever felt, sucking and licking and scraping his teeth against it, making her writhe with pleasure. 

He is terribly attentive, lingering in each place or with each motion that draws a gasp or a twitch or a moan from her, until she is squirming and desperate and ready to melt. She ceases to notice where precisely he has aimed his regard, drowning as she is in bliss. It does not matter which part of her he encounters; each of them is met with the same intent adulation. She is free to float upon a sea of sensation, basking in his worship.

He makes quick work of the girdle that cinches her dress at her waist, and she hurries to help him tug away the garment once its ties are released. She is fully exposed, no barriers between her skin and the outside world. However, she barely notes this momentous occasion, distracted as she is by the feeling of his mouth moving down her stomach and over hipbones, fingers pressing in to the flesh of her thighs, urging her to allow him access to the depths between them. When her legs part instinctively, he bolts forward to lavish her with even more rapturous attention. 

This is the overwhelming, elemental force she came down to the shore to experience. She is surrounded everywhere by the essence of the rising sea - the brine of it filling her nostrils, her ears rushing with a roar that evokes the wildest of squalls, her blood pulsing with the rhythm of her waterborn partner between her thighs as his curly seafoam head bobs and retreats back and forth in time with the waves that beat against their rocky refuge. Her hands bury themselves in his hair and her tail winds reflexively around him, attempting to draw him closer, to hold him in place as he does something with his tongue that shoots bright white lightning through her entire body. The wordless gasps and pants that emerge from her meld into and are swallowed up by the sounds of the seascape. The waves are high enough that the water has begun to break over the ledge of their stone more consistently, sending salty surges of seawater lapping against her skin in counterpoint to the lapping of the skilled tongue occupied at her most intimate parts. 

She cannot help the blasphemous words that flash through her mind: divine, glorious… ecstasy. 

While his mouth has dedicated itself to a single spot, his hands have not been idle. They work their way over her thighs and hips, kneading, squeezing, pressing, stroking. Teasing fingers swipe over the more sensitive parts of her skin, drawing closer to where his lips and tongue continue their clever work, causing her to shudder and clutch at him. This appears to spur him on, his efforts redoubled as one arm hooks her knee over his shoulder and the other tugs at her hips to change their angle. 

Her horns clatter against the stone of the cliff as she throws her head back. She didn’t know it could feel even better, but somehow it does, the new position of his tongue against her pressing so perfectly her vision begins to blur. Those nimble fingertips draw patterns and circles around her entrance, tempting her with the prospect of delving within, but he withholds them. Coherent thoughts have ceased to flow through her mind, replaced only by a litany of Ohs and Pleases and Mores that fall from her lips like scattered drops of rain, but a sudden thought does break through the haze with striking clarity: If he is the Sea, then you are the Storm. 

The Sea may be master of its own currents and tides, but the Storm may descend and enact its whims upon it, changing courses and churning up the waters. Her hands cannot quite reach his from this distance, but her tail wraps its way around his wrist and leads him to the place she most needs to feel him. His startled hum of approval reverberates through her as he wets his fingers with the slick moisture that has gathered there. The foot she has draped over his shoulder presses in to his back, urging him on, while her hands, still threaded through his riotous curls, position his mouth exactly where she wants it. 

He concedes to her demands, finally dipping his fingers inside her just as she has arranged his head to her liking. The combination of sensations overcomes her, and she cannot help the immediate rocking of her hips or the scraping of his scalp with her nails as her fingers clench, scrabbling for something to anchor her as she feels herself start to come apart at the seams. He continues his onslaught, steady as the pulsing waves surrounding them, and it is not long before she is cresting, breaking on the rocks alongside them, swept up in the tide that has welled up within her. The lightning in her veins buzzes through every part of her, setting her lips and fingers and toes tingling, contracting her muscles, searing through her vision with a blaze of white. She can only gasp and allow it to wash over her. It is not unlike the times she has been struck by holy lightning, only this time there is no pain, just throbbing waves of pleasure that shock their way through her over and over. 

He does not pull away until she has settled. Her limbs loosen and her fingers unthread from the locks of hair they had wound around themselves, and finally his tongue stills. When he lifts his face to look up at her, it catches at her heart, sending a sharp ache darting through her breast. He is so beautiful, with his wide, dark eyes and his tousled hair and his slickened mouth. The expression of exaltation as he stares at her is too much for her to bear. 

She tugs at him and pulls him so that their bodies align once more, face-to-face, and presses her lips languidly against his. She can feel the hardened flesh of him against her hip. While he does not press her to do anything about it, she understands that he remains wound tight, has not reached the same heady release as she has. Though she can admit to herself that she finds the prospect daunting, she finds that she still wants to try. Wants to do for him what he has done for her, to fill him with the same rapturous delight. She licks her lips and murmurs against his cheek,

“I’d like to return the favor. Will you guide me?”

The breath he lets out is half laughter, half groan. His hips give a little jerk against her, but his tone is sincere.

“You don’t have to.”

“Please. I want to.” 

Another soft sound that might be a laugh as he nuzzles his cheek along hers. His voice is pitched low and she can feel it vibrate through her as he responds, lips catching and brushing at her earlobe.

“Then I would be a fool to deny you.”

This is met with a laugh of her own, and she turns her head to catch his lips again. There is a momentary pause as they adjust, shuffling positions so that he is now leaning against the cliffside, Faustine kneeling between the splayed V of his legs. He takes the opportunity to remove his tunic, folding it and solicitously offering it as a cushion between her knees and the rough ledge they sit upon. She bites her lip, touched by this concern for her comfort. Her whispered thanks are heartfelt.

She finds she isn’t sure where to begin, now that the whole of him is spread before her, clad only in his undergarment. Expanses of enticing skin and planes of perfectly-sculpted musculature call out to her, but she cannot decide what to touch first, overwhelmed by choice. He waits, patiently, allowing her the time to move when she is ready, but she can see the heavy rise and fall of his chest belying his desire. 

The water that always glistens from his skin is more pronounced now, enhanced by the spray of sea, so that tiny streams drip down in captivating rivulets that her eyes track greedily. She watches as one curves around the swell of his pectoral and she barely realizes that she has leaned forward to catch it on her tongue, swiping up to follow its sinuous path to the place where his shoulder curves into his neck. She cannot tell if the burst of salt on her tongue is from him or the seawater, but she hums in delight either way. 

The long straight column of his neck is before her now, and she laves her way up the side, collecting more droplets as she goes. With her hands braced on either side of him, the change in position brings her breasts up to skim along the skin of his chest, sending a little shiver of pleasure through her that is echoed in him as well. She pauses at this realization, before bringing her lips to close around an earlobe with the softest scrape of teeth. He shifts and sighs. She never was a very good student, but she finds that this is a skill for which she has an aptitude - her perceptiveness and insightfulness giving her the advantage she needs to fumble her way through it. She might not have the experience of having done this before, of knowing where to touch or how, but she can at least catalogue his reactions and find out what pleases him the most. 

She draws her hands up his sides, caressing his ribs, his shoulders, down his arms, reveling in the feel of the smooth muscle padded by just enough soft flesh while her mouth remains at his neck. Her lips tingle with exquisite friction as they drag over his skin. Her tongue rolls over the taut tendons he has stretched out as he tilts his head back to invite her to continue. She moves slowly, achingly aware of every minute twitch, every catch of his breath, every groan that escapes him. She finds which swirling motions of her tongue cause him to gasp, and which spot beneath his jaw makes his hands come up and fist in her hair. She passes over his chest with long, broad swipes, and finds that she can make him tremble and call out her name with a strangled moan if she catches a nipple between the two bisected halves of her tongue. His sides seem ticklish so she is more firm in her attentions to them as they lead her to the peaks of hipbones just barely jutting out from the cloth wrapped round his loins. She presses her lips reverently to the hollows they create, and his hips rock in response. 

While it cannot be said that she has ever truly been frightened in her life, she does find the mystery of what lies beneath his last remaining article of clothing to be a bit too much to tackle just yet, and so she passes over it, moving on to find what spots on the insides of his thighs are most sensitive. Hands and lips and tongue roam together down the long stretch of muscle between one hip and knee, before switching sides and making the return journey from knee to hip. The scent of him is deeper here, muskier rather than salt-sharp, and the damp heat coming off of his skin is thicker. There is a particularly beautiful curve of flesh along the inside of his leg, a lovely soft place that calls out for her to sink her teeth into. She gives in to this urge, and is rewarded by a cry that is wrested from his throat - an “Aaah!” of both shock and pleasure as his hands clutch at her head. The jolt of his hips this time brushes the cloth-covered bulge of him against her cheek, and she is struck with a burning satisfaction beneath her breast at the contact. Her tail gives an involuntary swish behind her. 

She lifts her head and looks up at him, soaking in the picture of his flung-back head and his scrunched brow and his flushed cheeks. He is drenched in seawater now, the waves having grown fiercer and the tide higher in their time here, and it only accentuates his otherworldly charm. Her fingers brush at the folds of cloth at his hips, accompanied by a tilt of the head and a raised eyebrow. 

“Yes. Please,” he hisses through clenched teeth. 

She merely hums her acknowledgment of his plea, but does not immediately act on her unspoken request. Instead she continues to run her fingers over the cloth, exploring the topography of him that has yet to be revealed. His restraint is sorely tested, and he cannot refrain from the eager twitches of his hips as she ghosts the softest of touches across him. She rises back up onto her knees proper, and straddles one of his legs, bringing her lips up to his ear and leaning into him so that they are chest to chest, skin to skin. Her tail winds around his leg behind her. She braces one hand against his shoulder, while the other works its way beneath his undergarment and presses her palm flat against that part of him she has been avoiding, surprised at the rigidity she meets. Her fingers curl around him, drawn to the shocking silkiness and warmth of his skin.

“Will you show me? What you like?” she whispers, more breath than voice. 

His hands are instantly upon the knots keeping the cloth tied in place, working at them with not a little desperation. She keeps her hand still in the meantime, wondering at the feel of him in her palm, marveling at the texture beneath her fingertips. While she is not completely ignorant of what lies between a man’s legs, no bathhouse fresco or bawdy song had prepared her for this reality. Inexplicably, she feels saliva pooling in her mouth. Her fingers squeeze just a bit and she feels an answering throb beneath them. She muffles her gasp into the hair at his temple. Finally, he works the knots free and he is unclothed, completely. 

She pulls back from him just enough that she can peer down as his hand wraps over her own, showing her how tight to grip, how to move her hand over him. The only word that comes to mind is ridiculously apropos: fascinating. Her attention is rapt, focused on this single point between them as she follows his lead in pumping, squeezing, stroking. Though mostly obscured by their entwined hands, she can see enough of him to admire the becoming proportions - this is no comedically engorged phallus in a farce, nor a demure, flaccid one on a public sculpture. She can feel the blood pumping through him, and it seems to match her own heartbeat thrumming in her ears. She turns her head to crush her lips against his and she imagines she can feel both of their heartbeats pulsing in time there as well. There is a rhythm shared between them that they are both caught up in, and she realizes that it is the same as the rhythm of the waves upon the shore. 

“Do you want to -“ he does not even break away to speak, instead allowing his lips to continue to brush against hers with the formation of every word. Affection flushes through her when she realizes he is trying gallantly to remind her of her offer to return his favor in kind without pressing her to fulfill it. 

She does want to. 

It is strangely comfortable, settling herself between his legs as she does. From here, she can more clearly see the organ that had so captivated her. It truly is a stunning sight: flushed a reddish purple with hot, vigorous blood, jutting out from his body with a pleasing arc. There is a drop of fluid at the bell-headed tip, a different consistency than that she has seen on his skin before. She wraps her fingers around him once again, careful to remember the tightness he had preferred, and brings her lips up to capture that pearl of moisture. It is bitter salt that blooms on her tongue, but she does not find it unpleasant - in fact, it seems to unlock something in her, some driving desire to wring more of this from him. 

His skin is so, so soft, and she delights in skimming her lips over it; no fine silk or velvet has ever felt so luscious against her - not even those she admired in the City of Brass. But she can feel his restlessness in the shift of his hips, the little groans he lets out. He is not in a state to endure her lingering, and she takes pity on him. Her tongue swipes along him in a broad, thick line from root to tip, leaving a trail of slickness in its wake. She experiments a few times with different ways she can wrap her tongue around him, searching for the one that makes him spasm and buck beneath her. It is when the two halves of her tongue split and run in tandem under the flared edge of the head that she is successful. His hips surge forward and his hands clutch at her head, grasping not at her hair as before, but along the curve of her horns. 

Her mind stutters for a moment as she tries to decide whether this is acceptable or if she should shake herself free of him, but then he is using the leverage to tilt her head, to draw her back down, and the sensation clicks with some deep primal urge within her. She opens her mouth wide and takes him in, receptive to the merest pressure of his hands on her horns, as if she is his ship, guided by his steering oar. 

The feeling of her lips stretched around him, of his warm, hard flesh stroking along her tongue, of being filled with him in a way she has not been before, is remarkably satisfying. Her tail swishes once back and forth in languid approval. One hand braces herself at his hipbone, and the other wraps around the base of him, steadying as she moves her head back and forth. He shudders and rocks his hips in counterpoint to her motions, thrusting deeper into her mouth, his body rising as hers is falling in a dance just as exhilarating as the one they had shared nights before. 

He is speaking again - jumbled words and fragments of sentences interspersed with moans, praising her, telling her how brilliant she is, how perfect her mouth feels around him. He starts to say something rather poetic about the shape of her backside but it is cut short by his strangled cry as she swirls her tongue around the head of his phallus. She finds it easier to accept compliments like this, mouth occupied so that she does not have to stutter back her embarrassed thanks; she can merely hum and preen and duck her head to redouble her efforts, determined to earn every drop of esteem he has rained down upon her. 

She raises her eyes to look up at him, to watch his face as she licks and sucks and bobs. He meets her gaze, awestruck and full of ardor, and it sends a seeping warmth spreading under her ribs. She cannot manage a smile with her lips stretched as they are, but she hopes he understands the softening of her eyes for what it is. One of his hands dislodges from her horns and cradles her cheek, caressing her cheekbone with a gentle swipe of his thumb. 

Somehow, this serves to embolden her, single-minded now in her desire to bring him to completion. She is relentless in her pursuit, increasing her speed, moving her tongue in swirling patterns along his length, attuned to his every breath so that she may extract every possible drop of pleasure for him. She is the hurricane that their home is named for, bearing down upon him with unbridled fervor. He rises to meet her, matching her passion with his own. His hands are upon her horns once again, gripping tight as he buries himself between her lips, so deep that he catches the back of her throat. Her answering moan is muffled by his girth. She does not know if the moisture dripping down her face is sweat or spit or seaspray, but regardless, it eases her way, slickening both of their skin with lubrication so that she can slip up and down without resistance. 

Her jaw aches and she can hardly catch enough of a breath to keep going. Her lips prickle with the beginnings of numbness. Yet none of these things matter in the face of the heady intoxication that surges through her. She can hear the change in his breathing, the new quality to his gasps that hint at his nearness. Her hand sneaks up to graze the pendulous sack that hangs between his thighs, delicately testing its weight, then rolling it along her fingers, and she is delighted by his visceral reaction. 

There is a sudden frenzied haste to his movements, and he is pulling her mouth off of him, covering her pumping hand with his own to set a punishingly fast pace. She follows his lead and remains knelt in front of him, watching, waiting. Several quick strokes and his face contorts, as his member throbs in her grip. Warm ropes of pearly essence spray onto her face and chest and spatter on the ground between them, and he sags against the wall of the cliff. Bitter salt floods her mouth as the substance begins to drip, slipping between her parted lips.

She blinks. Suddenly the storm has run its course and they are in the quiet calm that follows. She rises, kneeling upright between his languorously splayed legs. Her hand is drenched in heaven knows what, and the fluid on her face tightens her skin as it cools. Leaning to rinse her hands in the churning water, she realizes that it has risen to the very edge of their stone, each successive wave threatening to be the one that covers its surface with the rising tide. She brings a cupped handful of water to her face, habitually wiping it in the motions of her ritual ablutions to cleanse it of the congealing fluid. The sky is still dim, but the horizon has taken on that hazy quality that heralds the rising of the sun. She can hear the faintest rumble of thunder approaching in the far distance and her lips curve into a jubilant smile. 

He is breathing heavily, limbs hanging limp, and a fierce little flame flickers in her chest - pride at having accomplished this - tempered by an aching tenderness. Careful of the stickiness still coating her chest, she leans forward and brushes a stray lock of hair from his damp forehead. Saltwater drips from her fingers onto his cheeks: an anointing by the sea. His lashes flutter and his eyes lock in to hers.  The smile he musters is sleepy, and he lets out a soft huff of not-quite-laughter as he takes in the sight of her glistening wet face. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to - “

She cuts him off with a dismissive noise made between tongue and teeth. She rises to her feet and holds out a hand to him.

“Would you like to go for a swim and rinse off before the sun rises?”

He accepts her hand, and they slip together into the embrace of the sea. 

#original writing #original fic #dnd fic #original character #my writing #writing #writeblr #romance

[the-might-v]

Lilith Clawthrone

Once a great figure in empire society. Lilith had grown into everything she ever wanted, power, status and respect but all that had changed when she unintentionally added in the capture of her younger sister Eda, having to live with the immense guilt possibly forever. Till one day everything changed, the elder sibling became.

Lily ISIS The ancient goddess warrior.

On one mission for the society Lilith was charged with raiding a temple filled to seize any and all mystic artifacts. Her group fought against the hidden traps and spirits within the cavern’s barely surviving and with nothing to return to the empire due to the temple disappearance of strange unknown means. Lilith was left with one prisoner but punished for her failure.

For the next few weeks Lilith was demoted to keeping watch over the prisoner. Trying to gain any sort of information provided useless till the Clawthrone thought she was going mad seeing strange ruins on the walls & transported along with her prisoner back to the temple, were the now unshackled captive revealed to be one of the council of wizards. Who was waiting for centuries to pass the powers of their magic onto an another through

The Amulet of Isis

The wizard while reluctant choose to give the Amulet to Lilith but not without parting words. “You deserve a second chance. Do not waste it Remember who you are!” With that Lilith returned back to the empires castle dungeons alone and the Amulet hidden.

Upon studying the artifact Lilith successfully translated the ancient text inscribed on the item once she spoke the spell

“I Am ISIS!!!”

The clawthrone was transformed into a great powerful figure, she decides to fight against the empire from within but how long can she do so alone?

Powers

The powers of ISIS are granted to the one who speaks the spells name. Once done the living lightning bestows the powers from one of the 8 Egyptian figures known as the gods onto the mortal, becoming the mighty champion ISIS. Lilith still has much to learn about her powers as there are some she has yet to unlock.

Unique physiology. Once Lilith speaks the spell needed to transform her whole body is changed into a taller, powerful strong athletic build. This spell adds almost a hundred pounds of impervious godly muscle and tissue to her frame.The amulet of Isis also adds to her body and bones to retain a residual amount of it's energy. The energy was potent enough to invoke a transformation associated with the Powers of Shazam.

Powers of ISIS. The Gods of Egypt's most powerful goddess. She is superhumanly strong and is easily capable of lifting far in excess of 100 tons, Isis is also incredibly durable and cannot be harmed by physical force unless the being she is engaged with is stronger than her. She is also totally bulletproof and bladed weapons shatter against her skin. She is superhumanly fast, capable of moving at speeds past Mach 10 on Earth. Isis also has far superior reflexes and agility when compared to normal humans, witch or even other superbeings . She is also able to mystically fly through the air at incredible speeds and can travel across and around the planet in minutes.

Divine transformation & Empowerment. Like other Champions of Shazam, Lilith’s transformation allows her to empower herself to her physical peak

Super Strength, Speed, Durability, Agility, Reflexes, and Wisdom

Elemental control. possess various elemental powers that enables her to control both the elements and natural phenomena at will.

Weather manipulation

Chlorokinesis

Aerokinesis

Pyrokinesis

Elctrokinesis

Geokinesis

Hydrokinesis

Indomitable will

Powers locked

Telekinesis

Healing

Clairvoyance

Chronokinesis

S.H.A.Z.A.M.

S for the Stamina of Shu

H for the Swiftness of Heru

A is for the strength ofAmon

Z is for the wisdom of Zheuti

A is for the power of Aton

M is for the courage of Mehen

Teleportation

Weakness

Vulnerable to magic. Isis is powerful but even so magic can harm or kill her. Such as high order magic.

Unlocked powers. Lilith has yet to unlock the full true powers of Isis.

Amulet of ISIS. ISIS powers are tied to her amulet. The Amulet cannot be destroyed however if it is removed from her the gateway that links her powers is cut leaving Lily powerless.

Speech Impediment: Lilith cannot access this spell if she is gagged or hampered in some way from talking.

Electricity: A powerful enough electric discharge can transform Lily ISIS back into Lilith Clawthrone & vice versa.

#newpost #art #superhero #the owl house #the owl house au #lilith clawthorne #dcau #dc universe #dc fanart #owl house fanart #goddess isis #dc Isis #black adam #shazam #ancient egypt #eda clawthorne #camila noceda #amity blight #young justice

[thegreatzombieartisan]

Rings of Power + Tolkien Fusion Meta

“Touching Darkness & Other Mormon Influences

Within the context of Sauron x Galadriel, the whole “touching the darkness” motif is very hot. However, it felt somewhat “off” as a main show theme. To be clear, it’s not bad thing in terms of storytelling for viewer experience. I like it. Just hmm 🧐

Here’s why: Tolkien may write a world where goodness can come from unexpected places, beauty can arise from tragedy, and people achieve great things to combat evil. Since his work is Catholic, he’d never create a world where evil things are necessary for life to change, grow, and thrive. In fact, few characters in lore “touch darkness” and return to the Light.

Case in point, Galadriel’s rejection of Sauron’s proposal. Canon demands it. While positioned as an act of empowerment, declaring him irredeemable actually reflects the darkness, the woundedness within her. She need not personally forgive Sauron. A Tolkien-esque redemption arc requires espousing “pity for the Devil”. To him, not even orcs are beyond forgiveness - should it be sought. To challenge this is to challenge Eru Illuvatar Himself (a Christian God).

Presumably, complicated grief diminished Galadriel’s empathy. It’s restoration, perhaps it’s already planned within her arc. RoP show runners claim they’re incorporating Tolkien’s themes, so we should see her pity Sauron, Adar, and orcs as part of her maturity. But I’m skeptical that show runners will as Tolkien would. We’ll see.

*

"Touching darkness" reflects show runner JD Payne's Mormon beliefs

Naturally, a creative’s belief system and biases will influence their work. JD Payne confirms:

The gospel affects you as a person, and that affects everything you do….I feel it’s the same way with being a Mormon screenwriter [source]

In hardcore Mormonism, the Fall of Man had to occur in order for there to be mankind. Mortal life is a test for spirits, the God they believe created us was similarly tested, and so “touching the darkness” is necessary.

Some other notable Mormon-y influences points:

Elves as Mormon Church Elder-like. According to Ex-Mormon/Mormon Haladriels and subredditors: ritualistic disrobing ceremony of the Elf warriors on the ship to Valinor and instrumental music gives strong Mormon temple vibes.

Handcarts of the Harefoots part tells with pioneers are A Thing in Mormonism. Other cart types could’ve been chosen, just an observation.

White robes of the three (likely) Maiar sorceresses who appear to be members of Sauron’s RoP version of Melkorism

All the singing. Mormon founder Joseph Smith said the “the song of the righteous is a prayer unto me”. Thus, singing when Galadriel sails toward Valinor. Nori’s wandering song seemed akin to Tolkien’s wandering song. Disa singing is not a lore dwarf ritual but valid creativity in blank spaces.

@pursuitseternal Thoughts on this?

I’m acceptably versed in Catholicism (not a theologian) —not Mormonism. If you are a Mormon TRoP fan, feel free to weigh in the comment or DM

Thank you for reading! Your likes and reblogs are appreciated. Got feedback?

What did you like? Got theories or insights to share?

Disagree? I love good faith debate and sparring!

Need clarity on points? Got feedback on readability?

Spot an inaccuracy? Hey, Tolkien's work is complex. Drop it in comments or DM.

#adar #saurondriel #doylist #critique #rings of power #galadriel #Sauron #trop meta #theological

[soupedepates]

Salimeh belongs to @noa-de-cajou and Jennifer, Eugene and Ambroise to the Almighty GF.

"Father wouldn't let you wear such things. Don't suit you." "Glad to see you after three years without contact, Prudence", says Tomyris in a raspy voice between her teeth. "How are the children?" "Growing well. Three boys so far", she smiles while looking at her baby. "Look at your nephew. He looks just like father."

She puts her sister's suitcase in the car, before hopping in it.

"The boys are with Ghislain?" "In Nagasaki, yes. I shall join them, but I thought I could reach to you before. It's been a while, hasn't it?"

Of course, Prudence is joining her husband on his mission trip. Tomyris isn't anymore on board with those religious stuff; sure she is still an avid church-goer, she still studies the Scriptures in the morning, she still pray with her rosary. But the more extreme stuff? She went from a fundamentalist bigot from what her girlfriend's girlfriend's girlfriend (she honestly doesn't know how metamour-related she was to this girl) calls a "catho de gauche", which is the funniest thing she has been called. Prudence... Prudence is still in the Order of Solomon's Temple. In the "cult", as would Salimeh and Jenni say. At "home", for Eugene and Ambroise. For it is "home", it will still feel like home, which doesn't mean it wasn't bad.

"I mean, I thought I was shunned ", she responds when she gets on the road. "I am still surprised you want to reach out." "Don't be stupid."

Prudence unbuttons her shirt to breastmilk baby Etienne.

"You're the heroine of every young girls." "You say it as it's a bad thing. I am a great example of women empowerment." "You're..." Prudence has to let out a chuckle. "Tomyris, come on... If girls want to be out of the Lord's word, what will happen to their souls?" "My soul is perfectly fine, God bless me", the giant woman sighs. "There were warrior women. Prophetesses even. We aren't supposed to be brides, wives and mothers." "Proverbs, 31.10. We are." "We are not, but you're stubborn, Prudence." "You're stubborn." "Nuh-uh." "Nuh-uh yourself", Prudence replies.

#templars in car what will they do #oc #lpm #sisters #bickering #writing #writeblr

[arabellas-inferno]

The basic principles of satanism

Satanism is a complex and diverse belief system with different branches and interpretations. However, it is important to note that Satanism does not involve devil worship or the promotion of evil or harmful actions. Instead, Satanism generally encompasses atheistic or non-theistic philosophies that focus on individualism, personal freedom, and critical thinking.

One of the most well-known forms of Satanism is LaVeyan Satanism, founded by Anton LaVey in the 1960s. LaVeyan Satanism rejects the existence of a supernatural deity and emphasizes rationality, self-indulgence, and the pursuit of personal happiness as its core principles. It encourages self-empowerment and promotes the idea that individuals are responsible for their own actions and their own destinies.

LaVeyan Satanism also places great importance on individualism and individual liberty, encouraging individuals to think for themselves and make their own moral choices based on their own understanding of what is right and wrong. It rejects the notion of original sin and the concept of external moral authority, advocating instead for a self-determined moral code.

It's important to note that there are other forms of Satanism as well, such as The Satanic Temple, which takes a more political and social justice-oriented approach. They promote the separation of church and state and advocate for the protection of individual rights and freedoms.

Overall, Satanism is a diverse and multifaceted belief system, and it's essential to explore the specific branch or interpretation in order to gain a more comprehensive understanding of its principles and practices.