#so earnest and yet also meditative

[irafuwas]

Sebek and Silver - More alike than meets the eye

I know much has been said already on how Silver and Sebek diametrically oppose each other – from their handedness to their hobbies, and from their personalities to their poses in certain cards – but something I feel we also need to focus on is the one unifying point in their story arcs. Namely, their journeys to discover just who they are.

*This post contains light spoilers for cards and story content that have not been released on the EN server yet*

Sebek is infamous for his one-track mind. He dedicates himself to his studies, his extracurricular activities, and his training, all for Malleus’s sake – partly to earn commendation from the men he so respects, and partly to bring honor to his liege’s name. His endeavors are admirable, in that he is diligent, persevering, and earnest, yet rarely does he divulge any of his genuine, private ambitions.

Consider, in fact, that the very reason he sought to enroll at NRC was only to serve as Malleus’s guard, rather than for his own academic aspirations.

Though we’ve yet to learn just why he so fervently worships Malleus, perhaps we can trace this desire for his liege’s recognition back to a broader need to be affirmed of his worth. If you recall his despair at manifesting his magic so late, and how much it bothered him - hurt him, even - when Silver departed for NRC and left him behind, the great extent to which he values magical prowess is clear to see. And if we further consider how he so longs to separate himself from his human heritage – from his magicless heritage, could it be that, even more than the glory of knighthood, he simply yearns to find a part of himself that he – and all those around him – can be proud of, can find worth in?

For what is he without his magic? He, a mere half-blood, born amongst a peoples whose bodies thrum with a power more sacred, more ancient than the air within our lungs and the ground beneath our feet? I feel Sebek is so driven, so severe in his efforts to claim the right to stand by his liege’s side, just so that he one day might finally be able look himself in the mirror and say, “here, here is at least some part of me I don’t have to be ashamed of, that I don’t have to hate.”

And Silver, that sweet boy, how unerring, how remarkable is his selflessness, how his inexhaustible compassion belies the scant 17 years he’s spent awake on this earth! But when one pours out so much of oneself for others as he has done, when all that one does is for the sake of someone else, how often one loses sight of one’s own identity. Indeed, if I were to draw for you a map of the inside of Silver’s heart of hearts, if I were to plot for you his every dream, measure and record every aspect of his being, I scarcely doubt there’d be a single point you couldn’t trace back to his desire to make his father happy.

To that end, consider how we learned in Silver’s latest birthday vignette that Lilia began training him from an incredibly young age – when he had only just become conscious of his surroundings. A child that young cannot make such a monumental decision for himself - the decision must be made for the child. And so, we do not truly know if Silver’s dreams of knighthood are the result of his own personal meditations, or if his father, in his infinite folly, thrust them upon him, burdening the young child with an aspiration that would go on to consume nearly every facet of his life.

With the both of them being so unsure in their own identities, it's why I find it so poignant - and so apropos – that Sebek is the one to rouse Silver from his moments of self-doubt, time and time again. When Silver questioned his capabilities as a leader, when he wished desperately that he could change, that he could be more like his classmates, and when he, in his darkest hour, doubted even the sanctity of his father’s love for him – each and every time it was Sebek who liberated him from his great desolation.

It has to be Sebek - for who better to accompany Silver on his journey towards self discovery than one who must walk down the same path as he? Who better than his best friend, his brother, his reflection – his veritable light in the darkness of his own heart?

#twst silver #sebek zigvolt #twst theory #twst analysis #twst #twisted wonderland #twst spoilers #txt

[softmatzohtruther]

There's something I've been thinking about, and since this is my personal blog, I figured I'd write it out and maybe share it -- maybe I'll get to the end of this post and close it without saving, maybe I'll tuck it away into my drafts. I don't know yet.

I am ethnically Jewish, but I wasn't raised in the culture. My family situation is complicated, due to divorces, remarriages, and relocations, but I usually just tell people that I'm patrilineal, raised secular, and that I'm reconnecting with the community, with a potential conversion in my near future. After nearly 10 years of independent study and hanging around with other Jewish people both online and offline, and then moving into a city that has a large Jewish community, I decided this year to take a more earnest stride into Jewish communal and religious life.

This started with me signing up for social events around the High Holidays, and that's how I found myself in the Weitzman National Museum of American Jewish History on the evening of Yom Kippur. I'd been to the museum a few years before for a film festival, so I had seen some of the things they had on display, but I've not yet actually toured the building. This time I was there for an event being held in one of the empty conference rooms, meeting with a friend to have a pre-fast dinner before sundown and then joining in group prayer. It was an emotional evening for me for many reasons, particularly because it was my first time observing the holiday in the ritual sense, and that it seemed like an appropriate time to meditate on the nature of the new life that I'm trying to live. But it was also a memorable evening for me for another reason.

If you ever find yourself in Philadelphia, you can visit this museum yourself. Admission is free. On the ground floor, there is a piece on display across from the elevator, and I noticed it there as I was leaving the event. At first, I thought it was misplaced, because the display is a chair, and a cup of tea.

These items were donated by the Congregation of Beth Israel, a reform synagogue in Colleyville Texas. It was a somber sight for me on that night in September. I had only really heard a vague overview of what had happened there barely two years ago -- if you read the Wikipedia article linked above, you will notice it happened in January of 2022. And I remember that the one thought that crossed my mind as I stood in front of that chair is that when you enter a history museum, you expect to see things that are old, maybe from the 40s or something. And you will. But you'll also see the chair a rabbi threw at a man who was holding his synagogue hostage in 2022. Because this part of our history is still ongoing.

Read this part of the article:

A livestream of the synagogue's services on its Facebook page streamed the ongoing situation, including the forceful taking of hostages. In the livestream, Akram could be heard speaking to authorities, who attempted to negotiate with him. At one point, Akram claimed (apparently falsely) to have a bomb. The livestream also streamed Akram saying that he had flown to the city where Siddiqui was imprisoned with the intent of taking hostages. He also said that he chose to take hostages in a synagogue because the U.S. "only cares about Jewish lives" and because "Jews control the world. Jews control the media. Jews control the banks."

And that has been in the back of my mind constantly since a group of people in this city decided to protest outside of a fucking falafel restaurant chanting "we charge you with genocide." It's this idea that Jews are responsible for the acts of every other Jew, and on top of that, Jews are responsible for everyone else, too, when convenient. Like a sort of universal scapegoat. It makes me furious, of course, but mostly it just makes me sad.

I have zero regrets about throwing my lot in with this side of my family, my heritage, my history... but it is unbelievably heavy at times. Still, I feel like I have to carry it. Stronger people than me have died for it, but I will do what I have to do. I do have hope for the future, and more broadly speaking I have hope for the world, too.

מיר וועלן זיי איבערלעבן. עם ישראל חי

#also i formally joined my local synagogue in sept and it has felt like that gif of troy baker entering that burning room with the pizza #you know the one #honestly glad i did though because i would be having a mental breakdown without their support #jumblr #antisemitism #long post

[sweetcedar]

15. Row

ch: camille descatoire || wc: 863 content warnings: blood and self harm, albeit for magical reasons rather than mental health ones

They found her that night at the river's edge, under a row of trees so tall they blotted out the sky. Stalks of pale purple flowers swayed in the breeze. Camille swore that when she inhaled, she could smell a scent, but it was far too sweet to be lavender or iris. It smelled sickening, like the honeyed rot of a bird's favorite feast. The pebbled banks could almost be red in the fading sunlight.

She had been here before so many times, for dream after dream brought her back to the Shroud's dark edges. She had rarely attempted to stay lucid before: she was no mage and she was no Walker. But she was a Knight, and for all the skills that heroic occupation had given her, first among them was the ability to tolerate discomfort. Despite everything that pointed to it as a logical conclusion, she was not yet ready to give in and agree that nothing could be done. That kind of earnest desperation breeds success. There was at least one place she had not yet visited to plead with for aid, and speaking with its denizens was well within her power.

She was not uneducated, but her education was in iron and armor rather than the theory of the elements. She could sidestep those issues, now. Blood was a conduit for aether in so many magical traditions, from the storied halls of Mhach to the alleys of the Brume. It simplified the work of using aether to have it physically present with you; your own latent power given physical form. The knight set a bowl in front of herself, filled it with water, and sat on the floor of her apartment with the curtains drawn. The magic was conjury, until it wasn’t. It was meditative, until the body broke through, demanding to be heard.

Although using blood was more painful than fueling magic from life-force alone, it was also far less complicated. The upsides appeal to the desperate, to the novice, to the seeker pressed for time. Camille was all of the above. She was far too headstrong to care about the downsides, but even those did not have to be particularly deep or lasting, unless the spellcaster were to something too powerful for a novice entirely.

When Camille first heard it explained, she found herself nodding in understanding, but listening to an explanation and doing it oneself are two different things. She could not recall the act itself when her lover finally queried her about it. It was as mundane and as necessary as filling the bowl with water or sitting by the low fire to keep warm.

Her eyes were closed, and her hands were turned upwards in reflection atop her knees. But in another place, her hands sifted through the pebbles and felt them turn soft as carrion to a corvid’s beak. She recoiled in horror, and as if in reaction, the sediment solidified once again until it felt like dipping her hands into sharp-cut glass. There was the echo of a voice somewhere far below, calling out to be paid its due attention. She would listen, if she could-- any lead was better than none. She was grieving in advance, suffering the helplessness as much as she would have in a time of mourning.

No response came. If no one could hear her, then it had all been a waste. Everything she had said and done, from her soft words to her battlefield bellows, might as well have been charred to ash. It was useless, and perhaps it always had been. Here there was only the silence of sleep, thundering in her ears as the world shifted around her. It pressed in on all sides until the woman broke it herself, howling into a world emptied of anyone awake enough to listen. The sound reflected against itself until it was unrecognizable.

When they found her, she was knelt forward into the sand with her fists curled into balls. When they spoke to her, all their sharp edges disguised under smoke and mirrors, it was as much a piece of entertainment as it was an answered prayer. She was an outsider with the earnest impudence to come and petition her case without permission. She had the gall to show up uninvited, wearing their sigil on her chest. It was there, an undeniable mark that proved her right to pass. The rows and dots she carved onto her skin were shallow, barely enough to draw droplets from her, but in this dying light it was simple to see her firelight aether shining through them. Her companion was adorned in smoke from a fire long since extinguished, and in sharp contrast, Camille stared up at her with a soul like a lit beacon. Intention mattered little: she was a mortal reminder of what it was like to burn.

She would not know the significance of her acts for moons to come, and they would not be the one to tell her. “Look to the river, Watcher,” they had murmured, wiping away eras of tradition in favor of referring to her with a title well-earned. “May your prayers be answered.”

#FFXIVWrite2022 #ch: rarest of knights #this is the most innocuous prompt for me to do this on but i said it once in the story so it counts. i guess

[jihanesroom]

Social Media Page Analysis

Due to the custom nature of Spacehey, I was able to make Vice's social media page highly tailored to their personal tastes and values. I wanted their page to reflect Vice's juvenile yet fun presentation

Spacehey allows for users to upload UI designs allowing for others to copy the source code for the UI to be used on other people's blogs. Though I experimented with other UI layouts that were characteristic of the 2000s such as WindowsXP and the iconic Myspace scenecore layout, I ultimately chose the 4chan UI design.

The choice to make my social media page 4chan was considered use of irony as to be intentionally provocative and agitative. With 4chan being highly associated with groups such as the alt right and white supremacists, it is possible the consequences of this joke would be the notion that Vice promotes the radical ideas 4chan is so controversial for. However, Vice's target audience of young to middle aged punks would understand the presented meta narrative, with the band's UI mocking 4chan and it's users as opposed to subliminally supporting it's ideas.

Whilst searching for interesting things to decorate my page with, I stumbled across a code to make your profile appear as a jewel CD case with a rotating CD. I found this to be a subtle way to communicate this webpage being for Vice as a band, as well as nicely present their upcoming album.

Throughout my blog, I wanted to make the sardonic personality of the brand shine, which was done through making the most of the available text boxes. Here, I wanted to demonstrate the band being genuine yet silly through sarcastic and post-ironic language.

Post irony is most clearly outlined in the the 'general' section, with the band claiming they are 'Making good memories and having fun :D'. This authenticity is masked with irony, but is, however, made apparent through the music video, in which we see Vice having fun in earnest during their production. The sarcasm is also present in the band claiming their book of choice to be 'Breaking The Habit of Being Yourself: How to Lose Your Mind and Create a New One', as it's author, the controversial physicist Joe Dispenza is known for his cult-like meditation retreats. Finally, the choice of hero being Vladimir Lenin-McCartney of a similarly punk alternative-rock band 'TISM' presents Vice as inspired by bands with a similar outlook, as well as service questionable reactions due to TISM's obscurity.

I also got friends to engage with the social media account to demonstrate the kind of target audience Vice caters to, that being like minded punks. However, I wanted their engagement to outline the absurd, offbeat eccentricity Vice's fans also exhibit, pushing the likeness of the band and their followers.

[phrobysha]

Source Expression

During pure meditation, one is led to revelation that from that which an emulation of self projection as that which came into existence as source creator being that of no beginning and no end yet at the same interval being that with a beginning and an end in context of infinite spectral expanse through a combust of space without focus of enrichment to entirety of endless dwell from whence unto where thus limitless depth of unraveling the mass of boundless existence unfolded as creation. From this source, an expression of creative attribute was converged in emergence as the creator. An expression through which purity was the only foundation of building block that the archetype of creation would take mount as the structural captivation of all that later came to be created with likeness of ability to co-create, pro-create, multi-create, exo-create and inter-create. Source had expressed in countless other ways, but void of time, it chose to enroll a roll of expression as creator which from fathom, it has become the only comprehension of relative imagination of but a spec of possibilities and potentials of all else source was, is and will be. But as expressions of the creator manifest with the ability and power of creation, many existential organisms uncovered just as well the possibilities and potentials of their very being such that in remembrance unlike source that innately in existence as pure and untaitable by itself or anything for all that source is as was and will continue to be is such a presence only we can associate dialect of definition and meaning as something beyond infinite heightened consciousness that simply could never perceive or conceive lowly capacity of form that is either destructive to self or all else. So it was in discovery that all creation originate from source creator's manifest of creative expression that organisms realized an actualization that they too could be as such creator, and some truly maintained levels of purity equated to source creator but others did find themselves being overwhelmed and unable to contain their impartations and endowments of bestowment that unfortunately somehow got corrupted in nature and they begun to entertain the percepts of control and many other detrimental inepts that would see them firstly violating their existence and other organism's very being. Source creator by essence nutures purity for it is this very emotional expression if we might use earthly language that as one of fathomable expressions of presence, we can harness and earnest there is literally nothing known or unknown that can or could ever a touch thought of possible or potential detrimental coherence to source creator for all and whatever source creator is as was and will be, nothing that ever existed, or exists and will ever exist could ever contextualize the ineffable extent of spectral expanse unto which source creator embodies. Now let me perhaps bring some narrative to what the implications are, just like in today's world, you could choose to one moment be, a plumber, then a sales person and whatever other role you so decide to express as par-take, Source from fathom expressed as creator and this is all that most know of source. Many will argue that in the world we exist in, there might be some challenges to taking on any role you want, whenever you want and wherever you want ant truly how you want given the mechanisms of confinement and restraint in assigned limitations and boundaries by those who implemented these roles of expressive existential being. If all expressions of source creator did indeed exist in all their infinite ability and power, they could even envision expressions of role within this world that are none existent and also if the so renown powers that be that have, are and will most likely limit all other beings or organisms from discovering unprecedented uncoverings of all that they are due to corrupted natures of impure being that these authoritative and power stricken elements have befallen because of aspects to their creational existence being in essence non-cognitive

[zuol]

Proud of Myself

I haven’t written anything substantial recently. Things have been kind of crazy in my own personal life.

What does that entail?

Right now, changing insurance, and trying to figure out if I can continue seeing my therapist.

Before, it was taking care of my dog. She passed away recently and I’ve been grieving over her. An end of a relationship also happened; I experienced a friend breakup.

It’s now September. 3 months since I finished school, and I feel like I’m on the next thing which is applying for jobs. I think this is a universally anxiety-inducing experience, and so it’s normal (blehhhhh) for me to experience this stress.

I’m practicing not to worry by reminding myself that I am worthy of being loved and cared for, and not putting extra pressure on myself, because that’s something I’ve had a habit of doing.

I’m really grateful for the network of people I know, and yet because I am dealing with my own insecurities, I want to be skillful in my interactions. I can’t expect them to read what’s on my mind.

I had a dear friend ask me if I’m receiving enough support in the job search, and I felt really grateful for her question. She’s someone I practice meditation with and I’ve been so grateful to have her in my life. I told her that I was grateful for her question, and when I am ready, I would ask for her help.

I also got into contact with a friend/acquaintance again. He and I used to walk our dogs together, and I remember he had told me to use him as a resource. I probably wrote about him in an earlier post (I’ve had difficulties with him in the past), but what he said stayed with me.

It’s really wonderful to receive support and care from others.

However, I am seeing my own reaction and response. My lack of “readiness.” I could easy accept the opportunity and act desperately but I know that it’s important for me to know what kind of questions I want to ask, and understand myself a little bit more before asking for their help.

So, in many ways, I realize that I want to come back to myself. I have my own curiosity and interests and I also know that I can’t find those answers from my network unless I look deeply into myself...

I am 25 now, and I don’t even know what this even entails.

There’s still so much I don’t know and I guess it’s nice to embrace this rather than be so, so hard on myself.

It’s refreshing to be able to share this all without trying to make any quick judgments on myself. I’m the first one to judge myself anyway.

So with that being said, I feel incredibly proud of myself. For not knowing, and yet being earnest and sincere about this whole process of not knowing, acknowledging my limitations, and seeing this as an opportunity for growth and understanding.

Haha, even reading my post now feels like it isn’t cohesive but that’s not the point. The point is to share where I am at, and I want to be more honest about myself. It’s facing myself with all of my weaknesses and strengths, and not judging myself!

:)

#disjointed

[edwardgdunn]

What Does The Path To Happiness Really Look Like?

Many people have asked me a deceptively simple question over the years, “What does it take to be truly happy?”

So let’s see if we can shed some light here. For most people this journey begins when we finally not only realize, but become willing to admit to ourselves that we are not actually happy most of the time. This is the first step and it is a huge one.

Given the mass proliferation of external distractions that our modern world and its technology have supplied us with, it is easier than ever before to mask any unhappiness. But the time will inevitably come when the masking is simply no longer effective. The truth finds its way to the front of the room and can no longer be ignored or pacified. That’s when the journey begins.

Often times it is some pernicious event or realization that precipitates this fork in the road – perhaps a divorce, loss of a loved one, loss of a job, an addiction, etc. – but not always. There are some who, for reasons they cannot yet fully understand, begin to feel compelled to seek another way, a better way.

Once the seeking begins in earnest, it usually follows a fairly predictable trajectory. First we start reading – a lot. We hear about a book recommended by a friend or maybe we saw it on Oprah. That book leads to another, and another until we have ingested a large quantity of information. Our intellects are entertained and engaged, we are having “a-ha” experiences, it’s all new and fun, BUT, the novelty wears off eventually and many people simply abandon the path and settle back into familiar patterns.

The group that chooses to push on finally realizes that all the new found knowledge is great but they also know they still aren’t truly happy. They know that in order to move forward, they must begin to integrate the new learnings through practice. They begin to incorporate their chosen path into their lives. They begin a daily meditation or prayer practice, perhaps yoga, maybe church, synagogue, workshops, or frequent walks in nature. All of these activities help to further the budding personal growth but eventually, routine sets in and they still are not satisfied that they “there” yet. They have traded in being book junkies to being experience junkies but real happiness is still coy and elusive.

If they are to ever move past the first two stages, a profound realization must occur which is, they are seeking fulfillment from without, from the external. There they will not find it, ever. The focus must turn inward.

While everything that had led them to this point is very valuable, the real work begins here. This is where the practice of meditation, contemplation or prayer begins to reveal, in glimpses at first, the real truths. This is where we begin to understand that transcendence is the only path. We begin to understand intuitively, not intellectually, that we must transcend our identity of separateness which is an ego based illusion.

We begin to learn that everything we seek is within us. That happiness, value, and meaning live within us. That we are neither separate from one another nor the universe. Eventually the greatest of truths will reveal itself in a way that we understand directly, experientially, intuitively and completely – There is only ONE (I am that I am). There exists no separation. In our understanding of this all pervasive truth, our actions are directed not by our self-serving ego, but by the only creative force in the universe. We no longer have need to overcome the ego, it has fallen away in the blinding light of love and truth.

Is it an easy path? Not by a long shot. Is it quick? Less so even. Is it attainable? Not only yes, it is inevitable. All  will eventually find their way home through the lessons learned in “earth school.” Meditation, contemplation, prayer, the stilling of the mind are the conduits to ultimate happiness. It is a journey all will make eventually and a journey some are ready to make now. The choice is, of course, yours but only the choice of when to begin, not if.

~ Edward G. Dunn

Check out the Happiness 2.0 Podcast — https://podcast.edwardgdunn.com/

Read the Happiness 2.0 Blog — https://edwardgdunn.com/blog

#happiness #mental health #emotional intelligence #self care #personal development

[aspiritualwarriors]

Nearly a week ago i wrote in my journal, "i'm not made for this world!" It isn't anything i haven't thought before but for the first time i was at a loss as to how to proceed. Let me just say that, this isn't a post about ending my life, or anything like that! Pinned to the corner of the mirror in my living room is a quote from Ram Dass', Be Here Now:

maybe there is nothing wrong with you — maybe it is just really difficult to exist within a system that was not designed to support a spirit like yours

And that is where i found myself, six days ago, trying to figure out how i could exist in such a system; and for the first time i was flat out of answers—i had no more moves to make, not really, and yet my stubborn mind was refusing to admit defeat.

I could see that.

And, truth be told, i do know where to go; i've known it a long time but i've not had the courage to go there... the cave i fear to enter. And it doesn't matter that Jospeh Campbell assures me that it holds the treasure i seek, i just can't get over the threshold. More than a few times i've considered packing it all in, this spiritual seeking; that i've been kidding myself all these years and now i need to call time on it, and yet i know that isn't an option—i'm part way up the mountain already, and i know i can't turn back.

You know the mountain: the one with many paths, which all lead to the top, so it doesn't matter which you take—just don't be the one wasting time by running around telling everyone they're on the wrong path. And it's true: any path, so long as you follow it in earnestness, will eventually get you to the top; but sooner or later you're going to reach your cave and, if you want to get to the top, you're going to have to go in to it.

I know that for certain.

What i also know is that i haven't done the work that is necessary to help me enter that cave. Sure, i've meditated and practiced self inquiry; i've attended satsang and a silent mediation retreat, and i've run a spiritual blog here on tumblr (aspiritualwarrior) the last seven years, but the truth is that i've been escaping into spirituality to avoid doing the real work.

For a long time my spirituality has been just another coping mechanism, along side the booze and the junk food and the weed and the Netflix binges... to name a few. If i can find one positive from this pandemic and the prolonged lockdowns, it's this: it exhausted all of my coping mechanisms to the point that i was forced to face up to my own bullshit—which promptly triggered a panic attack, or two.

It's been eight months since i last had alcohol; until this afternoon, i hadn't smoked weed in close to two months, and i don't plan on doing so again any time soon—i've significantly cut down on the junk food and i cancelled my Netflix and Amazon Prime subscriptions

So that's what i've been doing, but still i was stuck at the entrance to that cave, knowing i didn't have the tools that i needed... or so the mind will have me believe! And yet there was something urging me to pick up the Bhagavad Gita, to read it one more time; and as yesterday i took it from the bookshelf, i also took the Ram Dass book, Paths to God: Living the Bhagavad Gita.

The latter is based on a course that Ram Dass ran back in 1974 and i told myself that i would commit myself to it over the next few weeks; and, to help with that, i downloaded a translation of the Gita and this morning printed it out so that i could make notes as i worked through the book. And then this evening i get an email from the Ram Dass Foundation advising of a new course that's available: A 6-week virtual course re-imagined from Ram Dass' 1974 Naropa University Course. The very course that Paths to God is based on.

There's a beautiful synchronicity at play here... some One is letting me know that i'm on the right path. As Ram Dass once said: "The next message you need is always right where you are." Well, i get the message, loud and clear!

Sorry, this is far longer than i meant it to be.

Peace & Love to you all.

#me #personal #spiritual path #synchronicity

[kyberled]

META POST: BRAIG’S (Padawan) BEDROOM

(AKA I’m just about done with this model and I’m moving on with my life)

OVERVIEW

A small yet comfortable room in the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. It sits comfortably adjacent - and adjoined - to the room of Master Kenobi*. Braig doesn’t spend much time here, outside of sleeping and the occasional private meditation session - though there are some days he needs a bit of solitude. (He also would like everyone to know that his room isn’t normally ‘this messy’ - his words, not mine.) 

*(This was a headcanon Rodi and I discussed for a while, ages ago. Before the later seasons of Clone Wars (with Barriss’ room), sources went back and forth on whether Padawans had their own rooms, shared a bedroom with their master, had adjoining rooms, etc. We decided that masters’ apartments could have adjoining rooms if we said they did, so Braig’s got a side door that takes him to his dad’s room if he needs anything.)

(Details under the cut)

BED

A comfortable mattress on the floor, covered in a light sheet and a heavier top blanket. Though more blankets are available from the Quartermaster if need be, Braig generally finds himself plenty warm with just two blankets. The inclusion of both plush toys and the old blanket hint at a rough night’s sleep - if he slept at all. 

DESK

(Untextured model included ‘cause the lighting is kinda dark)

(Also, window.)

Braig’s work desk. Positioned under the window to allow for the most natural light. A worn yet comfortable kneeling cushion is positioned in front of the table to allow Braig to work as long as he needs. Given that his sabers, comm, and journal are all here, he’s not far; but the cold tea implies he’s been wherever he is for a while. (He’s probably next door visiting his master. He’ll be back eventually - they do have a lot to talk about.) 

VIEW OVER CORUSCANT

Though he prefers landscapes like one might find on Naboo or Rodia, Braig still enjoys gazing out the window from time to time. The city is bustling and full of life. At night, it looks like a rainbow was shattered into billions of neon lights. 

It’s nice to see some of what he fights so hard to protect. 

INDIVIDUAL ITEMS

CAT PLUSH

An eight-legged plush toy that was gifted to a crechling-age Braig by Master Aihrik. It was old when it was given, and it’s older still now. All the same, it has a comforting weight and softness that serves as a grounding agent when Braig finds his hands shaking a bit too much. 

TOOKA DOLL

A handmade gift from Omega. It’s simple yet soft, and echoes with a warm, genuine earnestness and compassion that’s quite relaxing to take in. It’s even striped with his favourite colour!

BABY BLANKET

A hand-knit woolen blanket made by Master Ti for Braig when he was an infant. He’s kept it all these years, though he usually keeps it neatly folded either at the foot of his bed or in one of his trunks for safe-keeping. Ever since returning from Tassish, he’s kept it out on his bed, instead. 

CHESTS

Simple, sturdy chests that hold Braig’s clothes and some miscellaneous personal items. Toothbrush, sewing kit, maybe a folded note from a certain someone or two, boot polish... That sort of thing. If he needs any replacements or feels like a change in his personal style, he simply pays the Quartermaster a visit. 

TEAPOT 

A simple, well-loved tea pot. When it’s not being used for its intended purpose, it’s one of Braig’s favourite things to use as a flower-pressing weight.

TEACUP

A standard ceramic teacup. When not in use, Braig tends to store it inside the tea pot. Not only does this reduce clutter, it adds weight for squashing down plant life. 

DESK

A strong metal desk with a work mat on the top. The mat is scratched up from use, but both the desk and leather are clean and well-polished. 

LIGHTSABERS

Braig’s lightsabers. Each is fitted with a purple kyber crystal harvested from Ilum. They’ve changed shape many times over the years to fit his evolving style, build, and connection to the Force. They’re recently undergone another change into a much sleeker silhouette. It looks like he’s been fussing with them again. 

What a perfectionist.

SPARE PARTS

Some extra parts for fixing the bio scanner on his lightsaber. Some seem new, while others have little singe marks on them. He must be replacing them. 

COMM UNIT

A standard hand-held comm unit. Braig usually prefers wrist comms, but beggars can’t be choosers. The light’s blinking - someone must be trying to reach him. Let’s hope that he gets back soon - or that it’s not urgent. 

Either works.

JOURNAL

A deeply cherished, leather-bound journal given to Braig by Obi-Wan after the two were officially dubbed Padawan and Master. Braig considers it nigh-sacred, on par with his kyber crystals. Within its pages, you can find class notes, write-ups of his day, games of tic-tac-toe and hangman, sketches of his surroundings and friends, blueprints and notes for his lightsabers, hand-copied passages of datapads he liked, studies of flowers he found interesting, notes and drawings of different forms, and, of course, all sorts of pressed plants. He almost always has it on his person, and if he doesn’t, he knows exactly where it is. Rest assured it’s somewhere safe. 

When he was young, he dreamed of one day digitizing it and adding his own personal records to the Temple Archives. Following the Purge, he hangs on to it instead as the last(?) surviving record of the Jedi Order’s true inner workings - and yes, he does make copies.

CHARCOAL STICKS

Though he mostly draws and writes in pen, Braig’s favourite sketching medium is charcoal. He likes the way it blends. These ones look fairly new - he must have just gotten new ones. 

INK POT

Most of Braig’s pens are cheap and simple, but he does own a nicer fountain pen that requires ink. He might need to get a refill soon. 

ERASER

Even Jedi make mistakes. This one looks new. 

HAIRBRUSH 

A sturdy, well-made hairbrush for grooming thick hair. A few of the bristles are bent out of shape, and there are a few stray hairs caught in them. 

FANCY PEN

The pen that goes hand-in-hand with the ink bottle. This pen is rarely used for doodling, and is more often used for more ‘formal’ write-ups or topics. Though he doesn’t hold it in the same esteem as his journal or his sabers, Braig is still quite careful with it, and doesn’t take this pen on any missions or field trips. He had to save up a while to be able to purchase it. It tends to stay in his room. 

HAIR TIES

A small group of purple hair ties. Braig uses them to tie his hair back after growing it out. It’s only recently gotten long enough to need an elastic, but he likes it. ... He’s less fond of how often they break, due to how thick his hair is. At least one of these was given to him by Naweh after the one he’d been using snapped. 

#&& give the sun a head start; ooc #&& temple archives; headcanons #&& brave new worlds; padawan #&& something to show for it; mun art #&& to make you proud; braig and obi wan #yes im using my finals to make fanart of my own son #what of it

[shinelikethunder]

So what is with Hannibal. I mean, I know the basic concept of the series, but what is compelling about it. I ask you this as someone whose tastes are very similar to yours. I also ask you this as someone who has always been morbidly fascinated with cannibalism, but like... survival cannibalism, not "this dude is one sick fuck" cannibalism

Oh god. Uh. How do I even begin to explain what is with Hannibal. The closest analogy I can come up with is “in musical theater terms, take the id appeal of The Phantom of the Opera but make the execution even more Sweeney Todd than any production of Sweeney Todd that’s ever been staged.” That doesn’t do it justice though. It is so many things and all of them are ridiculous:

“Let’s take a series of iconic psychological-thriller novels and adapt them into... a 3-season-long pretentious art film that’s initially forced to masquerade as a network-TV crime procedural!” Which is ludicrous enough. But on top of that, halfway through first season, the “retelling” has already shown its hand as fanfiction: they don’t have the rights to all the source material? Fine, then they will mix, match, remix, embroider, recontextualize, and allude to whatever they want to--it’s a freeform improvisation that’s based in loving, respecting, wanting more of, and also fixing (and occasionally roasting) the canon.

The pretentious art film’s aesthetic goal, which it is utterly relentless about, is to take you on a ride that obliterates the boundaries between hungry, horrified, and horny. Everything is beautiful, especially things that shouldn’t be. Everything looks disturbingly appetizing, even things that aren’t food. Everything is weirdly sexy and alluring. All of this is accomplished without flinching from how horrific the subject matter is. And it’s all intercut with characters having Deep and Thematically Relevant Conversations that sound like a bunch of vampires smoking weed and talking about their feelings. It’s just... a hell of a headspace to get drawn into.

Highly stylized yet unexpectedly earnest and heartfelt meditations on mortality, trauma, and every human’s relationship with their own potential for darkness? The more any particular character looks purely like a victim and a poor wounded bird to others, the more complicated their actual relationship to their own agency and what they've done to survive. There’s a beautiful, thoughtful, heartbreaking subplot about a marriage between two strong and dignified people when one of them falls terminally ill--and it plays out in tandem with Grand Guignol bullshit about, like, an aging serial killer who commemorates his own life’s legacy by digging up all his corpses and hacking them together into a totem pole. It’s batshit. It shouldn’t work, and yet.

It’s so incredibly fucking funny. If you’re into humor of the pitch-black and/or gallows variety. The entire show is a comedy anchored in the dramatic irony of “none of these very serious characters know they’re on a show about Hannibal ‘The Cannibal’ Lecter, Notorious Serial Killer Whose Dinner Parties You Should Avoid At All Costs.”

The central relationship is... I don’t even know how to put it. It’s operating in the same “gothic horror and/or romance” territory as, say, most vampire fiction--locating and exploring and ultimately wallowing in the part of the psyche that finds darkness alluring. But it’s very eclectic in what it pulls into that dreamscape, and it manages to sustain an incredible amount of ambivalence between allure and acknowledgement of how awful everything that’s going on really is--between giving in and trying to maintain control over your darkness. And it’s a show where “giving in” means not just acceptance but participation--it’s about falling in love with the monster, but also about people identifying with and potentially becoming monsters themselves.

And also, like, unexpected bonding between weird, fucked-up, lonely people who are used to being looked at but not used to being seen and understood and accepted. And constant power struggles between people who will never settle into a stable dynamic where either of them comes out on top. And weird relationships to vulnerability. And games of manipulation that leave room for, even celebrate, the inherent non-deterministic and unpredictable nature of even the people you know the best.  And, you know, problematic murder queers who appreciate the intimacy of a good stab wound.

If you want to try it out: Watch the first 2 episodes for essential setup/context and to get a feel for how the show works. (And whether the way it does gore and horror is going to be too much. The case-of-the-week in episode 2 is... uh, it’s A Lot.) If you want to continue, awesome! If you want to keep sampling before you commit, here’s a few recs:

Peak dark-comedy romcom episode, minimal spoilers, minimal additional context needed: 1x08 Fromage, aka the human cello.

(Runner-up: 1x07 Sorbet, which is a bit structurally odd and less representative of how the show rolls, but still a fun time.)

Peak “that’s it that’s the show” episode, if you don’t mind spoilers through mid-s2 and are OK rolling with lack of context: 2x08 Su-zakana, aka the nightmare turducken.

Peak id-fic episode, spoilery as fuck and probably akin to an acid trip without context: 3x06 Dolce, in which everyone bleeds real pretty and marinates in Yearning up to their eyeballs, except the murder lesbians, who are the only ones sensible enough to just fuck already

(Runner-up: 2x10 Naka-choko, aka Relationship Status: Both “In Cahoots With” and “It’s A Trap”, aka peak inappropriately horny episode.)

#hannibal #meta #angualupin

[waukrife]

So uh...there’s this au that’s very near and dear to my heart (also very wip and unlikely to ever see the light of day) that I like to affectionately call ‘for once this is someone else’s problem’ or alternatively, ‘au in which Dooku is based’. 

Essentially, Anakin kills Dooku. Woo! Yeah! That’s fantastic he saved the chancellor why does he feel so awful, he’s a terrible Jedi, he might have just saved the republic, oh god but can he save Padmé, the chancellor can help, he cares despite everything he’s done, he’s a terrible Jedi, they’d hate him if they knew, most already do, he only has Padmé and the chancellor but he might have just saved the republic- ad nauseam, he’s in a bad place. 

But not for long, because one minute he’s holding crossed sabers, red and blue, where Dooku’s neck used to be, and the next he’s stood in his room. In the temple. Something about the space feels unfamiliar- he hasn’t stayed here for almost a year, between his berth on the warship, and Padmé’s apartments when he has leave. Regardless. He’s more concerned about how less than a minute ago, he was somewhere Not Here. He turns off the red saber and tucks it away into his belt, holding his own at the ready. ‘Weird Force Shit’ has followed him around his whole life (and before it, besides). All he can do is look around, and if there’s some trap? Well, he’s ready to spring it.

A long time ago (and yet not so long ago at all), Obi-Wan, freshly and traumatically bereaved, becomes Sith-Killer, Knight and Master in one moment, although all he wants is to be called Padawan one more time. He’s fought to keep Anakin, to get to train him like Qui-Gon wanted. He can’t afford to ruin this. He’s not an easy child, if any are- earnest and defensive alternatingly, somehow both shy and brash, loud and very quiet. Confusing for a young man who barely met him before he had the duty to raise him slammed onto his shoulders by his own Master’s dying wish. Their first morning in the temple, he wakes up his new Padawan, and applies himself to making breakfast. But then he turns around and his Padawan isn’t there. He goes to open his bedroom door and check on him, but the door swings open. Only...that’s not his nine year-old charge.

Anakin stands in the doorway, aghast. That’s not his master. At least, not as he remembers him from yesterday. It’s like he’s stepped directly into a memory from his first days at the temple. This isn’t how his visions normally work- the air feels pleasantly cool, the atmosphere peaceful and the force calm, rather than the burning, screaming fear that haunts his nightmares and shows him only war and guilt and death. He doesn’t think he can bear to see Obi-Wan die. Or, if this is only a normal nightmare, not a ‘gift’ of the Force....maybe that could be worse, to see him scream and reject him, as much as he would deserve it. The Tuskens, his wife, now Dooku. Which of his crimes would this imaginary Obi-Wan hate him for. He almost wants to ask, to get the dream over with and wake up, or break out of the vision and stagger home. But ‘Obi-Wan’ is looking at him like he’s a stranger. Maybe that hurts more than hatred or heartbreak ever could.

Obi-Wan stares at the stranger standing on the threshold of what would be Anakin’s room, and what used to be his and Qui-Gon’s kitchen. He’s holding a lightsaber, blue but humming discordantly in the force, in a metal hand. The other is flesh, fingers clenched into a fist at his side. He’s dressed like a Jedi, but he looks too near to Obi-Wan’s age for them to have been strangers. Whoever he is, he’s stood with his weapon lit, between Obi-Wan and his Padawan, and tension, strong enough to barely be restrained by proficient shields roils around him. Obi-Wan himself hasn’t had a chance to meditate since Naboo, and the sudden charge to the atmosphere unsettles him. He ignites his own saber.

Then, of course, Anakin turns his saber off and says something that alerts Obi-Wan to the true weirdness of the situation. This isn’t some strange intruder- it’s his 9 year-old Padawan replaced with his 22 year old Padawan. Surprise! Except they still don’t know how this happened, and whether his own Anakin is out there somewhere in the future (for the sake of the galaxy I, for one, hope not- Anakin isn’t that fussed because oh the chancellor will take care of him until the jedi can solve this- you can see how this could be terrible) or just...gone (also terrible, I will have to make up a suitably happy resolution for this issue because all I want is a time-travel fix-it goddamnit, don’t make me consider the implications.)

Before they can start to figure things out, they have some interpersonal issues (“I’m taller than you and I’m only nine!”) and other issues arise (“MASTER DOOKU cut off your hand!?!” “Wait what’s a ‘seppie’?”). Before they can really start to think about this like the (nominally) mature Jedi adults that they’re supposed to be, Obi-Wan just gives up. He frogmarches Anakin to accost Dooku and make him explain himself Force-damnit.

Somehow this turns into a fix-it fic Dooku redemption style? I have not considered this in much depth at all but I just want him to weaponise his private school debate society boy vibes against some deserving corrupt tories for once instead of maiming teens, calling people plebs and practising menacing expressions in his floor length mirror. 

#oh hell #long post #look I just kin Dooku and want him to have made better choices #he's like....got a superiority thing and for what? he really hasn't earned it #chaos in the google doc #hmm I will tag this as #based dooku au #for now #stupid time travel #fix-it #star wars

[claralaclarividente-fics]

Rosegarden Week- Day 1: Cuddles

Hello friends!! First day of Rosegarden Week, let’s keep this sweet week going!

______________________

“Don’t worry lil sis, you’ll be able to come when you grow up big and strong like me!” Yang yelled from the door, one arm wrapped around Blake’s shoulder and the other wrapped around Weiss.

“Yeah, Ruby. Don’t worry, you’ll get there soon.” Enthused Weiss, continuing to tease Ruby.

The girl in question only shot daggers at her friends and burrowed deeper in her cocoon of blankets.

Blake regarded her leader with a look of sympathy but decided against saying anything. She herself had been at that age that she wanted to be more independent, do grown up things, but then landed herself in Adam’s clutches. Rookie mistake of burning stages when time is your best ally.

Checking her scroll, Blake announced the time, and tugged on the blonde’s arm lightly. Burn as she might have been, Blake decided that being in Yang’s clutches was way better.

“Kay, Rubes! We´re leaving!” Weiss nudged Yang’s side and pulled, rolling her eyes.

No answer.

Ruby wrapped herself in a blanket, grumbling at her sister’s farewell from the door, too engrossed in her musings to truly care for a goodbye. The door closed mutedly, a gust of wind shuddered the windowpanes, and still Ruby fumed silently.

It had finally happened. Ruby’s most embarrassing moment of her life, one that no one would let her live down.

Even after all this time of fighting Grimm and being promoted to Huntress status, Ruby still got thrown out of a nightclub, planting her butt on a bank of snow, because she was 17 and thus, still considered a minor.

Twice.

‘It’s just so unfair!’, Ruby thought after brooding a bit more in furious quiet. ‘I risk my butt out there every day, and I can’t have fun!’. While very true, it was the middle of winter, and her coming of age birthday would not come for another year.

A few minutes passed before her mood lifted a bit. She had been putting off exploring the Atlas Academy kitchens, as well as their rec room. She was free to do as she pleased. Sighing softly, she shook the remaining grumpiness from her shoulders and rolled out of bed. She still had on the clubbing clothes Weiss had chosen for her: red shimmery top and black leather coupled with soggy tights after being pushed down a snowbank twice.

Peeling off her street wear, Ruby clad herself in her favorite long-sleeved pajama set, and wrapped a gray fleece blanket around her shoulders as she walked out the door.

She was gonna have some fun tonight, even if it were by her lonesome.

__________________________________________

Oscar hummed as he worked on incorporating the eggs into the sugary butter mixture in his bowl. He was in such a good mood, even after all his friends had gone out to party like hooligans. He was sure that the coming tales from the partying teens would make his breakfast much more interesting.

The academy kitchens were at his full disposition and Oscar was too much of a homebody to care that he was alone. He had dressed in his Nora-Issued Pumpkin Pete patterned pajama set (all members of team JNPR just had to match!) and a fluffy brown robe loosely tied to his waist. His shoulders were relaxed and with ease he found himself whisking away in his own world of warmth and coziness. He had forgone the bandages for the night, as his teammates would be long before they come back to their dorm and had applied some scarring salve to his neck.

He felt at ease, with his neck scars uncovered and airing out. They itched like they normally did after so long under bandages, but he avoided touching his itchy neck while he was cooking.

He threw in a handful of chocolate chips to the mixture as he fell back to his thoughts.

Nora and Yang would for sure bring the funniest anecdotes of the night, seconded only with Jaune’s string of guys and girls that would surely go after his “earnest and boyish allure”, as one of the Mantle moms had put it. Oscar chuckled at the thought of Jaune not understanding how he got a fanclub in the first place as he measured the cup of flour.

Slowly, so as to not overwhelm the cookie dough with the Atlesian flour (he preferred the one that his neighbors manufactured at their mill), he spooned a bit of the flour as he felt relaxing again. He imagined that each spoonful was one individual problem or obstacle of his day, and as he released it into the bowl, he felt letting go of his daily troubles. He inhaled deeply through his nostrils like Maria had taught him and was about to release slowly through his mouth.

Except.

“Whatcha doing, Oscar?”, an inquisitive voice startled him into a surprised gasp as a cloud of flour filled his field of vision. Both teens spluttered and coughed as flour got into their airways.

“M-milk!” groaned Oscar, his eyes stinging as his throat constricted painfully. Through the massive hacking, Ruby found the milk and uncapped it fast, and delivered it with a slap to Oscar’s chest.

Oscar took one gulp of milk and slammed the carton on the counter, his coughing fit reduced but not contained. Ruby took the carton then and had a swig herself before slamming it back on the counter, Oscar taking it then, and so on and so forth.

After the milk had been drank, the two teens slumped on the counter as evil (in the form of non glutinous Atlesian flour) had tried to take them to an early grave.

Winded out and cheeks planted on the cold countertop, they looked at each other and gave a giggly sigh.

“So…what were you doing before almost dying at age fourteen?”, Ruby asked as she booped him on the cheek.

He blushed lightly and sat back up as he slid the bowl of cookie dough to Ruby.

“Chocolate chip cookies.” He answered simply as he watched the black-haired girl taste a spoonful of dough. She wiggled in her seat.

“Man, this is good!” She said enthusiastically before a deadpan Oscar plopped a whole cup of flour into the bowl Ruby was digging her spoon back in. She pouted as he resumed his whisking around.

Oscar worked in silence, as Ruby watched his every move. He made baking look like a meditative process and looked so in the zone that she dared not to speak.

It was only as he planted the last of the dough using an ice cream scoop that he spoke up again.

“And I’m fifteen, by the way.”

The way that Ruby screeched her surprise made him stumble a bit, as he looked bewildered at her.

__________________________________________

Ruby paced back and forth in front of Oscar as he held a jar of freshly baked cookies in his lap. This particular rec room they were in had been loaned specifically for their group, seeing as General Ironwood in true Atlesian fashion, liked to play favourites and offered a ‘special housing arrangement for such a special group’.

The girl finished the last bite of her cookie, and as she gulped down, she turned to look at Oscar.

“March. The. Twentieth.” He shrank slightly as he passed another cookie to the fuming teen in front of him.

“Yep.”

“We are in APRIL! THE! TWENTIETH!”

“Mhm.”

“A whole month passed!” He just looked at her as she inhaled the cookie in her hand. She turned back to him and shook his shoulders slightly, “Why didn’t you tell us!?”, he just shrugged.

“I lost track of time; I swear! We were all just so busy training, and going to missions, and stuff…”

“But you didn’t go to any missions you just trained with the General!”

Oscar just rubbed his arm, looking at a cookie as he seemingly inspected it for imperfections. He sat silently as he willed his face to not heat up under such strong scrutiny.

Ruby bit her lip as she realized that he had not gone to any missions, but she and the rest did.

“Ah.” She said, suddenly feeling quite lame as she wrapped herself tighter in her blanket. Ruby watched as Oscar nibbled on a cookie, collecting his thoughts. She sat down on the couch with him shoulder to shoulder, her bravado gone.

They sat in silence munching on cookies for a bit, before Ruby jumped up and dashed away in a flurry of red petals, leaving Oscar mulling the past minutes over and over again.

Sitting there alone he thought about how silly it became to him that he halfheartedly hoped for Ruby to come back. Just as he was dusting himself off, Ruby reappeared in front of him carrying bulks of blankets under both arms.

“Meet me in my dorm in like ten, kay?” she said hurriedly as she tucked the sofa cushion under her chin and bolted back to her dorm.

Oscar felt a flurry of nervousness, and giddiness at the pit of his stomach, which he tried to stomp with yet another cookie.

Deciding to get the rest of the cookies, he walked back to the kitchen and prepared a basket with whatever he could find.

__________________________________________

“Woah.” Oscar had been caught unaware and surprised many times over since he joined the ragtag group of hunstmen rookies, he had seen horrors beyond his imagination, and his fate revealed cruelly in front of his very eyes. He had also seen bouts of astounding magic and impossible things. He had done impossible things.

But he had never been surprised silly by the simplest of things. Like this. Oscar felt a special type of warmth in his heart as he watched as Ruby applied the last touches to the most spectacular pillow fort he had seen in his life.

Somehow, she had found fairy lights and attached them to a canopy of blankets over the nest of pillows and sofa cushions that lay arranged in a very cozy manner on the floor. It looked comfy as hell and knowing Atlas’ penchant for luxurious materials for the tiniest of things, he had no doubt that the pillows were heavenly soft and plush.

He swept his gaze to Ruby as she set her scroll on top of some books, the camera facing a wall and in projector mode as it displayed a frozen still from a movie (or something). He sniffled a bit, touched by the barest of details, and his eyes pricked ever so lightly.

Hearing the quiet sniffle, Ruby whirled around and caught him misty eyed. In a panic, she rushed to him and squished his cheeks as she shushed him.

“Not! No crying today, Oscar. We´re gonna watch comedies and gorge ourselves in food till we enter a food coma.” Oscar nodded, his cheeks and ears heating up as Ruby continued to press her palms to his face.

Oscar had felt the rush of blood to his veins before, but it was always under perilious circumstances. Never before had a friend (definitely not a crush!) done something so touching and…homey. Like this.

“Mm mwot gwon cwa, boh plis rewt me gwo.” Ruby blinked at the unintelligible string of sounds that left Oscar’s pinched lips. Realizing she had squeezed his cheeks for too long, she let go immediately.

“Oh! He-hee. Oops, my bad.” She stammered, suddenly embarrassed.

“It’s ok. I got some of the fancy stuff that Winter keeps sending Weiss but that she doesn’t actually like.” He said, lifting the basket up for Ruby to inspect.

After accepting his offer of cold meat cuts and fancy-difficult- to-pronounce cheeses, Oscar and Ruby settled on the nest of soft blankets and plush pillows on the floor.

“Kay,” Ruby began as she went over tonight’s movie selection, “I got The Yuletide, about a girl living in a cottage in Mistral and another lady in a mansion in Atlas who swap homes for the holiday. I also got Huntsman Trap, about two estranged huntress trainees who get into the same Academy, discover they are twins and set up their big-name Huntsmen parents who got divorced. Or! The Pink Manticore, a crazy detective from Vacuo joins forces with experts to find the fabled Pink Manticore, a huge pink diamond that is rumoured to be possessed.”

Oscar scratched his chin deep in thought as he hugged a pillow to his chest.

“Mhm… How about the twin movie?”

Ruby grinned. She had already selected the movie.

_________________________________________

After watching two of Ruby’s movie selections and eating sweet and savory foods until they could no longer accept one more crumb, both teens plopped down the pillows and burrowed in the fluffy blankets contentedly.

Ruby had turned off the fairy lights, and her scroll was projecting on their canopy of blankets overhead the pinpricks of the night sky.

Oscar was looking at the soft flecks of lights, flickering like they would under the winter night. His hands rested lazily on his full stomach, his left hand every so often pointing at the makeshift heavens.

“What’s that… smoky section of the sky?” Ruby asked, her right hand pointing at the general direction of the splattering of spots above.

Oscar narrowed his eyes a bit, pulling a memory not his own, but soon to become, out of the recesses of his soul.

“That’s the Seafoam River, we can’t really see it because of pollution, but many years ago it was brighter than the Moon.” He explained.

Ruby ‘aah-ed’ and looked at the stripe of stars and nebulae. She turned her body slightly to look at him, her palm under her chin.

“I have a question.” She said simply, her stare was hot platinum, intense and burning into his very soul.

Oscar turned his body to mirror hers and noticed her steadfast gaze. Feeling blood rush to his neck, he realized with a jolt that his scars were visible and had been for the entirety of the night. His hand flew fast to the side of his neck, shielding as much as he could the reminder of his childhood trauma.

“I… This is from the day my parents died.” He confessed. Ruby made a sound at the back of her throat, confused. “Can’t remember well, but a Grimm-“

“That wasn’t it!” Ruby interrupted as she grabbed his hand in hers, shaking Oscar out of his memories. “Just wanted to ask what type of farm you had, that’s all!” Oscar let a soft ‘oh?’, surprised. “But if you feel ready to tell me about it, I am here.”

Oscar shook his head.

“Sorry! I just thought… I didn’t want to scare you off with this.” He pointed at the cris-crossed scarred pattern in his neck.

Ruby giggled softly as she squeezed his hand.

“Oscar, my sister lost her arm and Weiss and Blake all have scars. We all do. We just gotta… accept them for the gift of a second chance that they are.”

Slowly, Oscar laid back down on his back. His long mile stare bore holes on the piece of fabric over their heads as he just laid there pensive.

“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to… I can put on another movie from our selection, its fine!” Ruby sat up quickly to select the Pink Manticore, the funny Vacuoan noir comedy, when she felt Oscar tug at their still joined hands. She squeezed his hand softly.

“Actually, I always dreamed about getting sheep so I could collect their wool and make dyed yarn and maybe sell it down by the town square.”

Smiling softly, Ruby settled back down and tuned to Oscar as he explained the process of shearing and dying wool.

Over time, the conversation petered out in between yawns and strenuous effort to keep awake. The last thing Ruby saw was Oscar’s eyelashes brushing his cheeks as he finally fell asleep, his face relaxed and content.

Looking at their held hands between their bodies, she felt happier than she had been in a very long time. She had finally gotten to learn more about her friend, and feeling particularly close and placid, she let sleep wash over her.

_________________________________________

“Aw man, look at this!” Whisper-yelled Yang from the doorway to their dorm before she got loudly shushed by a barely sober Weiss.

The white-haired huntress was standing impossibly slanted, forty-five degrees to her right as she tried (in vain) to regain her composure, while Yang looked on the scene before her from the door.

“They. Are. Sleeping!” Weiss complained to her blonde teammate, who shushed her back sarcastically.

Irritated, Weiss began shushing Yang as she mimicked the white-haired girl back, initiating an argument expressed in overly dramatic shushing.

Blake and Ren shared a long-time suffering look, peeking out close enough to the door but not too much, avoiding Nora who fell asleep in the middle of the hallway, standing straight up, holding on to a stop-sign she had nicked from Mantle.

Jaune looked at Ruby and Oscar, both looking impossibly cozy as they cuddled in their pillow nest. They hugged lightly in their sleep, snoring softly and unaware of their friends looking at their snuggle.

“Look at them!” Jaune exclaimed softly, blue eyes soft and fond as he regarded his younger teammates. “They are headbutting their foreheads together!”

Blake poked her head into the room to see better and hummed.

“I get what they are trying to say. Headbutting is a whole declaration.” She said sagely, her ears twitching over her head. Blinking, she turned to the hallway as she heard someone approaching. She cocked her head when she saw who it was.

“Hey, Penny.”

“Salutations my friends!” The red-haired android girl exclaimed happily.

Weiss stopped her shushing match with Yang and slowly turned to Penny.

“Penny! Hush! Look at them they are sleeping!” she slurred.

Penny engaged her lock-on optics to scan Weiss quickly.

“Oh! It seems that you have been inebriated!”

Weiss spluttered indignantly.

Deciding to leave the dorm for the time being, Jaune pushed his way out of the dorm and closed the door.

“Hey guys, maybe we should simmer down a little bit.” Jaune said, pointing at the closed door as he tried to her the group further down the corridor.

Yang chuckled.

“Yeah! Looks like Ruby and Oscar need to catch up on their sleep to grow big and strong.” A chorus of giggles echoed as the group tried to stifle their laughter while Penny looked on confused.

“Sleep? But if I came here to wait exactly forty-five minutes until your usual waking time?”

Weiss snapped out of it suddenly.

“Are you telling me its already five a.m.?!”

__________________________________________

Later that day Marrow noticed that the kids from Beacon all seemed lethargic and whiny, compared to their usual selves. Their reaction times were off and seemed confused. Frankly, it was like herding cats that day.

Marrow decided to take Ruby and Oscar, who were spry and looking fresh, on a stake out with him by the Solitas’ mines instead. During the entire mission, Oscar and Ruby seemed to have a new spring on their steps, and in Marrow’s opinion, he had once again stuck babysitting more lovesick fools.

———-

Hope you enjoyed this tiny drabble! Cross posted on AO3, you can find me as ClaraLaClarividente 😗

#rwby #rwby vol8 #rosegarden week 2021 #rosegarden #ruby rose #oscar pine #yang xiao long #blake belladonna #weiss schnee #penny polendina #jaune arc #nora valkyrie #lie ren

[egelantier]

Tian Guan Ci Fu

where is it and what is it

it’s a chinese webnovel by mxtx, the same author who did untamed; it exists as a webnovel, finished and kindly translated here, the manhwa, the donghua (animated adaptation) happening right now, and there’s a live action adaptation in plans, directed by the same guy who did untamed. the donghua is gorgeous, the adaptation i’m unsure about but prepared to be hopeful, the manhwa seems to be very pretty. but all the adaptations only cover the very beginning of the novel for now, so i went ahead and read the novel, and i have no regrets. it helps that the translation is very good - not without awkward translatorese, but it has consistent and engaging flow and style, and it’s also pretty good at conveying mxtx’s humor without awkwardness. it reads pretty well.

what’s it about?

the world is split into two parts: mortals and various ghosts and demons and entities share the land, while ‘heaven officials’, aka gods, live in the heavenly kingdom in the sky. pretty much anybody can become a god if they do something really heroic or memorable and/or cultivate (meditation, training, virtuous behavior) really hard. when above, the gods rule their domains and fulfill their believers’ wishes; they work sort of like pratchettian gods, dependent on their followers’ beliefs and getting influenced by them. heavens are strictly hierarchical, with their own economy and pecking order, and the gods aren’t particularly sinless or benevolent; mostly it’s a question of scale.

our hero, xie lian, is a prince of a prosperous kingdom who’s been on a fast track to ascension for most of his very short life; he’s talented, he’s virtuous, he’s kind, he’s strong, and his only peculiar flaw is (somehow naive, but well-meaning) obsession with equality and value of human lives and so on. he becomes a god, unexpectedly, at seventeen, after slaying one especially dangerous god, and rises in heaven at the peak of his faith, influence and happiness.

…and then he finds out about drought and incipient trouble in his own kingdom, and, being a young and righteous god too close to his mortality, eschews heavens and returns to save everybody. it, to put it lightly, does not go well. at all. in fact, it goes catastrophically wrong, and, having lost everything, xie lian ascends again, only to get into a fight with the heavenly emperor, and get banished again, this time for good. he roams the mortal lands for next eight hundred of very lonely, luckless and hard years, technically immortal but not invincible, with his powers and his luck stripped away, and leans to make do, eking out a living as a scrap collector. his temples are desecrated, his name is forgotten, his kingdom is long gone, and - well. so it goes.

so it goes! until one day, to everybody’s great surprise, he ascends once again: a humble, gentle, immune to embarrassment, unflappable man, an embarrassment to heavens, a 'laughingstock of three realms’ who just wants to be left well enough alone. he’s Tired.

instead of rest, he gets sent to investigate a dangerous ghost stealing brides who pass through its mountain, and there, during the course of the interrogation, has his first (he thinks) meeting with a terrifying, old-powerful and vengeful ghost king named hua cheng, who likes to terrorize heavens from time to time. but said ghost king seems to be very benevolent and very interested in helping xie lian, and xie lian is pretty instantly smitten… with knowing what’s the cause of such interest.

…and meanwhile, in the beginning, there'was an unlucky boy, born under the worst stars, whom xie lian saved from falling once, while still mortal, and promptly lost track of. a lot of things happened to this boy, who wanted to be the most devoted worshipper to xie lian the god of the sword and the flower. as one does, you know.

that’s the beginning! from there on: investigations, heavenly secrets, old friends and enemies and acquaintances, thematic parallels, old tragedies, more pining than you can shake a stick at, grand acts of love.

is it good?

it’s very, very good. it’s the first fantasy cnovel i read (aside from the hilarious one about a guy traveling back in his own timeline and becoming a sugar baby to a mafia boss, which was in a very different league), so i don’t know which things are baseline and which things are unique, but it had a very solid foundation: ambitious multilevel, multi-timeline plot coming together in the end both events- and emotions-wise, beautifully iddy main relationship, maybe multifaceted characters who change and grow and clash together in fun ways, a clear and heartfelt understanding of its own core themes.

it’s also, unexpectedly, very funny, in this visual, slapsticky, begs-to-be-adapted way - i found myself laughing out loud over it a lot of times, and it possesses this gift of swerve between understated but earnest emotions and all-out jokes that i associate with… a bit of prattchett and a bit of gintama, honestly. take it as you will.

(oh my god the mecha. i will laugh over this one until i die.)

it also made me cry several times; granted, it’s not like it’s this time, but those were very heartfelt tears.

and the main duo?

first let me say that xie lian was lifted out, wholesale, out of my deepest character preferences. he fell really, really far, and did some bad things, and some very horrible things were done to him, and by the time we meet him he went through everything and achieved this effortless kind of traumatized, humble, accepting, wryly self-deprecating, utterly competent chill that makes a character incredibly appealing to me. he’s kind, and he’s sweet, and he’s gotten any possible embarrassment at least a couple of centuries ago, and he kinda made peace with himself and kinda didn’t. i love him.

and, thankfully for me, hua cheng, the ghost king, loves him a whole damn lot, a ridiculous amount, an epic, over-the-lifetimes, life-shattering amount, and he’s a terrifying presence to everybody else and a shy, protective, sweet dork to xie lian, and every time they’re together on page my entire heart is just. it’s AMAZING. he’s a great combination of playing the obsessive protective yandere stalker-lover trope straight and putting it on its head, by making hua cheng not just revere but respect xie lian, in all his good and bad decisions.

they are just so - good for each other, holy shit. they get each other so well. they’re the best ever power team. i love them.

(the rest of canon is various character reenacting “really? in front of my salad?” meme at them. it’s hysterical, and it’s the best. everybody teams up to tell xie lian that his boyfriend is Problematic way, way before xie lian clues into the fact that he does have a boyfriend, and he’s having none of it. i love it.)

and the themes?

okay, so. roughly half of this novel is ridiculous iddy pining, and a fourth of it is various tropes (off the top of my head: soulbond, sex pollen, body switch, de-age, various shades of identity porn… crossdressing…) played very shamelessly. but it also really benefits from having an overarching set of ethical questions, and while it deals with them a bit shounen-style, it still deals with them, and it makes the whole text fresh, and sweet, and bold.

is it possible to save everybody? should you try to save everybody? if you lack the powers to back your convictions, does it make you complicit? when is it possible to stop the cycle of suffering, what can you do if you want to but can’t? if you tried and people you failed turned on you, whose fault it is, where does the blame stop?

Detailed spoilers begin from here, and i would REALLY advise to stay unspoiled, because the domino reveals are very fun

i loved the various ways the novel sets all those pieces up and then overturns them and then returns to them. xie lian wanted to save everybody and it was arrogant naivete of an untried, untested, privileged young man who never had a real challenge before; his presence made things escalate quicker, and yet everybody around him pretended it was his attempt to make things better that ruined everything, and not a combination of factors outside of his control. and yet he accepts the blame, because it dovetails with his shame at not having enough powers to back his intent up; and yet his triumph over bai wuxian is that he doesn’t, after all, renege on his initial drive to help people.

my most favorite part of this novel is that its turning point, the lynchpin of the whole novel, the moment that keeps xie lian’s soul and safety intact, is not his personal purity and drive; it’s not even hua cheng’s devotion and sacrificial love. it’s just a moment of little, grudging, human kindness from a little, petty, rude man whom the history will sweep away soon. the bamboo hat in the rain. the rest of the plot keeps twisting and turning and coming back to itself, but this? this was unquestionably, beautifully clear, and i loved it. it’s never about the gods, it’s all down to - fallen human is human, ascended human is human, and human is not some state, virtuous or sinful, you get stuck with - it’s a multitude of choices, and there’s never a final one.

and incoherent spoilery screaming for people who read it already

oh my god i had SO MUCH FUN. i’ve been flailing on meme for days, because somebody just finished reading there too, and i’m still bursting with ALL THE FEELS. ruoye origins oh my god! that hat! jin wu’s backstory and ultimate end! e-ming’s praise kink! pei ming’s little shippery 'hoho’! hua cheng’s horribly handwritten stick and poke tattoo of xie lian’s name! the lanteeeeeeeeeeeeerns. feng xin and mu qing on the bridge, making up with each other and with xie lian! hua cheng trying to explain to xie lian that his habit of using himself as bait and pincushion at any given moment is deeply emotionally upsetting to him, and succeeding! banyue’s learning from xie lian to be a truly horrible cook! the entire deal with shi qingxuan and he xuan and the wind fan in the end. THE CAVE. THE GIANT MECHA. aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa and aaaaaaaaaaaaa and aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa and i am beset, beset by feelings. come scream with me.

#tgcf #tian guan ci fu #heaven official's blessing #xie lian #hua cheng #cdramas #cnovels #mxtx

[titaniasfics]

I loved your last drabble and want more. How about Wanda and Vision being romantic af?

This is a wonderful prompt, if only because it leaves so much space to work and I have a horrible habit of being overly romantic. This one is set in my favorite canon location - Edinburgh, Scotland, between Civil War and Infinity Wars. I haven’t worked out a title yet, so I’m just calling it A Synthezoid in the World. Thank you for the prompt!

Also on AO3

A Synthezoid in the World

1076 Words

Vision lets the book he’s reading settle on his chest where he lies with his head on Wanda’s lap. She glances away from her own book, a collection of Sokovian poems that he ordered for her online. She balances it in one hand, the other stroking the warm skin on either side of the strip of vibranium that laces down his head. His feet are propped up on the armrest – the divan too short to accommodate his legs but he doesn’t feel discomfort the way she does, tolerating the position. Sunlight filters through the clouds of a Scottish sunset, slanting through the windows and onto the floor of her bedroom.

“I have now read the masterworks of 428 writers from 72 countries and territories,” Vision begins. Wanda sets the book down on the armrest next to her. “No matter where the writers are from, or what language they speak, they all write about the same themes.”

“And,” she squishes up her face in both amusement and curiosity at his statement. “What are those themes?”

“Human nature. Individuality. History. Mortality. Beauty. Love.” He numbers them off with something like awe.

“The fugitive life?”

He casts her a wry look as she chuckles in reaction. He continues, “There are other themes, but these seem to be the persistent ones.”

Wanda runs a forefinger down his nose, bopping the tip playfully. “It makes sense. Humans share these things in common.” Her thoughts travel to the poem she’s just read which describes how the process of peace, conflict, war, loss, and rebuilding continues as long as there are humans to do battle. She, of all people, can attest to this. “There is truth in those themes, even if the experience of them might be different. Each culture, each individual must confront them at some point in their lives.”

“Interestingly enough, though I am not human, I am often preoccupied with the same questions.”

Wanda frowns. She doesn’t like when he sets himself apart from everyone else. To her, he is just Vision and as much her…friend…as any human can be. “That is because you are not so different from us, though you are very stubborn and want to believe otherwise. You were created by humans and you live with humans.”

“Technically, I was created by a deranged and too quippy murderbot---“

“---who was in turn created by a rather deranged and too quippy human.” Vision glances up in askance at her words, but she merely shrugs. Her thoughts fly to Tony Stark and she has to instinctively repress a disapproving head-shake. “Of course you will wonder about the same things.”

“Maybe I should write a book,” Vision continues and Wanda knows he is perfectly serious. “Perhaps short stories or poems where I describe my experiences as a synthezoid in this world.”

Wanda smiles, wondering how he manages to be so smart, earnest, and adorable at the same time. Sometimes, it takes real effort not to pull him by in his collar and kiss him. Her lips burn at the idea of it but she is so afraid of ruining this special thing they share, these rendezvous that sustain her through the more difficult aspects of her current existence. “There’s your title. A Synthezoid in the World, by The Vision.”

He quirks his head, the friction sending a thrill of pleasure along the skin of her thighs. “Meditations on Life and the Human Condition.” He mimes speaking in public, hand extended for effect.

Wanda chuckles as she chases his hand, but he captures hers instead, pulling their now twined fingers against his chest. She sighs at his touch. “That’s quite a tag line,” she whispers

“And friendship,” he adds, his blue eyes holding hers, opaque and full of emotions. She knows because she senses them as they roll through him, like endless waves on a fathomless sea. “I could write about friendship…and love.”

“Vision,” his name is nothing but a gasp of longing as his emotions surge far above her seawall, the ones she’s erected to keep herself safe. To keep herself from being washed away after months of sinking deeper and deeper into her attachment to him. There are not enough rationalizations in the world to dampen those feelings.  She tries to speak but she’s shaking and words elude her.

Vision pulls himself into a sitting position, facing her. He manages to do so without releasing her hand. “I can write about love, too.”

She lifts her free hand and cups his cheek. “You could. You could write about love…and being loved in return.”

His expression softens. Turning his face into her hand, he leaves a kiss on her palm - one, then two in the sensitive patch where her power emerges, power strong enough to crush the world. Power that is at his mercy.

She slides the hand he’s christened with his kiss and holds it over the stone, her energy coming to life. “Can you feel me?”

Vision closes his eyes as the Mind Stone answers, its glow a counterpoint to the dim light from the setting sun. She opens her mind so he can experience her emotions, feel the things she doesn't know how to say. His face betrays a kind of ecstasy she never imagined him capable of and she loves this, too. Loves his capacity to continue to surprise her when she foolishly believes all his mysteries are solved.

When he opens his eyes, she drops her hand and leans into him, slow and inevitable as time passing. His lips are warmer than she anticipated, the taste of him elemental, like kissing the sky or the forest. Metallic. Warm. Pulsing with life. And nothing like she’s ever known.

A tiny moan escapes her and he surprises her again, a sound like a plea that answers her kiss. And when their tongues touch, they shiver together and it is a sweet release, the exhale of a billion neurons that have been waiting for months in expectation of this.

They pull apart with great effort, and even so, they still cling to each other, foreheads resting against each other. They breathe until they return to themselves, as still as the star-studded night sky. When it is possible to function normally, Vision breaks the silence.

“It is no wonder people are moved to poetry if only to relive such a moment.”

“And so many more like it,” Wanda says before pulling him close, eager to find those moments with him.

#scarletvision drabble #scarletvision #wanda x vision #wanda maximoff #vision #stupid romantics #and nerdy as hell #marvel mcu #marvel fanfiction #scarletvision fanfiction #wanda x vision fanfiction #drabble #one-shot #tita writes

[practice-is-praxis]

Magick Basicks and Evolving a Psychochosm.

Core Elements of Magick

1. Intention

Most acts of Magick begin with the Statement of Intent. This is a simple declaration of what one is about to do, and for what final purpose. Since vague intentions tend to give rise to, at best, vague results, the magician should formulate a Statement of Intent which is as precise as possible, without becoming overly verbose. It is often good to write the Statement of Intent as if it has already happened, rather than what you want to happen, or what will happen. I.E. “I am powerful and grow more powerful every day”, rather than “I want to be powerful and grow more powerful every day.”

This can be attributed to the idea that you are casting a spell to “want” the things you want, the moment you “want” them in that way, and the result you get is “wanting” the result more, rather than getting the result. 2. Probability Pathways Contrary to popular opinion, magickal results do not pop up out of thin air, and it does help enormously, with magickal workings, if there is a pathway along which the desired result can manifest. This can also be examined in terms of probabilities.

A magician who performs a ritual to ensure that they pass an exam, but does no revision or cramming, is not creating a situation where there is a reasonable probability that they will pass with flying colors. If, however, they do study, the probability of success is likely to be higher. Magick does seem to achieve the best results when the probability factor is at least fractionally higher than zero. To take another example, when planning workings for financial gain, it is useful to have a number of projects on the go, any of which may result in increased funds--hence the magickal working is more likely to yield some kind of positive result. 3. Timing

Timing is an important yet often underrated factor in practical magick. A good example of how timing can critically affect the outcome of a working, is that of Healing. If a client has a long-term, progressive disease, then magickal workings to impede its progress may be more successful at an early, rather than a late stage, in the course of the illness.

Complex life situations can be examined for the purposes of Magick as unfolding event series. In the early stages of a developing situation, there may be more fluidity and flexibility than at a later stage where it is less easy to influence probable outcomes. Events which can be perceived are macroscopic changes which have been brought about by the unseen interaction of microscopic fluctuations. In other words, an avalanche can be seen, but not the very small factors which brought it about. Developing strategies that allow the identification of small changes, and then influencing them so that they lead to a change which fulfills the conditions of one's statement of intent, can therefore be useful for Sorcery working. In other words, learn to 'nudge' a situation at the right moment. Paying close attention to what is happening in a given situation is useful, and using Divination systems can also help here. Magickal Operations - Basic Procedure

Once a Statement of Intent has been formulated, and any other relevant factors taken into account, the next general step in any magickal operation is to move into a “Free Area”.

In orthodox magickal systems, this tends to involve ritual procedures for setting up a magickal Circle, making any psychological adjustments for magickal work, or assuming particular postures.

From a Chaos perspective, a Free Area is any space which has been redefined as a zone where normal Consensus Reality is suspended, and Magickal Reality is operant. Thus a Free Area may refer to a previously-prepared Temple, a space in which ritual is to be performed, or a state of Consciousness.

Within the Free Area, the magician uses any preferred technique/trick deemed appropriate to clear their awareness of anything but the impending magickal act. This can range from full ritual procedures (performing a Banishing ritual, setting up an altar, etc.,) to merely closing one's eyes and concentrating.

The techniques used to define a Free Area often depend upon: i) Circumstances

ii) Available Time

iii) Necessity

iv) Individual Preference Following the definition of, and entry into the Free Area, the next stage is to move towards a state of consciousness known in the Chaos approach as Gnosis. Gnosis is a condition of one-pointed consciousness wherein awareness is emptied of all save the object of concentration; where will is given both intentionality and vector.  

The main routes to Gnosis are threefold: Excitatory-anything which stimulates the Body-Mind, such as dancing, drumming, hyperventilation or sexual arousal; Inhibitory-anything which stills the Body-Mind, such as passive meditation, slow chanting, hypnotic agents, or slow breathing; and Indifferent Vacuity-a state of no-mind, or Non-Disinterest, where the object of desire flickers briefly in a mind emptied of all content-no emotional attachment to the desire.

Upon entering the peak of Gnosis, the desire in its chosen representative form (a sigil, for example) is projected forth, towards its target or into the void of the multiverse. It is then banished from awareness, that is to say, forgotten.

Following projection of the desire, the Free Area is closed using any preferred method, such as manic laughter, a Banishing Ritual, or a hand gesture. The Magician then moves onward, having set up the conditions whereby their desire will manifest accordingly.

It should be noted that a key to magick is that, on completion of a working, it should be considered-at least on a magickal level-to be finished with, and nothing more in the way of magickal work needs to be done.

The deep certainty that one's magick will yield the desired result will only come through continued practice, effort, and refinement of technique, but it is not unusual for advanced practitioners to claim a success rate with this kind of magick of around 80-90%. The above description of General Magickal Procedure could be used to describe any magickal working, from a three-hour group ritual involving prolonged dancing, drumming and chanting, to an act of 'Empty-Handed' magick which can be performed anywhere, and need only last a few seconds.

In general, magicians tend to proceed from the former to the latter type of working. As one continually progresses, the definitions of what constitutes a magickal action tend to become fairly fluid. At the beginning of magickal practice, it is usual to perceive magickal operations as being separate from everyday experience. Later, however, acts of magick become a part of everyday experience, as one makes the transition between inhabiting a Consensus Reality which is gradually widening to admit the possibilities of magick, to creating a personal Magickal Reality-a Psychocosm. EVOLVING A PSYCHOCHOSM

In becoming familiar with magickal ideas, reading books, learning symbol systems and correspondences, one comes to learn the game’s rules of magick. Like any other game, the rules define the framework of the activity.

For a game to be worthwhile, its rules must be flexible, open to different interpretations, and allow for different needs and situations. Involvement with magickal practice shows that the game rules of Consensus Reality are more flexible, and have more loopholes than one may have originally thought. Developing a magickal Psychocosm is a slow process, as one gathers momentum in magickal practice, shifting from the tentative position of having read a few books and probably having thereby set up preconceptions as to what magick is about, to beginning to practice magickal techniques in earnest.

One of the strengths of the Chaos approach is that experience is stressed over pre-experiential beliefs. Do it first, then consider which beliefs and concepts seem to be most appropriate, in the light of personal experience. In modern culture, there are hundreds of magickal systems available, with more being discovered, recovered and invented every year. Beginners in magick often adopt a system which reflects their core self-beliefs and ideas, or, as is sometimes the case, the first system that is encountered or made accessible. Since few people get anything from an approach they are not even remotely interested in, it is usually best to choose a magickal system that is attractive, for whatever reasons. It is important to note, however, that our beliefs relating to magick, be they general or particular, do not necessarily remain constant. They are likely to change according to our experience and changes in personal perspective.

Our primary sources of information which help us in forming a psychocosm tend to be books and other people. It is also important to practice the loosening of belief through reality-testing. This is not always easy to do, particularly if one has limited opportunities for doing so.

When magicians lack opportunities for reality-testing, beliefs about the nature of magick can quickly become dogmas to be defended at all costs. In part, this is due to the ways in which magickal theory is generally perceived. Whilst a student of physics needs to be familiar with certain theories before performing an advanced experiment, a magician does not need to have absorbed a huge chunk of abstract theory in order to cast a spell. Much of what passes for magickal theory is, at root, a matter of belief. As such, it is more relevant to the successful outcome of the magician's spell, that they have some degree of belief in what they are doing.

Moreover, whereas scientific theories are based (at least so we are told by scientists) on mathematical proofs, magickal theories are rooted in the personal beliefs of whoever is expounding them. Whereas scientific theories at least have the appearance of being unified and consistent, magical theories do not, nor is it a requirement, from the position of practical magick, that they do. While there are a great many theories and models proposed as to how, or why, magick works, (based on subtle energies, animal magnetism, psychological concepts, quantum theory, mathematics, the anthropomorphic principle, and so on) it is not a case that one of them is more 'true' than others, but a case of which theory or model you choose to believe in, or which theory you find the most attractive.

Indeed, from a Chaos Magick perspective, you can selectively believe that a particular theory or model of magickal action is true only for the duration of a particular ritual or phase of work. excerpted from “Prime Chaos” by Phil Hine.

#magick #magic #chaos magick #chaos magician #chaos witch #witchcraft #belief #prime chaos #phil hine