little miss what the fuck

Russia gave her a harsher sentence for placing stickers in a grocery store then they do men who kill women.

17 Nov 2023

Russian artist Alexandra Skochilenko has been sentenced to jail for seven years after being found guilty of spreading “false information” about the Russian military by replacing a handful of supermarket price tags with messages criticising the war in Ukraine.

The 33-year-old, known as Sasha, is one of thousands of Russians to be detained, fined or jailed for speaking out against Moscow’s invasion of its neighbour amid an escalating crackdown on free speech and opposition to President Vladimir Putin.

Skochilenko was arrested in her native St Petersburg in April 2022, after an elderly customer at the supermarket found the slogans on the price tags and notified the police.

“The Russian army bombed an arts school in Mariupol. Some 400 people were hiding in it from the shelling,” one read, in reference to Russia’s brutal siege of the southern Ukrainian city. Another said, “Russian conscripts are being sent to Ukraine. Lives of our children are the price of this war.”

Judge Oksana Demiasheva delivered the verdict on Thursday hours after Skochilenko, who has a congenital heart defect and coeliac disease, had made a final statement to the court, asking for compassion and to be set free.

As well as the prison term, the artist was banned from using the internet for three years.

Skochilenko, wearing a colourful T-shirt decorated with a large red heart, reacted with shock to the sentence, covering her face and wiping away tears.

Supporters shouted “shame” and “we’re with you Sasha”, the AFP news agency reported.

Skochilenko’s lawyers left without giving any comment.

Skochilenko’s arrest came about a month after authorities adopted a law effectively criminalising any public expression about the war that deviated from the Kremlin’s official line.

Human rights group Memorial – now banned in Russia – said police spent 10 days interrogating supermarket staff and inspecting security camera footage before arresting the artist.

“They sometimes give less for murder than for five price tags in a supermarket,” Boris Vishnevsky, a politician linked to the opposition Yabloko party, told AFP.

“Hopefully, someday, the pendulum will turn the other way.”

Skochilenko was accused of committing what the state prosecutor described as a serious crime out of “political hatred” towards Russia. He had asked for her to be jailed for eight years.

Skochilenko admitted to swapping the tags but denied that the text written on them was false. She said she was a pacifist who valued human life above all else.

“How weak is our prosecutor’s faith in our state and society if he thinks our statehood and public safety can be ruined by five little pieces of paper?” she said in court.

“Everyone sees and knows that you are not judging a terrorist. You’re not trying an extremist. You’re not even trying a political activist. You’re judging a pacifist,” she said.

Skochilenko’s friends and supporters said the verdict was a disgrace [Olga Maltseva/AFP]

Amnesty International condemned the verdict.

“Her persecution has become synonymous with the absurdly cruel oppression faced by Russians openly opposing their country’s criminal war,” it said in a statement.

Memorial has designated Skochilenko a political prisoner and has launched a campaign calling for her release.

She has already been in detention for nearly 19 months, meaning that her overall term will be reduced by more than two years, since every day served in a pre-trial detention centre counts as 1.5 days of time served in a regular penal colony.

But she has struggled in custody due to pre-existing health conditions, and her need for a gluten-free diet, according to her lawyers and her partner.

According to OVD-Info, a prominent rights group that monitors political arrests and provides legal aid, a total of 19,834 Russians have been arrested between February 24 2022, when Russia began its invasion, and late October 2023 for speaking out or demonstrating against the war.

Also on Thursday, opposition politician Vladimir Milov was convicted in absentia of spreading false information about the army and sentenced to eight years. Milov, who was once Russia’s deputy energy minister and is now an ally of imprisoned opposition leader Alexei Navalny, has left the country.

Double Standards: Malfoys vs Weasleys Edition

I'm on a roll, baby! TWO double standards today! All from book 4!

Nepotism/Favoritism

Moody’s magical eye spun around to stare at Ron; Ron looked extremely apprehensive, but after a moment Moody smiled – the first time Harry had seen him do so. ‘You’ll be Arthur Weasley’s son, eh?’ Moody said. ‘Your father got me out of a very tight corner a few days ago …”

. . . my husband, Arthur, has just managed to get prime tickets through his connections at the Department of Magical Games and Sports.

Fudge, who wasn’t listening, said, “Lucius has just given a very generous contribution to St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Arthur. He’s here as my guest.”

Bonus from Book 5

Harry distinctly heard the gentle clinking of what sounded like a full pocket of gold. ‘Really, just because you are Dumbledore’s favourite boy, you must not expect the same indulgence from the rest of us … shall we go up to your office, then, Minister?’

What I find most notable here is the difference in nature between the scenarios. The Malfoys' nepotism is more quid pro quo. Charity donations and political bribery. Whereas Authur Weasley seems to have used his position to help people like the Bagmans skirt the law. A government official helps another official's relative with a sketchy situation and in return, he gets expensive, premier seats?! Sounds a bit corrupt to me.

But hardly anyone in HP fandom has an issue with nepotism when the Weasleys do it. Nope, it's only bad when the rich Malfoys do it, duh!

Discrimination

Mum’s writing to the Muggles to ask you to stay. We’re coming for you whether the Muggles like it or not, you can’t miss the World Cup, only Mum and Dad reckon it’s better if we pretend to ask their permission first. Ron, it’s all OK, the Muggles say I can come.

Mr Malfoy’s eyes had returned to Hermione, who went slightly pink, but stared determinedly back at him. Harry knew exactly what was making Mr Malfoy’s lip curl. The Malfoys prided themselves on being pure-bloods; in other words, they considered anyone of Muggle descent, like Hermione, second-class.

Bonus: Weasley hypocrisy

“That’s sick,” Ron muttered, watching the smallest Muggle child, who had begun to spin like a top, sixty feet above the ground, his head flopping limply from side to side. “That is really sick…”

What I found very fascinating is how the discrimination is presented. The Weasleys' disgusting prejudice towards muggles is very casual. It's treated as normal and acceptable: for heaven's sake, Harry (our wonderful hero) even participates in dehumanizing his relatives. I bet most HP readers don't even bat an eye - JKR has trained the reader to accept muggle dehumanization. Yet, what I find strange is that Harry has to literally spell out the Malfoy's distaste for Hermione. Why is JKR wasting her time with this? By book 4, we already know how the Malfoys feel about Hermione. I think it's another indicator of JKR's crappy writing.

Anyway, after we see the appalling way the Weasleys treat the Durselys and the Grangers, JKR expects her readers to swallow Ron acting as a moral compass when he sees the muggle family being tortured? Please.

People need to remember that we are the muggles. Would you prefer the Malfoys who hate all things muggle and mainly want their world to be separate from muggles and keep to themselves (which Draco said way back in book 1 when he met Harry)?? Or would you prefer the Weasleys who have little respect for muggles and have little qualms about invading your home and bodily autonomy?

As a black woman, I prefer a KKK racist who lives far away from me and who I will probably never see in my lifetime. Compared to a white liberal who causally asks me degrading questions every day like why my English is so good when I am from Jamaica. Or anyone else for that matter who makes me feel insecure about my culture and abilities. All under the guise of being a so-called ally.

Truly, between the Malfoys and Weasleys, who has caused muggles more harm on screen or on paper?? I don't know how many people Lucius hurt as a DE besides the poor Roberts family but given JKR treats muggles as NPCs in her books, I guess those rando people Lucius may have killed don't matter :(. And why were muggles there anyway?! At a wizarding event?! That poor Mr. Roberts being treated worse than a dog by people who are supposed to be pro-muggle leaning.

At that moment, a wizard in plus-fours appeared out of thin air next to Mr Roberts’s front door. “Obliviate!” he said sharply, pointing his wand at Mr Roberts. “Been having a lot of trouble with him. Needs a Memory Charm ten times a day to keep him happy.”

Sigh. Muggles deserved better. Forget Draco calling Hermione a mudblood. Like that slur means anything to Hermione anyway. Or has any meaningful impact. Muggles are the true victims in these books.

The thing with R's design is that he's very canonically ugly, but I can't see "ugly".¹ I just never feel repulsion when looking at human traits. It's not a political stance but an instinctual lack of reaction. Lacking a internal compass telling me who is ugly, I can just use conventional ugly traits but those imho are associated with poverty, illness, violation of gender roles, violation of North European traditional aesthetics, old age². So even if I give R random conventionally ugly traits, I still won't think of him as ugly but as something else. It's a fruitless effort. So I gave up on picturing him as ugly and physically repulsive to me.

So my R design is:

-something makes him repulsive, but it's nothing people can explain rationally. No ugly trait in particular. After all, he's described as "impossibly" ugly. What if it's impossibly ugly because people can't say why he's looks ugly to them? Because it's a sensation that defies logic? My realistic headcanon is that people can sense his all-encompassing dread and lack of any positive belief, and they fear it and from fear it comes the irrational repulsion, also I'm sure that his behaviour toward women has a big impact on his perceived ugliness. It would be right in Hugo's alley anyway, Hugo uses ugliness as a visual metaphor for psychological and social issues.

(In a fantasy!AU I like to headcanon his perceived impossible ugliness as people unconsciously feeling that he's not human. The same is valid for Enjolras, but with his angelic and statuesque beauty.)

-I adopted as headcanon what it can be deduced from the brick. He's 26-29 years old, so quite young, he's fit and strong because of the multiple sports he does, he's short because he's impressed at Enjolras's height, he must have good hair because he appears to be proud of his hair and glad of not going bald like Bossuet. He's supposed to be the apparent opposite of Enjolras, so my headcanons are dark hair, small forehead, bad teeth, strong manly features. His hair may have been ginger too because Hugo had a bit of anti ginger bigotry and he stupidly thought ginger hair were ugly so he may have thought of R as red haired when he wrote he was ugly. Ginger!R is a fascinating idea to me, 99% of the times I see him as black haired, but I think ginger hair is a likely feature for brick!R (and also hot NGL).

-Bladgen!R has imprinted on me, so I borrow some of his features, but he looks too delicate to be R, so I usually roughen up his face a bit when I think about him as Grantaire. He's also too beautiful (I can tell when someone is beautiful to me), but when I try to think of traits to assign to R to turn him ugly, my mind goes blank. Without the obligation to make him ugly, I manage to picture him with different features, but I can't give up on his curly hair in the 2012 movie. Grantaire with curly hair is fixed in my imagination as if it was canon. Bbc!R is sometimes R in my mind, but I don't think he's ugly either (on the contrary, I find him beautiful as well), he just gave a great R impression thanks to his interpretation. No musical actor left something into my headcanons, it's regrettable because I usually enjoy a lot musical!Grantaires.

-Canon R is white imho, he talk about other ethnicities as "other". I'm not sure because he may identify with the dominang group despite not being part of it, but it's a likely guess. He also said he would rather be born a Turk/Arab, he's was joking/trolling, but I take it as inspiration for modern and reincarnation AUs. Obviously, it's unrelated with his perceived ugliness, and to avoid involuntary correlation and involuntary endorsement to white supremacist propaganda, I would explore his ugliness and being Arabic in different fanworks.

-Green eyes just because he's associated with green by the musical.

-Damages from his addictions. So corrupted teeth from smoking and alcohol, flawed skin from smoking, sleepy/tired eyes. Those could work as conventionally ugly traits, but I still think of them as neutral, bad just because they're symptoms of bad habits, not necessarily bad to look at.

¹I'm not trying to be holier than thou, I acknowledge ugliness is real and can be defined by what triggers repulsion at the sight. I can feel this repulsion when I look at very ugly architecture, for example, but I simply don't feel it when I look at people. If I'm repulsed at someone, it's just because I already hate them because of their behaviour. I don't know if it's related, but I don't feel repulsion at anything from the human body either. I've spent some nights in the hospital with surgery patients, and nothing repulsed me, no fluid or matter I saw. It's not high morals, it's high scientific interest, and the human body is too interesting to me to feel other than utter fascination. Like there is one thing I find ugly, and there are bushy eyebrows. idk why, that's it. As I said, lacking an internal compass that tells me what's ugly to me, when I try to picture ugly, I resort to conventions. ²But "ugly" traits are always ugly for ulterior motives, they're ugly because they're associated or they have been associated in the past with the poors (es badly groomed hair, inelegance, bad teeth), they're associated with a lack of health and physical strength (fat bodies, very skinny bodies, asymmetry, paleness, eyebags etc), they defy gender roles (moustaches/beard/big bodies for women, small stature/small hands/small D for men), they're typical of old age or they're anything else than north-European (big noses, bushy eyebrows too probably). I don't blame who find those traits ugly, we can't choose what is repulsive to us, we can only treat everyone decently (unless they're being harmful). But while I recognise ugliness is legit, I see every ugly trait as being something else, the trait of a poor/sick/old/androgynous/poc person so I'm unable to think of someone who is just objectively ugly. Instead I can well see beauty, I'm charmed by people with some colour and proportions as if they were work of art, also I see beauty in all the people I care about because looking at them is pleasurable to me. The opposite of beautiful is just "normal" to me, when I don't feel anything when I look at someone, likely with random strangers.

The irony in Noah being called an anti-Palestine Zionist even though he said he hopes for their peace and distinguished between them and Hamas. . . Do these people purposely twisting his words not know anything about Hamas? Do they think that equating all of Palestine and its people with Hamas is a good thing? I'm at a loss looking at his tag and this fandom. Terrorism is wrong no matter who's doing it and acting like he's said this out of nowhere instead of referencing a very specific event is mind-boggling. Did the mention of Israel suddenly throw all compassion and understanding out the window? Are we not allowed to feel for all innocent lives lost, whether they be Palestinian or Israeli? I don't understand. The callous disrespect for human life is scary to witness. Anyone that supports Hamas supports the extermination of the Jewish and Palestinian people, because Gazans will never be free under terrorist rule and will instead suffer the most no matter what and it is within Hamas' political doctrine to kill the Jews. But sure. Let's all focus our anger on a teenager and act like he called for genocide. If he had omitted "Israel vs terrorism" would they still be so mad even though he was obviously talking about Hamas and what they did recently and still managed to show support for the Palestinian people? Sorry for the essay.

👆👆👆 i think they’re too angry and jumping the gun to really take in what noah wrote. there are people who are already biased against noah, and there are people who can’t or won’t accept nuance. so they’re firm in their conviction that noah is a zionist. they’re also very nitpicky with what noah said; they believe he’s saying palestinians AND muslims are terrorists. the 40 babies being killed is supposed to be misinformation but there is a lot of misinformation, missing context and propaganda flying about - it’s an ongoing event so the incoming news and updates are endless and people will get some things wrong, even without malicious intent. even the most educated people are unable to form their thoughts, so what chance do ordinary people have? even noah who is smart enough for UPenn, but he’s majoring in economics (i think), not geopolitics and such, so he’s supposed to be quiet because he’s not educated in that area, according to twitter activists. i don’t necessarily agree, because he is jewish and he’s worried about his cultural homeland. he also sympathises with palestinians but it’s just not good enough, i guess. we’re supposed to say something but we also should shut up because we’re not educated enough but we’re evil if we’re silent cos that means we side with the oppressors!! we can’t win.

anyway, streets are saying it was a friend who wrote that insta post and they asked noah to share it. whoever wrote it, it’s a sensible, thoughtful post and the backlash is over the top. reading comprehension is out of the window and noah seems to be public enemy number one on my twitter timeline. they talk about him like he’s absolutely vile and akin to a dictator, like he’s responsible for the long history between israel and palestine. the backlash against ST cast members like brett, jamie bower, and cara buono seems nothing in comparison. and we all know why.

batman: gotham city secret files and origins

[ID: an in-universe interview from M.D. Lifestyle with Dr. Leslie Thompkins. In the center of the page is three photos of the doctor, where Leslie has her gray hair pulled back. In the first photo she's looking down, in the second she's looking to the right, and in the third she's gently smiling at the viewer.

The introduction reads: ‘M. D. Lifestyle caught up with Gotham City's first lady of medicine in her Park Row office for a candid talk about golf and resort season in the Caribbean. Unfortunately, a conversation about health care and urban services follows.’

M.D.L.: When M.D. Lifestyle originally proposed this interview, we were intrigued by your lifetime of service in Gotham City. But since then, you outdid that credit by remaining in the city during what was referred to as “No Man's Land.” Gotham has been through so much: a plague, the earthquake, total condemnation by the Federal government—weren't you ever tempted to just pack it all up and head for St. Tropez?

L.T.: Gotham is my home.

M.D.L.: Yes, but everyone needs a tan!

L.T.: Tanning is very bad for your skin, and, more important, my work is in Gotham City. This is where I need to be.

M.D.L.: In fact, you've lived at the same address for over sixty years now, true? On Park Row, I believe, now better known as “Crime Alley”....

L.T.: Yes. It's very sad, what's happened to that neighborhood.

M.D.L.: So why do you stay there?

L.T.: I have friends living in Gotham whom I care for very deeply, as well as my practice and the clinic.

M.D.L.: Ah, yes, your clinic. Let's talk about that. Though lauded by the A.M.A. as “true contemporary compassion in action,” the idea has been called “alarmingly radical” by private practice organizations.

L.T.: I can't imagine anything less radical than a doctor providing medical care to patients in need of it.

M.D.L.: But sometimes you provide more than medical care—there's a shelter and soup kitchen attached to the clinic!

L.T.: What is the point of healing people only to send them out into the streets without recourse to food or shelter? Penicillin, as miraculous as it is, cannot cure hunger.

M.D.L.: But who pays for all of this? Altruism is all well and good, but there are golf course dues to be paid....

L.T.: The clinic is a nonprofit organization, and we subsist on private donations, backed primarily by a very generous grant from Mayne Enterprises.

M.D.L.: Ah, and that was set up by your friend and colleague, the late Dr. Thomas Wayne?

L.T.: Actually, the grant was arranged by Thomas's surviving son, Bruce. But I am sure that Dr. Wayne would be very proud to be associated with the charity work engaged in by the present-day Wayne Enterprises.

M.D.L.: Well, Bruce Wayne does seem to have a nose for philanthropy despite his other... shortcomings as a C.E.O.

L. T.: [with a warm smile] We're all good at something. Personally, I've always found Bruce to be enormously competent and compassionate.

M.D.L.: You've mentioned before that Dr. Thomas Wayne, Bruce Wayne's father, was a hero of yours....

L.T.: Absolutely. Thomas was an astonishingly dedicated doctor, and a dear friend. Another personal hero of mine is a woman by the name of Dorothy Day—are you familiar with her work?

M.D.L.: Didn't she do something with Rock Hudson?

L.T.: [laughing politely] That would be Doris Day, dear. Dorothy Day ran the Catholic Worker soup kitchens—or “hospitality houses”—in New York beginning in the thirties. She was a journalist, a suffragette, a mother, a political activist, a spiritual teacher and a care- giver a woman of great conviction. I admire her very much. You should look her up.

M.D.L.: Though you rarely appear at award dinners, there are many who consider you their personal hero. Is that something you aspire to?

L.T.: You know, I said before that remaining all these years in Gotham was as simple as having work here to do, but perhaps there is more to it than that. So many of the people in this city are truly extraordinary—I am thinking of the tremendous personal bravery and heroism of our police commissioner, James Gordon, for instance, and also of a dear friend of mine who works as domestic staff—a butler. It's not a job you nor mally associate with valor, but this man is one of the most dedicated, virtuous people I've had the honor of meeting. And although he was born in...London, I believe it was...he nonetheless exemplifies Gotham to me: quiet service in the name of a greater good. That is what I aspire to. To do all that I can in order to make life better for those around me.

M.D.L.: But what about your own life? Are any of the amenities of doctoring attractive to you? Vanity plates, for instance...surely you have vanity plates?

L.T.: [Laughing lightly] I am sorry to disappoint you, but I'm afraid I don't own a car....

M.D.L.: You don't own a—!? I'm sorry, but that's all the time we have for this interview, Dr. Thompkins.

END ID]

What Did We Do to the Dr Martin Luther King Jr. ? The Story of A Crossed Out History ?

Be forewarned: this is the historical opinion of an errant opinion. Reverend Martin Luther King Jr. haven’t only being sanitized by white voices; he’s been done so by countless Black voices, within their admiration for him. Something to think about that completely undoes the perception of Dr King’s politics: he wasn’t appealing to white people’s conscience, he was appealing to their internal shame, and by internal shame, I mean the betrayal of the belief they were better than that. It’s 1955 when Martin King Jr. becomes a pastor and a Doctor. Elvis Presley is at the height of his career; white girls are falling apart for diluted and siphoned Black music. But white girls also listen to actual Black music. It’s a time of rebellion and freedom right ?

But what I want to say, is that in some capacity, white people had convinced themselves that they had given enough space to the Negro, that it was enough, and they were proud of their compassion given the savagery of the beings they let amongst their civilized selves. And then Dr Martin Luther King came and decided to use non-violence cynically not as wake up the consciences and attract sympathies, but to taunt white people knowing that their newly constructed self image as “civilized and bloodless” would be tainted forever if they used deathly (insistence on deathy) violence. So they still unleashed the hounds, used high pressure water jets on protestors (Birminghan protest included children, and yes they were hosed).

From Birmingham, Alabama, to St Augustine, Florida, to Selma voting rights movement and Bloody Sunday, Dr Martin Luther King was being extremely strategic. And I believe the opposition between Malcolm X and Dr Martin Luther King Jr. was more a matter of strategies than of philosophies. You’re welcome to debate.

it’s funny…. Hyacinth making a mean remark about Sophie and holding a grudge against Lucy over something that necessarily not her fault, the two abused love interests in the series BESIDES Simon, Phillip, and her own love Gareth. Girl, please have SOME compassion. Even Gregory is like “sis, calm the F down!” Which is SO VALID. I didn’t shoot Lucy’s asshole uncle for you to hold a grudge over something I don’t fault her for.

Benedict would definitely give Hyacinth a firm and angry look and be like I didn’t punch Araminta, Sophie abusive step mother only for you to insult my Sophie, Hyacinth! Again, valid.

Okay Youre going to hear my full beef that I have with that remark from older Hyacinth. when she says 'but you're not illegitimate right? so we're not going to have to live like Sophie and Benedict' because, as we come to find out later. Gareth St Clair by regency terms, IS in fact very illegitimate. The Bridgerton fandom may sweep this under the rug, but his biological parents were not married. He's the product of an affair his mother had with her brother in law. Sorry to put it in such direct terms but Gareth is pretty much Sophie in male font.

I've said it before and I'll say it again, if you ever want to see a genderbent Sophie, you don't need an au because Gareth already exists. The only difference is that his love interest has significant less emotional intelligence than Benedict.

Gareth is an illegitimate son, that his step father accepted into his household, always suspecting he wasn't really his, which he wasn't, nevermind that if Gareth's biological father knew the truth, he would have still been the heir. That only means Gareth is the illegitimate son of the true heir of house St Clair. On paper he may be legitimate, he was recognized as a second son, but Gareth does find out later that he was the product of an affair.

So Gareth has a brother, who was supposed to inherit, but his brother dies, and his so called father (step father) does everything he can to bankrupt the estate before it can get to Gareth. How is that different than Araminta showing favoritism to Rosamund and squandering Sophie's dowry out of spite.

The fact that Hyacinth has so little self awareness of Gareth's situation irks me to no end, the fact that she's so very 'lol that doesn't matter, on paper youre still legitimate, now what about the thing with the kiss' Mademoiselle Nepo Baby, do touch some grass, a glass of water is less shallow. The guy has a right to be concerned and you basically said 'that doesn't matter because you're still inheriting the tittle so were cool' . Where in the universe of 'I would marry you even if you had nothing' does that factor in.

This is why, when show Eloise was like "lol its fun to sneak around with Theo, nothing will happen, I'm just finding out how I feel" I was predictably not impressed. Eloise this guy has a job, you could ruin his life, you could ruin your life, your very wealthy family could be accused of colluding with political radicals. open your eyes to the problems of real people Mademoiselle Nepo Baby. Everyone knows youre made of Scandal teflon and the Queen likes you, but stop rubbing your priviledge in everyone else's face.

Book Hyacinth tho? she's an expert at rubbing her privilege in other people's faces. We get it, you're the baby of a rich, powerful family and nobody has ever told you No, but that's no excuse to be so self absorbed. Again, I don't mention her grudge towards Lucy, because if I went there this post would never end. But just know that Hyacinth was suppsed to have been married WITH KIDS when Lucy and Gregory happened. And even then she still never considered Lucy's side of the situation and maintained her position because she thought she was right. Even after Gregory told her to cut it off.

I have beef with Older Hyacinth, you have no idea how much, because I think she's shallow, self absorbed and only thinks about herself. All her siblings, have some degree of empathy towards their significant others, and the significant others of their siblings, but adult Hyacinth has empathy for one person, and that's herself. Her family lets her get away with it because they love her. Or they are so used to her insensitive remarks that by that point theyre just glad she's Gareth's problem now (I feel sorry for Gareth). But as a reader she sure as hell rubbed me the wrong way.

and that's the tea about why I have beef with Adult Hyacinth Bridgerton.

The Infernal Concept: A Short History of the Devil's Kind

The Great Work is a lifetime dedicated to reaching one's Holy Guardian Angel and thus perfecting one's soul on the alchemical path - the alchemy of spirit and the alchemy of matter. This is largely a Western Mystery Tradition concept seen in the works of the old hats like Eliphas Levi, Israel Regardie and Aleister Crowley.

Satan as Symbol and the People's Voice

Satanism, as defined by Anton Szandor LaVey, is not about the Great Work. It is not even about spiritual integration nor enlightenment, what he refers to as 'spiritual pipe dreams.' Satanism is defined profoundly and perfectly in the Nine Satanic Statements as written in the Satanic Bible:

Magic is used in very specific contexts - Compassion, Lust, and Destruction. No magic of higher spiritual awareness, nor reaching one's Holy Guardian Angel. Those that wear the Devil's Mark are not bound by any spiritual dogma nor condemned by any religious proclamation. We are here to indulge, to experience, and to hold our Selves in the highest regard before anyone or anything else.

This differs from The Satanic Temple, of which I am a Card Carrying Member, in that they take Satan as the symbol of rebellion and art. Rebellion against the State and it's often abusive and bigoted laws. They fight against tyranny in all its forms. Like Lucifer raised his sword to God and the army of Michael, the Satanist raises their voices and banners to the fascism of modern politics.

Both are valid paths to Satan, although they are largely atheist in approach. Now we move onto Demonolatry, a path of Theistic Satanism.

Demonolatry and Devil Worship

Demonolatry may have been practiced in secret for centuries, but that is pure speculation. What is a fact is S. Connolly wrote the defining book for Demonolaters, The Complete Book of Demonolatry. Honestly, I have not read it but I have read all her free PDF's and was part of an international forum on Facebook several years ago. They believe demons are quite real, they are the definition of Devil Worshippers. Honestly, it's nice to see Satanists not shake like wet dogs when it comes to the question of whether they worship the Devil or not. Satanism, as branded by LaVey and Greaves, is almost made for the mainstream. Demonolatry (and Luciferianism... we'll get there in a moment) are far less mainstream in concept and design.

Demonolatry is similar to Wicca where you seek your Matron or Patron Demon (or Devil). They often come from the Ars Goetia, but just about any dark deity will do. Hekate was my Matron for years, but my path has expanded and I have now since found myself in the 'dark night of the soul' (to take the phrase from St. John of the Cross) where I am Matronless and Patronless as I am redefining what it means to be a Sorcerer.

Demonolatry differs from Wicca on many levels, though. Many practitioners prefer to offer their own blood in ritual and have no problem with cursing people. It is a very individualistic path, as ones aesthetic and ritual design can often be influenced by one's Matron or Patron.

The other unique practice Demonolters use are called Enns, which are syllabic chants similar to Sanskrit Mantras. They are single sentences chanted repeatedly until one enters an altered state where communication with one's Matron or Patron can be achieved.

One of the defining people for Theistic Satanism was Diane Vera. I believe her website is still around, but you may have to do some digging. It's where I learned about Theistic Satanism in the first place. I really enjoyed her website as it was a mature perspective and not filled with the silliness of edgy teenage drama.

Luciferianism and the Draconion Orders

Finally, we come to Luciferianism. Two Orders of which I have been fond of are the Temple of Ascending Flame and The Order of Phosphoros. Temple of Ascending Flame was founded by Asenath Mason after her split with the Dragon Rouge, a highly respected Draconion Order in Sweden (founded and headed by Thomas Karlsson). The Dragon Rouge helped define the Qliphoth and its ritual methods. There isn't much known about Dragon Rouge outside of their website and books by Karlsson (which I highly suggest you seek out! They are works of art and dark wisdom!).

Temple of Ascending Flame is a free online Magical Order, but don't think that makes it easy! You are expected to offer your blood for most of their rituals. The probationary period is 6 weeks of daily rituals of which you write a report and send to the Order. I never got past the probationary period as I no longer agree with blood magic unless it is from someone with a menstrual cycle that utilizes it. No reason to self harm for magic! Qigong is a non-bloodletting form of blood magic. Someday I may write an article specific to this.

Finally, we have Luciferianism as defined by Michael W Ford, founder and High Magus of the Order of Phosphoros. He has a few offshoots, including the Assembly of Lightbearers, which acts as a Church for Lucifer. Luciferians follow the 11 Luciferian Points of Power:

Ford considers Will, Desire, and Belief the three tenets of magical ritual. Without Will it is merely wishful thinking, without Desire your intention falls short and without Belief you are empty of conviction (for the ritual). He also talks about Deific Masks, the many faces of the deities the Luciferian works with. Each Deific Mask serves a purpose towards ritual and apotheosis. Ford works with several paradigms of 'Witch Blood', including Yatuk Dinoih (Avestian Witchcraft), Kessipim (Cannanite Witchcraft), Akhkahru (Vampiric Witchcraft), etc.

Conclusion

There is no single philosophy nor doctrine for Satanism. The main guidelines are individuality, dark symbolism, and counter culture (The Church of Satan call themselves the 'Alien Elite'). Most paths practice a form of magic and all practice a form of ritual, but their concepts of what ritual is differs.

The Satanic Bible defines ritual as a form of Psychodrama, The Satanic Temple defines ritual as a form of protest, Demonolaters see ritual as a form of devotion and spell work and Luciferians understand it as a path to Apoptheosis. All forms see it as a form of psychological manipulation of the Self. It is a form similar to Jungian Shadow Work in certain contexts, on how to face ones subconscious and learn to work with ones 'inner demons' rather then try to avoid or destroy them. Satanic magic is mainly about self empowerment and this 'magic' can be done in the Ritual Chamber or by ones aesthetic.

Satanism isn't for everybody, nor should it be. For some it is merely a phase, and that is well and good, but for me it has been a defining path of rebellion and antinomian magic since I was a teenager. I hope you have found some use in this post and continue your own research and advancement of the Infernal Concept.

the rich idea is soooo hot and then you said deacon st mallory and im so osrry. i would be unable to date a man with a name like that i would laugh too much

I was trying to think of a Fancy Rich Boy name because I've been reading too many of these damn "I reincarnated in another world as nobility" manhwas where people are named shit like Azester and Calyx and Magnus and Kyleart and Cedric 😩

The problem is like lmao that name is one I've been using for an OC and its not really. I dunno, final yet, I know I like the name Deacon though. But then I keep wanting to talk about oc stuff or just original story ideas and I know keeping things simple is keeping things palatable

I guess like. So the Rich Yandere Douche started off with me playing around with ideas with another oc I have and I eventually got such a specific idea it branched off into a new oc. the idea was like, Reader lives in a world where its in the future and there's interplanetary travel but its so outrageously expensive she herself could never do it, and she meets this wealthy wealthy businessman who she basically falls into kinship with because she's extremely lonely and he, albeit being extremely wealthy, has been abandoned by his family for specific reasons, so when Reader shows up and shows him genuine love and compassion, not wanting his money or to manipulate him, just his companionship, he just. Gets Hardcore Obsessive Possessive. You are His Light now like akin to something holy and he doesn't want to share you with anything else and really he's secretly planning how to propose to you and give you the most perfect gorgeous wedding

And then I imagine. So. Reader finds out he is not just rich but he's actually nobility from another country, another planet, and he was abandoned by his parents because he's been basically diagnosed as sterile, and a sterile heir is basically fucking useless so they kicked him out because he could never be his father's successor. And he's still got trauma from that initial abandonment so he's just constantly making sure he's got all these strings pulled and traps set so that you don't wont can't leave him

And then Reader gets pregnant and she's scared because you and him had actually had the "we can't have children but that's ok because we'll have more fun by ourselves without them" discussion and uh. For that juicy but painful drama he accuses you of cheating. How could you be pregnant when he's sterile? He starts talking about how he's going to have someone cut those parasites out of you and how he can't believe you would do this, how you could betray him, and he basically puts you on house arrest whole you beg him to believe you. You have to wait until you're at a certain stage in the pregnancy before you can do the paternity test and he basically doesn't look at you for several weeks.

And then. A miracle. The babies are his. And it just. Clicks for him. He's not sterile. He's going to be a dad and you're his beautiful lovely lovely wife and you've given him the miracle of adorable little babies (plural)

I feel like I should take a brief detour to mention in the original oc idea he is a beastman/dogboy and you have a whopping 5 puppy pregnancy but we're gonna leave the freak shit at home rn

So then he's in full paternity mode, getting ready for the upcoming babies, doting on his beautiful mate, preparing for the wedding, preparing a new home for you and him and the children (which i guess in Normal Land would just be you having twins) and thennnnnnnnnn. His parents show up. His royal parents who he vowed to never speak to again after his abandonment. They've been bouncing around checking on all of his father's spawn and now they've come to the two of you, and here's your husband, an incredibly successful businessman with multiple businesses and properties, showing great leadership to the men working underneath him, rich enough that he lowkey influences politics and legislation, and here's you, undeniably pregnant with his baby, proving he isn't sterile, at least not completely

So unfortunately for the both of you, you're basically ordered back to Rich Douche's home planet where you find out his father is Quite Literally The Fucking Emperor Of The Entire Goddamn Planet and your husband, out of all of the Emperor's many many sons, has been chosen as the successor to the throne, partially because your hubby never asked his family for shit and even denied certain assistance and funding from them in certain points of his life, proving that he was so capable they could quite literally dump him on another planet and he would work his way up into a world superpower.

But of course... you're just a lowly commoner. Your husband is the only reason you're not treated as something lowly and unsightly, the commoner woman about to become the bride of the crown prince. And his father is quite clear in letting your husband know that you're not going to be his true wife, his empress, you'll never be more than his concubine, and this is where you learn that now that you and him have been, in a way kidnapped by his family, that he'll now have to take other wives, sire other children with noble women, children that will always be treated better than yours because of your lowly status

But of course. Once your husband takes the throne, he'll be able to do whatever he wants, especially concerning any of his wives, especially concerning you. Too bad for him that by the time of his ascension, you're ready to run back to your home planet and be as far away from him and his family as possible

.....or in the base idea he's just extremely wealthy and we don't start getting into more of the fantasy bullshit. But both ideas can exist at the same time and they both can be fun 🥰 and I've also had another idea for an original possessive ML character but I want to flesh it out more before I share details 😳

Also if you want to laugh at the dumb name again should I tell you that it was originally longer and dumber almost on purpose to mock the trend of these royal names being excessively lavish or whatever so his name used to be Deacon Duke von St Mallory but like that's too many syllables 😩 also it reads like his title is either Deacon (a priest, which, ew religion) and his name is Duke, or it could be read as he's a Duke of the von St Mallory family.

I dunno I've just been playing around with writing different ideas and different types of shit because I've been horrendously depressed and need an outlet lmao. I really feel like I'm gonna burst my 'doing nothing' bubble soon though. I gotta admit that I really need to come to terms with the substance abuse issues I'm having because when I say I've been spending 80 to 90% of my free time just sitting getting high and how it's been wasting all of my fucking time, I don't even play video games anymore, the money I'm spending, like. I dont want to be this person and I want to go back to writing and actually getting stuff done again 👉👈 we'll see. I won't promise shit anymore because each time I think I'm gonna sit down and type something out it just evaporates into dust

“History is not everything, but it is a starting point. History is a clock that people use to tell their political and cultural time of day. It is a compass they use to find themselves on the map of human geography. It tells them where they are but, more importantly, what they must be.”- Dr. John Henrik Clarke

Dr. John Henrik Clarke was an American writer, historian, professor, and pioneer in the creation of Pan-African and Africana studies. He taught at both Hunter College in NYC, where he established the Department of Black and Puerto Rican studies, and Cornell University where he was the Carter G. Woodson Distinguished Visiting Professor of African History at Cornell University’s Africana Studies and Research Center.

The mural pictured above, Dr. John Henrik Clarke and the Mundari Tribe by Reginald O’Neal, was created for the 2022 edition of SHINE Mural Festival in St. Petersburg, Florida.

“The Golden Compass” in the His Dark Materials trilogy always makes me think of winter because of all the snow and cold in it, and I absolutely love the original world (a 19th century gaslamp fantasy alternate Earth where everyone’s soul is an external being called a daemon shaped like an animal to reflect them) and I started this fic of Pyro, Darkstar, Haven, Shaw, Fantasma, and some lady Eternals last year. Finally wrapped it up! You can PROBABLY guess from context, but in this world Muscovy = Russia, Brytain = Britain, and the Kingdom of Auster = Australia. Tagging @sammysdewysensitiveeyes​ for Pyro content but you don’t have to read!

“Idti idti idti!” Laynia Petrovna cried out as she shoved St. John Allerdyce on the train.

“Hey!” St. John turned back in the door, “Just because you’re helping me, doesn’t mean you can call me an idiot!”

 There were, admittedly, a great many things he’d done to warrant the title. Some people would say that investigating a story of top-tier political corruption in the heart of Muscovy was one of them. St. John, however, would not agree; not in this case, anyway. He’d been an idiot when he’d tried to haggle with a pack of impatient Tartars over the only sled for sale for miles, and he’d most definitely been an idiot when he’d tossed a lit stick of dynamite at a cliff ghast perched on a rock that was JUST above their trail through the winding Siberian mountains, but when it came to journalistic integrity and people knowing the truth, well, there was nothing stupid about that! Even if he had to give his life for that!

 And Laynia had to know that too, or else why would she, an agent of the Muscovite government, have turned her back on her very nation to help him escape its clutches and get his story back to the rest of the world? Though the way she saw it--

 “Nyet, idti means go!” Laynia said. And in the second that it took her to explain this, the train doors shut, and she and her daemon were trapped on the locomotive with St. John and his. The color drained from her face, and she whirled around, her long blonde hair whipping behind her from under her furry hat, and she began to beat at the door, but it was too late, the cars were in motion!

 “Looks like you’re catching a ride with me, love,” St. John said,

 “Might be for the best; truth be told, I was more than a little worried about what might happen to you here.”

 “I was going to surrender myself,” Laynia said, her back still to him.

 “Exactly! You can’t expect mercy from the State, love---especially knowing what you do now.”

 Laynia turned to face him, her expression the collected one of a martyr who had freshly accepted her fate, “Being shown mercy was not the idea. Being honest and accountable was. Just because Mother Muscovy’s leaders have forgotten how to do so, does not mean--”

 “And I appreciate that about you, Laynia, I do,” said St. John, “It’s why you saved Heph and mine’s skin instead of bringin’ us in, after all. But right now? Might be better to pipe down and find seats.”

 Laynia’s special forces badge and papers would normally have worked in lieu of a ticket but there was a warrant out for her arrest as a traitor now, so she couldn’t pretend to have St. John in custody like she had before on the way here. They had to hide, and quickly, before the ticketmaster got to their car. Laynia and St. John were both people who were used to navigating difficult situations, given their respective careers, and so were their daemons. Hephaestus, being a cat, was a naturally sinuous slinky silent sort. . .most of the time. Well, no, actually, most of the time he was a ball of orange-furred chaos, but like St. John, this belied a capable and wily nature most missed. And while Drioma the white wolf was no small creature---though a trifle daintier built than most of her kind---she had the willowy grace of her human Laynia, her paws as soft through the train car carpeting as they might have been through snow.

 Both daemons had one unusual thing in common: they were the same sex as their humans, instead of the opposite as was typical. It was rare but it happened. People said it meant different things. Neither Laynia and St. John had commented on this to the other, neither desiring to bring up one of the most common interpretations, as it was, in their case, the correct one. It was hardly relevant to their situation anyway!

 Speaking of daemons though--

 “Let’s head to the car for large daemons,” St. John said, “We can hide behind some of ‘em if anyone comes looking.”

 “That is a. . .shaking plan,” Laynia said, meaning shakey, “Who is to say the people will let us?”

 “You have a better idea?”

 She did not, and so they entered the car, with little time to rehearse an explanation. In it were two people, and both were, like their daemons, unusually large. One was a tall (this could be seen even though he was seated) white man well into middle-aged, broad and powerfully built, his dark hair receding on his head but very clearly thriving everywhere else, if the the nearly furry hands that extended from the cuffs of his well-tailored suit were any indication. The woman who sat on the other side of the car was nearly as tall as the man, and her dark bay skin and garb indicated she was from India, an unusual sight indeed in snowy Muscovy. By the side of the man’s seats lay an enormous black ox, and by the woman’s, a white cow of the Brahman breed.

 The woman looked mildly surprised, the man irritated, and it was he who spoke first to the strangers, “You’re in the wrong car.”

 “Are you lost?” the woman’s voice was kinder, and she stood up, fishing in a beautifully beaded bag til she pulled out a little pamphlet, and unfolding it, said, “This is Car F, so if your car is before that in the alphabet, it’s back that way, and if it’s after---”

 “This wouldn’t happen if the Muscovites had a concept of first class and private cars,” the man interrupted, sounding extremely irritated by the fact they did not. St. John pegged his accent as an American.

 “So sorry to interrupt, folks,” St. John put on his brightest smile, and Hephaestus stepped forward with his most friendly of expressions,

 “We’re part of the entertainment package! It’s such a long ride that the Muscovy Express has seen fit to provide its passengers with a show to pass the time.”

 “No thank you,” said the man dryly.

 “It’s complimentary,” St. John returned, his smile a trifle tighter.

 “I’m not interested.”

 “Well, you’re not the only one in the car!”

 The ox raised her huge black head.

 “Please, sir, madame, it is our jobs,” Laynia and Drioma stepped around Pyro and Hephaestus, “Only let us get through the routine and we will be on our way.”

 The man gave a soft snort and picked up a newspaper, while his ox lowered her head. The woman looked with polite expectation at the pair, as did her cow.

 And St. John and Laynia looked at each other, then at their daemons, with none of them having any idea what to do.

 And that was when something huge hit the side of the train car, and with such force it was knocked to the side, its link to the rest of the train severed, and went tumbling down the enormous snowbank to its left side, its inhabitants spinning and screaming like flakes in a child’s shaken snowglobe.

 For a moment, there was silence within the car. Then, the voice of the Indian woman,

 “Is anyone hurt? Pralaya, where are you?”

 “Here, Radha,” assured a plaintive moo. It was hard to lose an entire cow daemon in such a small container.

 “Who touched Opis?!” demanded the large man, while his ox bellowed in equal offense. Daemons might touch each other in violence or friendliness, but for a human to touch another human’s daemon was the greatest taboo, a sense of deepest violation that stretched across cultures.

 “How could anyone avoid her, she’s a great bloody cow!” St. John shot back, disentangling his legs from some luggage, “Heph, Hephastus are you hurt mate?!”

 “Think I brushed up against someone,” Heph jumped out from between the sideways seats into St. John’s arms and shuddered. Laynia likewise embraced a whimpering Drioma, though silently.

 “If anyone touched anyone’s daemon,” the taller woman said, one hand on the velvety hide of her Pralaya as though to reassert their connection over whatever sullying had just occurred,

 “It was an uncontrollable accident. We have no way of knowing who touched whom, and it is best to forget it for now.”

 “She’s right,” said the large man, though he sounded like he resented that,

 “The thing to do now is stay put and wait for rescue. Now, in case it takes them awhile, we’re going to need to work out how to stay warm. This car offers some shelter, but--”

 And then the top side of the car was blown off, peeled by invisible force like someone tearing the lid off a can of sardines, metal ripping as easily as tissue paper was shredded, and tossed aside as if it were just as flimsy. The cold air rushed in, as though it had eyes and had spotted them now that their shielding shelter was torn away, eager to sap the warmth from their bodies.

 But the cold was not the only threat, nor any longer the most immediate one. Above them, hovering in the air, was a witch. The other knew she must be a witch for the simple fact she was hovering, for only witches could fly., and her sparse attire---downright skimpy, in fact--showed off how her kind was immune to the cold. They knew what she was without knowing her. But Laynia knew her personally, by name.

 “Fantasma!” the blonde cried out in recognition.

 “Friend of yours?” St. John asked.

 “Laynia Petrovna,” the witch called Fantasma called down in a voice as imperious and cold as the swirling snow on the wind,

 “You stand accused of treason to the great nation of Muscovy by aiding and abetting the spy St. John Allerdyce and his daemon, who also stands accused of the aforementioned acts. You are BOTH under arr--”

 “How dare you madam!” The large man pointed an accusing finger up at Fantasma, who looked taken aback at the interruption. He continued,

 “You are absolutely incompetent! You derailed an entire train car, containing private citizens who are not under your jurisdiction, to obtain these criminals?! Why could you not simply fly by a window and break in?! Or await the train at its destination?! You have caused me more than a massive inconvenience---I’ve been separated from my luggage, I could have been seriously hurt, and I could yet be made ill by the cold! How are you going to remedy this? To compensate?”

 “I---that is not my concern!” Fantasma regained her composure. But while the man had been ranting, St. Pyro and Laynia had slipped off into the snowy woods with their daemons! Snarling as soon as she had spotted this, Fantasma flew in the direction of their tracks, leaving the man shouting behind her and his ox daemon bellowing in tandem. 

 When it was clear she was not going to return to do anything to help his situation, however, he turned to the woman, who had pulled her dupattra---velvet, an unusually heavy fabric for such a garment, but still such a flimsy thing in the frigid face of the Siberian weather-- around her tightly, her massive daemon pressing tightly against her like a cat, so much so she was in danger of being knocked over by her.

 “I don’t suppose you have any wilderness survival skills?” he asked snappishly, and then without waiting for an answer,

 “I’m a city boy myself, born and bred, but at least I had the sense to dress somewhat adequately for the weather. Here, let me loan you my coat---loan, mind you---while I dig into our luggage. We’ll pile on everything we can and I’ll find a way to start a fire. You just...stand there and be useless, I suppose.”

She did stand there, speaking softly to her white daemon, which blended against the snows as much as she stood out brilliantly from them with her dark skin and bright clothing. “Excuse me,” she spoke to the man, but her voice was lost in the sounds of him rifling through the trunks and suitcases. “Excuse me,” she said again, slightly louder. Still no response. Her daemon lowed, gentle but more than audible, and both the black ox and the man turned their heads in tandem with matching irate expressions. “What?” “We will find help swiftly if we go this way,” she said, pointing into the trees to a particularly lumpy. . .path was too generous a term. “How the devil do YOU know?” he demanded, his irritation increased and joined by disbelief. “You may have noticed Pralaya is a female daemon,” she said, placing a hand on her cow. “Wasn’t my place to comment,” he grunted. “There are many reasons one might have a daemon of one’s own sex. I cannot speak for if most are true. But the claim that those with a daemon who matches you in gender means that one possesses a second sight. . .it is true for me. Pralaya knows things, and she tells me, but what relays them to her, neither of us know. We only know that these insights are never wrong.” “I am not about to burn my energy and leave this shelter, broken though it may be, to traipse through this frozen waste on the words of a madwoman stranger.” “I understand, I do. It does sound unbelievable, and I do not blame you for your hesitation. But this circumstance is dire–” “Which is why I will not!” “For your own sake–” “Exactly!” They went on like this for a bit, til Pralaya tugged at the woman’s long garb with her teeth in something far too delicate to be called a bite, and spoke to her. As was typical between human and daemon, it was not said loud enough for anyone else to hear; daemons nearly always spoke only to the person to whom they belonged, for a daemon was one’s own soul made flesh. How strange would it be, if someone’s soul spoke casually to others? The woman looked from Pralaya, and then back to the man his equally obstinate daemon, the latter of which stood glaring at them as he resumed digging for extra coats. “I’ll come back for you,” she promised, “When I get help. And to return your coat. Thank you for it.” He grunted, and whether that was in response to her or just a sound of animal effort, she didn’t know, and she made no more fanfare as she departed down the path—or lack thereof—she had pointed towards, one hand on Pralaya to help keep her balance through its treacherous little hills and valleys and hidden holes. The man never looked up. *** Blasts of magic rained down at Laynia and St. John like deadly hail. They had dodged it thus far, as evident by being alive and in one piece each, but each one impeded them further even though they didn’t hit; the force of the mystic blows sent explosions of snow shooting up wherever they landed, making it hard for the pair to see where they were going. With every step, they grew clumsier and more disoriented, and the same was true for their daemons, who were closer to the ground. The cuckoo bird daemon of the witch Fantasma only served to exacerbate this, swooping down at the other daemons and tearing at them with her beak and claws as much as she could through their fur. She would not touch another human, but daemon to daemon contact was, again, permitted in acts of love or war. Of course, this wasn’t so much a war, as Fantasma saw it, as a massacre. At least, that was what she was intending. “My orders did NOT dictate I must bring you alive!” she cried from above where she soared like a bird herself. A bird of prey. Prey that was fast growing exhausted. St. John stumbled into a tree, blinded by the snow, and Drioma had to pull Laynia by the coat using her mouth so that her human would not collapse. “It would perhaps be mercy to end you here,” Fantasma said with cold factuality as she hovered above them, her cuckoo crowing beside her, “The torture you will endure for your crimes will make you wish I had.” She raised her hands. Magic gathered around them in crackling purple energy like ball lightning.” All St. John, Layna, and their daemons could do was brace themselves. And then Fantasma was sent hurtling into a tree, her cuckoo daemon crying out from her human’s pain. Hovering behind where the witch had once been were three more women, indisputably also women from the fact they too were flying. Three of them, all black-haired, all around the same apparent age, though doubtless far older; witches did age and die eventually, but their longevity far outstripped a normal person. As with all witches, their daemons were bird: A peacock (airborne despite true peacocks being flightless), a peregrine falcon, and a great gray parrot. The trio of birds took after the reeling cuckoo, which tried to evade, but the peregrine falcon is the fastest of birds—the fastest of all creatures in the world–and the smaller daemon had barely begun his escape before he was snatched in the peregrine’s talons. Just as her cuckoo had cried out with her pain, Fantasma cried out with his, reaching out as she thrashed in the snow, feeling as if her sides were about to bleed from the talons that held her living soul fast in his clutches. Despite what she had been about to do to them, Laynia pitied her. It was a horrible thing to be trapped, she knew firsthand. And who could NOT pity someone whose daemon was harmed? St. John, that’s who! “That’s it!” St. John jumped to his feet, his hissing daemon mimicking the action, “Kill her, ladies! Take her out!” “That is the intention,” said one of the women, with light brown skin and long wavy hair. The parrot hovered by her shoulder.  The peacock appeared to belong to the pale woman with long straight hair, which meant the peregrine falcon must be the daemon of the dark-skinned woman with short, very curly hair. The woman who spoke continued, “Makkari, you may–” “No. Please, no. Wait.” To the far left of them all, stood the tall woman and her white cow daemon. She spoke softly, yet her words carried as powerfully as the magical blasts had. Even the witches looked stunned. Indeed, they looked far more surprised than Laynia and St. John did, as if they perceived something when they looked at her that the other pair did not. Very likely, they did. “My daemon speaks to me with second sight,” she said towards the witches, her tone suggesting she was answering something they had not asked allowed, “She knows what it is you wonder: why a fellow witch is in the service of men, why she went so far astray, helped in the persecution your kind and others. Please, stay your hand; she is not to blame. Like the form her daemon takes, she is a bird in the wrong nest through no fault of her own.” Fantasma stared at her evidently confused. Before she could ask, the woman spoke towards her, “I know you do not know. It’s alright. All will be made clear.” “Listen, I’m sure we’d all love that, love, but think we could get out of this cold soon?” St. John asked, “Don’t want to be rude, but now that adrenaline’s worn off, I think I’m about t—” And he passed out. * * * When he came to, he and Hephastus were in the plush cabin of an extraordinarily lavish zeppelin. In it was Laynia, the tall woman, and their respective dameons. “Oh good,” the tall woman said warmly, almost as much as the wonderful interior heating, “The doctor said you’d wake soon, but I was worried.” “He said you’re just thin and not used to all that cold, coming from the Kingdom of Auster,” Layna added, “Anway, this is Radha Dastoor, called Haven in the west, and we’re in her zeppelin.” “Heading to Brytain,” Haven added. “And you were taking a TRAIN before?” St. John goggled incredulously. “Pralaya told me to be there,” she said, placing a hand on the white cow that sat curled at her feet like a cat. “Yeah, about that. . .” St. John sat up rubbing his head, “What was it she told you that you told those witches? What happened to the one after us?” And Radha explained how the witch Fantasma had been an unwilling changeling, found amnesiac by the Muscovite branch of the Magisterium after one of their assaults on witchkind. The Magisterium, the all-powerful church, was worldwide, omnipresent and often omnipotent, and devoted to stamping out heresy. . .yet not, apparently, opposed to using heretics for their own purposes, yet properly reprogrammed. “How’d you know?” John asked. “I. . .felt it when I became close to her,” Haven explained, “I wish I could give a better explanation. My daemon is more than my soul—she is as a conduit for second sight, feelings, messages. . .I didn’t know the whole story when I arrived on the scene, but as we sorted it out. . .well, she’s alive. Her fellow witches took her back into their fold. She’ll get her memory back in time.” “The Magisterium. . .damn, what a story,” St. John shifted thougtfully, “They’d be worse than a million Muscovy governments, o’ course, but what a story.”

“Please, don’t,” Laynia begged. “Oh, I won’t—but only because I don’t have proof,” St. John said, sitting up entirely now, “Besides, first I got to blow the door open on your god old Mother State!” Laynia sighed. St. John didn’t see why. Muscovy had betrayed her, not the other way round. “Oh,” he said, considering one more time, “What happened to that big ugly bastard, the one with the ox daemon?” “Oh, Mr. Shaw and Opis are just fine,” Haven smiled. “When we came back to the train car, they were both fending off wolves,” Layia explained, “And winning, too. You see, the wolves were attracted to the smell of the bear that he’d ALREADY fought and killed for its coat and meat.” “It really does surprise me,” said Haven in the most casual of tones,”He had assured me he was a city boy.” END I kinda cheated by taking the “and then he passed out and had everything explained to him after” shortcut but I ran out of steam! As a note on Drioma and Hephaestus, I picked them to be the same gender as Laynia and St. John because, duh, they’re gay, and that’s ONE of the reasons someone might not have an opposite-gender daemon. Another might be having second sight like Haven. Pullman basically goes with “I don’t know, you make it up” on a lot of stuff when asked, which I love. I picked a wolf for Laynia because they’re loyal pack animals; soldiers and servants in the books are often depicted with dog and wolf daemons. I picked the name Drioma after a Slavic spirit of the evening and the night. Hephaestus is of course after the god; I felt like that reflected both St. John’s creative nature (god of the forge) and also a nod to his powers as Pyro in canon (god of volcanoes). He’s an orange cat because I think the chaotic blend of impulsive and intelligence is pretty perfect for him. All witches are women and they all have bird daemons. Fantasma’s is a cuckoo because of their tendency to replace the babies of other birds. Ajak’s is a parrot because in canon, her talent is to be able to speak to the Celestials. Makkari’s is a peregrine falcon for their speed. And Sersi’s is a peacock because of their beauty and association with pride. For Shaw and Haven: Opis was the Roman earth goddess of wealth and oxen because of their association with hard work and strength but also aggression, and Pralaya as in the Hindu cosmological term (Mahapralaya means great pralaya) and a cow for their associations with motherliness, nurturing, and their presence as a sacred or sacrificial symbol in many faiths, especially being important in Hinduism. Hope you enjoyed!

On St. Patrick's Day several years ago - the same week I joined DSA - I wrote a social media post advocating for refugees and asylum seekers. I've reposted it every year since then. Here it is on Tumblr now. # # #

St. Patrick's Day is bigger in America than in Ireland. It would have to be. It was the dirt poor Irish, fleeing the Famine and the cruelty of British landlords, who needed something to remind them of their heritage. You don't need reminding that you're Irish in Ireland, or at least not on Paddy's day.

No one would abandon their home and board a boat for a hostile land, especially in the Nineteenth Century, were the conditions at home not worse. The Great Famine was a scar across Irish history. A million people died, and a million more departed. The population of Ireland has never fully recovered. Ireland lives on as much as an idea in the minds of Hibernians as an actual geography.

At the beginning of the Gorta Mór, the Irish were still exporting millions of tons of food, shipping grain to England while potatoes rotted in the ground. They did this because English landlords held near total control over their tenants' lands, and because the Corn Laws made it prohibitively expensive to import grain. It took petitions to Parliament and the Queen to secure any meager relief, and that too late to save a million lives.

All famine is political. Blight is natural, drought is natural. But there's no people on Earth so heedless that they'd stay in a blighted land unless they couldn't leave - unless they'd been impoverished by generations of exploitation, unless they were surrounded by soldiers, unless the law demanded they waste and starve.

The Irish in America are survivors of history. We have the opportunity to use our experience at the hands of the British Empire to temper our compassion. Today [in 2017], hundreds of thousands of refugees flee North Africa in the wake of wars that great empires started. Today, famine afflicts war-torn countries like Yemen, bombed remorselessly by the Obama and Trump administrations, where 7 million are at risk of starvation. The Americans who sneer at "sanctuary cities" today are heirs to the same nativist tradition that posted "No Irish Need Apply" a hundred years ago - unless, shamefully, they're Irish themselves.

Today is a day for the Irish, especially in Boston, to celebrate and bond. But when you lift your pint of Guinness tonight, remember that we're descended from people who survived the predation of a great empire, who risked their lives and fortunes to reach a land ready to reject them, who labored and fought and lasted. Remember that we are refugees. Every person in flight is our cousin.

Slainte.

Favorite Books 2023

I had a really good reading year in 2023, and was lucky enough to find some new favorites. I thought I’d share some recommendations here, and would love to hear some of yours! (If you are reading this, I mean you, specifically💛 ) 

The Postscript Murders (Elly Griffiths): This is the sequel to The Stranger Diaries, which was also one of my favorite books the year I first read it. Harbinder Kaur is a detective I could follow endlessly, the kind I seek to read mysteries about. She’s nuanced and clever and messy and deeply compassionate (even against her better judgement). Honestly, the character work throughout this book is excellent; the characters have such richly drawn personalities that feel fully developed, and the mystery is clever and well paced. 

Bad Blood: Secrets and Lies in a Silicon Valley Startup (John Carreyrou): I watched the documentary on HBO (The Inventor - also fantastic) about Elizabeth Holmes and fell down a bit of a rabbit hole. It’s a bit terrifying to see how far someone could get on lies and connections to powerful people, but Carreyrou is also quick to point out all the people striving to do the right thing against all odds. There’s some fascinating discussions of science and technology, but the core always comes back to the people involved. This account manages to make this true story that feels larger than fiction grounded in individuals and their decisions; it’s well-researched, deliberately written, and absolutely engrossing. 

The Sea of Tranquility (Emily St. John Mandel): Mandel’s writing constantly inspires me; there is a deep precision to her descriptions that manages to still feel like it’s gliding, and a moving amount of compassion for the characters who inhabit the story, however flawed they may be. This book combines different timelines, moving from perspective to perspective in a way that only truly makes sense when it all comes together (and it comes together with a gut punch). 

What Moves the Dead (T. Kingfisher): A retelling of The Fall of the House of Usher with sinister fungi, I don’t think it’d be possible to make a better book for me on purpose. The writing is twisted, but lyrical, and the take on the story brings a powerful source of dread. Inter-spliced with this is a surprising and fascinating discussion of how culture and language shape ideas of gender. This is a contender for my favorite horror book of all time, and would highly recommend in particular to fans of Mexican Gothic. 

Plain Bad Heroines (Emily M. Danforth): This is a gothic boarding school ghost story turned Hollywood satire that is, at its heart, a sapphic love story. With an omniscient narrator (a lá Lemony Snicket, dear readers) this book tells the complicated history of an all girls’ school, and the women, past and present connected to it. It’s dark and grotesque and moving and funny and I could not put it down once I started. 

The House of Rust (Khadija Abdalla Bajabar): This is a magical realism coming-of-age story incorporating elements of diasporic Hadrami culture, following a girl’s quest to recover her father from the sea, who accidentally discovers herself along the way. The prose is gorgeous and even, making reading it feel like listening to a particularly well-told bedtime story. Aisha herself is a complicated and delightful character to follow, she’s allowed the messiness of adolescence and the way her journey ends is both surprising and necessary.  We also get the perspectives of crows with their own social hierarchy and politics, and a talking cat for whom I’d lay down my life. 

This World Does Not Belong to Us (Natalia García Friere, translated by Victor Meadowcroft): This is the kind of book you can’t annotate, because every single line would be highlighted. There is a delightful menage to the prose, to the garden which has a mind of its own, and to the slow and deliberate way the story begins to come together. This is a story about a lot of things, but primarily the dynamic between a father whose allowance of cruelty has made him cruel, and a son who cannot make allowances any more. It is poignant, and somehow both very simple and very deep. 

Never The Wind (Francesco Dimitri): This is a gothic coming of age story set in southern Italy, and following a recently blind thirteen year old, who begins to suspect a creature is stalking the farmhouse his parents are renovating into a hotel. There are a lot of things to love about this book – the prose, the characters, the discussion of a layered family history where digging leaves you with more questions than answers – but the friendship that blossoms between the two leads is a highlight. There is something incredibly moving about the first person to fight for you against the world.

The Watcher in the Shadows (Carlos Ruiz Zafón): Zafón is perhaps my favorite writer of all time, and the fact that I’ve almost read through his entire backlog would be saddening if it didn’t mean I also got to read stories like this one. The Watcher in the Shadows is one of his young adult novels, following a girl who moves with her family to the coast of Normandy, where a reclusive toymaker builds a labyrinth of mechanical puppets in his mansion on the hill. It’s as twisted and terrifying as that premise would lead one to suspect, but also beautiful and lush and contemplative and quiet. 

Happy STS Dreams!

I have two questions for you today. Do you have any favorite media, like books or movies, that you feel has influenced your writing style?

And conversely, do you feel like writing has changed the way you read books or watch movies? Has your taste changed at all because of your own writing?

That are very interesting questions.

Do you have any favorite media, like books or movies, that you feel has influenced your writing style?

When it comes to writing style I feel like the most influnce has been the wip dirt in the doing by @sleepyowlwrites, cause she showed me that no clear plot introspective character centered hurt/comfort group dynamics were allowed to be written and could be done in a fun engaging way. It was like giving me persmission to write Tears of Iron the way I like. Until then I have been really struggeling with the idea of a clear plot for my writing, because I usually don't like any plot in books/movies either. It serves the purpose of keeping things tight and together, with a straighforward goal, so you feel the progression of the story and you can tell all these scenes serve a purpose...but the plot usually just gets in the way of the parts I'm really interested in? Like the relationships and the arcs? Yes ofc, plot also tends to externally cause thes arcs, but I still feel like it gets in the way of characters talking, thinking, confronting and comforting each other.

Like in Star Wars the best scenes are with Anakin and Obi Wan or Anakin and Ahsoka dicussing, teaching, bantering. In Naruto it's the training sequences, Sasuke's and Naruto's rivalry, their talk before the big separation fight. In Eragon it's the training arc as well, when Eragon is learning things from Oromis by dicussing questions, meditating and realizing the vastness of the universe, his cute scenes with his dragon Sapphira and how protective and comforting she is of him when his back injury acts up.

One or two books that really had good plot as well were my two all time favourites, Tuyo and Transformation. In Tuyo the best part is that every gesture, glance, way you formulate or greet someone carries immense political weight and the little ways the protagonists get to know each other and their cultures to form such epic friendship. In Transformation the redemption couldn't have happened without the whole enslavement part, and the common enemy and the curse that would make them work together and show one's compassion so the other could get better by admiring him. But the rest of the final fight was very unmemorable.

Do you feel like writing has changed the way you read books or watch movies?

Writing has definitely changed how I read and watch stories. Every story gets analyzed, every story is an example of what to or not to do, what worked and what didn't. Every story is a good exercise and good AU fuel. My parents say I can't enjoy stories anymore, always studying them before and afterwards. Cause isn't it amazing to read the movie's plot beforehand, see what it was theoretically and then watch it, seeing how it was executed and what brings emotion into dry description of scenes? I love how every story around me is a way to improve, something to add into the collecton of tools, images, emotional beats, seeing what's possible to be allowed to do it myself or combine it in a new way.

Has your taste changed at all because of your own writing?

I'm afraid it did because I prefer reading what I want to be writing. I'm looking for inspiration and for material to learn from, so I'm looking for bromance, for enemies to friends storylines, for culture clash, for unique magic systems, for good hurt/comfort scenes. Lots of bestselling books just don't have these, they don't have interesting premises and I can't make myself read those. It's getting harder to find books that would fit any, not to mention more of those categories. I should probably read a bit more widely, to get a taste of new things I could love just as much. But I still feel unprepared, like I don't have a repertoir of skills and examples enough to write what I want.

Also finding good hurt/comfort is so hard? I get more luck with that on tumblr or in fanfiction, but when you find a good source it runs out eventually and finding new quality content is difficult. Mountains of bad content to comb through.

I'm not sure why I'm not good at it still. Maybe I am and just my own insecurity holds me back. Maybe I'm waiting to find the exact thing I want to write, so I feel allowed to do it - this cursed tendency to look for persmission is really annoying. People get nervous that their idea already exists and I get reassured by it.

But esp hurt/comfort scenes that are my favourite to read are for some reason difficult to write, to get right, to give me that right feel and satisfaction out of it. Am I too far from the characters? Is there something about how the scene goes that I'm not doing right? Do I just have too little practice with them? Do you have any tips, since you write these as well? (It really hit me you might be a kindred spirit, when you first send me that ask about how Zephyr would act as the one injured/sick and as a caretaker. I liked you from that point on XD).

Anyway, really awesome questions, thank you^^