Demonic Cosmic Geek, Artist, Academically researching genocide, intersectionality, and transitional justice.
Trans Lesbian. She/her/they. 27 “I wish it need not have happened in my time, and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for [us] to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us” -J.R.R. Tolkien
Commissions open! (I can take one at a time only)
First order of business: Trans (demigirl), Lesbian, She/They. If you're any kind of bigot (racist, LGBT-phobic of any kind, misogynistic, etc.), please kindly fuck off and DNI (I know DNIs don't work, but it's harmless and tells others it's a safe space, which my blog definitely is, so there it is anyway).
ALSO! I draw, and I'm a huge frickin' multifandom nerd, and I'm also a legal scholar doing research on genocide.
So my blog is a mishmash of stuff related to all that: gay, queer in general, nerdy shit, art, and the occasional post about atrocities (though I don't like to always talk about that, because it's work, and I'm just not always in the mood).
I do commissions! For the current status, check my Bio.
I have a Tags page in my blog, that's not visible on mobile. This is a post with all the main tag categories I use for my drawings
All of my original posts (both drawings and text posts) will include #cosmicluci.
#Traditional Art
#Digital Art
#Needle Felting
#Commission (both open and completed)
#LGBT+
#Sapphic
#Trans
#Pride (This one for drawings that celebrate queerness, especially the ones I make for Pride Month).
#Personal
#Political
#Monster
#Vampire
#Cosmic Horror
#Demon
#Witch
#Aquatic Creatures
#Ghosts
#Creature Design
#Cosmic
#Fan Art
#Marvel
#DC
#Disney
#Star Wars
#Star Trek
#Doctor Who
#The Dark Crystal
#Lovecraftian
#Disenchantment
#She-Ra
#Revolutionary Girl Utena
#Lord of The Rings
#Addams (for both Addams family, or Wednesday-specific fan art)
Garak was making Upholstery Chic in a society that considered the venerable Polyester Catsuit to be the height of fashion.
Sure, his clothes are fuck ugly, but they are built to last! And they are less romper-forward, which from a practicality standpoint is favorable. To me, personally.
I would also like to submit for evidence of Garak’s fashion sense being a net positive on the station:
There’s one outfit of his, the green one with a sort of reddish T-shaped thing separating the bottom in two and the top part from the bottom (and the shade of green is different on the top), which I absolutely LOVE. I really wish I had that piece, or something like it. Ideally tailored to my body, but hey, guess what? The guy who can do that is also the guy who created it in the first place!!
Garak’s clothes don’t all appeal to me, but I’ll be damned if he doesn’t have one of the best styles on that station, surpassed only by SOME Ferengi clothes, and the Bajoran militia uniforms. I love the Starfleet uniforms, but Garak could do a better job with those too, I’m sure of it.
My girlfriend wanted me to draw a wallpaper for her phone, taking inspiration from modern paganism, specifically the Triple Goddess idea.
It was originally going to be a genderbent Horned Goddess X Triple Goddess "Wiccan deity Yuri", but she decided the Horned God archetype isn't exactly necessary at all, and the Triple Goddess with the idea of cycles of nature, life, and society can easily be interpreted in ways that fit any other deity.
So, in line with her views of this (which make perfect sense to me anyway), and doing away with the unnecessary Horned God, I just made a Triple Yuri out of the three aspects of the Goddess, making it still trans (because who's to stop me from making a deity transfem? NO ONE, I tell you!), still sapphic, and now also poly.
The Bind Rune behind them is also one I made, taking the Othala rune for Odin (a deity she likes to work with and which I find very interesting, plus the letters from my name and hers)
it would explain so much about Gotham economics if it turned out the only employers who pay a livable minimum wage are 1) Wayne Enterprises duh, but mainly 2) all of Gotham's assorted villains.
sure henching comes with shitty working conditions, but the benefits package is crazy competitive. they have dental
Gotham's villains are so engrained because supervillainy is the only thing propping up the local economy. henching requires no work experience, provides on-the-job training, and has a diversity hiring program (you're willing to commit crimes in tacky matching uniforms? great you're in, here's your gun and clownsuit)
Batman is constantly throwing money trying to compete but the fact remains that henchpeople are Gotham's largest workforce and will be until minimum wage laws catch up to reality
even educated jobs in environmental science are probably getting laundered money from poison Ivy. and a lab equipment tech might notice three different jobs are tied to pamela Isley and also happened to receive grants from "unrelated" shady shell orgs and the next one is setting up a temperature controled penguin habitat for some eccentric obvious mobster.
we need a new supervillain who gets drawn into villainy specifically to make money for funding grants. they come up with a theme and wacky outfit and loony backstory but at the end of the work day they change back into their alter ego (tired scientist with bags under their eyes and a hotpocket stuck in their labcoat). they're actually very mild mannered irl—the villain persona comes from their background in Theatre Arts
And this is why Bruce Wayne keeps trying to fund scientific research. But he doesn’t have the means to fund everything. So yet again villainy ends up still being the largest source of academic funding in Gotham.
When you request funding, if it’s from Wayne enterprises you need to include a bit about how it’ll benefit society. But depending on the shadow org you’re getting it from, every professor knows you need to include stuff about how it might progress or benefit efforts to potentially cure incurable diseases, or progress our understanding of extreme emotions like fear, or protect the environment, etc. There is one company where you merely need to mention penguins at some point, so there’s an academic paper out there about the effects of poverty on the LGBTQ+ community that happens to use a fictional community of penguins as example all the time. Two different organizations only give grants if there are enough puns in the request. And there’s one that seems to only give grants to researchers who want to solve some difficult scientific quandary, some big mathematical or linguistic puzzle or paradox that no one has figured out yet.
Trump Is Making Federal Prison Even More Dangerous for Transgender Inmates
New directives from the Bureau of Prisons amount to government-mandated conversion therapy.
In February, the Trump Justice Department issued a program statement titled “Management of Inmates with Gender Dysphoria,” its new internal directives regarding transgender people in federal prison. The policy classifies being transgender itself as a “mental health disorder” and outlines a “treatment plan” to ensure those afflicted “progress toward recovery.” What “recovery” means, in the eyes of the administration, is made obvious by the mandates of the plan: confiscation of trans inmates’ gender-affirming clothes, makeup and other personal items; denial of hormones and any other gender-affirming medication; and program of forced psychotherapy and psychotropic drugs. “It is, in every meaningful sense, a blueprint for a government-run conversion therapy program,” Shannon Minter, legal head of the National Center for LGBTQ Rights, writes in the Advocate, “one targeting thousands of incarcerated people who have nowhere to turn.”
New directives from the Bureau of Prisons amount to government-mandated conversion therapy.
But I just need to point out, as a point of duty, that this is genocide.
Pure and simple. Genocide is defined as acts taken with the intent to destroy, in whole or in part, a group as such. The protected groups can be understood as including any stable or permanent groups.
They’ve now put trans inmates in a place they’re likely to be abused and killed. They’ve also now established a policy where trans inmates should be tortured (and just to highlight, conversion therapy is not therapy, it’s recognized as torture. Here’s a link in case you wanna look into it more).
Pair this with the fact they’ve started effectively marking trans people as such in their IDs (not overtly, like in Rwanda where Tutsis and Hutus were identified as such in ID, but subtly. A woman with a marker that says she’s a man).
On top of that, they’re refusing documentation of all sorts to trans people. From passports to driver’s licenses. This in a scenario where undocumented people are being hunted down by what is essentially a secret police, imprisoned, and being denied due process.
Oh, and of course denying passports also makes it hard to travel. So they’re preventing trans people from leaving, but also do not want trans people in the country. What do you think that means?! Because whenever that shit happens, it always means the same: you’ve decided upon a policy of death, as that’s the only way to have a group not be there but also not have them leave.
Mark my words, the next step will be to establish policy that anyone whose gender marker on ID does not match their appearance, and anyone whose appearance doesn’t match gender expectations, can be rounded up as suspected criminals of some sort. Thus putting more trans people in those prisons where they’re likely to be abused, and are certain to be tortured.
The US is doing genocide, pure and simple. And it’s so obvious and predictable. This regime needs to fall, or else more and more people will suffer and die.
“Rich kids should go to public schools. The mayor should ride the subway to work. When wealthy people get sick, they should be sent to public hospitals. Business executives should have to stand in the same airport security lines as everyone else. The very fact that people want to buy their way out of all of these experiences points to the reason why they shouldn’t be able to. Private schools and private limos and private doctors and private security are all pressure release valves that eliminate the friction that would cause powerful people to call for all of these bad things to get better. The degree to which we allow the rich to insulate themselves from the unpleasant reality that others are forced to experience is directly related to how long that reality is allowed to stay unpleasant. When they are left with no other option, rich people will force improvement in public systems. Their public spirit will be infinitely less urgent when they are contemplating these things from afar than when they are sitting in a hot ER waiting room for six hours themselves.”
At the very least, politicians should be obligated to use only public systems.
Like, ok, I get why it might be unsafe for an extremely public figure that a lot of people hate to be riding the trains and buses. But at least their kids should be obligated to attend public schools, if they or their immediate family get sick they should have to use public hospitals.
But here’s one I’ve very rarely heard, and I think it’s the most important. Every single politician in government, as well as all judges especially in supreme/high/constitutional courts, should ONLY MAKE MINIMUM WAGE.
Reblogging this again because some people hate it when you include transgender women in International Women's Day and I've had to block a few wretches.
Unfollow me if you feel that way, return to your fetid warren.
A bit late because I didn’t see this until now, but this is just very worth reblogging. Especially if it might scare off bigots.
So I’ll add, because it might scare off more bigots: women’s day is also about disabled women, neurodivergent women, women of color, immigrant women, non-binary people who aren’t quite women but still get targeted by misogyny (very much including transmisogyny), intersex women, and any others that failed to come to mind.
Trobbio was, I thought, the best option for the Fool.
The Three Hearts seemed to fit perfectly as High Priestess, Empress, and Emperor.
Sherma for Hierophant because Sherma is perfect and without sin.
I recognize the Hanged Man isn't really a man in here, but Hanged Weaver just didn't fit in the box, so I left the title of the card intact.
Lace was, I think, an interesting choice for Death, as her story is about learning to change when she's not meant to and, at the end, (spoilers, I guess) having someone not let her die.
Groal had to be the Devil, because they are.
Finally, Hornet seemed like the right choice for the World, what with her story being a journey both physical and personal, and it was fun giving a little space for her three moms (plus the weaver mask)
I'm so glad with how this came out. Making all the cards, the box, the back. I'm very proud of this work, and it was a lot of fun to do.
Only did the Major Arcana, because honestly I thought of creating some silksong-themed suits and making them, but the thought of drawing a full 76 cards seemed daunting, so I spared myself and did only these. Especially since some of those characters would inevitably have to be shifted into the Minor ones, and I did not want to have to figure out replacements.
And just to be transparent: the little plastic Hornet is just something I bought at a local 3D printing shop. The felted one in the first image I made myself, and have posted it before.
the way cishet people talk about sex is so fucking depressing. anal sex is kinky. oral is foreplay. i think if you told them sex doesn’t have to involve genitals at all they’d explode
i’m not sure if i’d be able to find it bc i don’t think i saved it but i saw a tiktok a few weeks ago of a trans woman talking about her experience of having sex with trans men, and she brought up that specifically she refuses to see it as ‘penetration’ or ‘penis in vagina’ because she doesn’t feel that way, she doesn’t understand why the penis takes the dominant role. Instead, for her, it’s more like being engulfed, swallowed, surrounded. And i’ve been like. thinking about that constantly ever since. I don’t think that referring to it as penetration is bad, but i think that theres an assumed importance of that certain aspect of sex, that the most important factor to whether something ‘counts’ is the dominance assumed by the role of penetration, with fingers, a toy, etc. In a lot of ways, as a trans man, i’ve learned to distance myself from my body. I am able to feel through peices of plastic better than my actual nerve endings. I feel that the act of transitioning sometimes upsets this hierarchy of sex. The idea that someone may use their body in a way seen as traditional sex but not view it through a traditional lens can be just as terrifying to people as someone not having traditional sex at all. It’s really difficult to articulate. Sex can be a lot of things to a lot of people, and i find it so frustrating when people limit the ways they are able to describe and connect with their bodies because of assumptions that something is not ‘real sex’ because it doesnt involve a certain act, or that penetration is inheritly more accurate or important than alternate views, such as the one i described before.
There's actually now a neologism for the obverse of penetration: circlusion!
"I wish to propose to you a new term, one that has been missing for a long time: “circlusion,” or, if you prefer a purer latinate, “circumclusion.” It denotes the antonym of penetration. It refers to the same physical process, but from the opposite perspective. Penetration means pushing something––a shaft or a nipple––into something else––a ring or a tube. Circlusion means pushing something––a ring or a tube––onto something else––a nipple or a shaft. The ring and the tube are rendered active. That’s all there is to it.
This word, circlusion, allows us to speak differently about certain forms of sex. We need it because penetration still rules supreme over the heteronormative imaginary and its arbitrary division of bodies into “active” and “passive.” The verb to penetrate evokes a non-reciprocal or at least unequally distributed process. The one who is penetrated is implied to be passive. More than that, being penetrated, like being screwed, is automatically imagined as disempowerment." — Bini Adamczak, as translated by Sophie Lewis in The New Inquiry
Got another commission. Yet another with Sabine and Ketsu, but also Shin. And since the person who commissioned me asked if this was gay, yeah, it's gay.
Oh man… This is no longer my lane but I can’t leave this at “1000 year old sword”.
This is Mikazuki. The Crescent Moon blade.
This sword was crafted by Sanj(y)o Munechika and is older than 1000 years. (The Smith’s oldest signed work is from 987).
There are only 5 of the smith’s pieces remaining and this one exhibits one of the first times in history that the Japanese sword takes on it’s utilitarian curved shape.
This sword was owned by a laundry list of important historical figures including Oda Nobunaga’s general Toyotomi Hideyoshi who unified Japan.
You are essentially looking at a Japanese Excalibur.
I am humbled to even be able to see a picture of this sword.
Fun fact, I’ve heard (though I don’t know if it’s true as I’m no expert) that the curvature of the Katana is less a purposeful and useful curve, like with a scimitar, but a byproduct of the way they’re traditionally forged, which causes the blade to curve slightly away from the edge as it cools.
And apparently the curvature is so slight that it doesn’t improve the cutting significantly enough (like a scimitar does), but significant enough to still make it worse at stabbing.
So maybe this guy’s katanas were some of the first to use that forging technique, causing them to have that aesthetically appealing curve, but the curve is not, from what I’ve heard, utilitarian
hey real quick can anybody help me find this image that I’ve seen before here on tumblr. it looks like this
the button doesn’t necessarily say “Elucidate the Rapture” but it does say something that’s kind of lengthy and has religious connotations. the woman pushing the button has an expression of indescribable smugness. there might be other buttons on the machine (?) she is pressing.
I cannot believe that this is a website where you can ask “hey i think i saw a weird image once” and put a bad stick figure drawing of it and someone will be like “oh yeah that’s the first installment of a 12-part post-ironic apocalypse fever dream photoshop series” and just hand you a dozen of the most unhinged images you’ve ever seen in your life, that still have a better three act structure than most modern cinema
this is far more than “random person in 2005ish creates surreal visual narrative” - let’s go deeper down the rabbit hole, shall we?
to Immanentize the Eschaton means to bring about utopian conditions and create heaven on Earth
the phrase is first cited in the Discordian religious text, Principia Discordia (1963), for whom Discord (aka Eris) is goddess:
the first line of Robert Anton Wilson and Robert Shea’s 1975 The Illuminatus! trilogy: “It was the year when they finally immanentized the Eschaton.”
in Frederik Pohl’s The Eschaton Sequence (1997 - 1999), the human race is caught up in a galactic war between two alien races attempting to immanentize the eschaton
in Ken Macleod's The Stone Canal (1997), one of the chapters is “Another crack at Immanentising the Eschaton”
Crystal Thierry’s (aka the modern Discordia / Eris) narrative lives in esteemed company
here’s what the warning in the image says btw because i wanted to read it but it was too blurry so i had to spend several minutes hunting for a version with better resolution, so I’m posting it here so nobody else has to make that same journey
“DO NOT OPERATE THE ESCHATRON 9000 UNLESS YOU’RE REALLY, REALLY SERIOUS ABOUT DESTROYING THE WORLD”
friendly reminder that the uk government covered up the rapid spike in trans youth suicides after they made hormone replacement therapy inaccessible for them and also the waitlist for hrt clinics went way up and also the government published a fake fucking report that they commissioned because they were covering up the fact that they caused 46 trans kids in 6 years to kill themselves
by the way, 107 queer kids killed themselves between 2019-2025. by the way that's 1 in 6 child suicides across just england in those 6 years. by the way if you're a harry potter or marauders fan or jkr defender i'm blocking you on sight for contributing to the suicides of my siblings.
And also by the way, they are taking actions they know will cause this suffering. They do it intentionally, because they think it’ll make trans people not exist anymore. And by the way there’s a name for when someone undertakes acts with the intent to destroy a group in whole or in part. It’s genocide
The house looms menacingly before me, glaring down at me like it knows why I'm here.
Yeah, that's right, bitch. I'm here to fuck you up.
I'm here for love.
I'm here because I love what I have become, what I have fought tooth and nail to make of myself.
I'm here because I've fallen recklessly in love with a girl who never got the same chance I got.
I take that feeling, wrap it up tight inside me. I gotta hold onto that blazing coal of love inside me and hope it's enough to beat the awful twisted version of love at the heart this damned house.
My battle armor is a $30 prom dress I found at the nearest thrift store, torn fishnets and my favorite boots. My war paint is my very best smokey eye shadow, cat's eye eyeliner and a brilliant red lipstick that I had to reapply three times before it was perfect.
It's a third date outfit. My go to "I really fucking like this girl and I want something serious" outfit.
The presentation is perhaps spoiled by the tire iron clutched in my hand and the ratty backpack on my shoulder filled with clinking bottles that reek of gasoline.
(Though to be honest, I think the tire iron and the pack of molotovs makes the whole outfit probably even hotter)
I'm ready to burn this fucker down.
The front door is of course locked. She knows why I'm here and she doesn’t want me coming inside.
Not surprised. That's what the tire iron is for.
I make quick work of one of the bay windows and struggle my way inside. Rose bushes and shards of glass tear at my dress, scoring scratches across my skin, but I stumble, undeterred into the sitting room.
I wish I could pretend I was some intrepid action heroine… but I'm absolutely scared shitless. Every instinct, conscious and unconscious, screams at me to climb back out the window, drive away and forget about this place. But I can't. Not alone.
Lightning flashes, painting lurid shadows across the walls, bodies dangling from the rafters that I truly believe are more than a trick of the light. Thunder rumbles an instant after, deafeningly loud, and the whole house groans in response.
It fucking knows I'm here. This goddamned place knows I'm here and it wants me to die very badly.
I begin to run.
I round the corner to the main foyer and sprint up the steps. I reach the second floor where my room is located and…
Oh… fuck.
The hallway is way too long… like impossibly long. Too many doors.
Okay… this is fine. I just…
I make the mistake of turning around.
No stairs. Just another hall. Except at the end of this one is one of the ghosts. A woman, mid forties maybe, dressed like she belongs in the 19th century. Her neck is bent at a bad angle, causing me to nearly lose the contents of my stomach.
It isn't real. It isn't real…
It is very real.
I close my eyes and turn back.
Second door on the right.
I switch the tire iron to my left hand and fumble blindly down the hall, right hand trailing the wood panelling.
One door.
Two.
My hand finds the door knob and I turn.
The door swings open, spilling out flickering light and the sickly scent of pumpkin spice of the cheap ass candles I picked up at the gas station when I moved in.
Minerva is sitting there. She… oh god.
She is beautiful. Even under the guise of her boymoder clothes and the sickly frailness of her ghostly form, she is beautiful.
She turns to look at me and the expression on her face nearly breaks me. Recognition and a flicker of the aching hope that I have infected her with.
I'm on my knees before her, a knight before a princess.
"Hey babe," I say breathlessly. "I'm here. I'm sorry that I left. I'm... fuck, I'm so sorry."
I focus on my love and the wild desperate hope that brought me back here. I take her hand in mine. Her hand is soft and ethereal, ready to break apart in an instant, but I refuse to let go.
"Minerva," I say to her. "Come with me."
Her eyes widen and her mouth parts. She can't. She's trapped here.
"No," I tell her. "I mean… I don't think you have to be. She's holding you here. Her love is trapping you here. But I think I've figured it out and I think I can get you out of here. If I make a space inside me, a place where you can be who you were always meant to be…"
I'm rambling.
I take her hand and place it against my chest where she can feel my heartbeat.
"I'm not leaving here without you."
A simple statement of fact. Because I'm not going through with the second half of my plan if she stays trapped here. And I'm honestly not sure if I'm even going to be able to leave this place alive in either case.
I pull her into me.
She resists at first. I can't blame her. I'm asking her to leave behind everything she's ever known. To leap into the unknown with no knowledge of what comes next. But she’s seen my memories. She's heard the stories of my own journey. She's afraid to leave, but she's more afraid to stay.
She enters my body and I fold her into an embrace within me, unwilling to ever let go of her.
The House. Does. Not. Like. This.
A sound like twisting metal reverberates somewhere deep within it. Widows rattle in their frames. My candles go out.
Time to go.
I dig into my backpack and draw out one of the three bottles. The tire iron finds a spot in a loop in the sash of my dress as I trade it for the comforting weight of a flip lighter.
"Let's light it up," I whisper, and I feel Minerva cling tighter to me, ready to ride out whatever comes next.
But when I open the door, a phantom figure is weighting for us.
Her.
The Matriarch.
The one who's grief gave this place life. She isn't willing to let go of her baby boy.
I can't act fast enough. I don't even know if there's anything I can do to stop her anyway.
She lashes out with her hands, fast as lightning and closes her ghostly fingers over my throat.
My breath stops and I scramble for purchase against strangling fingers that aren't there.
Oh fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck.
I sink to my knees as my vision tunnels.
We were close.
We were so fucking close.
I'm sorry.
I tried. I really fucking tried.
I'm sorry.
I'm.
A new emotion blooms within me.
Rage.
Hatred.
I've already been kind of pissed at this particular ghost fire what she did to Minerva, but this new anger is incandescent. It's two and a half centuries of despair and self loathing crystslized into a diamond spear aimed directly at its tormentor.
My hands move of their own accord as my consciousness hangs by a thread.
Someone else moves my fingers and I feel them close impossibly over my attacker's wrists with their own iron grip.
My hands twist and suddenly I can breathe again.
I gasp for precious oxygen as Minerva pulls us to our feet.
The Matriarch stares back at us with a mask of uncomprehending contempt.
Then another pair of hands grabs her arm. And another. And another.
The other ghosts are literally coming out of the woodwork to pull her off of us. It's like Minerva's rage has metastasized. All of the others know we mean to end this place and they need us to see that through. The woman I saw earlier, the one with the broken neck meets my eyes and gives a nod.
With shaking hands, Minerva bends down and picks up the bottle and the lighter where we dropped them.
She stares at the lighter, confused by the mechansism of it. I oblige her with a few fumbling flicks and a bright yellow flame takes shape.
Without a second thought, that flame is brought to cloth and the incendiary is hurled at the howling and thrashing spectre of Minerva's mother. It passes through and shatters against one of the mirrors that Minerva hated so much in her endless death. Flames splash across the wall, catching almost instantly.
A flare of heat hits us and we are running. I can't even tell who's who any more the way we cling to each other.
We are getting out. We will get put.
We cough and wheeze from my aborted strangulation, racing flames as they spread uncannily over every surface.
We reach the front door, which is held ajar by ghostly hands that strain against the will of the house and its one final attempt to contain us.
We clip the edge of it painfully as we pass and we ate suddenly drenched by torrential rain.
For the first time in over two centuries, Minerva steps outside.
