#is DOING the evil or normalizing the evil then you cannot settle for 'the lesser'! end of story.

[ahaura]

im sure its been said already but as the election draws near more and more liberals will come out of the woodwork to shame people with a conscience to give away their vote to the democrats for free. i'm already seeing posts saying "why aren't people more concerned about a trump presidency?" you want to know why? it's because people already know he's bad. everyone already knows what he is and what he's done and what he'll do. there's nothing to discuss. he's a racist despotic worm of a man. there's nothing else to say.

biden is currently president. the genocide is happening under his watch. he's the one funding isra*l and arming them; he's sidestepped congress more than once to give them weapons. by oct. 27, the biden administration already knew that "Israel was regularly bombing buildings without solid intelligence that they were legitimate military targets." the state department/biden have engaged in atrocity propaganda, cast doubt on the legitimacy of the death toll recorded by the gaza health ministry, and so on. the united states is currently in the process of trying to pin the "war in gaza" on netanyahu (see sen. schumer's speech) after months of backing blatant genocide as a means to act as if they're "doing something" about the genocide (Instead of, say, threatening to cut off all aid to israel with the condition that all hostilities in gaza, the west bank, and occupied jerusalem are halted immediately and permanently, allowing palestinians freedom to travel, allowing aid into gaza, etc etc etc.)

the long and short of it is that liberals view their own lives as being worth more than palestinians'. that's it. they'll vote for another 4 years of the guy ushering in genocide and supporting apartheid + settler colonialism because he isn't outright attacking them (despite various laws and rulings happening both at the supreme court level and at the local level all over the country that will endanger people). they'll settle for the illusion of safety and security and shame anyone with a conscience and accuse them of "supporting the republicans" when in an actual democracy you would be able to use your vote as leverage to extract concessions from those who want to be elected. that's how it's supposed to fucking work.

democrats are not owed people's vote. if biden loses, it will be biden's fault; it will be his campaign's fault; it will be the democrats' fault. trump is bad; the republicans are bad. we already know this. this is not an endorsement of either. but if democrats are too cowardly and feckless and servile to the motivations of the american empire and never do anything for their constituents then why the fuck should anyone vote for them. you want to get mad at someone, why don't you do something useful and stop worrying about team-sports with a purely selfish basis and start hounding the people in power who are supposed to serve you, the voter.

#i think i already said this and frankly idc #uspol #📁.zip #to me personally it's abhorrent and vile to tell palestinians 'biden is facilitating the murder of your people culture and history but you #still have to vote for him!!1' like how is that not unbelievably callous and ghoulish #frankly speaking. a lot of this 'you should be concerned about trump' is going to turn into #blaming palestinians and arabs and muslims and anyone remotely with a conscience for biden's loss #instead of doing something productive like pushing for people in power to do something they'll nitpick and belittle #and tell palestinians + arabs and muslims + everyone who understands that genocide is bad that they SHOULD #settle for a decrepit genocidal monstrous freak who is CURRENTLY facilitating genocide because #it makes THEM feel better and they aren't personally threatened (yet) by the guy currently in power #any and all 'you're not taking trump seriously' comments should be met with extreme skepticism #because i promise i PROMISE that the vast majority of people unhappy with biden are not going to turn around and vote for trump #and if they do? well guess what THAT'S BIDEN'S FAULT! nevermind the vote uncommitted campaign that was very successful and #will be replicated in the near future. but liberals only care about asthetics and superficial and not #about real material change which is why they'll dress up their callousness and racism in a 'you hate gay people if you dont vote for biden' #like this country is already going to shit we are rapidly descending into fascism and i dont see biden doing anything to even remotely #challenge it do you???? once agian. NOT an endorsement of the republican party but my GOD when the 'lesser evil' #is DOING the evil or normalizing the evil then you cannot settle for 'the lesser'! end of story.

[onesunofagun]

I shall now yell about Ingo, please stand by:

Ingo’s transformation from the underappreciated backbone of the ranch to an absolute ruff-wearing cantaloupe of a man is also pretty interesting (if you’re the kind of person who absorbs the Zelda series through your skin like a frog to live).

I’ve bolded the key points for skimmers.

Granted, the manga has it that Ingo just gets brainwashed by Twinrova into being a staunch follower of Ganondorf. That’s not canon, but it’s not informing any of this thinking, either way. 

In the beginning of OoT we meet Talon by waking him up from a nap, and we learn pretty quickly that he’s lazy and often yelled at by his daughter for slacking off like this. Ingo at the ranch confirms again that Talon doesn’t pull his weight around there, and since Malon’s still a child, it’s pretty obvious that Ingo’s settled with the bulk of the work.

Ingo is grumpy, he’s resentful, and he complains a lot. But he does do the work, and you can find him (presumably) in the process of mucking out the stables. 

Let’s examine what he does at the ranch:

Epona really liked that song... Only I could tame that horse... Even Mr. Ingo had a hard time...

Now, Epona is established in game to be a real winner of a horse. She’s fast, she’s smart, she’s got a lovely sorrel coat and white mane that seems to be quite rare or highly prized coloring. The catch is, she is notoriously wild. The only people she tolerates are Malon and Link, due in large part to being soothed by the song Malon’s mother taught her.

Ingo had to really try to crack this horse, which Malon’s observation suggests is unusual. 

Epona is very young when we first see her, so it’s never really revealed if she was caught wild, or bred at the ranch with a very headstrong temperament.

Ingo’s clearly the guy that’s breaking them in, though. The most Talon is doing is... sleeping in with the cuccos. We never see any organisation of the cuccos, in terms of egg collection or poultry farming, but nevertheless, Talon has the much less physical jobs even if he was doing them. His focus seems to be cuccos, deliveries to the castle and book keeping between naps (and to be fair it’s probably a little depression related, given the dead wife).

Malon gives us a cow later on, and she’s got the egg for the crowing cucco that wakes up Talon, so I’d like to assume for simplicity’s sake that even as a kid, Malon was up at dawn most days helping Ingo with the cows and milking them. It’s never really implied that she has amazing skill in dealing with horses, just that Epona has a special connection with her specifically. Other than that, Malon is simply kind and respectful of her animals (though I’ve got no idea how she got that cow to Link’s treehouse and that’s worth investigating). 

Later on, Ingo is also shown to be a competent rider. Enough that he has absolutely no qualms in challenging Link to races for wagers, and was quite confident of his ability to win.

The takeaway is, Ingo is usually VERY GOOD with both caring for and training horses, if not breeding them for the ranch.

That kind of lends to his grumbling, when he is referring to himself as ‘the Great Ingo’ and comparing himself to Talon, who is a ‘bum’. His claim to greatness may not be undeserved, at least in horse circles, and especially if he’s not getting particular credit for it, his bitterness and frustration (alongside envy, exhaustion, and dreams of recognition) would be quite deeply run.

So it seems that his friend and employer is clearly taking some advantage of him, especially after the death of Malon’s mother.

So now, let’s examine his feelings, and how he changes.

The feelings Ingo has about that are pretty textbook for the sort of thing ‘evil takes hold of and twists’, in the Zeldaverse.

Focussing on the game itself, Malon says this as an adult:

Since Ganondorf came, people in the Castle Town have gone, places have been ruined, and monsters are wandering everywhere. Mr. Ingo is just using the ranch to gain Ganondorf's favor... Everyone seems to be turning evil...

We do see other characters in Hyrule become influenced by the ‘darkness in their hearts’ as byproduct of Ganondorf’s reign. 

A prominent example of a character who was visibly dissatisfied with their lot, and then notably changes (while praising Ganondorf for what he’d done), is the Castle Guard who is heavily implied to have become the Poe Dealer. Even if by some slim means it’s not the same person, the Poe Dealer does still express that they could not do the work they do without Ganon as King, and that they now benefit from him being in that position and are grateful to him.

The Kakariko Carpenters seem to have given into their fantasies about living among the Gerudo women, and gone out to the Valley and gotten themselves taken prisoner. Following work near the fortress, the team chooses to act on their selfish desires and go for broke, chasing their dreams. They weren’t previously prepared to act upon these fantasies when Link was young, admittedly much milder in their still very prominent obsession, but seven years later, they’re quite happy to risk it all and piss away the stability of their careers (and nearly their lives) at the first opportunity.

Anyway, the trend is, those across Hyrule who are unhappy with their lot before Ganondorf’s coup tend to be ‘corrupted’ by seven years later, and appear to have given in to a twisted version of whatever they most wanted. 

This is noteworthy especially because the language in the game revolves around the Sacred Realm being opened and corrupted, too, by Ganondorf’s unbalanced heart and selfish goals. It is unable to be ‘sealed’ again while Link has the Master Sword. In aLttP, we know there is a mirror like effect to do with the sacred turned dark realm, in which it reflects the hearts of men. 

So it is very reasonable to say, that for OoT in particular, much of this evil influence plaguing the land and preying on the darkness an people’s hearts is a result of the corruption of the Sacred Realm. It is an indirect byproduct of Ganondorf’s acquiring of the Triforce, but not necessarily something he himself does to people on purpose, unlike the brainwashing of Nabooru.

Mr. Ingo is just using the ranch to gain Ganondorf's favor... But Dad... He was kicked out of the ranch by Mr. Ingo... If I disobey Mr. Ingo, he will treat the horses so badly...

This explains a lot of the more callous and greedy behaviour that Ingo shows later on, and why it seems to disappear when he is truly humbled by Link. 

Link’s win serves as a reminder of Ingo’s stagnating skill with horses, the very thing that made him feel so deserving of praise and recognition in the first place, in that for everything he now has control of at the ranch, he still cannot control that horse. He has become as much of a bum as Talon ever was, relegating Malon to do all the hard work while Ingo struts around uselessly. He’s even lost his touch with the Horses so much, in his arrogance, that now he has taken up mistreating them and using harsh and abusive methods (according to Malon’s concerns).

The humiliation and shame takes hold, his pride shattering with the loss of Epona-- not only as a valuable asset, but also as the horse he could never truly tame.

The dark feelings he was holding onto are let go of, as he regains a sense of humility, and the corruptive influence upon him dissipates. He even seeks out Talon to bury the hatchet and invite him back to the ranch.

Oh, I have to tell you about Mr. Ingo... He was afraid that the Evil King might find out that Epona had been taken away... It really upset him! But one day, all of a sudden, he went back to being a normal, nice person! Now my dad is coming back...I can't believe it, but peace is returning to this ranch!

But what about his obsession with Ganondorf in particular?

When the coup happened, Ingo watched the King of the Gerudo unwittingly play out a sort of grand parallel to what Ingo felt should happen on the ranch. To Ingo’s perception, I think Ganondorf was representing an ideal version of Ingo himself. 

A man of the desert, where hard work and grit are as second nature to survive the harsh conditions. A man frustrated with the King of Hyrule’s shit, and forced to swear fealty to him despite being a King himself. A man resplendent with wealth, with fine and flashy clothes and plentiful jewelry.

And perhaps the most important note of all, the Gerudo in OoT? 

They’re horse people. 

They love horses. Ganondorf’s horse is reputed to be a purebred Black Gerudo Stallion, which is obviously a specialty breed, that is fully armoured and as flashy as he is. When the Gerudo cut the bridge leading to the valley, the only way in and out is to have a skilled horse jump the gap. 

They also have a huge horseback archery range, and prowess in the sport is an incredible source of respect amongst the Gerudo, and many of the guards possess bladed polearms suitable for mounted use. From this, it can be assumed that during the recent civil war, Gerudo weapons, war tack and military tactics were probably built around mounted cavalry archers foremost, with a lesser focus on light and heavy cavalry aside (iron knuckle armour springs to mind).

Anyway, Horses are very important to the Gerudo in the era of Ocarina of Time.

So Ganondorf is also unique in the sense that he is the King of a people who value what it is that Ingo does very highly. He, of all people, stands to immediately recognise the knowledge and skill that Ingo possesses in rearing horses.

So this is a man who successfully stages a coup of Hyrule, who clearly inspires Ingo to do much the same of the ranch, and who Ingo also feels is very likely to take his side should he appeal the matter.

And Ganondorf does.

And if that’s not a great compliment to Ingo’s actual skill, I don’t know what is, because Ganondorf is not a man that suffers fools. He’s got a limited patience when it comes to shit that is beneath his notice. Clearly, he recognises that Ingo is indeed the backbone of that ranch-- and the main reason for the quality of its Horses-- and rewards this accordingly.

And for Ingo, being on decent terms with the big scary goth King is a very, very good place to be. But it’s more than that!

What a guy! Not only did he deliver on Ingo’s long due validation, he gave Ingo everything he’d ever dreamed of having to his name, and the authority to kick Talon to the curb. He gets it! Ganondorf, this great eight foot beacon of freshly sought divine power and topaz-encrusted glory, this absolute unit of a man, this great underdog horse-lover after Ingo’s own heart; he really understands how great Ingo is. Ganondorf is paving the way for people like them! Oh, to rub shoulders wiht such greatness when the rest of Hyrule is scorned. 

Ingo feels seen. The Great Ganondorf made all that thankless time spent shovelling horse shit while Talon slept mean something. The Gerudo appreciate Ingo’s talents.

And all Ingo has to do is keep turning out really good horses, and promise to present the King with his finest.

So Ingo knows he’s in deep shit when he gets cocky and loses Epona to a wager, who at this point, he’s prepared pretty well and sunk a lot of money into on the idea that she’s going to Ganondorf. 

Who he’s probably bragged to about how fast she is.

He lost her to some jerk in tights who’d barely ridden before, too. And then when Ingo tried to cheat him out of the win, the kid jumped the damned fence an in ass-bustingly cool move that really just drove home how excellent and rare Epona was.

One does not promise the King of the Gerudo a fast horse and then fail to deliver, let alone for such a stupid reason.

Honestly, by the end, the man’s just happy to be alive.

Also I’d like to think he and Talon had a much fairer delegation of work and forgave each other, each really learning to appreciate what they have and what’s really important.

how the fuck did the Kokiri leave the forest for this scene anyway, they don’t even have their faries???

#tloz #tloz oot #Ocarina of time #legend of zelda ocarina #nostalgia #ingo #malon #talon #lon lon ranch #hyrule #zelda meta #legend of zelda #gerudo #ganondorf #zelda discussion #zelda theory

[things2mustdo]

Nature has given humanity a roughly one-to-one ratio of adult men to women, but the most attractive women are being taken out of circulation to either join alpha male harems or participate in degenerate lifestyle choices. This leaves the average man practically no choice in settling down with a mentally stable and cute woman in her prime.

In Islam, a man is able to marry four wives, which is what my wealthy Iranian grandfather did on his way to siring 24 or so children that included my dad (the exact number is a mystery). He took away three women that an Iranian man of lesser means could have married, creating a societal imbalance, but that’s nothing compared to what we have in the modern Western world, where a single famous man can command the sexual attentions of dozens—if not thousands—of women in their sexual prime, spoiling these women for normal men who don’t have the ability to tingle their vaginas with the same intensity.

How many actors, musicians, and sports athletes are trying to plow through as much prime pussy as possible? How many Hollywood directors and music producers are leveraging their positions for sexual gain? How many club owners, restaurateurs, Arab sheikhs, and politicians are doing the same? Each one is taking way more beautiful women out of circulation than men like my grandfather, all while elevating their standards to such an extent that no average man can ever gain their love, let alone two hours—or even two minutes–of their uninterrupted attention.

We also have to account for female lifestyle choices that are designed to delay or prevent pair bonding and marriage. The biggest is career. Most girls, while embarking on a career, balance out the boredom of working a meaningless job by hopping on the cock carousel and banging at least a few men every year. By the time a girl hits 25 years old, any man who meets her will have to deal with a walk-in closet of emotional issues and hang-ups from being pumped and dumped as much as a 1930’s brothel whore.

Then there is the Instagram and Facebook lifestyle that creates crippling dopamine addiction, which causes a girl to only be satisfied if dozens of men are actively thirsting for her every day. I estimate that if a girl has over 500 followers on Instagram, she is so used to attention from throngs of men that the love of one man cannot possibly satisfy her.

We must also throw in the growing “travel blogger” lifestyle where, instead of using only her body to get attention, a girl uses pictures and video from exotic locations to enhance her beauty. Other girls, with nothing substantial to offer the world, decide to showcase pictures of pets or their tasty overpriced meals, but even that puts them on a dopamine loop that ruins their future interactions with men.

By far, the most damaging lifestyle choice women make is becoming a sugar baby, a politically correct term for “prostitute.” For some easy cash, she whores out her body to the highest bidder (some women combine Instagram and prostitution in a seamless package). How can such an Instagram prostitute ever settle down with a man who has a normal salary? There are also the hundreds of women who enter porn every year, some from seemingly stable families. Sadly, men are so desperate for love that many would wife up a former prostitute or porn star, but it’s highly unlikely those women will make for stable families.

The Western world is a sinkhole for women. The prettiest of the bunch fall into the hole and get spit out years later an entitled #MeToo hag who can never be happy, making the Islamic four-wife rule seem downright egalitarian. The sad truth is that if you meet an attractive girl today, she was pumped and dumped by numerous sexy men, prefers to nurture her career than children, is addicted to attention via the internet, and has participated in some kind of scheme to exchange social status or cash for her pussy. She’s more than suitable for a bit of fun, but would it be wise to seek a relationship with her?

Even with the obesity and short-hair epidemic, I still see a bountiful supply of cute girls I would happily reproduce with. I would love them, let them caress my beard, and lay my seed deep within their vaginal guts, but the problem is that those guts are not for me—they are for the Chads who would never marry her, the beta orbiters who await her newest selfie as if it were a source of food, or the rich and lonely men who would sponsor her for thousands of dollars a month. They’re taking her out of circulation at the time I want her most, and by the time they are done with her, I no longer want her. I guess I’ll try to weasel in a bang or two when she is not yet fully degraded, and enjoy the fleeting pleasure that comes from it as much as I can.

https://www.rooshv.com/how-to-stop-the-fall-of-women

An acronym that you’ll often come across is AWALT, which stands for “all women are like that.” It is used in response to someone trying to point out that a particular woman is different than all the rest and more deserving to be placed on a pedestal of some sort when it comes to relationships. While that acronym is useful for newbies who are just beginning to de-program themselves from egalitarian ideas spewed by the establishment, it breeds a hopelessness among men that they can never extract more than casual sex from women.

Most men have seen firsthand how women change due to the presence of corrupting factors in the environment. If you give a woman an open bar, she will over-consume and make decisions that harm herself. If you give a woman a smartphone with social networking apps, she will become a narcissist in a short amount of time, falling in love with her own image. If you give a woman a liberal education, she will come to firm belief than men were born to bring pain and slavery unto women.

Only a woman with an exceptional upbringing can resist alcohol, social networking, and university brainwashing, and for the women who can initially resist it, she will surely succumb after enough time and pressure. It is in this way that AWALT is true: all women who face corrupt influences in their lives will become corrupt and behave in a similar way that degrades their virtue, making them unsuitable for long-term partnerships. But if AWALT is true in describing the universal fall of women in the presence of toxic influences, it must also be true that they possess universal purity in environments which lack bad influences that attack her virtue.

A reliable corrupter of a woman’s virtue is having plentiful male choice. If over the course of five years a woman in New York City has her choice of 100 alpha male cocks, she will be unable to resist the thrill ride that these men offer. She will begin to structure her life around a neverending alpha male sex party where she receives and expects fun, excitement, drama, and entertainment in exchange for willingly accepting her place on various booty call rotations. During this time, she loses most ability to be a suitable wife and mother, or even to be a good person, because the alpha males who use her for late night sex do not place demands upon her that make her more feminine, loving, or nurturing. She becomes damaged goods, suitable for nothing more than casual humping.

But now let’s imagine that instead of being born in New York City, this girl was born in a poor Ukrainian village that only has a population of 1,000 people. For whatever reason, she was unable to get out of this village and a complete blackout of internet prevents her from meeting thirsty foreign men. It’s quite easy to see how she marries a village man while still young because it’s a better prospect than suffering alone to earn her bread in a place where employment opportunities are few. The environment a girl is placed in will mostly determine her worth as a life partner.

Most women who are put in New York City will, within a few years, default to becoming a promiscuous slut. Most women who are put in a tiny village with no way out, with little choice in men, and with positive religious influences, will default to being a good wife and mother, possessing normal and acceptable human flaws like all men have. Women put in specific environments will act in specific ways, which is why looking for a unicorn in a Western city is fruitless, since she’s within reach of the devil’s workshop. He will get to her and make sure she experiences all manner of vice.

Western nations facilitate the “fall” of women from a state of purity and innocence to one of abject corruption. I don’t believe women are inherently born to be degenerate, just like how I don’t believe men are, but once we put a woman in an environment that enables, facilitates, and even encourages her corruption, she will certainly become corrupt. But what if you can catch a woman before she inserts herself into this environment and then shield her from it? What if you grab her at the time she is about to jump into the abyss, and through your diligence, power, and knowledge, protect her from Western influences that will destroy her? Would it be safe to give your time, energy, love, and commitment to this woman? It’s important to note that I’m not stating you save a corrupt girl, since by then it’s too late, but to prevent a woman from becoming corrupt in the first place.

It is completely your responsibility to create the environment of a good home, a good city, and a good country to prevent the fall of your women. It’s your responsibility to create the right environment where all women remain good instead of succumbing to an evil where within a short amount of time she becomes a useless, tattooed, overweight, and masculine slut. It should be clear to you by now that women absolutely can not save themselves, and have no inherent resistance to the pollution that tempts them in this world. It’s solely up to us men to shield their natural virtue so that they become the wives and mothers that allow you to fulfill your biological destiny while furthering the health of your society.

It’s not a matter of telling a girl that sleeping around is bad or that Facebook is bad, because by then the ship has sailed and her soul is likely long gone. It’s a matter of creating the environment where women are restrained from sleeping around, blocked from becoming addicted to taking selfies, and prevented from becoming brainwashed by social justice ideas. We must stop them from entering the environments that destroy them. We must guard the door of evil that they are hurtling themselves towards while resisting evil ourselves.

Before you raise your hands in despair and claim that this is an impossible task, that Western society is finished, I say this: what is a society but a collection of the people within it? What is a society but an assembly of living humans that include ourselves? We are a part of this whole, and it’s up to us to ensure that the truism of “all women are like that” serves in our benefit and our society’s benefit instead of being at the forefront of our most terrifying nightmares.[culturewar]

Read Next: Women Must Have Their Behavior And Decisions Controlled By Men

After a long period in society of women having unlimited personal freedom to pursue life as they wish, they have shown to consistently fail in making the right decisions that prevent their own harm and the harm of others. Systems must now be put in place where a woman’s behavior is monitored and her decisions subject to approval of a male relative or guardian who understands what’s in her best interests better than she does herself.

Women have had personal freedoms for less than a century. For the bulk of human history, their behavior was significantly controlled or subject to approval through mechanisms of tribe, family, church, law, or stiff cultural precepts. It was correctly assumed that a woman was unable to make moral, ethical, and wise decisions concerning her life and those around her. She was not allowed to study any trivial topic she wanted, sleep with any man who caught her fancy, or uproot herself and travel the world because she wanted to “find herself.”

You can see this level of control today in many Muslim countries, where expectations are placed on women from a young age to submit to men, reproduce (if biologically able), follow God’s word, and serve the good of society by employing her feminine nature instead of competing directly against men on the labor market due to penis envy or feelings of personal inferiority.

The reason that women had their behavior limited was for the simple reason that they are significantly less rational than men, in a way that impaired their ability to make good decisions concerning the future. This was eloquently described by German philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer in his important essay On Women. He described them as overgrown children, a comparison that any man who has dated more than a dozen of them can quickly agree to after having consistently witnessed their impulsive and illogical behavior firsthand.

Women are directly fitted for acting as the nurses and teachers of our early childhood by the fact that they are themselves childish, frivolous and short-sighted; in a word, they are big children all their life long—a kind of intermediate stage between the child and the full-grown man, who is man in the strict sense of the word. See how a girl will fondle a child for days together, dance with it and sing to it; and then think what a man, with the best will in the world, could do if he were put in her place.

[…]

…women remain children their whole life long; never seeing anything but what is quite close to them, cleaving to the present moment, taking appearance for reality, and preferring trifles to matters of the first importance.

[…]

That woman is by nature meant to obey may be seen by the fact that every woman who is placed in the unnatural position of complete independence, immediately attaches herself to some man, by whom she allows herself to be guided and ruled. It is because she needs a lord and master.

When you give a female unlimited choice on which man to have sex with, what type of man does she choose? An exciting man who treats her poorly and does not care for her well-being.

When you give a female choice on what to study in university, what does she choose? An easy liberal arts major that costs over $50,000 and dooms her to a life of debt and sporadic employment.

When a female lacks any urgent demands upon her survival, what behavior does she pursue? Obsessively displaying her half-naked body on the internet, flirting with men solely for attention, becoming addicted to corporate-produced entertainment, and over-indulging in food until her body shape is barely human.

When you give a female choice on when to have kids, what does she do? After her fertility is well past its peak, and in a rushed panic that resembles the ten seconds before the ringing of the first school bell, she aims for limited reproductive success at an age that increases the likelihood she’ll pass on genetic defects to her child.

When you give a female choice of which political leader to vote into office, who do they vote for? The one who is more handsome and promises unsustainable freebies that accelerate the decline of her country.

When you give a female unwavering societal trust with the full backing of the state, what does she do? Falsely accuse a man of rape and violence out of revenge or just to have an excuse for the boyfriend who caught her cheating.

When you give a female choice on who to marry, what is the result? A 50% divorce rate, with the far majority of them (80%) initiated by women themselves.

While a woman is in no doubt possession of crafty intelligence that allows her to survive just as well as a man, mostly through the use of her sexuality and wiles, she is a slave to the present moment and therefore unable to make decisions that benefit her future and those of the society she’s a part of. Once you give a woman personal freedom, like we have in the Western world, she enslaves herself to one of numerous vices and undertakes a rampage of destruction to her body and those who want to be a meaningful part of her life.

A man does not need to look further than the women he knows, including those in his family, to see that the more freedom a woman was given, the worse off she is, while the woman who was under the heavy hand of the church or male relative comes out far better on the other side, in spite of her rumblings that she wants to be as free as her liberated friends, who eagerly and regularly post soft porn photos of themselves on social networking and dating sites while selecting random anonymous men for fornication every other weekend.

Men, on average, make better decisions than women. If you take this to be true, which should be no harder to accept than the claim that lemons are sour, why is a woman allowed to make decisions at all without first getting approval from a man who is more rational and levelheaded than she is? It not only hurts the woman making decisions concerning her life, but it also hurts any man who will associate with her in the future. You only need to ask the many suffering husbands today on how they are dealing with a wife who entered the marriage with a student loan debt in the high five figures from studying sociology and how her wildly promiscuous sexual history impairs her ability to remain a dedicated mother, with one foot already out the door after he makes a reasonable demand that is essential for a stable home and strong family.

I propose two different options for protecting women from their obviously deficient decision making. The first is to have a designated male guardian give approval on all decisions that affect her well-being. Such a guardian should be her father by default, but in the case a father is absent, another male relative can be appointed or she can be assigned one by charity organizations who groom men for this purpose, in a sort of Boy’s Club for women.

She must seek approval by her guardian concerning diet, education, boyfriends, travel, friends, entertainment, exercise regime, marriage, and appearance, including choice of clothing. A woman must get a green light from her guardian before having sex with any man, before wearing a certain outfit, before coloring her hair green, and before going to a Spanish island for the summer with her female friends.

If she disobeys her guardian, an escalating series of punishments would be served to her, culminating in full-time supervision by him. Once the woman is married, her husband will gradually take over guardian duties, and strictly monitor his wife’s behavior and use all reasonable means to keep it in control so that family needs are met first and foremost, as you already see today in most Islamic societies. Any possible monetary proceeds she would get from divorce would be limited so that she has more incentive to keep her husband happy and pleased than to throw him under the bus for the most trivial of reasons that stem from her persistent and innate need to make bad decisions.

A second option for monitoring women is a combination of rigid cultural rules and sex-specific laws. Women would not be able to attend university unless the societal need is urgent where an able-minded man could not be found to fill the specific position. Women would not be able to visit establishments that serve alcohol without a man present to supervise her consumption. Parental control software on electronic devices would be modified for women to control and monitor the information they consume. Credit card and banking accounts must have a male co-signer who can monitor her spending. Curfews for female drivers must be enacted so that women are home by a reasonable hour. Abortion for women of all ages must be signed off by her guardian, in addition to prescriptions for birth control.

While my proposals are undoubtedly extreme on the surface and hard to imagine implementing, the alternative of a rapidly progressing cultural decline that we are currently experiencing will end up entailing an even more extreme outcome. Women are scratching their most hedonistic and animalistic urges to mindlessly pursue entertainment, money, socialist education, and promiscuous behavior that only satisfies their present need to debase themselves and feel fleeting pleasure, at a heavy cost for society.

Allowing women unlimited personal freedom has so affected birth rates in the West that the elite insists on now allowing importation of millions of third world immigrants from democratically-challenged nations that threaten the survival of the West. In other words, giving women unbridled choice to pursue their momentary whims instead of investing in traditional family ideals and reproduction is a contributing factor to what may end up being the complete collapse of those nations that have allowed women to do as they please.

I make these sincere recommendations not out of anger, but under the firm belief that the lives of my female relatives would certainly be better tomorrow if they were required to get my approval before making any decisions. They would not like it, surely, but due to the fact that I’m male and they’re not, my analytical decision-making faculty is superior to theirs to absolutely no fault of their own, meaning that their most sincere attempts to make good decisions will have a failure rate larger than if I was able to make those decisions for them, especially with intentions that are fully backed with compassion and love for them to have more satisfying lives than they do now.

As long as we continue to treat women as equals to men, a biological absurdity that will one day be the butt of many jokes for comedians of the future, women will continue to make horrible decisions that hurt themselves, their families, and their reproductive potential. Unless we take action soon to reconsider the freedoms that women now have, the very survival of Western civilization is at stake.[culturewar]

Read Next: People Should Not Be Allowed Unlimited Personal Freedom

[okageshadowkingfannovel]

Book 1: Chapter 9

“Oh sure, by all means,” Ari’s father says pleasantly, “I have a feeling this will be interesting.”

He looks up at his son and the Evil King Stan as the Tenel Village Office thunders around them in chaos, more chaos than what is considered normal. Some workers run around frantically with stacks of papers haphazardly clutched in their arms while others hide under their desks, hoping no one will notice them.

“Um … is everything ok here, dad?” Ari asks.

His father pops up from fishing a set of keys out from deep within a severely cluttered desk drawer.

“Oh sure,” he says, his smile never faltering, “everyone’s just excited about the ghost in the Church and the village finding out about it.”

Ari looks again and catches tears running down faces and wails echoing throughout the office. “I don’t think ‘excited’ is the right word.”

“Don’t mind them, son. The town found out about the ghost in the Church and these guys are all panicking that there’s going to be a mob coming after the village office because we’ve been keeping it a secret for weeks. Here you go!”

He hands Ari a ring of keys. King Stan giggles maliciously.

“Perfect. Tell your fellow mortals that their ghost problem is coming to an end …” King Stan lowers his voice so that only Ari can hear him. “… and their Evil King problem is just beginning.”

Ari starts to rethink this strategy.

“Well, I’ll see you later, dad.”

“Be careful, Ari, and on behalf of the village of Tenel, Stan, we’d like to extend our deepest thanks for taking care of our ghost problem.”

“King Stan! KING! KING! KING!”

Ari makes his way out of the village office, stepping over several assistants and secretaries curled over in fetal positions along the way.

“Look at this pathetic rabble, slave,” King Stan murmurs as they make their way outside, “all this crying and panicking over measly ghosts and fellow humans with pitchforks. They have no idea the terror I have in store for them.”

It occurs to Ari that even though taking care of the ghost would be a good thing for Stan to do, he’s not sure if putting the Tenel treasure into the shadow’s clutches is worth it. He has no idea what sort of treasure is in the Church’s basement. If it’s really a thing of great power, Ari might just be dooming Tenel and who knows? Maybe the whole world. Stan has been pretty ridiculous up to this point, but how much would people be laughing if he truly has the power he brags about?

Before Ari knows it, he’s standing before the Church, key in hand. He hesitates.

“Don’t be chicken, slave! Those lesser evil being are nothing in the face of my awesome power! Now, get in there!”

“Oh! Master! Please wait!”

Ari looks over his shoulder just in time to see a ball of lightning appear and burst to result in James the evil butler strolling casually towards them.

“I long to see your evil plans come to fruition, my Master. I cannot wait! However, there is one thing,” James looks squarely at Ari, “you’re a rookie, Ari, and let’s be honest, not so sharp. Try your best to stay out of Master’s way.”

Ari stares at James, unsure if he should be offended or not. Then, he nods.

“Good! Well, good luck, my Master!”

Another ball of lightning appears, bursts, and James is gone.

“Does he always do that? Shows up, says a sentence or two, then poof! He’s gone?”

King Stan shrugs. “That is James’ way, I suppose. Now, slave, no more stalling!”

Before he can second guess himself, Ari steps up to the Church door and unlocks it. The door sticks terribly and only opens with a bit of force. A musty, rotted wood smell, mixed with ancient incense greets Ari as he steps inside. The only light comes from the sun reaching in through the stained glass windows. It’s weak and does little to dispel the darkness.

It’s been ages since Ari’s been in Church and he’s certainly not used to seeing it so empty. The pews are hauntingly dusty. The pulpit at the far end still holds homily notes and announcements.

“Slave, the basement,” King Stan manages to whisper.

The shadow gestures towards a door to one side of the Church. In the dim light, Ari picks out the right key and unlocks it.

This is it … I guess.

Ari’s heart pounds in his chest and it’s only when he removes the key from the lock that he notices his hands are shaking. The door opens with a loud whine that seems ear shattering in the solemn quiet.  Ari is greeted with basement darkness, a familiar phobia of his childhood days.

“I-I can’t see a thing.”

“Hmmm, that is problematic. I can’t exist in a completely dark room.”

“Wait, really?”

“Think carefully, slave. Is it possible to have a shadow in total darkness, where there’s no source of light?”

“Well, no-”

“Exactly! Sheesh! James wasn’t kidding when he said ‘not too sharp.’” King Stan pauses to look around. “Ah! But we can use those!”

Ari follows King Stan’s pointing finger to one of the floor candelabras lining the sides of the Church. Their candles are partially melted from previous use, but have become cold and dusted over.

“Grab one, slave!”

Feeling just a touch sacrilegious, Ari reaches up and plucks out a thick candle from the candelabra’s clutches.

“I don’t have any matches, King Stan.”

“Don’t bother me with your mortal problems, boy,” he grumbles and then whispers, “burning devil …”

Suddenly, black fire spurts from the Evil King’s finger and catches upon the wick of the candle. Ari nearly drops it in surprise.

“Careful, slave!”

“Whoa! What was that?”

“My power! The glorious malevolent flames of all the evil possessed within me!”

“… but it’s so teeny.”

“I was lighting a candle, slave! Not burning the Church down!” King Stan crosses his arms and mumbles, “and anyway, I’m nowhere near back to my full strength. Whatever! Just get on with it!”

Ari swallows all the questions he wants to ask and, raising the candle high, begins his descent into the basement. The stairs are old and rickety, the barest bones of what stairs should be. They tremble and squeal under each of Ari’s steps. It doesn’t help that the Evil King Stan must huddle close to Ari’s back to stay within the candle’s halo, lest he be swallowed up by the black. There’s a cold that crowds the basement. It’s clammy and wet, like the whole room is nervously sweating. And off in the distance, Ari can hear an indistinct noise. In one moment, it sounds like the natural settling of an old foundation, but in the next, it sounds like muffled howling and moaning.

“Look, slave!”

Ari jumps, his ears ringing from the sudden command.

“What?! What is it?!”

“An oil lamp!”

He swings the candle round and as he finally steps down on the floor, the light catches the faint gleam of a bulbous oil lamp dangling by a chain from the center of the ceiling.

“Looks like there’s still some oil in it. Go and light it!”

“Why can’t you light it? You know, with that burning devil trick, spell thing?”

“My powers are limited, slave. I’m not wasting it on every little light fixture we pass!”

Considering there’s still a ghost to deal with, Ari finds that fair. Standing on tiptoe and being extremely careful, he lifts the glass globe to share the candle’s flame with the oil soaked wick. The room floods with a warm, yellow glow.

“Ah, much better!” King Stan stretches out into the light.

If the cold, drippy atmosphere wasn’t a give away on the trip down the stairs, the oil lamp confirms the dungeony atmosphere, revealing muddy grey stone floors and dark stone brick walls. A collection of barrels off in the corner suggests the Church used this mostly for storage, but then Ari also finds a wooden bench and a lion headed fountain. The lion’s mouth is dry and dusty, having gone weeks without water to spit out into the basin below it. Finally, beside the fountain, there is a heavy metal door. When Ari draws closer to it, the room somehow gets even colder and his skin begins to crawl and itch.

“I-I think th-this is it, King Stan,” Ari says through fear and chattering teeth.

“Hmm, yes, I can feel the presence of a lowly being, skulking around in there. This must be where the treasure is!”

Reluctantly, Ari fidgets the still lit candle and the key ring to ready the fitting key.

“And-and you’re sure you got this?” Ari can’t help but ask.

“You doubt my power?!”

“No, not doubt, just … you know, checking in.”

“Open the door, slave!”

Ari takes a deep breath and turns the key in the lock. The mechanism makes a loud thunk which makes him tense up. The door opens and to his surprise, there’s already an oil lamp lit. And the first thing Ari catches in the lamp light is a hulking red cloud of a ghost, aggressively pacing the room. It seems to be muttering to itself, but of course, Ari has no idea what it’s saying.

“Booo, boobah, bah?! Boo boo bah bah!”

(Where am I?! I’ve been lost for ages!)

It doesn’t look like it’s noticed us yet, Ari thinks with a touch of relief.

“So, you’re the third class demon who stands in the way of my ambition!”

Well, that was short lived.

The ghost stops its pacing and spots Ari and King Stan in the doorway.

“Slave, move closer,” he whispers.

With King Stan’s prodding, Ari reluctantly inches further into the room. It has the same dungeon inspired atmosphere of the last room, but amidst the wooden crates and barrels, a giant, thick, rusty pipe snakes from one wall to another. A large valve sticks up out of the pipe and it occurs to Ari that this must be where the water issue is. The ghost puffs up, reclaiming Ari’s attention. Bits of debris supposedly trailed in by the ghost - sticks, leaves, and rocks - tremble on the floor. As the angry yellow eyes fall on him, Ari feels his stomach drop and a gross, clammy sweat breaks out on the back of his neck.

“Booh, baaah!”

(Whoa, what a weird shadow!)

“Ha ha ha! Look at it, slave! This low rank demon, he cowers before my divine dark power!”

Ari watches the ghost and it doesn’t seem at all like it’s cowering, in his opinion anyway. Then again, Ari figures he, himself, doesn’t speak ghost, so he’s probably just missing something.

“Boo bo bo behobooo!”

(Oh boy, this is too funny! What a weird shadow!)

Is the ghost chuckling?

“Ah, I see. You want to pledge allegiance to me?”

“Bubabubaboo …”

(Getting hungry … he’s weak-looking. He’ll do.)

The ghost’s eyes travel up and down Ari’s stature. Then, the big red cloud starts slowly drifting towards Ari and King Stan.

“Uh, K-King Stan?”

“Yes, very good! Once you become my follower, your existence will be devoted to me!”

Then, a terrible, awful thought strikes Ari. It’s so terrible and awful that Ari immediately rejects it in a desperate attempt to hold onto hope in this situation. But …

I don’t think Stan can understand ghost. He’s supposed to be their lord and master - how could he not understand ghost?!

“Booh boo ha!”

(Time to chow!)

The big red cloud charges Ari. Before the boy can move, he is swallowed up by a red mist. It feels awful, like he’s going through a light rain of dirty sink water. Through the red mist, Ari catches sight of three figures.

“What is the meaning of this?!”

“Funny, I was about to ask you something similar!”

Eventually, the mist clears and three monsters stand before boy and shadow, ready to pounce.

“M-monsters? I-inside the ghost?”

“Possessed beasts.”

Two of the three are giant frogs. They sit at half Ari’s height and stare up at the boy with wide, haunted white eyes. Their mouths are unnaturally wide and massive, possessing rows of neatly jagged teeth. The third hovers above the two frogs, swaying back and forth. To Ari’s surprise, it’s another, smaller ghost. This one is white however and looks more like a flying tadpole than a cloud. It wails with a forever open mouth, and long, noodley arms reach out for him.

“Minion! As the one true Evil King and Master of all ghosts, I command you to stop!”

Paying no mind to the talking shadow, the frogs leap forward in unison, mouths aimed for Ari’s legs. He yelps as he springs out of their way. Their mouths make violent snaps in the air where Ari was standing just a second before. He backs up and bumps into a barrel.

“Stan! What’s going on? Why aren’t they listening?!”

“King Stan, and I don’t know, slave! Perhaps my subjects have grown disobedient in my absence.”

The frogs are back on the prowl, inching their way closer to Ari. He thinks he can hear a croaky growl gurgling from deep within their throats. The ghost seems a little slower and more thoughtful with its movements. It floats towards Ari, but stretches its arms out as if to block possible escape routes.

WhatdoIdo?WhatdoIdo?WhatdoIdo?WhatdoIdo?WhatdoIdo?WhatdoIdo?WhatdoIdo?WhatdoIdo?WhatdoIdo?

“Stan! Do something!”

“Pesky frogs and tricky ghost, cease immediately, or I’ll get really angry!”

“BESIDES THAT!!!”

Ari makes another last minute dash, just as the frogs jump and the ghost tries to make a grab for him. He trips in the rush and hits the floor, his head violently smacking the hard stone.

“Slave! Be careful! If you die, I die, remember?!”

Ari sits up, his head pounding and spinning and his thoughts a scramble. His gaze falls on the three monsters again.

I-I can’t keep this up. I-I-I …

Still on the floor, Ari clumsily backs up until his hand touches something other than hard stone. He looks and finds a long, thick branch. He grabs it and brandishes it desperately.

“I’m going to die.”

“You better not!”

“I can’t believe this. I’m actually going to die.”

One of the frogs goes after Ari’s outstretched legs, its teeth sinking into his left calf. Ari screams.

“Burning devil!”

A blast of black flame leaps over Ari’s head and strikes the frog. It releases Ari’s leg with a high-pitched squeal, writhing on the ground. Ari hugs his bleeding, stinging leg and stares as the fires make quick work, dying out once the frog is nothing but a fine, black dust.

“Why didn’t you do that before?!”

“It’s very difficult to do in my current state!”

One frog down, one more and a ghost to go. Watching their amphibious associate perish seemed to make the other two more cautious. They keep their distance, eying Stan warily.

The frog bite burns and Ari hisses at the pain. Looking closer, through the diamond rips in his pant leg, he can see the curved line of punctures, oozing little rivers of blood. It looks nasty, but it’s not very deep. Ari stands up. Stick still in hand, he holds it out like a sword.

“Alright, King Stan, go ahead and toast the other two.”

“I can’t, slave.”

“What do you mean you can’t?”

“I’m in a weakened state, remember? I can only do that once a day!”

“Once a day? You just did it twice!”

“The small one didn’t count!”

“Well, what am I supposed to do, Stan?!”

This time, the ghost comes for him. It swoops at Ari with a wailing roar, its stringy arms clawing at the air. As he watches the ghost come at him, something strange happens in Ari. It’s a surge of energy in his chest. The world suddenly goes slow and blurry.

“Stan?” he calls as the room bleeds more and more into itself, but there is no answer.

The smearing of the room intensifies until nothing around him is discernible. There is no Church basement, no ghost, no frog, not even an Evil King Stan. Even the stick is gone, his hands suddenly empty. It’s just a sea of swirling, messy color. Ari looks around frantically, but otherwise, stays stock-still lest any stray movement cause something even more bizarre to happen. Suddenly, despite the stillness, something even more bizarre does happen.

A shape suddenly makes itself defined out of the blurry mess. It appears before Ari as a dark rust stained iron gear, turning in midair. It’s about the size of a dinner plate with medium sized teeth, interlocked seemingly with nothing at all. It moves so painfully slow that Ari’s not even sure it’s moving. He looks around it, under it, over it, but nothing seems to be holding it up or causing it to rotate except its own gearish will.

Ari reaches out a curious hand and taps a finger against one stubby tooth. He shudders all over with the contact and it briefly occurs to him that this could be some kind of ghostly trick. But something bigger in him, something instinctual, something like a mysterious gut feeling tells him to not just touch it, but to take it.

He reaches up and wraps his hands over the edges. The iron is cold and the rust has roughed up the surface. He starts to pull and twist it in the opposite direction of its turn. If the tap before just produced a shudder, this feels like his whole body is being put through an earthquake. The gear resists, determined to continue its slow turn. Ari grips tighter and throws everything into that contrary twist.

And then the gear shatters.

“Oh,” says Ari stupidly.

The shards fade into nothing, but Ari’s hands adopt a strange, tingling glow.

“SLAVE!!!”

Ari looks up from his hands to find the world returned to high definition, including the ghost coming right at his face. Without thinking, Ari sweeps his hand upward to hit the ghost away, but then, the stick is back in his fist. And more than that, it glows a strange, eerie white. As it connects with the ghost, the white glow releases, turning a swat into a hefty punch. Ari can feel it - the satisfying follow-through of making a really good hit.

The strike sends the balloon like ghost flying across the room until it smacks into a far wall.

Ari stares at the stick still tightly gripped in his hands. The strange white glow hums up and down the length of it from his fists to the few remaining dying leaves on the branch’s tip.

“What was THAT, slave?!” King Stan frets behind him.

“I don’t know,” Ari mutters, partially to himself, “but I don’t think I can count myself as ‘ordinary people’ anymore.”

The simple, if obvious, statement inspires the boy to action. While the ghost and the frog are still stunned by his sudden not-so-ordinary abilities, Ari rushes the frog, the stick drawn back over one shoulder, ready for the strike.

“Overdrive!”

Ari spits the word out without thinking. Later, he’ll try to explain that he just said it in the heat of the moment or that Stan made him believe all strange powers had to have cool names in order to do them. Either way, with the utterance of that word, the white glow flares up into blinding waves rippling up and down the length of the simplistic weapon. Upon reaching the frog, Ari whips the stick in a brilliant arc, striking the monster across the face and scattering its body into a cloud of dust particles.

In a last ditch effort to get itself a bit of lunch, the wobbly, battered ghost picks itself up off the floor and drunkenly makes its way over to Ari, wailing as it goes.

“Destroy it, slave!”

Ari is way ahead of him. He runs towards the ghost and with another mighty, burning swing, he crashes the stick down upon the ghost’s round, tadpole head. Ari obliterates the monster.

All that’s left of the battle in the basement is a few drops of Ari’s blood and several curious piles of dust and ashes. In the silence that follows, the glow in Ari’s hands and in his weapon slowly dies away.

“Phew … that was odd … oh well, never mind! I showed that floor-scrubbing demon what happens when you turn against me!”

Ari looks over his shoulder, saying nothing, but launching a barrage of protest with his eyes. The small motion hits him with a wave of dizziness. His limbs suddenly feel very tired and ‘floaty.’

“Look, slave!”

Stan frantically gestures towards a dark corner of the basement, just behind the giant pipe. Though his vision feels off kilter, Ari can just make out a chest shaped object hidden back there. On numbing legs, Ari walks over and carefully climbs over the snaking pipe. Sure enough, the chest shaped object is in fact a chest.

“This must be the treasure that the old coot was talking about!”

“You’d think they’d be better about hiding something this important. I mean … this thing isn’t even locked.”

Ari kneels and gingerly lifts the lid, the old hinges whining in protest. The inside first strikes Ari as being overwhelmingly disappointing.

“It’s empty?!”

But a lump in the corner of the chest catches Ari’s weary eye.

“No, take a look at this.”

It’s a dusty, velvet black bag that makes a strange jingle and a glass clacking sound when Ari picks it up. Evil King Stan hovers heavily with treasure hungry anticipation.

“Open it, slave. Open it.”

Curious himself, Ari doesn’t hesitate to slip open the drawstring and reach inside.

“Slave, what is it? What new weapon or power has fallen into my terrible grasp?!”

“A glass tube, and … 14 sukel.”

“… what?”

“I think it’s about 14.” Ari flips the bag upside down to be sure. “Yep, 14 sukel and a glass tube. Why would they keep their spare change in here? It’s not even enough to buy a pound of beef from the butcher.”

“Focus, slave! Is the glass tube magical in some way? M-maybe it’s a piece from some horrible, world shattering device?”

Ari holds it up into the light and looks over it, turning it round to get a view of every angle. He even holds it up to his eye like a telescope.

“Pretty sure it’s just a glass tube.”

The evil king trembles in fury. It builds and builds until the paper-like Stan explodes in a gust whipped frenzy of flailing.

“They’ve tricked me! They will all pay for this! My wrath will know no end, boy!!!”

Ari is frankly too tired to be fazed. As the evil king flaps about, he remembers the valve. Ari feels like the string of a tornado caught kite, but with outraged Stan in tow, he makes his way along the pipe to where the valve sits covered in weeks old cobwebs.

Might as well fix this while we’re down here.

Ari grabs the valve and twists it, reminded immediately of the strange floating gear he accidentally shattered.

I suppose I should ask Stan about that … once he’s calmed down.

The valve gives in and begins turning, though it takes quite a bit of strength on Ari’s part.

Maybe it’s a shadow thing?

As the valve turns, Ari can suddenly hear the sounds of rushing water. And with it, comes a sudden rush of exhaustion.

Oh … oh, I think that did it.

Once Ari releases the valve, he falls to the ground.

“Slave?!” is the last thing he hears as a sweet, restful darkness overwhelms him.

Chapter 1 • Chapter 2 • Chapter 3 • Chapter 4 • Chapter 5 • Chapter 6 • Chapter 7 • Chapter 8 • Chapter 9 • Chapter 10 • Chapter 11 • Chapter 12 • Chapter 13 • Chapter 14 • Chapter 15 • Chapter 16 - Finale

NOTE: Okage Shadow King is owned by Sony Computer Entertainment and Zener Works. This novelization is purely a fan-work and the writer claims no ownership over the characters, general plot line(s), etc.

#okage shadow king #osk #boku to maō #zener works #sony #sony entertainment #playstation 2 #playstation 4 #video games #jrpg #rpg #writing #writer #fanfiction #fanart #fanwork #fan novel

[tgwltw]

mother’s day

this was supposed to be Damian centric but things just turned out like this. I haven’t been writing in a while since I was so busy with real life so this might be a tad bit boring for some nevertheless, I hope you still enjoy reading this!

p/s: i’m still not sure if i will ever find the muse to write the older requests but i’ll try to finish them!

Let it never be said that Damian Wayne does not lowkey wish for all of your attention to be on him and only on him, none with any of his ‘brothers’. (He already has to vye for your attention whenever father is around - he feels the need to assert dominance when his brothers are around). Despite having an actual mother - who is merely a mother in name and nothing but - you have somehow managed to worm your way in to his heart and settled in deep. Even if Damian has never said anything about accepting you as his ummioutright, he knows you know him well enough to decipher the things he actually means when he speaks and as much as he hates it, Damian feels flattered and grateful that you do not scorn him or even push him away.

Which is why when his brothers started coming over frequently to the manor during the week Mother’s Day is to happen, Damian finds it irksome. Not only had he caught Todd snooping around his ummi’s room, he also caught Drake trying to subtly (Damian doubts you aren’t privy to his intention - you have a way of just knowing) to ask you if there is anything you wanted. However, Damian’s biggest concern aren’t Todd or Drake - his biggest concern comes in the form of one Richard ‘Dick’ Grayson who has known you the longest and probably also knows you the best amongst all of them. It just does not sit well with Damian at all because he is the true son of Bruce Wayne therefore he should be entitled and privy to all of your love and affection. Trying to top Grayson’s present for you will be extremely hard.

“Penny for your thoughts, Young Master Damian?” Alfred asks as he pours the young master a cup of calming tea.

“Tt.My thoughts are not worth the penny.” Damian murmurs but quietly thank the older man when he places the cup of tea on the table and he furrowed his eyebrows, studying Pennyworth for a minute. “Pennyworth.”

Alfred merely looks at him, acknowledging him. “Yes, sir?”

“Other than father, you would be the next best person that knows Ummiwell, are you not?” Damian asks a tad bit haughtily. It does not sit well with him at the fact that he has to stoop this low to ask Pennyworth for help but Damian reckons that he is the lesser of the two evils - as opposed to Damian asking the rest of his brothers. “Mother’s Day is right around the corner.”

It is only due to his training that Alfred did not smile at the young master’s words immediately and he nods his head instead. He roughly knows what the young master is trying to say - after all, he had gone through the same thing with the rest of the young masters: things only happened the same way every other year. “Yes, perhaps I am.”

Damian nods his head, satisfied with his judgment and Alfred’s answer. “What would be the best gift for Ummi? One that Grayson, Todd and Drake have never given her at all.” He wonders if he can briefly consider stealing you away for some mother-son bonding but knowing the rest of his brothers, they will most likely end up crashing his time with you so Damian would rather not have that at all.

Alfred clears his throat as he begins to clear the table. “If I recall correctly, you are very well-versed in drawing, Young Master Damian. The mistress did mention briefly about how she has been wanting to update the family portrait. Perhaps that is something you can consider.” He offers and Damian stares at him for a few seconds before smirking, huffing proudly.

“Of course.”

Which is why for the next few days leaning towards Mother’s Day, you find yourself being tailed by none other than Damian Wayne. If you were any other woman, you probably would not have noticed because after all, Damian Wayne was trained as an Al Ghul first before he is a Wayne. Alas, you are you and you have had your fair shares of your sons tailing after you so you merely leave Damian be; if he had something he wanted to talk to you, you will let him come to you of his own accord. That is how things normally go when it comes to Damian.

You only found out what Damian had been up to during the scheduled dinner. To your surprise, Dick had managed to get almost everyone (with the exception of Cassie and Helena who were unfortunately off on a mission) to come for dinner to celebrate Mother’s Day, claiming that it was his present to you. “Thank you for being our Mom.” Dick informs you as he presses his lips on your temple and you smile at your son.

Jason rolls his eyes, annoyed over how he had played a part in helping Dick with his present. He hands over a bunch of wood figurines. “Made them for you; i’m not the best at it but I had time.” He mutters, almost shyly yet gruffly. You lift one of the figurines to study it and to your surprise, you see your husband staring back at you in his glorified batsuit.

“Jay, this is amazing! The details on the batsuit is down to the T.” You reach over to wrap an arm around Jason’s waist and he chuckles under his breath, trying to shrug off your compliment. “I love it, Jay. Thank you so much; you made everyone too, didn’t you?” You place the figurines back on the table and inspected the rest: true to your assumption, Jason had managed to perfectly carve everyone in the family, including Damian’s pets. Your cheeks are starting to hurt from the amount of smiling you are doing.

Tim slid a box over to you. “I cheated because I asked you what you wanted for Mother’s Day, Mom.” He tells you sheepishly and you shake your head at him, giggling at his words.

“I don’t mind, Timmy; you bought this for me. I will cherish it and wear it.” You open the box to see the necklace you had told him you had been eyeing for a while. Tim smiles at you, rubbing the back of his neck and you lean forward to give him a kiss on his forehead. “I love it, Tim.”

Tim grins at you and even helps you put on the necklace. “It really does look lovely on you, Mom.” He compliments and you smile at him.

“Tt.” Damian huffs before he stands up and makes a move to approach you. He hands over the tablet to you. “Your actual present is currently being put up as we speak but this is essentially what I am giving you.”

Your jaw drops as you stare at the tablet; a digital family portrait. “Darling, this is impressive!” You always thought you knew art but looking at Damian’s amazing drawing made you realize that you barely even knew art. The details on the drawing were on point and suddenly, it dawned on you that this was probably the reason why he had been tailing you the other day. “You said it is being put up?”

Damian smirks, proud that you seemed to enjoy his present a lot (definitely better than any of his brothers’ presents that is for sure). “Yes. I made a coloured version and have had it printed and framed. Pennyworth briefly mentioned that you have been wanting to get our family portrait updated and I have done it for you.” He states as a matter-of-factly and you place the tablet on the table before pulling your youngest son in your embrace, causing Damian to stiffen slightly - embarrassed because he cannot believe you are doing this to him right in front of his brothers - but when you did not make any move to release him, Damian relaxes in to your embrace. “Ummi, this is rather embarrassing.”

You chuckle, shaking your head as you press a kiss atop his head. Looking around, you catch Bruce’s eyes and the amount of you love you see in his eyes made you feel warm and almost touched. “Thank you so much, boys. I love each and every present; I love you. Thank you for letting me be your mom - I know I can never replace your real mothers but thank you for making me so happy and being my sons.”

“Tt.” Damian pulls his head back to stare at you pointedly. “As far as anyone of us is concerned, you are our mother and nothing will ever change that, Ummi.”

#Damian Wayne #Damian Wayne x reader #Damian Wayne x batmom #Batmom #Batmom imagines #Damian Wayne imagines #Damian Wayne x reader imagine #Robin #Robin x reader #Robin x batmom #batfam #Dick Grayson #Alfred Pennyworth #Jason Todd #Tim Drake #Bruce Wayne #dc #dc comics #dc comics imagine #dc comics imagines #dc universe #dcu

[carnal-agony]

𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔊𝔬𝔡𝔡𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔖𝔲𝔠𝔠𝔲𝔟𝔦, 𝔄𝔯𝔞𝔪𝔞𝔱𝔥 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔗𝔲𝔧𝔄𝔯𝔞

"𝚂𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚖, 𝙼𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚜, 𝙱𝚘𝚠 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚀𝚞𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐."

In light of my blog being revamped officially I am creating a Muse sheet for all of my mutual followers and silent worshipers. I won’t be going into immense detail about my Muse’s past/creation as I have had multiple threads that dissected every ounce of it including a few AU’s where her history was either less enticing or she was mortal. Stick around until the end for a special ‘shout-out’ for my partners who have helped shape my blog in one way or many. 

Bɾιҽϝ Hιʂƚσɾყ

Aramath and TüjArä are one of the same, they share a body, heart, and mind but not a soul. The Queen was not always split between good and evil, however, she was created as one being- a part from each Ancient that attended her Creation. With her being ‘born’ the mortal world was introduced to the power and weakness of Lust, the Goddess of Succubi, TüjArä. Although in the beginning of her history she was a cruel ruler who only wished for her children to divulge in the tasteful wants of the lesser species as well as going on massacres by their mother’s word.

Her world changed when the Goddess found what was at the root of all her lust- that being love. Don’t start smiling now, this isn’t a typical love story, matter of fact I wouldn’t consider it a love story at all. TüjArä fell in love with a viking and bared a half mortal child with this man- against every ruling of the Ancients that stated it was forbidden for a woman of pure lust to pursue. Knowing this, TüjArä stepped from her throne and above into the mortal world, hiding from those who wished to put her back into place. For six years she lived with those she loved, learning what it meant to have humility and compassion as a mortal would.

Aρρҽαɾαɳƈҽ; Vαɾιαɳƚʂ

In the original story I write Aramath rocks a crimson hairstyle, usually quite lengthy and wavy in previous cycles that was her iconic look. However after a long debate I had wrote her into isolation from those she learned to care for and in this she became immensely ill- the red of her hair fading until it became a ghastly platinum. It is very important to note that the original Aramath and the current one I am writing for both possess their own personality differences as well as differing internal conflict with TüjArä. 

Her body is covered head to toe in an array of stories about her existence as well as other oddities that come alive upon the command of her Oracle. Aramath is usually seen in black leather of all sorts, her style has toned down over the years but she is a rocker at heart, which is seen in various band tees and skull based clothing and jewelry. A few things stay the same however- the rings she wears each possess their own special abilities, ranging from her own internal power to the unique array of her kind, Oracle, and lovers. 

Wԋαƚ Gɾιɳԃʂ Hҽɾ Gҽαɾʂ

Aramath is a very tedious creature to write for, she is hot headed yet well tempered, childish at heart yet cold and stern mentally, and while she does not wish to end humanity anymore- that does not mean she is in love with humans. Most she can barely stand so she approaches with a bitter tongue and sharp wit, however when a very special few come to make her acquaintance they are met with soft smiles and the exposure of what a monster looks like when they are tamed. Humans are meat sacks to her, ones that have ruined the Earth they all inhabit due to their selfish ways and this mindset finds her at crossroads- she wishes to rid Mother Earth of the plaque that is humanity but that seems like a waste of good talent. Isn’t that a blessing in itself? 

Creatures on the other hand; God or grunt they always amuse Aramath as she sees them full of themselves- no exclusion to her dear friends either. Being around for most species creation has come with clear visions of what the creatures are, humanized or not they all have a sense of higher being in this world dominated by meat sacks. However depending on your class and how you act, Aramath might just consider you something worthy.

Wԋαƚ Tσ Exρҽƈƚ

Well for starters, expect the unexpected my dear children of the night. Aramath as tamed as she is has a thirst for violence and agony, it gives her a sense of life just seeing the simple fear of women when she snatches the attention of their partners. Although she tends to keep the violence to more of a sexual nature she isn’t hesitant to rip off a man’s crotch or sew a demon’s lips shut, all while taking her sweet time. Don’t be mistaken just because she is a succubus that she will sleep with anyone- that is far, far from the truth.

Aramath does not ‘sleep around’, she goes through a very emotional process to choose who enters her bed. This isn’t just for the sake of morality however, to take a succubus use to be a very primal and romantic thing as their kind does not necessarily need to lay with someone to feed. Those who are chosen as special tend to experience hallucinations, feelings of true ecstasy, and in some cases Aramath shares her life experiences with them through touch. With this being said, it is important to understand pushing yourself upon this Goddess- will end with your head mantled on her fireplace. You’ve been warned.

EʂƚαႦʅιʂԋҽԃ Rҽʅαƚισɳʂԋιρʂ; Tԋҽ Mυʅƚιʋҽɾʂҽ

Through the years I have been writing Aramath one thing is clear, once you have a place in her heart you will forever have that spot. This is no different for myself as I wouldn’t have lore if it weren’t for those who helped grow with me. These characters may be an OC or in their own universe- either way they are all loved equally. Here are a few of the characters I most frequently interact and/or click with during threads, some Aramath is very possessive over and others she views as equals. Please do not be discouraged if your muse is not on this list, it does not mean I love you any less my dears.

Henry Pearl, Sunset Peach, the Oracle of the Goddess.

@henry-pearl-battlecreek​

Roman Godfrey, a White Tower Dragon in Prince skin.

Eddie Brock, Snarky Reporter, Kingsman In Training.

@venom-inside-you​

Venom, Parasitic Terrestrial, Unknown Limits, Enjoys Flesh.

Pan, Horseman of Death, Man of Knowledge.

@thedarklibraryworld​

Michael Langdon, Son of Satan, Your Dark Lord, Puppeteer of the Apocalypse.

Jerome and Jeremiah Valeska, A Pair of Laughs, Equally Charismatic and Deadly.

Kai Anderson, Terrifying Candidate, Godlike Ego, Could Make Me Drink the Kool-Aid.

Iɳƚҽɳƚισɳʂ

If you want angst, joy, or death Aramath is the girl to go with. She is very versatile in every aspect that I write her, if you wish to have a particular plot please invade my inbox so we can discuss what you’d like. If not, I frequently post open threads with an already settled plot, starter calls, and interactive dialogues. Never be afraid to send a meme or random prompts into my inbox, I love interacting with my followers! 

Mυɳɳҽԃ

Now as we get to the end of this long, long sheet I just want to take a moment and say a few things as a Mun. I- am so terrible about timely responses, between working, streaming, and studying for my degree I do not find a lot of time for my writing passion. However, if you bare with me through the odd times of night when my responses flow I promise you we will have amazing threads together. Now that you know a little about my existence let’s get my blog rules out of the way;

ℝ𝕌𝕃𝔼𝕊

No persons under the age of 18 allowed- period. This blog has intense scenes and NSFW threads, I will not be held responsible for the corruption of children so turn away now or blocking will occur.

As much as I preach love and acceptance, absolutely NO threads will occur with me that involve animals or characters under the age of 18. I do not condone the act of pretending to be an underage child, nor will I bring children in as extras to my thread. 

Unless your character is an actual God of some sort, do not attempt to God-mod our threads, I will not allow it to happen and it will terminated immediately. Clarification: Yes you can toss my Muse, but no you cannot kill them (unless discussed or of course- you’re Pennywise.)

Sexual themed threads must be discussed with Mun prior to the beginning of it, if not my character will act as normal- and your muse will lose a hand or two. Discussing is a key point when it comes to certain topics in writing, and as everyone says, Consent is Key.

Remember, we’re all here to enjoy ourselves with our characters, even if the thread is violent and hateful please remember. I am not my Muse and my Muse is not me, you are allowed to spit and curse them but do not dare step past that line and spew venom at me. I have a zero tolerance for drama, hate, or sheer stupidity. 

Fιɳαʅ Cσɱɱҽɳƚʂ

Well my loves we’re at the end, it is time to say my final goodbyes as I finish off this sheet on a good note. I will always be open to new partners, new ideas, new universes so please again- never feel scared to shoot me random things. With this revamp I am turning my engines over and putting the pedal to the metal- and it’s only just beginning. With all love, and secret lust- Shalom and Blessed Be.

{Will be updating frequently throughout these next few weeks, stay tuned!}

#{OOC} #{Mun Sheet} #{Ara} #{Aramath} #{Details} #{Rules}

[forgottenyear]

letter to E.

E,

Firstly, I am safe. No worries on that count. I hope for you and your family also to be safe and well.

Secondly, I am weird, but you knew that already, so it is as much your fault for continuing to be friends with me. (Seriously dude, what the hell is wrong with you?)

It is an old promise now, but no less important, that we said we would never hurt each other by acting on suicidal impulses. I have absolutely no intention to break that promise.

But (the evil word you do not want to see or hear after the above statement), I feel that the spirit of this promise obligates me to give notice of something that may be considered a technical breach.

(If I have interpreted the hints correctly, you may not want to read what I am about to write about Dissociative Identity Disorder. You are not obligated to read, but I still feel obligated to write.)

*

Please understand as you read, that I was diagnosed in 2011 with dissociative amnesia. It is selective and my memory for my therapy blog is about one week. I have only vague recollections of what I may have told you, and our last discussion was more than one week ago. I will apologize now, if I am only repeating things I have said several times before.

I do not remember if I mentioned about a school therapist recoiling in fear when I mentioned about being a part of a system (albeit small) of dissociative identity disorder. That she reacted as though I were about to obey ‘the voices in my head’ and kill her or something. I stated clearly that the non-vocal single other identity helps me to do schoolwork but was preoccupied by a triggering situation on campus – and she asked how the ‘voices’ were preventing me from doing things I need to do.

I want to hope this is not your reaction. It is natural and okay to be weirded out or uncomfortable with this stuff, though. I know I am.

I am almost certain that I described the way that I solve problems and puzzles and whatnot, even when we talked prior to 2011. That I take in the information and I wait for the solution ‘to appear.’ And that when I am stressed or tired, I get no answers.

Working with my therapist (who was an actual doctor of psychology) before he retired, I learned that the process in the above paragraph involves an identity fragment. (This is not something that he talked into me, but something that I discovered as we worked.) That the fragment is a ‘protector’ and will only indulge in puzzles or whatnot when there is no more vital situation that they feel requires their attention.

I also learned that there were possibly as many as five identities prior to 1992-1994. (If you are curious, there were two better-developed identities of a boy and a girl, one that I am not sure about that was the fragment, and two lesser including a child and one that I know of only through a list that the boy wrote – when he thought it was normal because of a storybook from childhood about everyone having a ‘community’ in their mind.) My identity was formed by the integration of the four that do not include the fragment.

(There is a strong possibility that the diagnosis of Gender Identity Confusion obscured indications of DID. The boy identity was ceasing to function toward 1992, and the girl identity was fronting more often, and hoped to begin a new life in her city. Her presentation was diagnosed, while she was missed.)

Please understand that I do and will bear full responsibility for all actions taken by this body since birth, and this is not some lame attempt to deflect responsibilities. Fact is, I would not be diagnosed with DID today because my case lacks impairment – if anything, my ‘symptoms’ suggest empowerment.

If this has sounded, or does sound, like a far-fetched contrivance, I am with you on that one. While my therapist did tell me that we were not talking in ‘theory’ at a point in therapy, I am not the best at listening to reason. As I write this, I still harbor doubts. There are parts of all of this that do not actually work for me, but my search for alternative explanations has been fruitless.

I have learned a lot about DID since 2011. Unfortunately, I have been unable to grow beyond 2011 because of the limits of memory. I suspect I have made great strides, only to start back where I began as soon as my memory hit its expiration date. (I do not know where the amnesia from the diagnosed Dissociative Amnesia crosses into the amnesia that is a part of the undiagnosable Dissociative Identity Disorder.)

I have learned that I am more dependent than I earlier suspected on the other member of our system (I am moving away from the ‘identity fragment’ term because it feels wrongly dismissive). I depend on the other member when I am writing, and my writing descends almost to a middle-school level when I am ‘alone.’ But I have also learned that when we write together, I learn things from what we write – that the other member tends to slip their thoughts into the words, and I usually do not notice until I go back to reread.

*

I may have been around RJ for too long because I am only just now getting to my point.

(‘I’ belatedly segue into ‘we’ from here.)

We, the remaining members of our system, have come to the conclusion that we can go no further in our growth as a divided system. We have been stuck for a decade, despite our true effort. This has led to frustration and self-loathing. We are tired.

We have decided that integration is the only viable path forward.

(So, ‘we’ intend to segue into ‘I’ from here.)

I do not actually know what this means, as far as who/what will become of this. To be honest, it frightens me to no end. What I hope it means is that we will find a path that does not lead to frustration and self-loathing and their ultimate destination.

I formed too few memories in the two years of 1993-1994, so I cannot draw from the experience of the last integration. If it helps, nobody noticed (although nobody was close, either). They integrated into me and then they were forgotten by the world until 2011.

I may be making a fool of myself for making this out to be ever so terribly important, when it may mean nothing. It may not even happen, for all I know. It could be that the whole DID ‘theory’ was only ever just that: a theory.

We only first thought of integration on Sunday morning, and I honestly do not know how it goes from here. It was a bit of a shock, at first.

I think of you because of our promise. I am ashamed to admit that once the shock wore off, my first thought was that this was an ‘end’ that would be socially acceptable. I may have frightened the other member by being too eager. But I feel I infringed on my promise to you, in thought, if not in deed.

After thinking about it for a few days, I recognize that the previous integration is not a good model. I do not actually know enough about the other member even to guess at what integration will mean. I do not know how developed they are or what memories they carry. I know that they are non-vocal and so I get credit for how bright they are and for their rich sense of humor.

I do not even know how it happens. Or how quickly it happens.

I do know that we are stuck in our recovery. We need to grow.

I have begun to think of it as like graduation. It is not death, but it is a bittersweet ending and beginning.

If nothing more, post-integration me may more closely resemble the ‘me’ you knew before 2011.

*

So, I am risking proving that I am a great fool by writing this to you. On the off chance that it does happen, I want for you to know. I will not be telling RJ because I think it will be too confusing for them.

Since I do not know what is to come, I also want to offer closure. I strongly suspect that you will always be friend and family, so it is an awkward and iffy sort of provisional closure.

If we have unfinished business, I would hope to settle it before integration, whenever that may be. I am not the sort of person to pointedly leave a task for the next shift.

You are absolutely a great person and a great friend. You have never lost my admiration and respect. I am proud to know you. Please never forget it.

Thank you for being you.

-W

[jananiganss]

Politics and Me

There is no way to please everyone. I’m sure most of you will read this and call me naive or ignorant. You might believe that I haven’t put much thought into the issues that are so prevalent today. Racism, sexism, police brutality, elitism, LGBTQ+ to name a few. But I have. I have spend this year drowning in memes, long virtue signaling posts, campaign advertising, slandering remarks, lies, fake news and overall toxic, divisive, and hateful human behavior. I don’t know about all of you, but I’m exhausted. My cup’s empty. I’ve run out of spoons. Personally, my mental health has taken a dramatic dip and it is not because of the pandemic we are all living through.

I have researched and read and finally given up because there is no truly non biased source to learn from. I feel lied to and gypped out of my peaceful existence. I was already jaded and untrusting and let me tell you- this election year has made me more paranoid than ever before. I no longer believe in the system that the United States uses. Do I have a better one? No. Do I have the energy to try to create one? No. In fact, I set a boundary for myself.

This is where many of you will get upset, I’m sure. Since I’ve been lectured and just straight walked out on when I say this part I’m fairly confident the majority of you will leave this post feeling unsatisfied. Truthfully, so will I. Welcome to my world.

I did not vote. Nor will I be voting ever again in my lifetime. I no longer believe with any piece of my being that my vote counts. I also don’t believe in voting for the lesser of two evils. I hold beliefs equally on each side on the coin and I will not be settling for less than perfect. When we vote (and I’m not saying you shouldn’t, please do if that’s what you believe in!) we are voting for a leader. An embodiment of our values and what we want for our country. I have been of age for 2 elections so far and in one I voted (but not for anyone on the ballot) and the other I was stripped of the illusion of a free and honest country and did not vote.

I used to be so sure of what was right and wrong. So sure that my opinion made a difference. I was a classic keyboard warrior. Wrote a song about political unity when politics are the biggest divisive force in the world. Unfortunately, my bubble was popped and I can’t find anyone like me anymore. It’s a lonely world when the politics of others disgust you and you just wish you could shake everyone and yell “This is not helping! This is not what matters in life! You are wasting so much time and energy on an endeavor that will suck you dry without apology!”

There are real people working normal, “essential”, jobs that get sucked into the chaos that comes with an election year. Normal people who lose sleep, have anxiety attacks, fear for their family and friends because a person in power told them a story that hooked them into believing lies. It’s because of this that each side spends so much time blaming the other for all the problems in the country. There’s a riff between the real people that live normal lives here. Everyone believes their candidate can save the world. Fix all the problems “created” by the other side. But in fact, one person cannot save the world. Giving someone the power allotted to politicians corrupts them. We are humans. Flawed, clueless, idealistic, and so easily tainted with the nastiness of others.

What we should all be doing is trying to change one life. Do our best for ourselves despite the unfair world and the people seeking to tear others down and then love a stranger. A neighbor. A co worker. A sister. A brother. A friend. Humans have been blessed with this great ability to love; to really love. To love real people in real time in our real lives. To hold a friend or a family member when their life is falling apart, to talk a stranger through a bad day, to offer a genuine smile, joke, laugh, or caring word in a sea of blank faces that stare right through us. Real power is what each and every person already has, and that’s our relatability. Our hearts.

I don’t believe that the next president of the United States will keep minorities any safer or put them in any more danger. The fact is that because we are a flawed species, certain people with always be more apt to experience harm at the hand of another. It’s not right or good or acceptable to any loving person but our world, while harboring the potential for greatness, is still a cesspool of hatred for things we don’t understand; things that are different. Your politics won’t change that. Mine won’t either. In fact, politics don’t have anything to do with human nature. It’s just one more way to divide a people that already so easily divides itself.

It’s so much easier, however, to believe in voting system. So much easier to post who you voted for in attempt to show people your “values”. Honestly, your alignment isn’t my business and I wish it was taboo to talk about it in public. The country would be a more peaceful place if who you voted for wasn’t what made you a good person.

As life moves on from this election (and many more to come), I recommend reminding yourselves that voters (and non voters) are just like you; they believe that what they’re doing is right. They believe they’re voting with compassion. The believe they know everything about the issues they care about and are willing to fight tooth and nail for them. If you want to be angry, get angry at the ones fighting to tear you all apart when the real solution is to work together for a more perfect union. Love each other and respect that we come from all walks and are nurtured in all different ways. The “other side” isn’t the bad guy here, they’re just people like you. We’re all being lied to and told half truths and navigating through some of the toughest political terrain the country has ever seen. Give a little grace. I’ll be reminding myself the same thing.

~All my love.

[renegadesrpg]

Separation

Never again will I be Death’s tool. Never again will an innocent soul be taken by my hand because He has arbitrarily willed it. There is nothing natural in allowing evil to destroy. The child in my arms was proof of that. In sleep her face was that of an angel. Beautiful.  Pure.  And the last of her people. The genocide I had just witnessed repulsed me. My Ishtar, my Eve, would have been appalled and furious. And in the end, that was – had to be – my guide.

My arms involuntarily tighten around the four-year-old girl. Where to take her? She must be hidden away, charmed to make sure no other reapers find her. The Horseman will not be pleased she evaded his grasp, but she must survive. I will not have presided over the end of an entire race. Unfortunately, she cannot stay with me. Death will search for me endlessly. I betrayed him. And although he had gifted me with power equal to his own in many ways, there was no surety that I would be able to resist his onslaught. I would exist only as long as I was strong and vigilant, looking over my shoulder at every turn, giving no openings for attack, exposing no weakness. And surely the child would be a weakness.

And then the answer comes to me. Freya. It was her magic that made it possible for the Ancient’s to give birth. And it was her magic that made them vulnerable.  I knew her well enough to be sure she would be angered by Lucifer’s treachery. As a lesser goddess she would be unable to counter attack, though it would be her first impulse. After all, she was worshipped as a goddess of war as well as fertility. No, she would take the child under her protection.

With a thought, I fade away from the cave I had dematerialized to when I had left the decimated village and reappear in the goddess’ bedroom at Sessrúmnir, Freya’s hall in Fólkvangr. I knew she would be in the main hall, receiving her share of the fallen Ancient warriors but I could not afford for any of my former brethren to see me as they delivered a new soul.  And Freya’s bedroom was not an unfamiliar place to me.

Gently I lay the girl on silken sheets, tucking furs around her, and pull the velvet curtains around the bed. With a thought, the fire in the hearth flares and the room warms. I am impervious to the cold, but she is not. I walk to the chaise in front of the window that looks out onto the fields of Fólkvangr and settle on it to wait. Although I find sleep unnecessary, I often indulge in a meditative state that resembles it, allowing me to focus my mind and center my being and I desperately need it now to block the psychic link that the Horseman has used to convey his commands to me. I must have successfully slipped into one such state because I come awake to a furious goddess tipping me onto the floor.|

“What are you doing here?!” She hisses at me furiously. “Rumors are flying. The reapers I have received have told me you let a marked soul alive!”

|I look up at her, regaining focus and a grim smile grows on my face, her agitation apparent, and just what I had hoped for| Calm yourself Freya. Look there |gesturing to the enclosed bed| and you will see why.

|She glares at me and the paces towards the bed as I regain my feet| “The Horseman will destroy…OH!” She is rendered momentarily speechless as pulls velvet curtain back from her bed and the woman in the goddess takes over.| “Sin…she is an Ancient…I can feel it.” |gently she sits down on the bed, her hand resting on the child’s chest. Moving silently, I sit down behind her and watch over her shoulder| “I am so angry…” she continues, voice soft, lest she wake the child| “That Lucifer would do such evil to a people unable to protect themselves. Just because they had power to rival his own…they had no desire to use it. Heaven, Earth and Hell meant little to them. They kept to themselves.” |turning to look at me| They only came here to be able to have children. My own powers are limited to this sphere and I could not help them in the dimension they normally chose to abide in.” |Cold realization crosses her features now as logical thought replaces her first impulsive anger| “He used me…Lucifer has always hated anyone that he considered possible a rival. We lesser gods and goddesses are not really, although together we might mount a fierce attack on him. But the Ancients, yes… they could have destroyed him if they chose. So he waited and watched until they were vulnerable. Until /I/ made them vulnerable.”

|Taking her hand, I look into her beautiful eyes| I could not do it Freya. Could not let him destroy an entire race. Even if it meant disobeying the Horseman. But now I have a problem. I will be hunted. My power is my own, it cannot be revoked, but the psychic link between us, that has allowed us to act as one, will let him find me. I have it blocked for the moment but even now I feel him calling for me, hammering at the barrier I have erected. Sooner or later it will fail and I must fight. I cannot allow him to find the girl. I need you to take her, to protect her.

|She pulls her hand from mine and rises, pacing the room, not denying my request, but thinking furiously. Quietly I wait until she suddenly stops in front of me.| “I may be able to help you on both battlefields. The girl…she is very young. She has no powers as such yet, only the embryonic seed of them. She will gradually come into them after the onset of puberty. I could place her with a human family … one of mine … they will need to be aware that she is special and will need guidance as she matures. And they cannot stay in the northlands where my followers hail from. As I helped the Ancients to begin with, it is logical both Death and Lucifer will look for her there. No, they must be willing to relocate…to the Mediterranean I think. Some place as unlike the cold north as possible.” |she taps crosses her arms and taps her chin thoughtfully| I think I know of a couple that will be willing. They are devoted to me. I can place a talisman on her skin that will disguise her true nature from all but the two of us. To eye it will not be visible once placed.”

|Gratefully, I rise and smile down into her eyes, taking her hands| I thank you oh goddess of the north. By your aid a race shall not die and I can fight my battles without worry for the child.

“I am not done yet Sin. I can block that psychic link, if you are willing. There will be great pain and there is a chance that you could learn to use it. Reverse it to spy on Death, but the greater likelihood is that he will find you before you are able to do so.”

|My smile broadens and I drop a brief kiss on her cheek| Truly Freya, you are a pearl beyond price. You remind me of my Eve. So wise and fierce.  Óðr is a lucky god and if I were able, I would take you from him forever. |She gives me a begrudging smile and then pushes me away lightly. Freya and I have had are dalliances but I am aware she loves her husband, even as I still love my Eve| I have but one request. A one-way link with the girl. I feel responsible for her. True, I can find her with a thought, but a link would allow me to know if she is any danger without first focusing on her.

|A soft smile, graces her face as she gently pushes me away| Charmer…of course I can provide the link. I will place a mirror image of the talisman on your skin.  On her it will shield. I will alter it on you it allow the open one way connection. However, if you should come in direct contact with one another, both runes will be visible until that contact ceases. You will feel her well-being but she will be unaware of you. I will use the Berkano rune in a discreet location. Come. You may watch me place it.

|Gently she draws me to the bedside to watch as she sits beside the girl and draws back the furs.| “She will need a name for the spell. Do you know it?”

|I watch the still, peaceful face of the sleeping girl and shake my head| It matters not. From today she is a new life. The life we give her. You said you would place her in the warmer climes around the Mediterranean? She shall be called Bella. It means beauty in one of the languages of the region. And she will surely be beautiful.

[With a nod Freya begins, exposing the skin of the girl’s torso. Gently she lays hands over the small portion of skin on her right hip]

“Oh beautiful Ancient child Bella, with this mark I convey on thee secrecy, silence, and safety. By my gifts you know from this day rebirth in the spirit. Be strengthened oh, powers of secrecy, conceal this child and protect her. Contain her powers as she reaches maturity and let only those with love in their hearts for her to be aware of the seeds of greatness she holds within. Bring her the realization of stillness; bring her comfort in the Now-ness of all things. Give her shelter and liberation, protection and creation, eternal purification and regeneration. As I speak, so let it be.”

|The rune shimmers into existence on her skin and then, before it fades, Freya speaks| Uncover your left hip Sin…

|Swiftly, I do so, lifting my tunic and pushing leggings aside to expose an expanse of tan skin. She places her hand to my hip even as her other is in contact with the child’s and I wince slightly as a mirror image of the Berkano appears indelibly marking my skin, then both shimmer away from sight. Calmly she removes her hands and folds them in her lap|

“It is done. She will sleep here until I have readied her earthly home. But now for you Sin. |Rising she takes my hand and leads me to the chaise by the window| “Lie here. This will be excessively painful, but it cannot be helped. I would put you to sleep if I could but we both know my powers have their limits with you.”

|Obediently, I lie on the chaise and meet her eyes. Catching her hand I kiss her palm| Thank you again Freya. It may be many years before we meet again. If we ever do. If that is so…. Remember me. I will not forget you.  

|She caresses my cheek gently| “Shhh….speak not of terrible things. Now close your eyes and I will begin. I will use the Inguz. Trust me. It will not be any more visible than the Berkano.”

|Gently she places her hand on my forehead as I close my eyes, my trust in the heart of this goddess complete|

“Sin, Reaper of Death, The Horseman’s first, today I sever thee from him. Today Death’s connection to you dies, taking thee from the existence thy once knew, to become ever separate, ever eternal. Today you become a warrior for right and good and freedom. Thy powers remain, but no longer are they at the capricious beck and call of another. No longer does he have access to your mind. With this Inguz, I block that connection and sever his hold on you; your mind is now separate and isolated from The Horseman’s call. And by thy sacrifice I give you a greater gift with this rune: The power of the Reaper, to take a soul from this life, is still yours, but now needed only at your call, will store within the Inguz to grow and create a greater power that any you have ever used and that may be channeled where you will. To battle, to death – yes, even into the afterlife this is my gift and trust to thee.  All others remain as they are, but this…I give you unto eternity”

|Her words, spoken softly at first, gain power and force. The temporary barrier I had erected in my mind comes tumbling down and for a moment I hear His call again, forceful and probing and then pain screams through my head as though a blade was slicing into my brain. Unlike the subtle pain of the Berkano on my hip, the Inguz burns into my forehead as though sinking into my skull. My body goes rigid as I fight to remain silent and still but as she continues and the Inguz becomes part of me a scream rips from my throat as excruciating pain stabs through my head and the world goes black and silent until eventually I awake to the sound of seabirds cries and the scent of salt air. My eyes open and I see I am once lying on the cliffs overlooking a sky blue sea. The pain is gone now, replaced by a sense of aloneness that I have not had in an eternity. I am the only person in my head now.

As I come more fully awake, a sense of well-being, not my own, floods through me. Bella. She is safe, as Freya has promised, and I will watch over her as long as I exist. I struggle to sit and then look out over the sea. And I become aware of more. My hand goes to my forehead, expecting to feel a scar there, but it is smooth and unmarred, and yet I am forever changed.  A warrior against evil, with the full-fledged power of the Horseman of Death to fight it for eternity. This is the gift the Goddess of War has given to me. And the duty to which I must now forever rise|

|End Solo|

[anguianobrodan90]

How Space Can Save A Relationship Awesome Ideas

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[marymosley]

Is Pelosi Saving Trump By Shaping Impeachment To Fail In The Senate?

Below is my column in The Hill newspaper on the curious profile of the emerging impeachment against President Donald Trump. Notably, while Democratic members have been saying for three years that there are established crimes and impeachable offenses found by Special Counsel Robert Mueller, reports indicate that none of those allegations will be the basis for impeachment. Instead, Democratic members are saying that they want to limit impeachment to the Ukrainian controversy. Not only that, but they want to hold just a couple weeks of public hearings and vote an impeachment vote. If so, this would be the most narrow and least developed impeachment of a president in our history.

Here is the column:

As President Donald Trump continues to counterpunch his way into an impeachment, many Republicans appear conspicuously and ominously silent about the Ukrainian scandal. That would normally spell growing danger for an increasingly isolated president looking at a Senate trial.

Trump, however, may have a curious ally in House Speaker Nancy Pelosi. When she held a press conference to announce the impeachment inquiry, some of us expressed doubt that she had dropped her opposition to it. Since then, every move she has made strongly supports suspicions that Pelosi is less of a convert than a collaborator in the House impeachment effort. While Trump aides such as Rudy Giuliani have now caused untold damage to the White House position, Pelosi repeatedly has intervened to steer impeachment efforts into either a wall or, more recently, over a cliff.

For three years, Pelosi has been widely credited with slowing down the impeachment efforts despite many of her fellow Democrats campaigning on an impeachment pledge in 2018. Pelosi has struggled to maintain the appearance of wanting to impeach the president while preventing any meaningful steps toward actual impeachment. She wants Trump mortally wounded but still alive in 2020. Moreover, she understood the Russia investigation was not producing clear criminal or impeachable conduct.

Indeed, earlier this year, I wrote a column exploring whether the real scandal was not likely Russian but Ukrainian in its origins. I noted that various Trump figures, along with Democrats including Hunter Biden, were involved in suspect dealings in Ukraine. The investigation by former special counsel Robert Mueller found no conspiracy or collusion with the Russians. The Justice Department correctly rejected obstruction. Pelosi moved to put impeachment to bed, saying she would not accept one that was not based on articles with “overwhelming and bipartisan” support.

Everything was going according to plan, until Trump called the Ukrainian president. The danger of pretending that you want to impeach Trump is that you may accidentally stumble over a potentially impeachable offense. Moreover, with a whistleblower complaint, Pelosi lost all her control. The Democratic base was simply not going to accept another bait and switch.

So Pelosi was forced to hold her bizarre press conference to announce that an impeachment inquiry would begin in the House, despite other Democrats declaring for weeks that they already were conducting such an inquiry. Despite her recent pledge, she pushed through an impeachment vote with no support from Republicans, and the country divided right down the middle on the issue. Pelosi then took two unexpected steps.

She reportedly said she wanted to limit any impeachment investigation to Ukraine, not the stuff that she and others claimed was clearly criminal and impeachable for three years. She also removed the investigation from the House Judiciary Committee, which was looking more broadly at Russian matters with special impeachment counsel, and then gave it to the House Intelligence Committee to hold hearings behind closed doors. After single handedly slowing down impeachment efforts for years, Pelosi now is pushing for a quick impeachment vote by the end of the year. Why?

The day this story broke, I stated on air that the greatest threat to Trump would be White House national security adviser John Bolton, a disgruntled former aide who was the most likely witness to have damaging evidence of any quid pro quo. Yet Democrats have done relatively little to get his testimony. Bolton seemed willing to testify but he wanted to be legally compelled to do so. On Friday, his attorney even dangled a promise of “relevant” undisclosed evidence. Democrats have subpoenaed various officials but refused to do so with Bolton. They shrugged off his refusal to testify and said they simply had no time to go to court for an order. Why?

The reason appears to be Pelosi. While she reluctantly agreed to allow members to impeach, she wants to submit an anemic impeachment to the Senate by the start of 2020. After moving for years at a glacial pace, she now wants an abbreviated and expedited impeachment process with just a few weeks of evidentiary preparation. Such an impeachment would go forward with a significantly undeveloped record with a couple of slapdash articles, along with ample room to acquit Trump in the Senate.

The term for all of this is planned, or programmed, obsolescence. The term was created by former General Motors head Alfred Sloan Jr. to refer to products that suddenly stop functioning and have to be replaced. This was the basis of a huge class action lawsuit against Hewlett Packard over inkjet printers and cartridges allegedly designed to shut down at some undisclosed date. The company settled the case for millions of dollars.

Similarly, this impeachment is looking like something designed to fail, to suddenly stop functioning in the Senate so Trump survives and Democrats can once run again on a “lesser of two evils” campaign. The design flaw is found in the artificially narrow foundation of articles on abuse of power. It is not true, as was suggested by former acting Attorney General Matthew Whitaker, that abuse of power cannot be the sole basis for impeachment because abuse of power is not a crime. Not only can abuse of power be impeachable, but a proven quid pro quo can qualify as such an abuse.

However, there is a reason why members of Congress have never sought the impeachment of a president on such a narrow ground. The Clinton impeachment was relatively narrow but involved the president lying under oath, which is a clearly defined criminal act. Abuse of power is stronger in the context of other offenses. The reason is that it is often very difficult to distinguish between the problematic statements or conduct of presidents. All politicians deal in their self interests, including members of Congress.

To focus on this narrow abuse of power claim as the foundation for this impeachment, Pelosi maximizes the chances of acquittal for Trump. By pushing for an impeachment by December, with limited hearings and no compelled testimony by key witnesses, she would achieve her original goal to guarantee that Trump will stay in office at the start of primaries. That is indeed the perfect planned obsolescence product, one designed to fail just in time for the voters to be offered a product “upgrade” in the form of the Democratic presidential candidate and a Senate majority.

Jonathan Turley is the Shapiro Professor of Public Interest Law at George Washington University. He also served as the last lead counsel in a Senate impeachment trial and testified as a constitutional expert in the Clinton impeachment hearings. You can follow him on Twitter @JonathanTurley.

Is Pelosi Saving Trump By Shaping Impeachment To Fail In The Senate? published first on https://immigrationlawyerto.tumblr.com/

[pinkcupofcherrytea]

[Fic] Storyteller

Title: Storyteller Summary: He promises fortune and happiness, beauty and power beyond the limits of man. He is the beginning of the stories told in hushed whispers by the fire – and he leaves destruction in his wake. Relationship(s): Dazai/Atsushi, mentions of mostly one-sided Atsushi/Lucy Rated: T Warnings: Dark themes, a rather twisted character, Dazai is the ultimate Disney VillainTM, character death (sort of).

Note: Written for BSD Rare Pair Week 2017, day 4: Things Left Unsaid//Fairy Tales// “Who knows the end? What has risen may sink, and what has sunk may rise.” - H. P. Lovecraft, The Call of Cthulhu.

He has many names.

Those who do not know of him call him fairy, for the shining bright light he plays with in front of their very eyes.

Witch, for the endless possibilities he presents those willing to pay the price.

Godmother, for the misgiving idea that he will become that which have been missing from their lives, ripped cruelly from grabbing hands.

"Evil," those who lives long enough to receive a farewell cries, "demon!"

Wishbreaker, cursegiver, the one who starts the story before leaving crestfallen people to fend for themselves. The beginning of the end. Constantly smiling with a spring in his step.

Devil, liar, thief. A god, a saint, a trickster with no qualms. He touches the ground for a flower to bloom but when he turns his back to it, it withers back to the earth where it came from.

He is Dazai Osamu. He is a dealer of fate and no name given to him is wrong, since he’s been them all, nor is it right, for he is also nothing.

The coat over his shoulders hide the body of its master; the fabric takes the colour of its surroundings, its master’s bones fade from wandering eyes. Only the faintest of taunting laughter can be heard as Dazai sweeps past some ignorant villager.

He is seen when he wants to be seen, or when the story demands it.

(It’s the same thing, in the long run)

He appears in the castle of an arrogant brat dressed as a prince. Laughs as he throws a useless rose – magic in name only – and leaves the prince a dark beast and the rest of his scarce household as furnishings.

Dazai stops to help a girl sneak from her duties in order to have one magical night in her otherwise miserable life. He gives her a shimmering dress and shoes of glass, tells her she can keep them as long as she wants. At midnight, the girl’s dress turns to rags, the glass slippers are stuck on her feet – impossible to remove – and an enraged step-mother chases her out into the night.

In the large, unforgiving woods Dazai whispers the locations of little red riding hoods to the hungry wolf.

Dazai writes out recipes using poisonous apples, turns lesser princes into frogs and crashes parties for newborn princesses.

Meanwhile, Dazai scribbles all their stories down on his own skin. Black ink that etches to the paleness of his arms, chest, and back. Before each new encounter he carefully wraps over each letter with bandage.

It’s not allowed to know another person’s story before knowing one’s own.

A young mermaid finds him in a cave. He’s been under water so long his skin changed colour and the hair against his cheek feels more like seaweed than hair. Shells grow on his skin.

It’d been a great place for a nap. Silent and with fishes streaking against him hesitating, wondering if they could eat through the flesh offered. Perhaps they could feel the lurking darkness under his ribs, because they didn’t.

The mermaid has carefully plaited hair glowing red in the deep, will of steel, blue eyes, her hands pressed together as she begs him for a way to breach the wall between sea and land – for a way to turn a creature of the deep into a creature of the earth

A young man.

It always is.

A prince.

Also a common one.

I love him.

Ah, there it is. The trigger, the reason, and the final nail in the coffin. That which has deceived many to an early grave. Dazai doesn’t know if he should feel jealous or not.

Humming quietly, Dazai leaves the mermaid on a beach close to the mentioned prince’s castle; naked, shivering, confused, and with legs that thrum with pain for each step she takes. She cannot give the pain a voice, for Dazai calmly plays with it in his hands.

The prize for a wish is always more than you expect.

The prince she yearns for is a lonely one. The youngest son of many, has no kingdom that awaits him, isolated from the world where Dazai moves his pieces. Dazai takes note of his bright hair and gentle hands as he helps the mermaid – maid – to her newly crafted feet before he leaves the story to take hold. To fester.

Usually, no interference is needed.

Dazai is planning another plot by the time he throws an eye at the pair again. He sees them dance, sees the former mermaid swallow the pain and drag the prince around the market. There’s a strong fragrance of flowers and freshly baked bread. They move with ease through the thick crowd with the prince’s hand gripping the girl’s so as not to lose her.

It’s all awfully smooth and simple.

Dazai knows, without questioning it, that this story is in need of a twist.

He chooses the prince. The little mermaid has already been promised – fooled – once, to aim at her again would be a mistake.

The prince however, is easy to single out.

Imagine Dazai’s surprise then, when the prince turns around and smiles at him before he’s even finished mumbling the spell. Dazai freezes, but the prince takes his hand and squeeze it gently.

“Hello,” his smile is shy. Light. “What’s your name?”

Normal question. Dazai hears it often. Rarely does he speak the truth.

Rarely.

Dazai swallows the unfinished spell and feels it buzz in his throat. He follows the prince, who truly is a fine dancer. Perhaps not in technique, for he stumbles a little and laughs while going red, but Dazai notices that once they’ve started they can’t seem to stop. He put a flower in the girl’s hair but gives Dazai a bouquet.

“Careful,” the prince says kindly, “they have thorns.”

So do he, but Dazai only smiles and drags his fingertips over the soft petals. These roses have neither poison nor curse. Normal, beautiful flowers.

Dazai keeps them even as they wilt in his hands. He presses over the dry thorns hard, the dripping blood turns the bandages close to his wrist red at the edges.

The prince is a supporting character, important but not essential. If only Dazai could remember why, for his sparkling eyes takes over the story completely.

They return to the castle late. The red-haired girl already in bed sleeping soundly, not having any worries for the story’s new progression. She has no idea.

(No one has)

The mermaid screams when she sees them closely entwined in the grand hall. Her screams are empty, only Dazai can hear them and only he sees as she runs away with her hands against her face.

Her sobs echoes empty in the hall. Soundless.

Dazai knows he succeeded. There’s a twist to it all, starting from his stomach and curling under clothes like a malicious bug. It creeps over the pages, sullies the parts Dazai deliberately left clean.

He can see the ever after closing in but no words appear sufficient enough to fill the remaining blanks.

She too knows of it, and as dawn paints the sky a pink hue she waits for him. Waves lick the soles of her feet, the sand feels coarse under Dazai’s own.

  -

During all of this: Atsushi wakes from a dreamless sleep. He wonders where the man he fell asleep next to is. The bed is empty. As he pulls on a shirt and walks down the beautifully decorated corridor he notices that Lucy isn’t in her room either. Now a little worried he runs in the direction of the beach in hope of finding his friend and beloved.

 -

 She doesn’t shake as the threads keeping her body intact loosens. Starting from her legs the lines separating her from the illuminating, rising sun begins to bubble.

The prize for a wish is always more than you expect.

“Curse you,” her voice is hoarse as she uses it for the first time in many nights.

The end is near, and in death there is enough freedom for anyone to speak.

Any last words, the winds blowing sand in their eyes asks coldly.

“Curse you,” she chokes, “don’t hurt him- your word means nothing, but don’t you dare hurt him.”

And maybe the little mermaid with hair like blood had some magic in her all this time, for Dazai feels her curse – her promise – wrap itself around the void in his chest. Tighten around the vague contours of a heart that’s started to appear in the darkness.

He is Dazai Osamu.

So he finishes the job and watches the former mermaid dissolve. She goes back to the sea where she came from, this time without legs, without fin.

The newly formed foam rides back and forward with the waves, seemingly attempting to drag Dazai with them. To drown him, maybe.

Dazai contemplates whether he should let the water take him or not, but then takes a step back.

After watching the burning sun long enough for dark spots to dance across it. Dazai closes his eyes.

When he opens them again the blanks spots settles at the edge of his vision, the last punctuation mark stretches wide and Dazai can for a moment see a long line dragging over the sand, to the castle, down the cliff, and then towards the horizon.

No end in sight.

Perhaps that’s alright?

The story moves with each step he takes. The bandages covering up his past unravels and falls to the ground as Dazai moves to meet up with the prince running his way.

They lived happily ever after.

   (Stories like these always focuses on the bitter things. The coat that covers the storyteller also covers the eyes of the reader. There is never such a thing like objectivity.

So-

The despairing young lady runs through the woods. Wearing only rags and glass shoes, she finds an isolated castle with a beast of a man as its master. A prince with dark, slithering robes and a teacup for a sister.

A wolf roams the night, finds five lost red riding hoods and takes them in. They laugh, pull at his ears and pet his fur. He lets them be and they sleep together in a pile during the cold nights.

On the nights of the full moon, the ocean sings for the gentle prince.)

 THE END

Author’s note: Ahhhh, I actually managed to finish this! I love fairy tail AUs, so when I saw the prompt I knew I had to write something. This turned out... a little different from what I’d originally planned, but I still hope that you liked it!

#bsd rarepairweek #day 4 #bungou stray dogs #dazatsu #my love for dark fairy tail aus cannot be quenched #my writing #i also laughed long and hard over the thought of ultimate evil doer dazai that in the end mostly just caused inconvenience for everyone #except for lucy *winces* #and like wolf!odasaku is not being fooled by you dazai #he'll find those children and ADOPT them instead of eating them yep that's right #and then there's poor higuchi falling in love with beast!akutagawa #gin is a TEACUP #points for you if you figured who all the characters were

[odditiesascending]

When Murphy Fell

A snippet written so I could have content for an earlier part of the story.

-----

Normally, the other angels would flee from Gabriel's wrath. He's unpredictable when he has one of his fits, swinging between enraged and morose. No one sticks around to hear the true content of his ramblings, not usually, except for this time. When the coast is clear, Murphy skirts a corner into the open arena that has become Gabriel's space since his tantrum began. His hair twists in an invisible wind that Murphy cannot feel, cheeks reddened and wet from the force of his tears. There's no way to know how to approach this situation, so Murphy just sort of... hops in.

"Hey," they say, voice as calm as possible, hands raised a little as the heat of Gabriel's gaze turns to them. "are you alright?" It's all they can think to ask, and it feels absurd the second it's said.

Gabriel doesn't seem calm necessarily, but at least for now the tempest is somewhat restrained. "No," he says simply, but doesn't return to his fit quite yet. Fat tears roll down his cheek, hastened by the paths left by previous tears.

"Do you... want to talk about it?" Murphy asks lamely, unsure of what to do still.

"Even if I did, you don't."

Murphy shakes his head. "You don't know that. I know the lesser angels never come around, but... you don't know who I am, so you can't say I don't want to be here."

Gabriel eyes them wearily, the storm of rage around them both slowly settling. "Did Uriel send you? Or Zachariah?"

Murphy sees an opportunity suddenly. "No," they reply, "and thank Father for it. I've seen the way they treat you, I'd never come if it was one of them who asked me to do so."

The look on Gabriel's face says it worked. His expression softens and the wind that tosses his hair seems to vanish, long curls settling lightly against each other. He seems to slump against his own frame, as though the bones he doesn't have are holding him up. Murphy steps slowly closer, body visibly relaxing as Gabriel feels safer to approach.

"I know you mourn someone, that feels like the only thing that could cause you such anguish. Who is it?" They ask softly, taking a seat with their legs loosely crossed. Gabriel seems unsure if he even wants to answer.

"It's- a brother, from long ago. He let Father do something unspeakable to him, and he- he had to... leave, because of it. I was angry at first, but since then... the damage it has caused us all. I miss him. He's long gone, I know, and certainly some sort of twisted evil monster because of what Father did to him. We can never have him back." Gabriel's voice breaks several times over as he speaks, but at the final words, the tears trickle down his cheeks again, face screwed up as grief wracks him.

When they respond, Murphy's voice is soft and gentle, conspiratorial. "But I don't think that's true. I don't know who it is you long for," and they think it's Lucifer, but they can't know for sure, "but I don't think that darkness we all fear actually corrupts any soul. I don't think it actually matters."

"You don't know of what you speak," Gabriel snaps, voice sharp and angry. "The evil it instills... he is surely lost forever."

But Murphy is persistent on this. "I don't know much, sure, but on this I'm sure I know something. I've known for weeks. Search my soul, my Tepal, and you will know it to be true. Nothing about me has changed, no one here has noticed. Could it really be so bad, knowing this?"

Hesitation hangs in the air, and Murphy feels scrutinized. It's a long moment before they can feel Gabriel searching them, the sensation short-lived as Gabriel snaps away. "You- it resides in you," he mutters, perhaps more for his own sake than Murphy's. "That same blackened death that was in him. But you..." His voice raises suddenly. "You are not corrupted. You are not wrong. How is it so?"

"It isn't so," a voice rings out, something firm yet slightly shaken. Murphy turns quickly to see Uriel emerging from the misty walls, posture rigid and commanding, chin held high. Murphy feels like a speck in his presence and stands quickly, fully aware of the danger this situation now holds. But the wall that was once faint and ephemeral behind them is now firm, nothing they can push through.

For his part, Gabriel seems equally afraid, shying away from the archangel as though he isn't older and more powerful. There are no words that make it off his tongue before Uriel cuts in again.

"This angel, this desperate creature, is known to have cavorted with Lucifer. Every action of theirs since then," he announces, voice loud, as if it is for more than just them, "has been egregious and heinous, sinful in every sense. They are a stain on our halls, on our noble duty. It is a disgrace to our security that they were even allowed to enter, and it is well past time to cast them out."

It becomes clear suddenly that Uriel isn't speaking just to the two of them. Angels of all kinds emerge from the walls, spilling in from the mists, rage clear in their eyes. Uriel hauls Gabriel up to his feet, a snarl on his face as he glares down at Murphy. It would make sense for panic to set in about now, panic would be a perfectly reasonable, expected reaction. Yet Murphy stands in careful calm, because they can see the inevitable from far away. They can only hope the Fall isn't too hard.

But Uriel won't grant them even this. "Tear him apart!" He screams to the veritable army that surges forth. "Rip every shred of sin from his corrupted soul and cast him out!"

Hands descend on Murphy, thousands of hands, and Murphy loses sight of Gabriel and Uriel almost immediately. The words ring in their head, cast him out. It's enough to cause Murphy to rage, to fight against every hand that tears at him, but by Mother is the fight almost impossible. They tear at Murphy's wings, flesh, every piece of them, and slowly, they feel their soul shredded in the process. And Heaven is no place for some tormented creature without a soul. Murphy falls away from their countless hands, crashes into the surface of the earth, the light fading at the peripherals of his vision. There is no room left in the kingdom of heaven for traitors like them.

#murphy #worldbuilding #original #UMZ #Gabriel

[spin-attaxx]

1, 2, 11, 12, 14, 17, 18, 19, 20, 22, 26, 27, 31, 33, 38, 40, 43, 44, 45, 48, 49, 50

1. Your first OC ever?

Already answered.

2. Do you have a personal favourite among your OCs?

Oh god, it largely comes down to Jessica, Lumina and Charn. But if you put a gun to my head, I’d have to pick Jessica. She’s the oldest of the three, and I feel like I relate to her more.

11. Is there any OC of yours you could describe as a “sunshine”? 

Lumina, no question. If she sees someone feeling down, she’ll do her best to cheer them up and make them feel better, and even when things seem at their bleakest, she’ll find some way to find hope in the situation.

In fact, I imagine seeing a genuinely upset Lumina would break anyone’s heart (unless they’re Charn or Shade).

12. Name an OC that isn’t yours but who you like a lot 

Already answered, but since I get to say another one, I like @jezmm​‘s Alice Grayson. I like her design a lot (particularly her long red hair and blue flares), and she’s a pretty cute character.

14. Introduce an OC with a tragic backstory 

Hmm, not sure if introduce is befitting, since I’ve drawn her once or twice, but I imagine Tesla has it particularly rough compared to the other Elementals (all of whom can claim to being the last of their kind and losing at least one friend or family member).

She was once a kind-hearted Electric Elemental in a high class aristocratic city on a Mystic planet far from Enchantus. Things were bad enough when her Time Elemental fiancé up and died one day (along with, mysteriously, every other user of Time magic in the universe), but when a bunch of haggard refugees came to the planet some years afterwards warning about some android named “Charn”, she dismissed them and chose to stay.

Then Charn came and did what he does best; annihilate the city, kill everyone, them proclaim himself the ruler and creator of the planet and torture what survivors were left into believing him without question (”2 + 2 = 5″ style). Though Tesla escaped, she became more jaded and cynical now that she was forced to live her immortal life in squalour fleeing from his threat.

Today, you’re likely to find her glugging down unhealthy amounts of alcoholic, poisonous and generally unpleasant drinks, swearing her head off at those who slight her, and taking immense pleasure in talking down idealistic minds, all while craving the days of her old life.when she wasn’t such a bitter lightning cloud of loathing.

17. Any OC OTPs?

Three come to mind. Ivorn x Lily (the thought of an easily flustered metal technology geek and a calm and peaceful Plant Elemental being in a relationship always felt right to me), Shade x Evil (even if his original goal of proving Elementals can be evil is kinda null and void now, he just loves doing things he shouldn’t do), and Charn x Himself (dude has an ego the size of the universe. He wouldn’t actually compliment alternate versions of himself, though - he’d kill them so there’d only be one Charn).

18. Any OC crackships?

Beta and Jessica. The idea of a psychic robot having a crush on a socially-awkward human he’s trying to kill on threat of death sounds both plausible and totally bonkers at the same time. In fact, Beta X Cassidy also counts, only it’s instead with a human who’s got steelier nerves than he does.

19. Introduce an OC that means a lot to you (and explain why)

I’m probably going to say Jessica. I feel like she’s changed quite a lot since I first doodled her as a semi-afterthought to round out a trio. I’ve always wanted to make a Metroidvania game, and Jessica was originally just one playable character (and not even the “main” one). Eventually, she became the main character of the trio, and now she’s the only playable character.

That’s because I keep thinking about her character and her role in this story;s world. I devised her with the idea that what would normally be the mysterious aloof serious side character to a more conventional and emotional protagonist would instead be the main focus. I freely admit much of her personality is derived from mine; being hard to approach, somewhat anti-social and always living with the feeling that she’s being judged every moment and that deep down she’s a failure at what she wants to be.

(That said, I think it’s fair to say that I’m more well-adjusted and approachable than she is lol.)

20. Do any of your OCs sing? If they sing, care to share more details (headcanon voice, what kind of songs they like etc)? 

Lumina’s the most obvious one of the lot. When it comes to genres, she’s very adaptable and open-minded, but she prefers upbeat pop songs. Especially with 80′s/90′s synth sounds or catchy dance songs (think something like “Butterfly” by smile.dk?)

As for her voice, I don’t know any singers who’d fit her, but I’ve always felt that Tara Strong would be my first pick for her. So I guess something like this, only more upbeat and with a more British accent?

(In case the link dies in the future, I’m referring to Ember McLain from Danny Phantom, which I actually saw little of back then.)

22. Is there any OC of yours people tend to mischaracterize? If yes, how?

Already answered.

26. Have you ever had to change your OC’s design or something else about them against your will? 

Already answered.

27. Any OCs that were inspired by a certain song?

While I don’t think a full-on OC was inspired by a song, Lumina’s design was altered after I heard the theme to Jem. At the time, she was a fairly generic pink-haired pixie girl in a white and pink jumpsuit, and then after hearing it, I (for some reason) decided, “Hey, what if I made her super J-pop idol/80′s glam girl?” and tweaked her outfit and gave her her big poofy ponytail. I regret nothing.

31. Pick one OC of yours and explain what their tumblr blog would be like (what they reblog, layout, anything really) 

Lily’s would be super pretty and calming, with reblogs of cute animals, pretty flowers, relaxing scenery, and the occasional conversation/picture/embarrasing situation with Ivorn.

33. Your shyest OC?

Jessica. She never starts conversations, always sweats and panics internally while talking to someone who isn’t a close friend or family, and is more comfortable staying inside than going out in public. Though if you’re antagonising her and/or trying to kill her, she gets more of a backbone and snarky lip.

38. Which one of your OCs would be the best dancer?

Hmm, maybe Lumina? I imagine it comes with her performing onstage, though I magine someone else may have more natural talent at it than her. Cassidy, maybe? I dunno.

40. Any fond memories linked to your characters? Feel free to share! 

Honestly, any time I get fanart of them, especially if the artist did it without me prodding them about it or as part of a mutually beneficial art trade or the like. It makes me super happy that there are people who liked them enough to draw them when they didn’t need to.

43. Do you have any certain type when you create your OCs? Do you tend to favour some certain traits or looks? It’s time to confess 

Already answered.

44. Something you like about your OCs in general 

I guess the fact that I’ve created a range of characters with their own lives, backstories, personalities, relationships and futures in a world of my own creation, which I can control as I see fit. Like, sometimes I’ll see a character like Genesect that makes me go, “Wow, that looks so cool/cute/whatever, I wish I came up with that!” And then I look at any one of my characters and I feel better because I came up with them before anyone else did.

45. A character you no longer use? 

Admittedly they were in a sort of limbo status for quite a while anyway, but Stuart and the third robot character aren’t likely to be part of the TSOTS-verse any longer. Besides the fact that Jessica’s gameplay style differs from traditional Metroidvania characters like Samus and I was afraid their styles would be weaker by comparison (plus extra work), I was never really able to come up with a concrete design for Stuart, nor could I settle on a name for the robot (for the longest time I went with Dave, after David Bowman from 2001, but that never sat well with me, and the only other alternative I could think of was ROM, which is taken). Will they get a new lease on life in the future? Maybe, but for now, they’re dead in the water as far as major uses go.

Still, at least they’re better off than a third Charn minion alongside Beta and Cassidy. He was an old man who’d be a cyborg, and the reveal of this would have him decking a reluctant Dave in the face. That’s about the only thing I miss from axing him; I think having Beta and Cassidy in a duo is a better choice for their characters.

48. OC who is a perfect cinnamon roll, too good for this world, too pure 

Voidica. A nice girl who’ll gladly accept anyone as her friend, and born to a universe with Charn in it. And then Charn killed her off in cold blood, with zero chance of her coming back or having any kind of afterlife.

49. Which one of your OCs would most likely enjoy memes 

Lumina, no question. Shade and Jessica get driven up the wall by her antics when she falls in love with a new meme.

50. Give me the good ol’ OC talk here. Talk about anything you want

- Shade’s character of being a total bastard just to prove he can be is basically one giant spit in the face to the Pokémon animé (and I guess to a much lesser extent the games), which made the bold claim of saying that Pokémon - who are more or less as clever/sentient as humans - cannot be evil, and routinely made Pokémon that followed that statement to a T or else turned good (mostly legendaries like Deoxys, Darkrai, Kyurem and Genesect). In fact, I think a precursor of his character came in the form of my headcanon for Genesect in my (short-lived) playthrough of Black 2, where he was a homicidal maniac who only tags along with the protagonist so he could get back at Team Plasma for ditching him in favour of the Tao trio.

- If Shade ever does a good deed entirely of his own will, he’ll go out the same way as Rorschach from Watchmen.

- Charn’s name came from a book I read years ago, “Through the Dragon’s Eye”. His design, meanwhile, started as a generic final boss doodle I off-handedly made, then changed many times since then. Ironically, his head remained consistent in all of them (though his eyes were less triangular and villainous.

- I came up with several possible backstories for Charn, such as him being a robot controlled by a t-rex’s brain (yes, really). I even toyed with the possibility of pulling a Joker and giving him no clear-cut origin, though now it’s far more defined.

#ask box meme #anonymous #long post #is long