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writingwithcolor · 4 months

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How can non-Jewish writers include Jewish characters in supernatural stories without erasing their religion in the process?

Anonymous asked:

I have a short story planned revolving around the supernatural with a Jewish character named Danielle (who uses they/them pronouns). Danielle will be one of a trio who will be solving the mystery of two brides' deaths on the day of their wedding. My concern with this is the possibility of accidentally invalidating Danielle's religion by focusing on a secular view of the afterlife. At the same time, I don't want to assume that Jewish people can't exist in paranormal stories, nor do I want to use cultural elements that don't belong to me. So, how do I make sure that Danielle is included in the plot without erasing their Jewishness?

Okay so to start with I think we need to ask a question about the premise: what is a secular afterlife? I’m not asking this to nitpick or be petty, but to offer you expanded ways of thinking through this issue and maybe others as well.

A Secular Afterlife

What is a secular afterlife? To begin with, I get what you mean. The idea of an afterlife we see in pop culture entities like ghost media owes more to a mixture of 19th-century spiritualist tropes drawn from titillating gothic novels than to anything preached from the pulpit of an organized house of worship. Yet those tropes--the ominous knocking noises from beyond, the spectral presences on daguerrotype prints, the sudden chill and the eerie glow, all of those rely on the idea of there being something beyond this life, some continuation of the spirit when the body has ceased to breathe. For that, you need to discount the ideas that the consciousness has moved on to another physical body and is currently living elsewhere, and that it was never separate from the body and has now ceased to exist. Can we say that this is secular?

More so: Gothic literature, as the name suggests, draws heavily on Catholic imagery, even when it avoids explicit references to Catholicism. Aside from the architectural imagery, Catholic religious symbols permeate the genre, as well as the larger horror and supernatural media genres that grew from it: Dracula flinches from a crucifix, priests expel demons from human bodies, Marley’s Ghost haunts Ebenezer Scrooge in chains. The concepts of heaven and hell, and nonhuman beings who dwell in those places, are critical to making the narratives work.

The basis also draws from a biblical story, that of the Witch of Endor. The main tropes of Victorian spiritualism are present: Saul never sees the ghost of Samuel, only the Witch of Endor is able to see “A divine being rising” from wherever he rises from, and her vague description, “I see an old man rising, wearing a robe,” evokes the cold readings of charlatan mediums into the present (Indeed, some rabbinic sources commenting on this assert that this is exactly what was going on).

While neither of these views of its origin define the genre as the sole property of Catholicism--or of Judaism for that matter--it would be hard exactly to categorize them as secular.

A Jewish Perspective on ghosts

However, it’s not the case that ghost media is incompatible with Jewishness, assuming that it doesn’t commit to a view of heaven and hell duality that specifically embraces a Christian spiritual framework.

Jewish theology is noncommittal on the subject of the afterlife. The idea of a division between body and soul in the first place is found in ancient Egypt, for instance, earlier than the earliest Jewish texts. In Jewish text it’s present in narratives like the creation story, in which God crafts a human body out of earth and then breathes life into it once it’s complete. It also appears in our liturgy: the blessings prescribed to be recited at the beginning of the day juxtapose Elohai Neshama, a blessing for the soul, with Asher Yatzar, expressing gratitude for the body, recited by many after successfully using the bathroom.

Yet it’s not clear that this life-force is something separate than the body that lives beyond it, until the apparition of the Witch of Endor. The words we use to describe it, whatever it is, evoke the process of breathing rather than that of eternal life: either ruach (spirit, or wind) or neshama (soul, or breath): neither is a commitment to the idea that it does--or that it doesn’t--go somewhere else when the body returns to the earth.

Jewish folklore, however, leans into the idea of ghosts and other spiritual beings inhabiting the earthly plane (and others). Perhaps most famous is the 1937 movie The Dybbuk, in which a young scholar engaging in kabbalistic practices calls upon dark forces to unite him and his fated love, only to find himself possessing her body as a dybbuk. It appears that he is about to be successfully exorcized, but ultimately when his soul leaves her body, hers does as well.

More relevantly to your story, a Jewish folktale inspired the movie The Corpse Bride. In the folktale version, a newly-engaged man jokingly recites the legal formula he will soon recite at his wedding, and places his ring on the finger of a nearby corpse--a reference to a time when antisemitic violence is said to have gotten worse not only at Jewish and Christian holidays as it does still to this day, but around Jewish weddings as well. The murdered bride stands up, a corpse reanimated complete with consciousness, and demands that the bridegroom honor his legal obligation.

In the movie, the bride gives up her demand willingly: her claim on him is emotional rather than legal, and she finally accepts that he has an emotional connection with another person, that he doesn’t love her. In the folk tale, the dead woman takes him to court to decide whether their marriage is legal, since he spoke the legal words to her in front of witnesses as is required, and the court rules that the dead do not have the right to make legal demands on the living. In this version, the moral of the story is that a legal formula is an obligation; that when he jokingly bound himself to the corpse, he not only disrespected the dead but also the legal framework that structures society, and by so doing risked being obligated to keep his side of a contract he never intended to enact.

This speaks to the ways that a Jewish outlook can differ from a Christian-influenced “secular” one. Christian-influenced cultural ideas can often focus around feeling the right thing, while Jewish stories will often center on doing the right thing. Does the Corpse Bride leave because she realizes she is not the one he loves? Because she--or he--learned a valuable lesson? Or because she loses her court case? It’s not that the boy’s emotions are irrelevant to the story--the tension, the suspense, the horror of the story takes place primarily within the boy’s emotional landscape--but emotions on their own are not a solution. The question “should he marry her” can be answered emotionally, but “has he married her” can only be answered by a legal expert, and once it has been the deceased bride may not have changed her emotional attachment to him, but she no longer has legal standing to pursue her claim.

Centering legal rectitude over emotional catharsis isn’t a requirement for having Jewish characters in your story, but it’s worth thinking about what is and isn’t universal, what is and isn’t actually all that secular.

Meanwhile, back at the topic:

Where does any of this place Danielle?

Well, unless you’re positing a universe in which Christian or other deities or cosmologies are confirmed to exist (See Jewish characters in a universe with author-created fictional pantheons for more on that topic), there’s no reason why they shouldn’t be perfectly fine interacting with whatever the setting you’re building throws at them.

My wishlist for this character and setting runs more to the general things to consider when writing fantasy settings with Jewish characters:

Don’t confirm or imply that Jesus is a divine being. That means no supernatural items like splinters of the cross, grails, nails, veils, etc. There’s nothing particularly powerful or empowering about this one guy who lived and died like so many others.

Don’t show God’s body and especially not God’s face, or confirm that any other gods or deities exist, whether that’s Jesus, Aphrodite, or Anubis, or someone you made up for the context.

Don’t put Danielle in a position where they’re going to play into an antisemitic trope like child murder, blood drinking, world domination, or financial greed. If you have to, name it and let Danielle express discomfort with or distaste for those actions both because Jewish values explicitly oppose all of those things but also because Danielle as a Jewish character would be painfully aware of these stereotypes as present and historical excuses for antisemitic violence.

Do consider what Danielle’s personal practice might look like. What does Danielle do on Shabbat? What do they eat or refrain from eating? What are their memories of Jewish holidays and how is their current holiday observance different than their childhood? I know I say “Jewishness is diverse” on every ask, but it is, and these questions--which also underscore how very much Judaism is rooted in one’s actions during this life--will help you develop how Judaism actually functions to inform Danielle’s character, even if you don’t spell out the answers to each of these questions in text.

Do let Danielle find joy, comfort, and identity in their Jewishness not just in contrast with Christianity but simply because it’s part of the wholeness of their character. I know the primary representation of Jewishness is a snappy one-liner in a Christmas episode followed by the Jewish character joining in the Christmas spirit, blue edition, but make room for Jewishness to inform how Danielle approaches the events of your story, or why they decide to get or stay involved.

-Meir

Hi it’s Shira with some Jewish ghost story recs written from inside–

When The Angels Left the Old Country by Sacha Lamb (deliriously good queer YA Jewish paranormal, mainstream enough that it’s got a good chance of being at your local library and won all kinds of awards)

The Dyke and the Dybbuk by Ellen Galford (sorry for the slur, warning for a paragraph of biphobia in the book but it’s an older book. I read this right before my divorce so my memories are super fuzzy but it’s about this modern day lesbian who gets possessed by the ghost of a different lesbian from hundreds of years earlier in Jewish history.) Nine of Swords Reversed by Xan West z’L of blessed memory - another queer Jewish paranormal.

The general plot is that two partners are struggling with how to be honest with each other about the effect disability is having on them. It’s got a very warm and fuzzy cozy vibe but kink culture is central to the worldbuilding so if that isn’t your vibe I didn’t want you to go in unaware.

The Dybbuk in Love by Sonya Taaffe. I don’t remember the details but I remember loving it, it’s m/f and romance between possessor and possessed.

I wrote a really short one called A Man of Taste where a gentile vampire woman and a Jewish ghost/dybbuk get together.

#Jewish #Judaism #supernatural #supernatural beings #settings #fantasy #ghosts #asks

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vampiresfromxenon · 7 months

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Luscious, Succulent, Delectable

Astarion x gn! Tav/Reader

Around 2.3K words

Tags: Fluff, so much kissing, so much moaning (so so much), body (thigh) worship, consensual touching, mutual love, they are so insanely in love, slight angst, consensual biting/blood sucking, soft! Astarion, implied smut, no y/n

Summary: After a tough battle, you can’t help but fall apart in your tent, aching both inside and out. Astarion, whom you’ve recently committed to a relationship with, comes to your side to comfort you. Wanting to help you focus more on yourself and what your wants and needs are, he finds himself lost in exploring your thighs.

It’s been a long day. Hells, it’s been a long life. One day you wake up on a Nautiloid ship and suddenly you’re responsible for saving not just yourself, but pretty much all of Faerûn. Lucky you, right? Life’s punching bag, here in the flesh.

It’s not all bad, though. You’ve been met with some kindness along the way, though perhaps not as much as you feel you deserve. One of your traveling companions, however, has certainly delivered on his promises of ‘kindness’. For nights on end you two would sneak off into the woods, exploring each other’s pleasure limits, and for many, many mornings, Shadowheart was less than pleased to cure you of your bloodlessness.

As time went on, you learned more about Astarion, your pale, vampiric friend. You had your doubts about him at first, but you had grown to love him, caring for him deeply the more you learned about his past, the more he became vulnerable around you. After a drow from Moonrise Towers was very persistent to have Astarion drink from her, and you supported him in telling her to ‘fuck off’ (but in nicer words than you’d hoped for), you found yourselves re-evaluating your situation.

The vampire had grown to care for you, seeing much more in you than just protection. He saw something deeper, something real and fresh and… It was a bit much for him at first, but over time you both grew to be even more comfortable around each other, finding yourselves enjoying the smaller, lighter moments of intimacy that rose from being deeply in love.

Tonight was no different, as your party returns to camp from defending Halsin’s portal in the Shadow-Cursed Lands. You were covered in blood and bruises, trudging along to your tent at a slow pace. Most party members found themselves skipping dinner, just trying to sleep off their wounds and soreness. You found yourself nearly doing the same, sitting down on a soft cushion as you remove your armor, tossing it off to the side to be cleaned and polished later. Lying on your bedroll in your night clothes, you softly sigh, your body relaxing enough to where you can feel the full extent of the trauma your body went through today. Closing your eyes, you begin to doze off, trying to forget it all and think about what a new day could bring.

“How are you feeling?” A smooth voice asks, the flap of your tent crinkling as a figure wanders in. You wake with a start, sitting up to meet the new inhabitant of your tent.

“I’ve never felt better. Poets could write sonnets about how at peace I feel.” You sarcastically scoff, rolling your eyes.

Astarion grunts as he sits at your side, taking claim of the cushion you were previously on. It’s clear that today’s battle had also hit him quite hard. “I’ll be sure to sing along as they recite it.” He teases, trying to hide his discomfort. You both sit there in silence for a moment, not wanting to show a sign of weakness talking about how much your bodies ache from the day’s activities. You can’t help but break the silence first.

“I don’t know how we’re expected to do all of this. My whole body aches, I’m unsure if I’ll be able to walk properly tomorrow!” You say, exasperated.

“You carried on just fine after all those nights I left you unable to walk…” He snickers, and you playfully push at his chest.

“I’m being serious! This is a lot of pressure, so many people are relying on us, relying on me… I just don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this.” Your eyes land in your lap.

Astarion takes a softer tone, hating to see his love in such a melancholy mood. “Darling…” He sighs, his hand resting on your thigh. You flinch a little, your legs badly bruised. He is quick to notice this, and he begins to gently massage your thigh through the fabric, hoping to bring you some comfort.

“You take on too much. I know you want to help, it’s a damn curse that you care so much, but we have to focus on taking care of ourselves for a bit. We spend so much time helping other people that I think you forget we have that hellish tadpole behind our eyes. We don’t have much time left, but I know we have enough for you to take a break. Please, you need to rest. You can’t solve everyone’s problems, especially when you can’t solve your own.”

You find yourself on the verge of tears, trying to take in all these words that he would have never said to you before you became close. Hearing this from him, seeing this side of him, you know he’s serious and means every single word. He notices your silence, your closed-offness from the conversation, and he gently places his fingers on your chin, tilting your head up to meet his.

“Promise me you’ll take a break? Only focus on the tadpole stuff for a bit?” He softly asks, his eyes switching between both of yours, looking for any sign of confirmation.

“Ok…” Is all you can breathe before he leans forward to hug you, both of your bodies trembling slightly from the bruises brought on from today. He pulls from you, placing soft kisses on your cheeks before a delicate one on your lips.

“I want to help you relax.” He offers, and you nod your head, trying to follow his words of advice about taking more time for yourself. He smiles as he moves down your body, slowly removing your trousers, leaving you in just your nightshirt and underwear. He tosses them off to the side, taking in the sight of your legs. He frowns before saying something in a low, rumbling, lustful tone.

“Oh Darling, those bruises should be from me.”

He sighs before crawling between your legs, his hands caressing the sides of your thighs as he lifts your legs over his shoulders. Moving his hands up and down your thighs gently, he takes in the scent of your skin. A smile creeps on his face as your body shivers from his touch, already very eager for more. Knowing this, he decides to take his time, teasing you for as long as he can handle. His hands begin to curl around your thighs, his fingertips dragging along the inside curve of your thighs now.

“Gods, why have I been sleeping with that ratty old pillow when these have been here this whole time?” He growls, gripping your thighs a little tighter, holding them closer to his head.

You let out a small gasp from both the pain and excitement from his touch. He’s massaging your thighs a little harder now, and you can’t help but let out small moans here and there, only encouraging him to continue. You throw your head back into the pillow, your hand on your mouth as he massages a particularly sore spot. Seeing this, he stops, waiting for you to meet his gaze again. Distraught from his lack of touching, you open your eyes and look down at him to see him gazing at you through his lashes.

“Don’t you ever hide those sounds from me, darling.” He purrs, a commanding tone in his voice. He reaches through your legs to remove your hand from your face, his hand trailing down your torso in a teasingly slow pace.

“I’m not even close to being done with you yet, I intend to make you sing all night. Your throat will be aching for ages…” His words are dripping with lust, and your heart races at his usage of those dirty double entendres. His hand slips between your legs, hooking around your left thigh again, bringing it closer to his face.

Maintaining eye contact with you, he licks a stripe up your leg, starting near the junction between your torso and thigh, ending all the way up to your knee. His breath tickles your skin as he chuckles, watching you shake from his attention. He does the same with your other thigh, making sure to go just a little bit slower to really drag out your slight frustration. Your chest feels tight as it rises and falls quickly, the sound of your panting becoming loud enough to be quietly heard from outside your tent. At this point, neither of you cared if anyone in the camp heard you; it wouldn’t be the first or last time they’d hear it.

“Your body is so soft, so beautiful, so perfect. Your thighs-” He kisses the inside of your left thigh near your knee softly, his tongue tracing at your skin. As he continues to speak, he sloppily kisses down your thighs, panting from all this excitement he brought on himself. He laps at your skin like a wild, hungry animal, your legs a fresh, raw, succulent steak.

“They are delectable, darling. ~mhm~ I just can’t get enough of them. ~mhm~ The knowledge that you get to have them, ~mhm~ that they’re part of you, ~mhm~ that you walk around with them ~mhm~ every day. ~mhm~ Gods, I envy you. ~mhm~ If I had legs these perfect, ~mhm~ I’d never ~mhm~ hide them ~mhm~ from the world. ~mhm~ Just the sight of you, ~mhm~ lounging on cushions, ~mhm~ your legs draped on each other, ~mhm~ the way your legs look so soft ~mhm~ and inviting… ~mhm~ It's a wonder how ~mhm~ I don’t just take you ~mhm~ right then and there. ~mhm~ You drive me crazy, ~mhm~ my love. ~mhm~”

He pulls away from your thighs, both of you so riled up that you feel as though the air has been knocked out of you. Your head is hot from all the blushing, all the flattering comments, all the kissing. His face is slightly flushed, his pupils blown out, his eyes brimming with both love and lust. He almost sounds drunk as he speaks, his voice nearly cracking at the thought of what he wishes to do to you next. Pleading, he lies his cheek on the inside of your right thigh.

“Your thighs are so delicious. I just need a taste. Just a quick taste. Please.” You can’t deny him, not after how much pleasure he’s brought you without even touching you like that yet. You nod your head, and even though he appears desperate, he makes it clear that he’s still the one in charge, the one with the upper hand.

“If you want it, you’ve got to say it.” You whimper as he massages your leg, teasing you.

“Yes! Gods, yes!” You breathlessly exclaim.

Without wasting a single second, he sinks his teeth into your left thigh, moaning as he bites harder into your soft flesh. You moan with him, the feeling of both pain and pleasure extremely stimulating. In all your excitement, you clamp your thighs together, almost crushing his head between them. He moans even louder, his hands pressing into your thighs, encouraging the pressure. Had your legs not already been bruised, you’re sure you’d have the shape of his hands in your skin for a few days after this. During all of this, you can feel his body moving, shaking… thrusting. If you weren’t already moaning, Gods only know how you’d react to the sight of him rolling, perhaps almost slamming, his hips into your bedroll as he drinks from you, his head clamped between your thighs.

As he drinks from your thigh, you feel the sharp stinging pain from the initial bite fading away, the tingling numbness taking its place. You can feel the blood leaving your body, and it feels different from how it usually does when it leaves your neck. It’s a new, exciting feeling, hard to compare to your neck as both give such different feelings of pleasure.

You can feel him slowing down on drinking from your thigh, his throat thick with your blood, his moans slowly turning into needy little whimpers and whines. He pulls from your thigh, eagerly lapping up the blood that drips from the two puncture wounds. The sight of his desperation makes him look like he’s never had anything to drink before in his life. The pressure from your thighs around his head releases, your legs falling open as you relax. You both lie there together, his head resting on your right thigh and looking up at you as you both try to catch your breath. He goes to speak, his voice wavering as he still continues to pant, his body now full of more energy thanks to your blood.

“For a moment there, I couldn’t breathe at all. I thought about pushing your legs away from me to catch my breath, but then I realized that I could die happy knowing that my head was crushed between your luscious thighs.”

You laugh, realizing how ridiculous his statement is, as well as how arousing it is too. He smiles, gently kissing the puncture wounds on your thigh again. Climbing on top of you, he nestles his hips between your legs, and you can feel just how much he enjoyed all of that. He leans over you, kissing you lightly, pulling back to gaze into your eyes.

“Thank you.” You quietly say, brushing his hair out of his face. Your hand caresses his cheek, feeling how warm he is with all your blood rushing through his body.

“No, thank you. And besides, don’t think we’re done just yet, my love.” He gives you a knowing look, cocking his eyebrow. “I want to be the main reason you can’t walk tomorrow.”

Before anything else can be said, you hungrily grab his face, his lips crashing on to yours. Your legs wrap around his waist, drawing his body closer, his chest grinding into yours. The night wanders on, your tent rustling, full of moans and panting breaths, two people utterly, embarrassingly in love.

Author’s Note:

GUYS. Ok think back to that one scene where he drinks from Tav for the first time. You guys remember that one line of dialogue that happens if you persuade him off of you? “Mhh? Oh, of course. That - that was amazing.” His little whimper. His gulp. His panting. That one line alone was such a huge inspiration for how I wrote this, I need you all to know that that’s basically what he sounds like during most of this fic. Do with that information what you will-

(Also this is probably the closest I'll ever get to writing smut. I don’t feel 100% comfortable writing smut, but I hope you guys enjoy the moments like these as much as I do!!)

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spicyicetea · 1 year

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My dearest soulmate

So some people wanted a Ganondorf version of my Calamity!reader so I'm finally writing it, enjoy.

An old proverb. Oral legend passed down through the Gerudo families for centuries. Their king, who is only born every century, and his fated love. Many reject this as the truth. Their desire for the king to be free to conquer Hyrule is so strong that they hide the legend. One slip up is all it took for all that work to come undone.

"What did you say?" The King's voice boomed, demanding and harsh.

The servant quivered in fear as her friend stepped forward to explain.

"We were just speaking about an old story we heard from our mothers as children my king. Our apologies for angering you."

"What story? The beginning was similar to an old legend I have read about, this may be the end of what I desire to learn!" He grins, staring down at them.

The shortest woman gulped and began to recite the story as she remembered it,

"Once every 100 years, a king will be born into the Gerudo royal family. He shall bring forth an era of change and power to the Gerudo people. This legendary king will fall victim to a knight chosen by the Sword that seals the darkness. A cycle of pain that can only be broken through union of the king and the Lady of Calamity."

"Lady of Calamity? I haven't yet heard this part of my legend." "Yes... this has been ignored as the Gerudo people of the past could never find her and assumed she didn't exist."

"Well, if she is what I require to win, than we shall find her. Prepare the army, we do not sleep until that woman is found!" The King yelled, walking off to arm himself.

---POV CHANGE---

It was a normal day for the young elven woman. The dark bubbling malice followed her feet padding along the grass through the forest. Her home. She had no choice but to hide from the village people she once regarded as family who exiled her once her powers had emerged. An ancient legend caused her to be thrown to the wolves by her former friends, although it did mean she would avoid execution. Words uttered by Hylians of old had doomed her to a life of solitary suffering unless she succumbed to the fate the world had set for her. But, she would never. Why in the world would she throw herself into the arms of pure and utter evil. Ganondorf. Her soulmate.

Although she had never met him, obviously, the tales of the crimes he had committed against her kind made her fear the man. She herself knew she was far from weak, the malice that follows her beck and call protects her well enough. Yet, she was apparently, his win condition for his atrocities. Just because her people betrayed her, doesn't mean she will betray them.

A dense unsettling air settled over the forest. Y/N felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up as she glanced around the trees cautiously. An arrow whizzed by her face and she jumped back, falling down as a heavy foot was brought down on her chest.

"Stay down Hylian!" The Gerudo woman commanded. "We look for the Lady of Calamity, have you heard that name? Many say she's as tall as us Gerudo and as strong as a Lynel."

Y/N felt her breath catch in her throat. Perhaps she could hide who she was by lying and going along with the rumors they had heard. Yes, that's a great way to escape!

"Ah, yes! She resides in a nearby village. She protects them from monster attacks." She said hurried in a soft voice.

The Gerudo woman nodded and removed her foot from Y/N's chest. She sat up and held the aching ribs, the pain soon dissipating from fear. An intense wave of nausea overcame her as a strange smell filled her nose. The hot desert sand, Warm Saffina oil and a faint dizzying musk. Her vision shook as she lent down, wiping sweat from her brow.

On the other side of the thick treeline the Gerudo King was having a similar struggle. His head became clouded with the strange pounding of his heart, echoing through his body. The fresh scent of the forest was pierced by a sinful sweet smell. Every step he took, following the scent made him feel as if he was going to collapse. His warriors followed him as he made his way past the trees, staring directly at the meek woman on the floor.

"Lord Ganondorf, are you alright?"

"Stay away," The woman groaned. "I haven't fought for so long to lose to you now, you beast."

"Do not speak to the King like that," One of the warriors yelled, but was silenced as Ganondorf chuckled.

"Look at me woman, where is she?"

"where is who? I do not know the woman you seek! Leave me be!" She growls, ripping at the grass beneath her hands to stay calm.

Ganondorf just chuckles darkly, standing over the woman.

"I know she is here, my wife, my queen to be. Now where does she hide?"

"Nowhere! I live alone in these woods, I do not know the woman you seek. I have never seen a single woman around these parts as tall as any of you!" She declared in rush.

"You're lying, I can sense her!" The King yelled yanking her up by her arm to finally look at him.

The moments their eyes locked he could feel himself fall apart. Her lashes shielded most of her eyes from his gaze, yet the iris' he could see filled him with a strange sensation. Y/N felt her knees buckle and immediately fall apart as he grabbed her, a dull heat drumming where he had made contact, as well as forming deep knots in her abdomen. Her lips parted as she panted, a strange heat settling over the two despite the chill winds in the forest. Ganondorf felt his body begin to hunger for the small woman, noticing the malice prepared to catch her should he drop her. Although, he didn't plan to. Lust. That described the immense, powerful sensation that was taking over his mind. An unstoppable, violent desire to part her thighs and control her small form. His people would worship her, similar to how he already did. She stared up at him in fear, his mind still caught in a trance.

"Ganondorf?" She muttered, worried he would kill her then and there.

The small whimpers just inspired more sinful desires. For her to scream his name into the cold desert nights to consummate their marriage, only his body heat to warm her small, fragile form. Months later for her to have the Gerudo guards at her beck and call as she relaxed in their bed, plump with his young. Years later small red-headed children running around her legs as she carried their youngest child, greeting him back from a battle. Yes, it was all perfect. He would conquer Hyrule for her. For his wife.

I hope you sinners enjoyed that, I know I did. I'm gonna tag those who I saw asking for it so they get notifs. If you like this then go check out my other pieces of writing! Thanks and bye!

Tagged: @professor-petty @simp-erman @kujogoofzeus

#legend of zelda botw #legend of zelda tears of the kingdom #legend of zelda breath of the wild #legend of zelda x reader #x reader #yandere x reader #legend of zelda fanfiction #ganondorf x reader #ganondorf #ganon #yandere #soulmates

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hotvintagepoll · 1 month

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Propaganda

María Félix (Doña Barbara, La Mujer sin Alma, Rio Escondido, La Cucaracha)—Maria Felix is still possibly the most well-known Mexican film actress. She turned down multiple-roles in Hollywood and a contract with Metro-Goldwyn-Meyer in order to take roles in Mexico, France, and Argentine throughout the 1940s, 50s, 60s. She was so famous and so respected as a dramatic actress that she inspired painters, novelists and poets in their own art--she was painted by Diego Rivera, Jose Orozco, Bridget Tichenor. The novelist Carlos Fuentes used her as inspiration for his protagonist in Zona Sagrada. She inspired an entire collection by Hermes. In the late 1960s Cartier made her a custom collection of reptile themed jewels. She considered herself to be powerful challenger of morality and femininity in Mexico & worldwide--she routinely played powerful women in roles with challenging moral choices and free sexuality. But even still, years after he death, she is celebrated with Google Doodles, and appearances in the movie Coco, and holidays for the anniversary of her death.

Marie Doro (Lost and Won)—I had never heard of this woman before the prelims a couple of weeks ago, but oh my GOD I have not been able to stop thinking about her since. Look at her!! She was often typecast as delicate, fragile types on stage and screen, but in real life she was "intelligent, an expert on Shakespeare and Elizabethan poetry, and possessed a penetrating humor and a sometimes acid wit"(!!!!) and known for bringing vibrancy and intelligence to all of her roles. Unfortunately most of her films have been lost, but she was considered a highly sought-after lead actress through the '20s, at which point she retired from acting. In her later years, she went back to school, taking university courses in theology, physics, metaphysics, and philosophy. She was also reportedly close friends with Maude Adams and Mercedes de Acosta, both known for their lesbian relationships, which has led some (me) (but also others) to speculate that she may have been lesbian or bi herself. She has a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame! She was Charlie Chaplin's first love! She was so beautiful??? I want her to recite poetry for me while we picnic in the park.

This is round 3 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

María Félix:

She's Thee Hot Vintage Movie Woman of México. She's absolutely gorgeous and always looks like she's about to step on you. you WILL be thankful if she does.

"María Félix is a woman -- such a woman -- with the audacity to defy the ideas machos have constructed of what a woman should be. She's free like the wind, she disperses the clouds, or illuminates them with the lightning flash of her gaze." - Octavio Paz

María Félix is one of the most iconic actresses of the Golden Era of Mexican Cinema. La Doña, as she was lovingly nicknamed, only had one son, and when her first marriage ended in divorce her ex-husband stole her only child, so she vowed that one day she’d be more influential than her ex and she’d get her son back. AND SHE DID! María Félix rejected a Hollywood acting role to start her acting career in Mexico on her own terms with El Peñón de las Ánimas (The Rock of Souls) starring alongside actor, and future third husband, Jorge Negrete. She quickly rose to incredible heights both in Mexico and abroad, later on rejecting a Hollywood starring role (Duel in the Sun) as she was already committed to the movie Enamorada at the planned filming time. Of this snubbing she said, quote: “I will never regret saying no to Hollywood, because my career in Europe was focused in [high] quality cinema. [My] india* roles are made in my country, and [my] queen roles are abroad.” (Translator notes: here the “india” role means interpreting a lower-class Mexican woman, usually thought of indigenous/native/mixed descent —which she had interpreted and reinvented throughout her acting career in Mexico— and what abroad was typically considered the Mexican woman stereotype, with the braids, long simple skirts, and sandals. This also references the expectation of her possibly helping Hollywood in perpetuating this stereotype for American audiences that lack the cultural and historical contexts of this type of role which would undermine her own efforts against this type of Mexican stereotypes while working in Europe) She was considered one of the most beautiful women in the world of her time by international magazines like Life, París Match, and Esquire, and was a muse to a vast number of songwriters (including her second husband Agustin Lara,), artists, designers, and writers. Muralist Diego Rivera described her as “a monstrously perfect being. She’s an exemplary being that drives all other human beings to put as much effort as possible to be like her”. Playwriter Jean Cocteau, who worked with her in the Spanish film La Corona Negra (The Black Crown) said the following about her, “María, that woman is so beautiful it hurts”. Haute Couture houses like Dior, Givenchy, Yves Saint Laurent, Balenciaga, Hérmes, among others, designed and dressed her throughout her life. She died on her birthday, April 8, 2002, at 88 years old, in Mexico City. She was celebrated by a parade from her home to the Fine Arts Palace in the the city’s Historic Downtown, where a multitude of people paid tribute to her. Her filmography includes 47 movies from 1942 until 1970, and only two television acting roles in 1970. She has 2 music albums, one recorded with her second husband, Agustín Lara, in 1964 titled La Voz de María y la inspiración de Agustín «The voice of María and the inspiration of Augustín», and her solo album Enamorada «In Love» in 1998. Her bespoke Cartier jewelry is exhibited alongside Elizabeth Taylor’s, Grace Kelly’s and Gloria Swanson’s. In 2018, Film Director Martin Scorsese presented a restored and remastered version of her film Enamorada in the Cannes Classics section of the Cannes Festival and Google dedicated a doodle for her 104th birthday. On august 2023 Barbie added her doll to the Tribute Collection.

Marie Doro:

Unfortunately nearly all of Marie Doro’s movies are lost, and I don’t know a lot about her, but as soon as I came across Marie for the first time, I fell in love with her. The early Edwardian era is my favourite decade for fashion, and Marie wears it all so well! In every photo she looks like an angel made out of porcelain, too perfect to be real. She was Charlie Chaplin’s first love, and he remained in love with her for years after their first encounter, and let’s be honest, who can blame him? He said about her in his biography:

‘She was so devastatingly beautiful that I resented her. I resented her delicate, pouting lips, her regular white teeth, her adorable chin, her raven hair and dark brown eyes. But, oh God, she was beautiful! It was love at first sight. At the theatre I would time the moment that she left her dressing room so as to meet her on the stairs and gulp 'good-evening.' When I met Marie Doro again, it was like the second act of a romantic play. After we were introduced I said: 'But we've met before. You broke my heart. I was silently in love with you.' Marie, looking as beautiful as ever, said: “How thrilling”.

Doro retired from filmmaking in the 1920s and became very reclusive after that, so unfortunately there’s hardly any footage of her to watch. I feel sad that more people don’t know who Marie Doro is, because she’s very important to me.

Linked gifset to see Marie in action

#marie doro #maria felix #hotvintagepoll #fuck that old woman #ladies 3

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storiesfromgaza · 7 months

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Al-Rashid Street, I describe it as the street of death yesterday. I will describe the road for you. Gaza Port is no longer a port. You pass through a city that is entirely marred and destroyed, even the cafes and places that used to embrace our memories are now destroyed, a heart-wrenching devastation. We have surpassed the destruction, and calm has settled in. while i was reading Surah Ya-Sin (Quran) and saying the testimony (I bear witness that there is no god worthy of worship except Allah, and that Muhammad is the messenger of Allah), and weeping. Death on my right, and above me...

Death on my right, and above me, machine gun boats, not more than a few seconds pass, and suddenly, the sound of machine gun fire is unleashed on our car and the car behind us. I learned that they had fallen as martyrs, but I did not see them behind us. The bullets are coming from the west, and there are tanks in the east. The driver accelerated so much that the brakes were on the verge of exploding, and we almost caused an accident due to the extreme speed to survive. We lowered our heads and recited the testimony (I bear witness that there is no god but Allah.)

The driver lowered his head swiftly and steered the car with great speed, his eyes fixed on the road and lowered, the sound of gunfire continuing unabated. The people behind us had become martyrs. We passed through the barrage of bullets, only to encounter two cars, one empty and the other ablaze, the street strewn with corpses and body parts, including the charred figure that met my gaze. We made it out of the street of death, praise be to God.

It wasn't easy; I will never forget the pounding of my heart and my fear as the sound of bullets pierced our car, taking lives behind us. It was the most harrowing moments of my life. To this day, I am in shock from seeing the carnage and the speed of the car, which came dangerously close to flipping due to its extreme velocity. I still can't believe what happened. Even in any cinematic scene, I have never witnessed anything like this, teetering on the edge of death.

The sight of the man with his body reduced to ashes, and the smoker who remained etched in my thoughts, the woman and her young daughter turned into fragments with severed heads, and bullets strewn all over the place. There is no might and no power except in Allah, the Almighty. O Lord, they have indeed committed excesses in the land. Reveal to us the wonders of Your might. Oh God, what is happening is atrocious

#gaza #palestine #gaza strip #free gaza #free palestine #storiesfromgaza #غزة #فلسطين #genocide #humanitarian crisis

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television-overload · 15 days

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of our own making

(an X-Files fanfic)

Chapter 7/34 - pocket bow tie

[Read on AO3]

She looks excited. At least, he thinks she does.

The good news is, she doesn't look like she's about to bolt out the door, and he calls that a win.

They may not be committing themselves to each other in the way a marriage is typically supposed to go, but this is a big commitment all the same. If she changes her mind now, their plans for adoption are as good as gone. The idea of family, as foreign as it has been for the last 26 years of his life.

He’ll admit he’s gotten rather attached to the idea. Perhaps a little too much so, considering how unique their situation is, and how often they've been dealt blow after blow of disappointment.

He looks down at the woman to his left. Any worries he might have had melt away at the sight of her. She's calm, her lips quirked up in a quiet, content smile as they wait to be called into the courtroom. Her shoulder brushes against his arm, and he resists the temptation to touch her, to hold her hand in his, knowing he will have his chance later.

"You look beautiful, by the way," he says, having held on to that one all morning. She smiles up at him, looking every bit the blushing bride she is, despite the absence of the big white dress and veil.

"I think Bill was intimidated by how nicely you were dressed," she teases back.

He looks down at his fine-cut suit. "What, this old thing?"

Scully has never been the kind to care how expensive one's clothes were, but even she has to admit that he looks good in Armani. And judging by his smirk, he knows it too.

"Did you have that bow tie stuffed in your pocket all morning, Mulder?" she asks, reaching up to straighten it.

"Had to look nice for our special day," he answers cheesily. "Plus, you told me to ditch the colorful ties. Figured I'd get a head start on the whole 'happy wife, happy life' thing."

Wife. Husband. Those words sound so foreign, and yet, in just a few moments time, they will apply to them.

'Excuse me, table for me and my wife, please.'

'Yes, I'm her husband. That's me.'

The insanity of it all makes him want to laugh.

"Fox Mulder and Dana Scully?" a clerk asks, popping her head out of the courtroom door.

He feels Scully's hand grasp for his, and a thrill runs up his spine. "That's us," she says, stepping forward. He gives her hand a squeeze, following after her like a lost puppy.

Here we go.

Once they’re inside, the judge gestures for them to approach the bench, and they stand side-by-side in the center of the chamber. The dark oak wood is daunting, bringing back memories of not particularly enjoyable times they’ve been in courtrooms.

This time is different, though. The judge is smiling, for one, looking down her thin, half-moon spectacles at them. And, for once, their time in court will serve to unite them, rather than split them apart.

Yes, this would be a very nice change, indeed.

“What a beautiful couple you make,” the older woman speaks, her eyes crinkling in joy. Scully smiles, and Mulder clings a little tighter to her hand. “Are we ready to get started?”

They nod, and Mulder has to focus to keep his knees steady under him. They’re really doing this. He can hardly believe it has come to this point.

“We are gathered here to join Fox and Dana in the blessed union of marriage,” the judge starts, reciting her opening statement to the mostly empty room. One clerk stands by as their witness, a camera in hand to capture their memories of the day, probably with the intent to sell them back to them at an exorbitant price.

It doesn’t matter. Mulder will pay it anyway, whatever the cost.

“This is not a responsibility to be taken lightly,” she continues. “A marriage ought to be founded on mutual respect, affection, and a desire to see through any challenges that may come your way. If you speak your vows in truth, this union will strengthen your bond, serving as a constant reminder of your unwavering love for one another.”

Mulder swallows, holding fast to the comfortable weight of Scully’s hand in his. The judge’s words only reinforce his belief that this is the right decision, that this is meant to be. Mutual respect, affection, going through life’s challenges… how else would he describe what he and Scully have? What they’ve had for over half a decade?

Unwavering love . He’s got that in spades. He feels it from her too, that fierce loyalty. “Love…” Well, he’d like to think so. At least some form of it.

“Fox,” the judge speaks, calling him to attention. He fumbles for Scully’s other hand, the way he remembers seeing at a friend’s wedding once in Oxford. “Will you take Dana to be your lawfully wedded wife? To love her, comfort her, honor her, and keep her, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?”

Easiest yes in the entire world.

Green eyes meet blue.

“I will,” he says.

“And Dana,” he feels his throat close, choking back a sudden rise of emotion. “Will you take Fox to be your lawfully wedded husband? To love him, comfort him, honor him, and keep him, forsaking all others, so long as you both shall live?”

It’s the ‘forsaking all others’ part he feels like Scully shouldn’t be agreeing to, but they’ve talked this over. He still can’t quite believe she picked him. Him! Out of any man she could have.

“I will,” she answers, squeezing his hands once. He nods, and feels—not for the first time—that she’d known exactly what was going through his head. They certainly are spooky like that, sometimes.

“Excellent,” the judge praises. “Now, do you have your own vows, or—”

“The standard is fine,” Scully says, smiling up at Mulder.

“Standard it is,” she says. “Fox, repeat after me. I, Fox, take you Dana.”

“I, Fox, take you, Dana.” He leans in close and adds, for her ears only, “Scully,” with a conspiratorial smile, whispering the name he gave her that first day they met. It’s the only one that feels right coming from his lips, and he needs her to know that this isn’t just for show. This isn’t ‘Fox’ making promises to ‘Dana.’ This is them—Mulder and Scully. It’s real. As real as anything she can prove with her beloved science.

The judge, oblivious to his unprompted addition, continues. “To be my wife,” she says.

“To be my wife.”

His. He would have a wife, and it would be Scully. His Scully. He runs his thumb over her knuckles in circular strokes, swallowing back emotion. She shudders under the intensity of his gaze.

“To have and to hold, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, to love and to cherish, from this day forward.”

It feels good to speak these promises aloud. For so long, he’s taken and taken and taken from her, watched her life and her dreams be stolen from her grasp, powerless to stop it. Now he can finally give, starting here and now, with his solemn vow to be there for her in every way the judge described. He hopes she can see the truth in his eyes. How much he means these words, from the bottom of his heart.

Judging by the way her eyes glisten, he’s coming across loud and clear.

Then, it’s her turn, and she looks up at him through fluttering eyelashes. “I, Dana,” she says, smiling coyly in preparation for what they both know comes next. “Take you, Fox.” His name is spoken with a teasing lilt, and it sounds just as unnatural as it always does coming from her mouth. He breathes a laugh, jostling her hands playfully between them. “Mulder,” she whispers, just as he had, and his heart melts. “To be my husband.”

The rest of her vows follow, equal to his, just as they are equal in all things. The weight of what they are promising lands squarely on their shoulders, at once harrowing and freeing. Mulder can hardly believe the ceremony is almost over.

“Now, do you have rings to exchange?”

Scully goes to answer that, no, they don’t, but movement from Mulder stalls her. He fishes something from his pocket, facing her with a shy smile.

“Merry Christmas, Scully,” he says, dropping a plain silver band in the palm of her hand. She sees his fist clenched around what must be her ring, and tilts her head in fond exasperation, a silent whine of ‘Mulder…’ that he looks forward to hearing every time they exchange gifts.

The judge waxes poetic (as poetic as city hall can get) about the meaning of rings, their significance in a marriage, symbolism—but Mulder and Scully are barely listening. All they hear is her instruction to place the band on each other’s left ring finger, which they happily do, taking their time to slide it into place. The weight feels heavy, but right, on Mulder’s hand, and Scully’s… Scully’s sparkles just like he’d imagined it would when he picked it out at the jewelry shop.

They won’t be able to wear them in public most of the time—he’d known that from the start—but for now, in this room where everyone is privy to the legal bonds being established between them, they are free to do whatever they wish.

“Well then,” the judge speaks up, beaming from ear to ear. “Having consented to enter into this union and pledged your vows to each other, by the authority vested in me by the State of Maryland and the circuit courts of Anne Arundel County, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” She reaches up and takes off her glasses, setting them down in front of her. “Mr. Mulder, you may kiss your bride.”

Blood rushes to his ears, and for a second all he can hear is the pounding of his heart.

Somehow, in all the weeks they’ve been planning this, he’d never considered this particular part of the ceremony. A startling oversight, considering how thorough he’d been with everything else.

Scully is looking up at him, the only sign of her own internal turmoil being the way she bites her lip and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. He wants to kiss her, oh, does he want to kiss her. But this is where the line between real and fake goes gray.

‘Is this okay?’ he asks with his eyes, his hands suddenly sweating a fair bit more than they had been before. He gets an almost imperceptible nod in return, and makes up his mind.

It’s chaste, the way his lips first meet hers. His hands land on that place on her back that she thinks of as belonging to him, and he dips down to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth. She turns and catches him with her lips, her hand coming up to lay flat against his chest. It barely lasts more than a few seconds, but it leaves him feeling dizzy nonetheless, breathless. He smiles a lopsided grin.

Of all the ways he imagined their first kiss going, in front of two complete strangers at their wedding was not one of them.

The air feels awkward when they pull back, not quite able to meet each other’s eyes, but the silence is quickly filled with congratulatory remarks from both the judge and their witness. In an act of boldness, he captures her hand again as they are ushered out of the room, holding tightly to it. As he predicted, their witness-slash-photographer takes Mulder’s money, promising that the prints from their ceremony will be delivered to his address in a month’s time, and he thanks her.

Step one is complete. They have officially started the process that would have them labeled the craziest agents in the FBI.

For once, he doesn’t really mind being the crazy one.

~~~

Lovely tag list ♡: [if you would like to be added or removed, let me know!]

@today-in-fic @ao3feed-msr @agent-troi @angegova @baronessblixen @calimanc @captainsolocide @clo-thespin @cutemothman @danasculls @deathsbestgirl @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @hippocampouts @invidiosa @monaiargancoconutsoy @numinousmysteries @primrose19 @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @skylarksong @slippinmickeys @stephy-gold @teenie-xf @the-redhead-in-a-dress @vincentsleftear @whovianderson

#msr #txf #x files #xf fanfic #mulder and scully #my fanfiction #fox mulder #dana scully #of our own making #ooom #msr adoption fic #adoption #hope i did this one justice #more to come

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zaurae · 25 days

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𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐇𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐬

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ 𝑯𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒐 𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒖𝒑 𝒃𝒂𝒅 𝒉𝒂𝒃𝒊𝒕𝒔 ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

First off, giving up an old bad habit is difficult, that I know; however, it is not impossible. I've had a lot of difficulties in my life where I repeated the same habit over and over again and I thought for me I would never overcome them. But you know what changed? trying. I tried my best every day and even if I failed, I slowly accepted that I am not perfect and I am only human. That is who we are, and that is why Allah the Almighty is so merciful, because Allah subhanahu wa ta'ala himself knows we humans will slip up and fall. But listen, it's not impossible and as annoying as it is, as long as you keep trying, keep having that good intentions of becoming better and to do better; trust me those habits will be history.

Whenever we do something for the sake of our lord, everything works out, everything clicks together. These habits you have won't be vanished for one day of course, or a week, it's a process--a journey that we all need to accept. Think of it as a fitness journey, you won't get fit in one day. These things take time and after feeling so negative about myself I realized as long as you try, asking Allah for help, and doing the most you can--it is possible.

I hope these tips do help you, and everyone is different as everyone has different struggles and bad habits. These will either help you or guide you to overcome those habits in your own way. May Allah subhanahu wa ta'ala make it easy for us.

⤑ 𝑰𝒎𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑸𝒖𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒚 𝑶𝒇 𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝑵𝒂𝒎𝒂𝒛

I have seen a video of someone asking a scholar why do I still commit these bad deeds/habits if I am performing my five daily prayers? and the answer to this was the quality of your namaz. Do you rush into prayer, are you zoning out, are you not on time for namaz, and etc.

There is of course a lot to this but the quality of your namaz and how much time you spend with our lord does affect our hearts.

One of many ways to re-connect with our lord to become better with our daily prayers are:

Performing your prayers on time (I understand how our laziness could get in the way or how we are so into whatever we were doing before and cannot detach ourselves from this but, a quote I read and did help me at times like this was "Put your time and effort to Allah, and Allah will put his time and effort to you too.")

Recite a dua/surah after your namaz (Ayetel kursi, a repentance dua, La ilaha illallah, wahdahu la sharika lahu, lahul-mulku wa lahul hamdu, yuhyi wa yumitu, wa huwa ala kulli shay'in qadir, and etc.)

Perform your wudhu 15-10 minutes earlier (Let me tell you when I did this it was so effective. When you perform wudhu earlier, you are in a clear-minded state and are purified. Along with you being on time for namaz, this additionally helps you become more focused during namaz)

Perform Dhikr (Subhanallah, Alhamdullilah, Astaghfirullah, La illaha illallah, Allahu Akbar)

Learn the meaning of what you are reciting (When you learn and understand the meaning of the surah/dua's you are reciting, being focused becomes easier and the connection becomes stronger)

⤑ 𝑫𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔

Create distractions for yourself to not commit those deeds/habits!

Do what you love and enjoy (Go back to those hobbies you used to enjoy! or hang out with your friends and family.)

Educate yourself (Look up interesting things; Learn something new; Watch an islamic podcast)

Get to work (If you have any outstanding work or homework, get straight to it.)

Learn a new surah (Let's say you REALLY have nothing else to do, then what better way to spend that time in something worthy--learning a surah!)

Go outside and enjoy nature!

⤑ 𝑩𝒖𝒊𝒍𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑮𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝑯𝒂𝒃𝒊𝒕𝒔

Along with giving up those bad habits, create new good habits to incorporate in your day-to-day life!

Each day, add something in your routine--even if its small! For instance, get back to that skin care routine you were so lazy to do; or go on that walk you kept saying later to; or even folding your clothes and organizing your closet. Each time you add a good habit to do, you become distracted to those bad habits, have less time do commit them, and on the long run you are creating habits for a better difference!

With this in mind, please do not do everything at once. To prevent a negative on-going cycle, just like that book "Atomic Habits" said, that "If you can get 1% better each day for one year, you'll end up with 37 times better by the time you're done."

A habit to always include and progress even more is repentance! Recite and repeat Astaghfirullah; Ya Gaffar and Ya Gafoor; as well as the repentance surah's! Before doing anything, always say Bismillah and whether you're doing chores or scrolling on your phone, always say Astaghfirullah. This helps you be more aware of Allah subhanahu wa ta'ala!

And lastly, remember you can do it!

: ̗̀➛ Allahumma musarrifal-qulubi, sarrif qulubana 'ala ta'atika

O Allah! Controller of the hearts, direct our hearts to Your obedience.

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gynarchyboi · 11 months

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MsReneeLane isn't available at this time day 9

For those of you who have gone through my training on Fetlife you know these 10 rules of male submission by heart. It's time to share them on Facebook. Submission is a 24/7 and 360 degree commitment that reaches deeply into how a man lives his life.

1.Exercise Daily: Be physically fit for general physical and mental health. A woman cannot train someone too weak to accept her discipline.

2.Eat Healthy: Deny yourself the empty calories of white sugar and starchy foods. Think of your female owner, when you deny yourself. Diet is part of your spiritual path.

3.Read good books. Talk about them: conversation and communication is a cornerstone of good relationships. By increasing your knowledge and expanding your horizons you make yourself a more interesting companion.

4.Volunteer: Be active in your community and give back to society. Join a service organization, pay the dues, volunteer your efforts. By becoming active, you increase the number of people you interact with and you make yourself a more well-rounded person.

5.Accept Discipline. Stay chaste most of the time.: Gain focus and determination by harnessing your sexual desires.. Remaining chaste for the woman in your life allows you to focus on serving her more diligently. If you are single, limit orgasms to the weekends. If you are partnered, surrender when and how you orgasm to your domme. Practice wearing a chastity device until it becomes a natural part of you. Submit to a weakly discipline session from your domme to help you on your path of submission. Never make mistakes to enhance this punishment. Instead, be slavishly devoted and thankful for any discipline a woman gives you. Always do your best.

6.Clean: Maintain a clean and organized living space. Dig in and do the boring drudgery of housework. Your efforts will give your woman enough energy to dominate you. If you are single, live as if a woman might inspect your quarters at anytime.

7.Promote and Support Women: Promote the practical and political needs of women. Doing this will give you a deeper understanding of women. Vote for women in whatever politics party you find yourself. See the promotion of books like mine as something practical you can contribute to hasten the coming matriarchy. Consider how much easier finding a domme could be if there was a movie you could direct a prospective woman to see. You could point at my sub in the movie that I hope to make and say, "I dream of living like that man for the right woman." She will see the love and devotion of this sub and become interested.

8.Respect All Women: Treat all women as if they were the key holders of your chastity belt. Especially treat women with respect who because of age or looks don't have a lot of sexual power. Other women will see this and they will be impressed by your sensitivity to women.

9.Disengage: Abstain from pornography and live in the real world. Limit yourself to 30 minutes a day of leisure activities online. Limit television. Spend your free time working, reading, playing, and loving others.

10.Recite Your Mantra: Intone it several times daily. Do this out loud. Recite it for your ears to hear, "I am only a slave; it is a privilege to serve." This simple act, overtime, will redirect your focus towards serving all women and especially the woman in your life. This mantra will empower you.

Do all 10 of theses. Don't leave one out. Women are always watching. Our eyes scan the herd, looking for the right man to cull and make our own. Make yourself the perfect prey.

Date Jun 24, 2019.

vimeo

#gynarchy #150 years of gynarchy #msreneelane #era: queendom #Vimeo

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lemmilemura · 25 days

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i actually NEED and REQUIRE a reader that is self aware that they’re in a show and is only there for simon because they’re in love with him (i’m also thinking of some obsessive vibes, not like full on yandere but just obsessed)

PINE MY SAVIOUR THIS ACTUALLY MADE ME WRITE FOR THE FIRST TIME IN LIKE MONTHS <3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3 Little warning there is violence... If I had to say how bad..... maybe Wayne level? all directed at Jake btw Yeah this went so far off the rails :D

y'all know the drill Based on the show Al lkept gender-neutral

You were just a character in a show. You knew that. Your life was just entertainment. You weren't even one of the important ones, just an extra off to the side, barely any lines. If you looked up into the sky, the clouds formed almost a screen, some days even a face. The face of the person watching you.

You saw the world stand still when they paused the show, time rewinding and speeding when they went ahead or back. You knew you were in a show. You knew that nobody else did. You saw that door that followed you everywhere. That studio door with big, red EXIT text. You knew you could leave.

But you didn't want to. After all, you had everything you needed. You never really had to eat or sleep or even use the bathroom. You knew exactly how it all went, becuase it did so over and over and over. You knew your cues, you knew what everyone would say and when.

Then again, there were of course bad parts. The constant repitition of events and days, the never changing people and conversations... The continuously reoccuring death of the guy you were in love with. You loved him, eventhough you weren't supposed to. You read it in the script- which appeared one morning on your nightstand- nowhere was even a single mention of your feelings for him. Yet they still existed.

You didn't know when they appered, you just noticed they did one day. There was no explanation either. Maybe it was because he looked good, which he did. Maybe it was because of the way he behaved, so different than all the other guys. Maybe it was something more, maybe it was everything.

You saw it every time. You had to, it was in the script, the law almlost. Every restart you find yourself in the library at the same time as their detention, every restart you see the school being egged, the teacher leaving, and him dying. You on the upper floor, putting books away as part of your volunteer librarion position. You could recite it all word for word, you knew the timing perfectly. When the first egg hits the window, when Ms.avery leaves and when he takes a drink and when he collapses and when it's too late.

You started hating your time-loop. You started hating your show. Why were you cursed to know? To be aware? To relive this all over and over. You knew who was behind it. You knew why and how. You could stop it, you were convinced. If you told him not to do it, if you changed one single thing. You weren't supposed to. You didn't know what would happen if you did. Anything could. That, was infinitely scarier than the loop itself. You tried so hard to stay out of it, to fulfil your role until the end. When would that be? You had no idea. Maybe there was no end. Maybe this was purgatory. Eternal damnation and suffering for whatever sins you may have previously committed.

You had started counting the reruns once, but you gave up after 5. You felt as if that was over a century ago. Truly, you were slowly going mad. You just wanted it to end, to finally be able to do what you wanted to do. You wanted change. After countless nights awake you decided.

So you stepped out of line. You went off-script.

The next restart you followed along, until a few minutes before the end of classes, a few minutes until they were supposed to meet to start their dare. Such a stupid thing to die for. A dare. He seemed so much smarter than to ever fall for that. But maybe your version of him was just better in that sense. You waited outside his class. How they let you in this morning is beyond you. How they didn't notice the baseball bat was hilarious, if not a little pathetic. Worrying even.

Your own teacher didn't even notice you leave class early, neither did anyone else. It's as if you weren't even there. But the watcher noticed. They rewind. Let it play. Pause. Rewind again. Pause. They're looking at you, you know it. You could see the camera behind you reflected in the glass of the classroom window. First change.

When the bell finally rang you could see him inside, packing up and genuinely being deuchey as always. You felt as if you would hate him regardless of murder. He was just the kind of guy everyone hated, except the other characters around him.

When he finally started his way to the door, you got ready. Bat laying over your shoulder, foot tapping the floor. You were impatient, insanely so. You just wanted to see what would happen. Sure you could always have just gone through the door, but now you wanted to go out and make a change. Go out with a bang, as they say.

You line up. He exits. You swing. He stood no chance. Crashing against the wall through the force of the bat, you could hear a crunch, a grump, and a thump as he fell to the floor. Good, it only took one hit. Not to say you weren't ready to dish out as many as needed to get the job done.

Everything paused. You got to revel in the looks of your peers, their shocked faces and phones out, the ones caught mid scream, the ones that are somehow already crying. You turned around to face the camera and bowed, a thank you to the watcher for allowing you this moment and watching.

They rewinded it countless times. You got to relive it countless times. Every time you swung a little differently. Once aiming for his chest, once his crotch, so on and so forth.

You were lost, truly. Maybe you had gone mad. Surely you weren't supposed to enjoy this. Surely.

Suddenly, the repitition stopped, everyone once again frozen, and you finally stopped to catch your breath. Turns out swinging a baseball bat full force 10 times over is quite the feat. When you turned to the camera, you didn't see it. Even after spinning for a bit you still didn't. Everything went a little dark. You heard footsteps. Someone else's footsteps.

You turned and saw...

"You're really gonna keep doing that forever?"

He was stood at the end of the hallway, and it made you realize everyone besides you, him and Jake's body were gone.

"I mean" you managed between pants "I've kept this all up for so long. Atleast this is something different."

He stepped closer, until he was on the other side of you. He looked the body over. "You really did a number on 'em."

"Good as I could. Aiming with this thing is surprisingly difficult." You spun the bat around in your hand before resting it on your shoulder again.

"You know what's gonna happen now?" he asked. You just shook your head. You truly didn't know.

"I've got no clue. Hope it's interesting atleast." You sat against the wall, laying the bat on the floor.

"You're surprisingly calm right now. You're not freaked out?" He sat down too, both of you waiting for whatever would happen next.

"We're literally only characters in a show. You being self aware is nothing compared to that." Through your mania it hadn't even truly set in. "Now that you meantion it though, how'd it happen?"

"I think it's because I'm one of the narrators. Or maybe because I died." You were neither of those, so your hopes of finding out why you were self aware died. "Jake died too and he's still a dumbass." you replied, making him chuckle.

"Guess he's just too stupid." "Maybe..."

You sat in silence for a while, small amounts of dread starting to settle in. You truly were scared of the consequences, yet in the moment you couldn't stop.

"I made you self aware, by the way." He admitted. "Being the only one was starting to get lonely."

Maybe that was why you liked him. Why you 'saved' him. Why you just beat Jake to death multiple times.

"I did think you'd step out of line sooner."

"Yeah sorry... I was just scared of what would happen. Still am."

"Me too."

And as the world around you faded more and more, turning into darkness, you sat there thinking of it all. The years of the same loop. The repeating converstaions and days. Your entire life.

You regretted going off-script.

Once again thank you so much pine for the idea!!! I just wrote 1431 words IN ONE SITTING. WHAT THE FUCK. I hope you all enjoyed this, it definitely went so far off the rails xD

~Taglist~ @pine-ferret

#one of us is lying #oouil #oouil tv show #simon kelleher #oneshot #x reader

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questforgalas · 11 months

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Sibling moments in the Bad Batch that live rent free in my head

S1E11 "Devil's Deal" and S1E12 "Rescue on Ryloth"

The batch are literally in Devil's Deal for 2 minutes so we be doing a joint watch babes. Special recognition to the introduction of the greatest hair in the GAR, Captain Howzer, and a lot of screen time for my favorite babes who I wish would stop committing war crimes for the Empire

Devil's Deal

Nothing says family bonding like black market weapon runs

"Tech won't let me train until I can recite all the ship's specifications from memory" IS THE MOST SIBLING THING TO EVER SIBLING LIKE NO YOU CAN'T PLAY WITH MY TOY UNTIL YOU CAN TELL ME EVERY FACT ABOUT IT GOOD LUCK IT'S GOING TO TAKE YOU YEARS

You can't tell me Omega doesn't know all the things she's showing Hera because she's 10000% sat in the copilot chair while Tech flew and asked "what's this? and what's this? and what's this?" repeatedly for days and it was probably the best days of Tech's life

"Did you know flying's about a feeling?" and Tech's immediately concerned "What feeling?" while giving concerned eyes at Hunter

Rescue on Ryloth angsty siblings 👏 angsty siblings 👏 angsty siblings 👏

Crosshair babe please stop hunting down children

Hunter's immediate appearance as soon as he hears sparks and a mini explosion happening

Gonky is the best side character of TBB

"You gave her our comm channel?" oh no big bro is exasperated

Hunter getting absolutely owned by the optimism and rose colored glasses of a pre-teen girl

His face is so "god dam it I'm really proud of you right now but I also wish you'd take a break for just one second"

Tech and Wrecker glance Tech and Wrecker glance

After Hera says "I don't have anyone else to ask", Echo mirrors Omega's same facial expressions and head movements behind her, the little empathetic babes

The grumbles after Omega points out Crosshair's there 😂😂

Here's why I'm putting that as a sibling moment - we've seen this squad face down entire cities worth of troopers at this point (Raxus was just 2 episodes ago, and we've seen them take on 3 ships worth of clones too) without even batting an eye. But one sighting of Crosshair and they're all grumbling and that's what throws them in the "we can't pull this off mentality" and I interpret that as coming from the continuing theme of the Batch being so proud of each other's skills and enhancements, they're so in awe of each other, and the only thing that could ever give them a challenge is one of them. He may be their enemy right now, but they still believe in Crosshair's skillset so much that just him makes them decide to abandon the mission

Wrecker's smile at Echo when Hunter drops down on the probe droid

Crosshair seeing a from-above POV scan of the Batch and knowing exactly where they would've been staking out

"She's trying to save her family, Hunter. I'd do the same for you" BOOM OMEGA COMING IN WITH THE FAMILY FEELS ARROW RIGHT IN THE CHEST

Oh no, this one really hurts after season 2

"We have a battalion of troopers right outside." immediately countered by Crosshair's "That's not enough!" emphasized so much he's jabbing his finger into Rampart's desk. They may be enemies but god these bros are all up in the proud feels

Shout out to Howzer for standing down immediately when Crosshair started glaring at him. Smart guy knows a battle he won't win

"Because he's my brother." this is such a cute Omega episode

Omega's coaching Hera about coming up with a plan is 100% Hunter teachings

"Wh-that was my plan!" sibling 101: never let them have credit

Wrecker and Echo glance Wrecker and Echo glance

the surprised "Really?"s when Hunter gives the ok on the plan like they can't believe their hairbrained scheme actually worked on big bro

Tech's fun smirk when Omega says "Do some damage Wrecker" and Wrecker starts laughing in the gunner seat

Crosshair figuring out the true plan like god dam it they were all so in synch I need a Bad Batch curing the clone wars show immediately I will literally fund it with the $10 in my bank account

The Hunter and Crosshair cut scene stares

Wrecker's high five with Omega on Ord Mantell 😂 he's so proud of his little war criminal sister

Nothing like sibling bonding via showing how to scramble a ship's signature

Tech and Wrecker's smiles at Omega they're so proud of her for making a friend

#divider by djarrex #the bad batch #star wars #tay rewatches the bad batch #tech #omega #crosshair #wrecker #hunter #echo #it makes me so happy when i get to write all 6 of them in here #even if toothpick is v in the clutches right now

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opinated-user · 11 months

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"why i have been sick so much, if recovery wasn't kicking my as" this is just gaslighting everyone who knows her presence online. one time we saw that she was actually sick. we could all even hear it. we all agreed that she should have been resting and let MO do the video she was recording instead. i even remember LO complaining about how MO was sick and she had to be the one to take care of her. but all of that was months ago and after that, it was business as usual, with LO streaming late at night or early in the morning, playing videogames in the most uninteresting ways possible and recording questionable videos with inappropriate sexual jokes or references to games about commiting CSA as a core mechanic. none of that has changed even now. but now we're meant to believe that actually she was sick all this time? how? this is the same woman who has almost doxxed herself in streams more than one time because she didn't realise she had her mic on while reciting her own address out loud or was so impatient she tried to open a package with her teeth in front of the camera, while the sticker with the address was still there. this woman is not a master at masking and wouldn't have endured through a massive amount of pain and discomfort just to "not worry anyone" because that has never been her thought process whenever she decided to create a new event in her life. worrying everyone is one of the things she just does with a frequency very few people can match. as to why do all of this... if you're new to this side of LO's "fandom", you might not know about Courtney, LO's younger sister. if you only heard LO's version of events then you'd think that Courtney was a pampered awful girl who threatened LO's life in three ocassions for no reason at all (no reason, just because), who LO used to brag about beating up when they were kids and was a "psycho" for *reading notes* getting herself groomed by a pedophile as a underage girl. you can all go search on her blog right now for more information about what LO has said about her, it won't be any better than what i'm describing right now. Courtney a few weeks back came out with some allegations against her older sister, such as... -molesting her during her sleep. -trying to coerce her into having a sexual relationship while she was still a kid. (the actual reasons why Courtney ever threatened LO, according to her story)

-using stockholm (yes, that stockholm) as a way to fantasize about what LO wants to do with her.

-SA multiple children in their neighborhood.

-compared her to Meg from Family Guy only to then write fanfiction about her self insert dating Meg.

-sexting a 16 this very year alone. a few days after Courtney came out with these words, that is when LO made her announcement that she was in remission. so indeed, ask yourself why would LO pretend to have cancer after receiving such accusations from her sister... to whom she immediately pivoted into trying to victim blame.

#lily orchard #lily orchard lies about cancer

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femdomliterature · 3 months

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FemLit 0586 - 10 rules of male submission by heart

Submission is a 24/7 and 360 degree commitment that reaches deeply into how a man lives his life.

1.Exercise Daily: Be physically fit for general physical and mental health. A woman cannot train someone too weak to accept her discipline.

2.Eat Healthy: Deny yourself the empty calories of white sugar and starchy foods. Think of your female owner, when you deny yourself. Diet is part of your spiritual path.

Do all 10 of theses. Don't leave one out. Women are always watching. Our eyes scan the herd, looking for the right man to cull and make our own. Make yourself the perfect prey.

#female led relationship #femlit

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internerdionality · 1 year

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There’s some language in my Haggadah (stolen and slightly paraphrased from The Common Road to Freedom, 1989), that’s been echoing in my head for the last couple of weeks:

We sing Dayeinu to proclaim that every one of the miracles on the path to liberation “would have been enough” even if the road to freedom had not been completed by the miracles that followed. What does this mean, however, that it would have been enough? Surely no single one of these would have been enough; halfway to freedom is still to be a slave. Dayeinu means we must celebrate each step toward freedom as if it were enough, then to start out on the next step. It means that if we reject each step because it is not the whole liberation, we will never achieve it. It means to sing each verse as if it were the whole song—and then sing the next verse!

This isn’t the first year I’ve used this particular excerpt, and for that matter, it isn’t even the only place that the Haggadah, or Judaism as a whole, makes this same point.

For example, there’s a midrash we retell on the night of the seder, about our rebellion during the exodus from Egypt, when we came to the Red Sea. Most modern depictions—for example, my beloved Prince of Egypt—shows Moses venturing into the water alone and raising his staff to part the waters so that the Israelites could pass through on dry land. According to this midrash however, Moses simply told us that the waters would part—once we’d gone in. For obvious reasons, most of us said “ahh, yeah, dude; no thanks. Not gonna drown ourselves to prove a point, yeah?” But a few particularly determined—or simply despairing—souls walked into the ocean on faith alone, and only when they were in up to their necks did the waters part and allow them through.

As someone who has never been much of one for blind faith, this story both thrills and terrifies me. The Common Road to Freedom takes a different lesson from this Midrash, however;

“Now as then” it reads, “redemption cannot come unless we take that first fearful step.”

And, of course, we have the ubiquitous (if you follow the tumblr blogs I do, at least) language from Pirkei Avot: “it is not incumbent upon you to finish the task, but neither are you free to abandon it.”

We start the holiest day of the year with the prayer (for lack of a better word) of Kol Nidre—“May all vows, and promises, and oaths that I swear, between this year and the next, be null and void.”

This legalistic disclaimer (which, you know, really tells you all you need to know about us Jews right there, doesn’t it) is meant to keep people from hesitating as, with the confessions of sins they have committed in the previous year ringing in their ears, they promise yet again not to sin in the year to come.

To break a promise, for a Jew, is a devastating and grievous act. Therefore, before you make a promise, before you really commit yourself to doing something, you better be damn sure that it’s something you can complete! We recite kol nidrei to remind ourselves that we should not hesitate to set challenging goals for ourselves, despite the honest and realistic fear of attempting something we may not succeed at. We shouldn’t keep from trying something, from continuing to work at something, even if it might be really fucking hard. Even if it feels like we might never get good at it.

But despite this core principle of my religion, that’s something I’ve always really struggled with. I don’t like doing things I suck at. I get crushed when I don’t succeed. For all my life, I’ve quit doing things—or never started them in the first place—if it seemed like I was never going to be great at them. I recognized this about myself some years ago, and it’s been something I’ve been working to change—but there are still times when I realize I’ve been doing it without knowing.

I’ve always wanted to write fiction—and it was something I thought I was pretty decent at, so I got over that hump, at least. But I went for years thinking that if I didn’t have a completed manuscript that I could market to publishing companies, I couldn’t call myself a writer, and if I didn’t have a real brilliant, fully formed idea for that novel, there was no point in even trying to write it. Even once I started writing fanfic, I felt like I had to have a finished, polished story before I put anything out there.

But if we reject a step because it is not the whole achievement, we will never find success. Nothing will come unless I take that first, fearful step. I shouldn’t hesitate to begin something just because I’m not sure I can ever finish it.

I have thirty or more fics that I’ve outlined or started writing in the past year, only to abandon them “until I have time to finish them” — or rather, until I get the inspiration and/or hyperfocus to do so. But unless I’m really, really excited about and know exactly where a fic is going, I have a real hard time writing it… Especially without people cheering me along, because I’ll get to a point where I’ll write a chapter or a passage that I don’t like and can’t figure out right away how to fix, and then I’ll just stop writing it because I think it’s bad.

But you know what? The joy of fanfic is that it doesn’t have to be perfect. That no matter what you right, there’ll be probably be someone out there who likes it (and if there isn’t, hey, you can only get better at writing by doing it, right?!). Two of my most popular fics are ones that started out as pure crack and so I felt free to publish as I went along. I’ve really enjoyed the interactive process of publishing a fic even as I’m writing it, and how the comments affect what I’m writing as I go along.

Anyway! All of this was an incredibly long-winded and introspective way of saying, I’m going to start digging through that WIPs folder and putting anything that has at least one finished chapter out there. I’m going to start publishing things as soon as I’ve got a good chunk of text written, even if the fic isn’t done. Even if I’m not sure where it’s going or if I’ll ever finish it!

Screw it. I’m putting the fics out there. And if, after honest effort, I find myself unable to complete them, then may my readers absolve me of them.

#writing meta #jewish tag #adhd #rsd #posting on tumblr in lieu of therapy #stream of consciousness screeds

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floatingcatacombs · 1 year

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On Reading Yuri with a Death Wish

12 Days of Aniblogging 2022, Day 1

This essay will discuss suicide.

Existentialism is the study of why you shouldn’t kill yourself. This is a noble pursuit, because I’m never sure what to do with the philosophers who commit suicide, if that act retroactively invalidates their theories or not. (Hegel, on the other hand, died sane but has driven more philosophers to madness than any other individual)

What I mean more specifically is that a lot of existentialist texts and theories are rooted in the anguish that humans alone face due to our consciousness. We’re talking depression, despair, and existential angst. In this way, existentialist writing serves as a therapy workbook, a reminder that individuals are wholly responsible for their own actions, which includes finding meaning, personal values, and contentedness. Of course, an absurdist would say that there’s no point to searching for any of that and only through giving up can we be free to truly live, but it’s all in the same spirit.

These deeply human themes lend themselves well to art, and anime is no exception. Unfortunately, most of these attempts are pretty trite. How often do you put on an show only for it to get fake-deep during the narrative climax by reciting a bunch of out-of-context philosophy? We can punch down at Death Note all day if we want, but there definitely is anime and manga out there that actually succeeds in weaving an existentialist core. Being who I am, I particularly care about the stuff that does it through the lens of yuri, and well.

Otherside Picnic is one of these works, if you ask me. One thing that reveals itself very quickly, especially if you’re reading the novels where Sorawo’s thoughts are on full display, is that our main character is downright suicidal. She’s rescued from an early watery grave by future love interest and partner-in-crime Toriko, who makes a quip about her looking like the drowned Ophelia. Sorawo is familiar with the Millais painting from reading a Wikipedia article, but not Hamlet itself, which serves as a great early example of her encyclopedic strengths and shortcomings, as well as the author's tendency to source from the internet. The two quickly become well-acquainted (partners-in-crime, even!) and set out to explore the mysterious Otherside they’ve independently stumbled upon, which is rife with monsters straight out of scary stories passed around on 2channel.

my eternal rival, Ms. Boston Dynamic, makes an appearance

Once the premise of a slowburn yuri like this is set up, the author usually throws an obstacle in the way of the relationship to prevent things from working out immediately. If said author is a hack, it’s a romantic rival, in the worst-case scenario a childhood friend. Sometimes it’s a miscommunication, where the girls treat the blossoming relationship differently and don’t realize they’re seeing past each other. Sometimes it’s life circumstances, like the girls going to different schools or having different social standings. And sometimes, it’s because one of the girls has something deeply wrong with her. Ideally both.

As it turns out, Toriko has just as much of a death wish as Sorawo. She hides it better at first, by being a manic pixie Canadian gun otaku dream girl, but the sheer desperation and denial present in her search for her old mentor quickly comes into focus. She’s lost someone close to her and is throwing herself into dangerous situations because it’s easier than facing her grief.

There’s a stretch of the series where Toriko and Sorawo are in a rocky patch over the exact issue of Toriko’s mentor Satsuki and whether seeking her out is worth it (with the undertone of Sorawo trying to figure out if Toriko actually likes her or is just using her to help find Satsuki). This manifests as the two of them throwing themselves into the Otherside again and again, with less, more quarrelsome recovery time between each stint. They start drinking more and more irresponsibly in their post-expedition celebratory dinners they start. All of this culminates in the Otherside starting to come to them instead of the other way around.

For all of creepypasta set-dressing, this is the one part of Otherside Picnic where there’s genuine terror and dread. If you don’t have enough anchors to the real world, you’ll lose yourself for good in there, as Sorawo gets warned a handful of times. Obviously this is meant to frame the Otherside in eldritch horror terms, but to me it brings it closer to representing suicidal ideation. Hell, a few times Sorawo finds herself drawn into Otherside specifically because of her harmful thoughts. When she’s mentally at her worst she keeps inadvertently ending up there – and the monsters are trying to get her to cross the point of no return. It’s barely even a metaphor at times.

So yeah. Can’t get away from the Otherside, can’t give in to it. Sorawo and Toriko are left to just…learn to live with it. After buying a tobacco harvester on a drunken bender (long story) the two of them start to chart out rudimentary roads, establish supply bases, and do plenty of small construction jobs to make the place just a bit less hostile. It’s all very Minecraft, which Sorawo just flat-out says at one point. This aspect of Otherside Picnic is definitely indulging Miyazawa’s hobbyist tendencies in the same way that all the creepypasta and gun otaku stuff is, but it also establishes a certain kind of coping. Though Sorawo and Toriko keep finding themselves in dangerous situations, the sense of dread never returns to the narrative in the way that it does in the early sections. These later volumes are definitely a bit less interesting, but you can only give your characters an absolute death wish for so long before it gets stale, and something of an iyashikei atmosphere emerges as a periodic counterbalance. Life must go on, even with the absurdity of SCP monsters hunting you and your kinda-girlfriend down.

shoutout to the offhand remarks these girls make to each other. the weirder they are, the more genuinely romantic

Have I mentioned how fun of a protagonist Sorawo is? She’s a subculture weirdo with a poster’s soul, she’s a walking encyclopedia of 2channel netlore, and her sense of reality is so distorted that she takes truly terrifying events at face value and gets lost in the details on regular human relationships. She’s something of an accidental lesbian chad, getting Toriko to go from leading her on to falling desperately in love with her without even really trying. She’s got unprocessed childhood trauma straight out of a ghost story, which gets weaponized to scary effect down the line. She makes the most baffling offhand remarks. And her dry wit is a perfect fit for the narrative, which, like I said earlier, is at its best in the novels where we get to spend more time in her headspace.

It's out of character for me, but I haven’t actually talked much about the yuri parts of this yuri manga. I’m save that for the second part of this writeup, alongside the elephant in the room: author Iori Miyazawa’s ‘yuri of absence' interview. I’ll wrap up my Otherside Picnic talk by saying that the anime adaptation is pretty terrible, failing to understand everything I’ve been talking about up until now by changing the pacing to that of an action series. The manga, on the other hand, is quite good, with some especially interesting panel composition during the more surreal moments. It’s worth a look, but you’re ultimately best off reading the original novels.

I want to bring up another philosophical yuri manga I read this year, Shimeji Simulation. It’s definitely on the absurdist side of things, but that doesn’t become apparent until you’re further in. What we get in the opening chapters is pure depression-core, exactly as expected for mangaka Tsukumizu, whose previous works include Girl’s Last Tour and the Touhou doujin Flan Wants to Die. Our protagonist is a driftless shut-in who hasn’t been to school in two years after something unspecified and traumatic happened to her in middle school. She scrapes together the will to go to school this year, and makes fast friends with a classmate who has a giant fried egg on her head. Fast girlfriends even, though it’s unclear what that really means for the two of them.

I’ve found that Shimeji Simulation is difficult to pitch, so I’m just going to write about my favorite character: Mogwa, the depressed art teacher. She moonlights as the club advisor and only active member of the “hole-digging club”, a club that…digs holes. When asked why, she starts waxing philosophically about the absurdity and futility of the act. With each following chapter she becomes further obsessed with hole topology. When Shimeji’s sister develops a boring machine, Mogwa falls into despair. Evidentially, her digging had become deeply important to her regardless of its uselessness, and a machine doing all the digging for her sapped all the joy out of it. She lets herself slip into the seemingly bottomless pit, only saved from her fate by someone with nigh omnipotence.

The thing I love the most about Mogwa is how she’s a clear manifestation of the Myth of Sisyphus. She condemns herself to a futile impossible task, and this ends up becoming the very thing keeping her going. Only through accepting absurdity can she be truly free, and the opposite when her self-made purpose is pulled up from under her.

Buried away in the depths of Dynasty-Scans is a prequel comic to Shimeji Simulation that shines a light on the whole comic, and why it’s so strange, contemplative, bleak, and snarky all at once. I’m not linking it because it’s pornographic and more than a bit questionable, but the gist is that in middle school, Shimeji’s only friend had sex with her and then inexplicably killed herself the night after. That’s it, end of one-shot. It’s a cruel joke. Even disconnected from the published manga itself, this suicide casts a very long shadow, making the whole of Shimeji Simulation a “well…now what?” affair.

It’s why the characters in this manga are so willing to invoke philosophy, and ultimately to take the plunge into total surrealness, irrevocably writing over their world to create a weirder one. This act is self-detournment and a fitting spin on Tsukumizu’s typical depressing yuri, the fantasy of a world which responds perfectly to our desires. It’s existence preceding essence made literal, an ultimate reminder that humans are responsible for their identities and must continue to live, so they have the freedom to keep making choices and acting upon the world.

possibly one of the best pages of manga out there, period

This was a difficult and disjointed article to write, and recent personal events have made it harder yet also more necessary to get out. Next time, I’m going to talk about Otherside Picnic again, but from a different perspective: yuri and the act of authorial self-abnegation.

#12 days of anime #otherside picnic #shimeji simulation #existentialism

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