#selfishness and greed are what allows it to thrive

[theresattrpgforthat]

Hey! I've gotten super into solo rpgs but I tend to find combat boring. Are there fantasy themed rpgs with less focus on combat that you would recommend? (If they are soloable, that's also a win!)

THEME: Fantasy Solo Non-Combat.

Hello friend, thank you very much for your ask! I'm going to direct you to two Solo-themed game recommendations first, before I dive into today's recs.

Character-Focused Solo Games: Games that focus on character-building. Lighthearted Solo Games: Fun, non-serious solo games.

A Year in the Spirit World, by ToriBee.

The wind rustles through the emerald canopy above as you open your eyes to an unfamiliar world. You're lying on a bed of lush moss, the gentle warmth of the Spirit World sun caressing your face. Around you, a forest of towering ancient trees, each pulsating with an otherworldly glow. It's ethereal, enchanting, and unlike anything you've ever seen.

Drawing from a deck of fate, you'll encounter spirits, creatures, and natural phenomena as enchanting as they are daunting. Each encounter might test your spirit, challenge your harmony with this world, or tempt you to act against your values.

There is some combat in this game, but it certainly doesn’t seem to be the focus. The game is about survival, but you’re as likely to be navigating social situations as you are to be fighting enemies. What I like about this game is the spirit companion who will travel the world with you: there are four different options, each of them cute and enchanting. If you love Studio Ghibli films, you should definitely check out A Year in the Spirit World!

The Goblin Thought, by Kai Medina.

The goblin hoard - a pile of goods and trinkets - is a place of greed, yes. But it's the same greed that thrives throughout this land of men and beetles. It's the allowed selfishness that helps us learn and grow, walk and run, screech and scramble. The hoard is the goblin's memory.

The Goblin Thought is a unique and engaging journaling game that combines chance and narrative to create a compelling story. Players take on the role of a goblin, collecting memories and items in their hoard as they navigate through a world of wonder and danger, allowing for growth and change. With a deck of cards and a six-sided die, each turn presents new challenges and opportunities for creative storytelling, drawing, and reflection. 

This game is placed in a fantasy setting, but with a larger purpose. It’s both a journaling game and a thought experiment, a chance to place yourself in the shoes of someone whose history exists within the hoard they have accumulated. Each card you draw from a deck has three prompts attached to it, so you have the potential to play this game (and build a history) for a very long time.

Little Shepherd, Little Spy, by @psychhound.

You try to keep out of the whole war business.

It’s just not really your thing. There are more important things to worry about, like Gethin, your biggest ram, getting stuck in the fence again, or Ffion rubbing against the raspberry bushes and getting her wool all sticky.

Life is pretty simple for a humble shepherd such as yourself.

Little Shepherd, Little Spy is a solo journaling game about being a spy in the fairy war. Choose which side you're on, then draw tarot cards to interpret the messages coming through the information ring. Your tarot card tells you what book to look at and what page. Then you copy down all the relevant information on that page and consult your spy codebook.

I absolutely love fairy games and the premise for this one is super interesting to me. Your character will be interpreting messages that take the form of books that you have on your shelf, and you’ll determine which book to look at (and which page to read) by drawing tarot cards from a deck. If you look into this one I definitely recommend setting aside some time, and perhaps selecting a few books for each category to have on hand, to ease the cycle of play.

The Wandering Library, by AP.

You are the proud owner of a Wandering Library. Whether you bought, built or inherited it, it is your home. Travelling as far and as wide as you desire, your days are spent encountering an assortment of customers, exploring new locations, and tending to your beloved home of books.

This is a a game designed to generate prompts for you to answer in as much or as little detail as you would like. All you need is two six-sided dice and your preferred method of journaling. Using the tables provided, you will explore locations and meet different people, recording your adventures and encounters as you travel in your Wandering Library.

This is a simple one-page game that presents you with a few starting questions, and the supplies a grid of prompts that you’ll roll 2d6 for. Each prompt is a new event, complete with a question, asking how your character reacts. There’s plenty of room for your own imagination. The house is a travelling library, which feels pretty fantastical to me! This game will likely last a few hours or so; it’s not really built for extended play.

Fetch My Blade, by Ethan Yen.

For years you have served your Master faithfully. A loyal companion, you accompanied your Master through the difficult times, and the good times. Now, you are called in a moment of dire need: a Stranger has challenged your Master to a duel, alluding to time before you. Your Master rises to the challenge, calling you forth. This is your moment. You have trained for this. It is time to do your Master proud. 

FETCH MY BLADE is a solo journaling roleplaying game where you play as the dog of a retired legendary master of the sword, tasked with a quest of your own: retrieve your master’s fabled weapon in time for their final duel. On your quest, you will uncover and explore your Master’s guarded past-- transforming your character, deepening your relationship with your Master, and ultimately influencing your Master’s fate.

This is a lovely little game of exploring a dog’s relationship to their Master, and developing a backstory as you play. I don’t think there’s specifically a setting in place for this game, but the presence of swords certainly points towards the fantastical. There doesn’t seem to be any specific combat in the game, but violence is considered to have happened in the past, as the game provides a content warning regarding a war that has already happened.

#tabletop games #indie ttrpgs #dnd #game recommendations #asks #fantasy

[the-wytch-is-back]

The Origin of Magic

[[ Short story from 5.4.2018 that I was thinking of expanding on at some point. Maybe I still will, the concept is still really special to me. ]]

There always has been and there always will be only two true types of magic. Magic that borrows, and magic that takes. Some choose to call magic that borrows white magic, while some call magic that takes dark or black magic. They are far simpler, and far more dangerous than people choose to believe. 

Dark magic takes, and dark magic leaves a bloody stain wherever it sets its hand. Yet, the first user of dark magic remained more beautiful and lovely than any other woman in the land of Heln. One could take more easily if they appeared kind and beautiful. 

Dark magic took forcefully from the lives of others, and that often meant getting one’s hand dirty. Dark magic, like white magic, is temporary. There was a rumor of a stone that might amplify the effects of one’s magic, allowing one to thrive off the lives of others and gain immortality. The stone was said to be held by the family that bore twins who were so different, yet in such a harmonious state that they would never leave the other’s side. If the twins had been royal princesses or brave knights fighting together on the battlefield the quest would have been easier, but when was fate known to make things easy? Instead, fate set the twins down where she thought they might be safe, but fate underestimated how selfish and resilient dark magic could be. 

There were two sisters, Alayne and Selena. The eldest sister Alayne woke early with the sun and thrived in its morning light, her golden hair silhouetting her face in a halo as she embraced the outside world. The younger of the sisters, Selena stayed up late into the dark night, writing and reading until she fell asleep at her desk. Her raven hair was often pulled up and away from her face, her eyebrows always furrowed in a look of deep concentration. The sisters existed beside one another in harmony. Alayne and Selena shone differently, but brightly all the same. 

Their parents were not noble, but they did not want what they did not have. They ate when they were hungry, and they had a warm bed to lay their heads down when they were tired. Their home was simple, yet comfortable. Their only wealth was the small treasures and heirlooms that had been passed down from each generation to the next. The family knew not the worth of the treasures they held, and the greed of others would be their downfall.  

*** 

“Selena… it’s time to wake up.” Came a soft voice as the young woman sat up at her desk. She blinked the sleep from her eyes and turned to look towards her sister with a playful scowl. She loved to sleep, especially when the sleep came during the early hours of the morning. The sun filtering through her shudders made her groan as she stood from her chair. Her sleeping gown brushed softly against her ankles, as she attempted to ease the stiffness from her back. It was a bad habit to fall asleep at her desk, but she couldn’t help being drawn to her writing desk in the comfort of the night. 

Selena often did not know where her ideas came from; only that they came to her at night. The full moon aided her hand, and let her ideas flow freely. Their family did not have much to read, but her mother and father brought her back what books they could afford. The ideas that spilled from her quill hardly seemed inspired by the books that she devoured. They were random and full of things she had never seen and never heard of, yet they presented themselves in the form of poetry and stories.  

“Oh, come now, Alayne. Just a few more moments of sleep would not have ended the world.” Said, Selena, as she shook her head at her sister. She stepped over to her to their shared dresser and retrieved a pale blue frock. She changed quickly since Alayne was already dressed, and judging by the state of her bare feet already out and about. 

“Sister, you cannot just sleep the day away.” Said, Alayne, as she shook her head and looked towards Selena with a more serious expression. “I know I was a bit quick to wake you up… but there’s a woman here, and she’s saying that Mama and Papa are to be away for a few weeks selling their goods in the capital.” She said, her hands wringing together before they went to brush through her golden hair. The look in her eyes showed her twin how suspicious she was… it was too early in autumn for their parents to be selling anything. Their mother and father often traveled north to sell crops' yield, which mostly consisted of pumpkins, carrots, and turnips. One would hardly guess it from looking at their fields, since the pumpkins were still small and green which made them blend into their vines. No crops had grown large enough to harvest, and while their mother did have some fur clothing she had made before the end of winter, it was not something that would bring in much money on its own. 

“A woman?” asked Selena, her dark eyes widening. “Mother and father said nothing of going to the capital… that’s a few days ride north, why would they not have told us?” she asked, her lips pursing as she opened the shutters and glanced at her reflection in the small window beside their bed. She took the dark green ribbon from her hair and held it between her lips as she brushed her hair out and tied her hair back into a tight ponytail. 

“I do not know! It seems so strange… it’s not the right season, and Mama and Papa seldom act so rashly.” Said, Alayne, as she let out a sigh. She glanced towards the door of their room which was slightly ajar, a voice rang out calling her name from downstairs. 

“So… you just left the strange woman in our kitchen, then?” asked Selena, cocking an eyebrow as she shook her head. She started towards the door, beckoning her older sister to come along after her. Despite being born a few minutes earlier, it always seemed that Selena was acting the role of an older sister. Alayne was far too carefree and forgetful, but the same might be said about Selena’s seriousness and biting attitude.  

As they approached the small kitchen a woman came into view. She sat beside their hearth, and they did not think they’d ever seen somebody who looked more outlandish in their small home. The style of her clothes was not strange… but the materials they were made of were lavish and looked soft to the touch. The green of her gown was more vibrant and shiny than anything either of the sisters owned. Her perfect curves hinted at a corset, finery that the sisters only wore on special occasions. A farmer’s daughters would be too confined in a corset if they were trying to work fields.  If a princess was ever to play the part of a peasant in jest, they were sure this is what she would wear. Her hair fell loose around her face in dark brown waves and her eyes were a piercing emerald green. Her face was especially odd, it seemed young and old all at the same time. There was only the slightest hint of crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes, yet her skin was smooth and unmarred. Her eyes seemed wise, but her body was too delicate and well-manicured to hint at old age. 

“Oh, my darling nieces. How good it is to see you out of the cradle and standing tall and beautiful.” Said the strange woman as she rose up to her feet and rushed over to embrace them both. Her eyes flashed to both of their necks for a moment before she moved back to retake her seat. They both stood, dumbfounded and unmoving. Their shared glances spoke volumes to one another, and it left the stranger in uncomfortable silence. 

“Of course, you two would not remember me… you were only wee babes when I last saw you.” She said, shaking her head. “It is I, your aunt Layla. I am sure your mother mentioned me, we are dear sisters just like yourself, after all.” She said.  

“Yes, of course! Aunt Layla, Mother speaks of you so fondly.” Said, Selena, as her eyes seemed to haze over for a moment. Alayne looked at her in disbelief before she looked back at the woman. People were always mentioning how she forgot things… perhaps this was just another of those things. 

“Yes, most fondly.” Said Alayne, her bright smile lighting up the room as it finally graced her face. This seemed to cause their aunt to smile in return and eased some of the uneasiness from the room. Layla looked towards them with a similar smile, although it seemed… different from Alayne’s. It did not hold the same kindness that the younger woman’s smile did and was so easily wiped from her face after a few moments. 

“We shall be spending most of the autumn together, it seems. Your parents are gone to the capital since your father is interested in some new business venture there.” She said, acting as if this was common knowledge. Her expression turned to a slight frown as she looked over the two young women, “Oh… did he not tell you?” she asked, “He probably just wasn’t sure it would work out… don’t blame the man, I’m sure he’ll write in a matter of days. Perhaps you’ll receive a letter by nightfall tomorrow.” She suggested. The way she spoke made it seem as if everything she said she was sure of, and the sisters didn’t doubt they’d have a letter in their father’s hand by the end of the day tomorrow. 

Layla stood and walked to the window, “I am a dressmaker… so if my appearance surprises you, that is why.” She said, “Sometimes I come across strange and beautiful fabrics and cannot help but make them into something beautiful.” She suggested. “This also means my clients will visit your home… I hope you do not mind.” She said, turning back to the sisters, her hands clasped politely in front of her.  

“Oh… that will be no problem at all!” said Alayne, seeming rather excited at the idea of having a dressmaker stay in their home. It might mean all sorts of interesting characters stop by, and maybe she’d even get to meet a princess or a prince… but they had people to go and fetch their dresses for them, didn’t they? 

Layla clapped her hands in excitement, “Oh, this is going to be wonderful! I do hope we might become the best of friends.” She said, stepping to her two nieces and clasping their hands in her own. 

#writing #fantasy #fantasy fiction #short fiction #short story #spilled ink #my writing #writer #author #prose

[blazedbakugou]

in another life, may our souls be reunited

In which Mammon experiences the five stages of grief after losing the one person who made him feel understood, his eternal beloved.

a/n: my first obey me! piece, kinda nervous about how well this will do but also excited to start writing for these amazing characters. also tried a new format of writing and thought it was kinda cool. oh and I’d also like to credit @hhhany82 for inspiring me to write this fic in the first place with their incredible drawing :) they’re so incredibly talented so go check them out guys

genre: angst

warnings: death, grief, loss, unhealthy alcohol consumption (demonus), addiction, temperament issues, sort of spoilers for the later lessons but not really, mentions of blood and murder, it’s pretty depressing not gonna lie

word count: 3.1k+

pairing: mammon x gn!reader

when i was your man - bruno mars

STAGE ONE: DENIAL

Being the Avatar of Greed, Mammon had gotten good at being selfish— though it may not necessarily be in the way one might expect. He was greedy, this was a well-known fact among the Devildom. Greedy for money, for attention, for fame, but most importantly, for your love. Upon the surface, Mammon appeared to be the type that was only interested in materialistic things and finding ways he could profit off them, but if one took the time to dig a little deeper and read between the lines then it became quite clear that he was far from the public’s perceived version of himself.

You brought out the best in him, and for this, he would be forever grateful. You showed him a kindness that was foreign to him, so strange that he rejected it at first. Surely you couldn’t be showing genuine kindness towards someone like him… not without some sort of catch. Rather, that was what Mammon told himself when you’d first come to live at the House of Lamentation. But as time went by, he slowly realized that your intentions were pure as well as your feelings for the demon.

Mammon felt guilty for even considering the possibility of indulging in your radiance. It felt wrong to allow himself to accept your kindness when he was a demon of all creatures, the living embodiment of sin— the last thing he wanted was to risk tainting your soul. It took him some time to warm up to the idea that you weren’t going anywhere anytime soon and that he was worthy of your love despite his insecurities claiming otherwise. Oh, but once he had found comfort in your company, he thrived off it.

He was never the best at speaking his mind, could never quite articulate whatever feelings his heart held for you but he’d be damned if he didn’t try to find other ways to demonstrate how grateful he was to have you. Mammon enjoyed spoiling you, loved buying you gifts with his hard-earned money from 6-hour long shoots. He’d do anything to see that precious smile of yours, the smile of his beloved which never failed to warm his heart. After living a life full of ridicule and empty promises, Mammon was so glad to finally have something good and pure in his life.

Of course, nothing good lasts forever— Mammon had learned this all too soon. First, when he suffered from the Fall, trading in his pristine white wings for a pair of devil horns. Then, when his precious free time was taken up by the new responsibility of having to watch over some lousy human exchange student at RAD. And now, as he held your lifeless body in his arms. If only he had been quicker, if only he hadn’t let you go out on your own— what the hell was he thinking?

You were only going out for some pastries at Madam Scream’s for Beel and the rest of the brothers— even after a long day of training, but you were kind like that. Mammon knew that eventually, the day would come when you’d cease to exist, but he didn’t expect it to come so soon. He didn’t want you to die, especially not at the hands of some lower-level demon who took advantage of the fact that you were out and about without your protector by your side as he usually was.

The second-born was busy coming up with yet another scheme to scam helpless demons out of their money. Sure, he’d gotten a bad feeling in his gut when you left but he chalked it up to jealousy, wouldn’t have been the first time he worried over nothing after all. It was only until he felt the gut-wrenching pain coming from his pact mark that he had realized something terrible had happened. It stung almost as bad as the day he grew a pair of horns and his dark wings, perhaps even worse. Mammon doubled over in pain with tears in his eyes as he winced, what was going on? Then it hit him… his human was in danger.

Mammon dropped everything he was doing to rush to you, flying over the Devildom in search of his human. He found you in an alley, propped up against the wall with a pool of blood surrounding you.

“No, no no no no…” He choked out, dropping to his knees with a painful thud as he cradled you in his arms.

Your body was limp and cold, a small box of pastries beside you. Tears streamed down Mammon’s face as he held your body tight against his chest, sobbing and trembling. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You weren’t supposed to die like this… not when you had so much time left. Mammon thought back to all the times you’d talked to him about what he would do the day that you died, and of course, he always shrugged it off with the excuse that there was no need to worry when you had plenty of time left. But now? All that was left were the memories you shared and the bloody box of pastries.

STAGE TWO: ANGER

The same night that you had died, Mammon had set out to find the demon responsible for your death and kill them. He had brought your body back to the House of Lamentation shortly after he had found you, handing you over to Lucifer before muttering a dark “I’ll be back” and disappearing into the night. He smelled the demon’s scent on your body and had followed the trail until it led him to the outskirts of the Devildom, far from the main plazas and most importantly, far from any witnesses. Mammon dragged the demon out from their home, claws sinking into their flesh as he tore them to shreds. He wasn’t entirely sure how long he had attacked them for, all he knew was that by the time he was done, their body resembled nothing more than a pathetic pile of meat.

Mammon flew back home where his brothers were waiting for him, all mourning the loss of their loved one. Everything dealt with their loss differently, Asmodeus, Levi, and Beel were in tears— absolutely destroyed by the news. Satan and Belphegor were seething, pacing around the common room in their demon forms. The only person that was missing was Lucifer, but in Mammon’s current state, he couldn’t quite bring himself to care.

He wasn’t oblivious to the stares he was receiving from his brothers, he knew that he looked suspicious and it wasn’t hard for them to tell what he had done, but he didn’t care. Mammon just wanted to lock himself up in his room and deal with his loss alone. Just as he was about to turn a corner down the hall from his room, Lucifer stopped him with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“I… placed their body to rest in the underground catacombs. Barbatos will be over shortly to discuss the official ceremony.” He spoke quietly.

Mammon shrugged the hand off his shoulder, “Okay.”

“Mammon… do not let this consume you. It was not your fault.” Lucifer sighed, frowning at the disheveled appearance of his younger brother, he knew what the bloodstains on his clothes meant but chose not to mention it. His heart ached for Mammon, as well as for you.

The second-born simply scoffed and shoved past Lucifer, a firm grip around his bicep steadying him. Mammon fought against it with desperation, “Let go.”

“Look at me.” Lucifer waited for Mammon to cooperate, “Know that you are not alone in this.”

The white-haired demon looked up at his brother with a cold stare, “Don’t lie to make me feel better.”

Mammon observed Lucifer’s face and noticed the tint of red in his eyes. Had he been crying while down in the underground? He almost found it comical that Lucifer, the Avatar of Pride, could not spare his pride for even a second to cry in front of his younger brothers, no, he had to keep that pristine image of his.

Scoffing, Mammon pushed past his brother for the final time, “Leave me alone.”

Upon entering the safety of his room, Mammon locked the door before smashing the first thing in sight, a framed picture of the two of you he had on his bedside table. Frustrated cries slipped past his lips as he grabbed a bottle of demonus from the shelf, chugging the liquid until he could no longer think straight. Soon enough, Mammon had lost track of how many bottles he’d finished, they had all been scattered across the room as broken shards of glass. Vinyl records were shoved off of shelves, objects were thrown, damage had been made.

Mammon took out all his pain on his belongings, some stolen, some purchased— not that it mattered, nothing seemed to matter anymore. He destroyed everything he could until he no longer had any strength left him in before collapsing to the floor in broken sobs. Hot tears streamed down his face, uncomfortably sticky against his skin as he curled up into himself. Screams of despair tore from his throat until it turned raw, words now nothing more than small hiccups.

He should have been there, he thought to himself. He should have protected you, but due to his selfish ways, he had failed you.

STAGE THREE: BARGAINING

Mammon was not new to partaking in odd agreements, though this would be the first time he’d done so out of utter desperation. He didn’t care about prices or the dangers of agreeing to such sketchy contracts, Mammon would risk everything if it meant having his human back. He didn’t have much time left before your funeral, no more than a few days. Time was running out and he had yet to find a way to bring you back.

He tried buying resurrection potions from the dark corners of the Devildom, he attempted to plead with the witches in hopes that they could come up with some sorcery that would bring you back, but nothing seemed to work. The resurrection potions were nothing but a scam and part of him wanted to retaliate against the salesperson who had sold him the junk, but he knew that they were just trying to make a living. The witches sounded more promising at the time he had contacted them, though they only brought him bruises and empty funds, leaving him a battered down mess, a shell of the man he once was.

As Mammon sat in the empty field, under the pouring rain, he tried to think of what else he could possibly try that hadn’t already failed him yet. His last resort was not necessarily one he had been planning on using, he wasn’t even sure if his efforts would provide results— but he’d rather waste his time pleading with the universe than sit around wondering whether he tried hard enough. So with a heavy sigh and shaky limbs, Mammon kneeled before the gloomy night sky.

Please, Father. I beg you to bring them back to me. Taking them this soon was a cruel mistake, return them to me and I promise that this time, I will protect them with my life. Please.

A crack of thunder boomed so loud it had startled the birds from the trees and for a second, Mammon had felt a glimmer of hope. He opened his eyes and looked around him, searching for any signs that his pleas had been heard, that his wishes had been granted, but all he was met with was the field that stretched out for miles. All alone… he thought, his father never was much help.

STAGE FOUR: DEPRESSION

Mammon had once been the title of a person with honor, a person who had served a purpose both in Heaven and in Hell, but now? The name was nothing more than an insult to who he used to be and a constant reminder of what could never return.

The funeral had been brutal. In all his years spent roaming the three realms, never had Mammon felt such hopelessness. He watched as they lowered your coffin into the ground, piles of dirt being thrown on top of it as they began to bury you. It had been decided amongst the brothers that you were to be buried back in the Human World to honor your origins. He found it difficult to come to terms with the fact that he, Mammon, the Avatar of Greed, one of the most powerful beings in all of the Three Realms, felt so powerless when it came to your death. As the funeral came to an end and the time to return to the Devildom was soon approaching, Mammon could only think of you and how sorry he was for failing you.

The House of Lamentation had grown a lot quieter since you’d left. No one had the energy to participate in any banter, there were no more movie nights and arguments over who got to sit next to you, and long gone were the study sessions in your room.

At first glance, Lucifer appeared to be doing just fine. He carried on with his responsibilities as the right-hand man to the future Demon King, took care of ordeals related to the Student Council, and even consoled his younger brothers if he felt like it. Lucifer appeared to be doing just fine but behind closed doors, he was a mess. He hadn’t slept since the night you died, instead he let his work consume him under the belief that if he kept himself busy, he wouldn’t have time to think about you.

Leviathan wasn’t any better, he spent his days locked away in his room, watching his spare controller collect dust on his desk— it was the one specifically reserved for your use only. Asmodeus coped with his pain through nights out at the club, going home with strangers in search of a distraction even if it was only for a night. Satan had resorted to unleashing his wrath on anything or anyone who had made the poor mistake of providing him with even the slightest inconvenience, he hated himself for doing so as he knew that you surely wouldn’t have approved. Beelzebub stuffed himself full of anything edible in sight, anything that would fill the void inside him, though he always left a small portion untouched as if he were saving it for you. Belphegor slept his pain away, in hopes that maybe if he tried hard enough then perhaps you’d appear in one of his dreams.

Mammon had completely given up on life. He locked himself away in his room and refused to leave despite his brothers trying to reason with him that this is not what you would have wanted, of course, this only upset Mammon even further. What did they know about what you would have wanted? You were his human, his lover, you were the one thing Mammon had that was completely his and now you were gone. So why should he have bothered with moving on? He had nothing to look forward to, not anymore.

STAGE FIVE: ACCEPTANCE

It had now been a few years since you had passed, and though it took several painful realizations and sleepless nights, Mammon had finally accepted it. He had come to peace with the fact that you were gone and despite his strongest wishes, there was nothing he could do to change that. As painful as it was to live without you, Mammon was able to do exactly that— broken heart and all.

Though the past few years had been filled with emotional ups and downs, Mammon never stopped thinking about you and the promise he made to take care of you. He did his best to honor the promise and visited your grave as often as he could, sitting beside it and talking as if you could actually hear him from the other side. On the occasion he couldn’t make it to the Human Realm, Mammon would send one of his crows to leave some Grimm on your grave.

Today would have been the fifth anniversary of your arrival in the Devildom, a day Mammon would never forget. He made sure to clear his schedule for the day as he had already planned on visiting you and having lunch with you. The flowers in the vase on your grave were enchanted so that they never died, something that Mammon had spent countless hours practicing on.

“Remember the first day we met? I tried threatening you into giving me all your money… little did I know just how important you’d become to me.” He chuckled, half-mindedly plucking single blades of grass from underneath him.

Mammon took a bite from his slice of watermelon, “Man, ya really took my life and flipped it upside down didn’t ya? Lousy human… Kinda liked that about you though, you didn’t go around acting like someone you’re not. Ya stayed true to yourself til the very end and I loved that.”

He didn’t say anything less for a brief moment, choosing to bask in the warmth that the sun provided, it was the closest thing he’d get to feeling your embrace. Sometimes if he stayed silent for long enough, he swore he could hear your whispers mixed in with the rustling of the leaves. Mammon had always been terrified of ghosts and spiritual entities in general, but he always hoped to spot yours wherever he went.

“I… I miss ya, lover. Miss ya so fuckin’ much and I wish I could see you just one more time. I love ya, and I know I didn’t tell ya enough when you were still around but I hope that you felt loved… cus ya were.”

Mammon knew deep down that he’d never be able to love anyone else the way he had loved you— his love for you was special. He was content with living the rest of his life without romance, for the time that he had spent loving you was filled with more love than the average person felt in an entire lifetime, it was more than enough for him. You were his eternal love.

Soon, it was time for him to go. Mammon had spent the entire afternoon retelling stories of your time shared, updating you on the current events of the Devildom, and sharing any messages his brothers had entrusted him to pass on to you. He stood up with a heavy sigh, dusting his pants off before bringing two fingers to his lips and gently kissing them, and tapping your tombstone with them.

“Til next time… see ya around.”

A small gust of wind passed by Mammon, a whispered, “I love you” that caused goosebumps to spread all over his skin.

He smiled, “Love ya too, lover.”

masterlist // taglist open // requests open

#mammon angst #mammon imagine #mammon x mc #mammon x reader #mammon #obey me! mammon #om! mammon #obey me #obey me angst #obey me imagine #obey me x mc #obey me x reader #obey me! #obey me! angst #obey me! imagine #obey me swd #obey me! swd #📜 — cb writes

[ignitification]

Midoriya Izuku - Green for Hope, Red for Burning Passion

I always asked myself why exactly Horikoshi has changed Midoriya's character design so drastically.

Indeed, we go from a character called Yamikumo who looks like a feral child with the bad habit of eating his nails off, and drinks more coffee than humanly possible to an anxious bunny who smiles awkwardly and does not know how to accept compliments.

To me, the difference is absolutely insane. Izuku's hair and eyes are uniform and reflect his character and surname. However, a thing that I find peculiar is how the dark (Black/Green) and the Red theme are a constant throughout particular tellings of his character.

The legendary red shoes are one of Deku's main features. It's part of his character. However, I just got to think why exactly (especially having an idea on why was green used for him) and I think that the answer might be very very banal. However, I do think that this is not the only reason.

First of all, there is the most simple reason which I could think of: Midoriya Izuku is described as plain. In my opinion, plain does not really define Midoriya but the concept of him being bland and capable of melting into background is fundamental to express him in the most little details (however, there are few things which inwardly contradict this description: first and foremost his freckles). But as it might be, and Midoriya is indeed considered not worthy look at for more than once (at least as described in the manga - which is also one of the reason why his design has been changed so much, as Yamikumo had literally zero chance to go unnoticed), it appears clear how this suppression of character, of wanting to relegate Mido to a background role is what instead pushes Izuku forward to make a bold choice of something like wearing red shoes. They are strikingly particular, and noticeable: which means that Midoriya is not happy about being an npc, but instead wants to be noticed and in some way stand out.

The second reason, which I mulled over if was relevant enough is All Might. A recurrent color in all All Might's costumes is Red (and Blue, which kind of reminds of Superman and the American Flag. A fact that I found interesting as well if how AM wears Blue, Yellow and Red while Midoriya wears Green and Red, and of course Blue and Yellow together form Green).

And finally the third and final reason (at least, for now) is that Red, as a colour reminds Deku of Kacchan (even if arguably, we see in the first panel of the manga how Izuku wore already his shoes so this might be false and instead it might refer to the fact that Red is Izuku’s favourite colour only), who we know he associates with victory. As the mental image of Kacchan, who was red eyes, is his substitute for him being able to stand proud, strong and capable to win, Izuku might want to express this strive to be strong.

But what do these two colours mean, stand alone ?

As for Green: this colour, in different cultures, is associated with "Hope" . I think here the main gist and general going is that Midoriya represents Hope for the Heroes, Hope for the Unwanted, the Broken and the Damned (the Villains). I talked about Izuku being a Symbol of the New Society here, but in short, with Izuku Midoriya being fundamentally associated to the colour green, I think Horikoshi wants to express two things: how Izuku never loses hope (to be a hero, to have a quirk, to be a friend to Katsuki who bullied him for years or Shouto who straight up challenged him even before getting to know him, to reach and to save everyone) and how he represents and spreads hope for others (Eri, Kouta, the same Todoroki and Katsuki).

Green indicates life, renewal, harmony and safety. Which, in this sense, points out Izuku's nature as a person and how he is bound to feel restless unless he provides comfort to everyone, and that desire to save desperately anyone who he can reach. Green is a calming and soothing colour. It also stands for prosperity, freshness and progress - which point out not only the conclusion of Deku being N1 Hero, but as well at him 'changing up' the society and becoming the Symbol of Hope and Change (on which I briefly touched upon here).

However, on a negative side it also stands for Greed (wanting to be a hero and follow AM steps even when he had a hard time adapting his body to his new quirk) and Envy (Bakugō first and foremost and the generally heroes and those who has time to wield their power properly). In this negative meaning of the colour, I think Izuku’s selfless nature comes to the surface even more: how he feels bound to feel negative emotions which spur his renewal and development (after all, he did unlock Black Whip after Monoma had insulted Bakugou), but at the same time use this emotion toward a bigger goal (him being mad at Shigaraki, but at the same time wanting to save him - I wrote about this too here).

Green, is, finally, the colour of the Heart chakra: an expression of how Midoriya puts everything before him, because his heart cannot take the selfishness of thinking of himself first, which also come hand in hand with his sacrificing nature and reminds of his name meaning and the association made with the number 9. Indeed, “Opening the Heart chakra allows a person to love more, empathise, and feel compassion” - which in short, stands for an externalisation of Mido’s personality.

On a shorter note, in Japan, the colour green represents youth, eternity, vitality and energy - which, in its own way is both a confirmation and a denial to other references made in Izuku’s character, such as his dangerous nature, him not being concentrated to live on for more than he is allowed to fulfil his duty (him being tied to number 9 and so on), and at the same time it reminds us of OfA, as it gains more power and energy and at his cheery, youthful persona.

As for Red, as the colour of Blood, it also stands to indicate '' Danger, Sacrifice, Courage" (which reconnects to his name's theory and numerology, of which I talked about here, in short).

In addition, red is usually used to professionally gain attention (it's hard to miss something so bright) and convey confidence. We know for a fact that Deku has been wearing red shoes since he was a kid (or at least, since he met Bakugō, which coincides with Izuku being four) and that despite being Quirkless, he always showed courage in standing out to people even when they thought of him as 'inferior' because on his unusual condition.

Among other negative meaning, there is an overflow of temper, anger, agitation, and overbearing, demanding and oppressive behaviours. As clear as day, these characteristics relate more to fiery Katsuki than Deku, but as stated before, Deku puts Katsuki as model and adapts his combat style to resemble Katsuki’s. So, this overflow of energy and action is a double-edged sword which affects both Katsuki and Izuku in different ways (and is mellowed out in Izuku’s character by his other soothing characteristics , but more on that later).

Also, Red, in Asia is a lucky colour which might (or not) hint at how, despite everything Izuku got his 'lucky' chance to inherit AM's power and follow his dream of becoming a hero. Particularly, in Japan this colour is associated and denotes strength, passion, self-sacrifice. A transmission of feeling as complex and empowering as the ones Deku fills while he is living his everyday life as a future hero, summed to his nature and inherited quirk.

Red is also a magical and religious color. It symbolized super-human heroism to the Greeks and is the color of the Christian crucifixion, which might be as meaningless as other things, but in this case it might greatly relate to the type of enormous power Izuku tries to reign in, and to the self sacrificing spirit which he proves again and again.

So far, the meanings of the colours which have been associated with Deku are in line with his name, his personality and even the storyline which has been drawed out.

Among other meanings red represents power, courage, energy, passion, and creates physical effects such as enhanced metabolism, enthusiasm, higher level of energy (which comes back to the initial reasons on why Deku chooses Red as a distinct colour for himself and his shoes).

The color red is linked to the most primitive physical, emotional, and financial needs of survival and self-preservation.

Finally is also the colour of leadership, determination and courage. So in short, the colours red, where it indicates energy, action and strong emotion-filled desires and aspirations, is also weak to overbearing aspects which transform empowerment into negative traits (which is what, in the end, is represented by Bakugou). It is also strong-willed and can give confidence to those who are shy or lacking in will power (the shoes in Deku’s case). 

Red is the colour of the First (or Spine) Chakra and usually allows a person to be grounded and connect to universal energies, while Green is the link between spiritual and material.

What do these two colours mean in association with each other?

Onto how these two colours are related to each other, especially considering the premises made, we see that Red (life-giving properties, trust, belonging and violence) and Green (health, eternity, youth and greed) are not only opposites, but they complete and balance each other out. Indeed, to reign over emotions and actions, to red is usually added green which indeed is a pain-relieving patch for red’s intensity (the theory of Bakugou and Deku being two sides of the same coin are thriving).

Midoriya Izuku is an intense person. His personality allows him to balance out his power with a selfless nature, and while he himself is sweet and caring, his fiery eyes (and shoes) express for him his utmost sincere feelings, which deep down are very telling. As mentioned before, Izuku responds to Monoma when he insults Bakugou and makes a jab at how actually Bakugou is the one who ultimately terminated AM, by unlocking a new dangerous and powerful quirk, which is so powerful and fiery, and red in his intensity, that they need Shinsou’s intervention to actually calm him down.

Izuku is a overly protective person: he has forgiveness as a foremost characteristic and even if he does mention how he will not forgive Shigaraki for what he has done, on second though he realises that even a ‘monster’ like Shigaraki deserves to be saved, and therefore his other nature takes over.

Therefore, the coexistence of these factors, and his personality are probably at the origin of why Midoriya has had such a drastic make-over before becoming Midoriya Izuku, and why the colours of Red and Green are fundamental in the description which lets us have a full picture of Midoriya as an individual: something who is full of hope and energy, striving to express whisk power and passion while trying to concern only himself with the danger that comes with his mission to save everyone.

#bnha meta #mha meta #bnha analysis #mha analysis #color theory #numerology #bnha colour theory #colour association #mha #bnha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #my hero academy #Izuku midoriya #deku #bakugou katsuki #kacchan #bkdk #bakudeku #green #red #am #all might #yagi toshinori #eri #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga #bnha manga spoilers #mha manga

[valorxdrive]

She is not surprised to see it, but her heart still makes a jolt -- when those puppydog eyes raised to her as she exits the ship to set foot on the docks. He is abiding her wishes for them to part, but predictably unable to hide how hard it was to swallow down an ounce of the bittersweet. Her homesick need to see friends and loved ones again was upon her, to assure them that she has been alright. But Sora, she found, needed a bit of assurance of his own. And so, she did not hesitate to thrust herself in his arms, holding him tight.

"Know this truth, Sora. We will see each other again. I am nowhere near finished with our journey." And, softly, she adds, “ i can wait a thousand lifetimes for you. “

♕ - He gets it. Time and time again, the mantra pounds throughout his mind, so why doesn’t it become any easier? Why does it only promote a sense of dread bred from something so selfish at the end of the day? A return to Satsuki’s world shouldn’t be what introduces all of this. To a point where even a frayed edge of respecting these wishes makes him come to be a touch distant on the return back. To break through cosmic barriers and find himself returning to the unique part of the endlessly woven sky, anxiousness only grew in the pit of his stomach as they found themselves set at this point.

.....

Was it sad that he’s supposed to wonder in what he’s going to do? Where many may of held their opinions and a better truth, that snag of creeping in emotion in his chest couldn’t resist finding this a sorry sight.

How could it not be? Selfishness wanted to dictate that she spend just a little time longer together.

That weakness Sora comes to value as such undisputed strength was allowing that painful exhale to escape with this acceptance. Because no matter how bright their days were, no matter how much was settled on their plate, vast or small, never would he bring himself to a point in ever giving a second thought in allowing her to return home. A place where she ultimately belongs, just as his time upon Destiny Islands, growing up and thriving naturally acclimated a place for him to settle there too. Now was a moment for him to hold that strength in carrying a bond he welcomes in affecting him heavily so.

”Well, here’s our stop. Make sure ya go and give a good hello to the others for me. Especially Soroi too!” These words while expressed weren’t coming from any chasm of lies. He’s happy and frustrated all the same. There would never come a time he’d never want her to enjoy time amidst loved, and in the greater sight of it all from how this form of love made them seem like the greater rotation amidst everything else, that was greed in the worst case. The battle of these inner emotions must’ve been too clearly written upon the sleeve of his heart, for within seconds he found himself caught in the sudden rush of her embrace.

An act that leaves him comforted but only heavier experience the weight of his vulnerability. This warmth, her presence, her smile, the commitment of spend here was allowing so much to be harder felt while he paradoxically feels the comfort of her arms.  A sweet sorrow. This is what causes the stinging rush of those tears to skim down his cheeks, only adding to that gnawing ache in his heart and mind. Being so tightly held, without realizing it, those very arms that could carry worlds found themselves so desperate to bring Satsuki close for this moment that felt so fast despite aching to be slow.

So he comes to listen, to drink the warmth of her support as sudden shiver courses through his being. ...He finds himself so pissed with himself at even letting himself feel like this.

It really feels like a moment he should be strong for her.

“I know.. and I ah, me too.” Those words weren’t emptily spoken, right now, that pulsing core of his being knows of this to be a truth. Yet? As he comes to let his chin gently rest upon her shoulder, he nestles his face against her’s, as if wanting to lose himself in that raven hair he happily lost himself in many a night in their recent days. There was just a special peace that came to sharing your life with someone you love so dearly.. And why a lot of his life left him ignorant to the sheer scale of how much of a difference it can make.

Why is it with pain it manages to click so easily?

Softly clutching at the fabric of his shirt, the onset of this understanding with the warmth of his tears spilling down his face causes Sora to simply lose himself in the feeling of this moment.

“And I.. mm, I want you to take all the time that you need too. I promise you I won’t be stopping myself and I ah..” Damn it, why did this feel like he’s avoiding what he really wants to say?

...

“Satsuki? I’ll miss you.”

@kiryuiegerin

#kiryuiegerin #| Bottle Mail #| Meme #Hey-- #This hurts. #For Sora it's definitely a necessary hurt but all the same #OW

[bigfan-fanfic]

Who is Batdad closest to outside Wayne manor? Does he have much of a life outside of the Wayne's? Who would Batdad consider his closest friends besides his family?

Honestly, Batdad doesn’t have much of a life outside of the Waynes. He doesn’t really have anyone other than the League to talk to. Clark would probably be his closest friend outside of his family because in a lot of ways they are similar.

Okay, let me talk about this. ( I came back up and decided to answer more concisely above and put this under a read more because it’s very, very long, and I cried three times while writing it and I have never had any visceral reaction to what I write ever before... oof. Just be warned if you ever feel anxiety or pressure that basically, that’s what follows)

Batdad basically denies his own wants and dreams because he wants to help Bruce. What this means is that no matter what Batdad wanted to be before (maybe he and Bruce were dating and he confessed his desire to be a writer and Bruce allowed himself the fantasy and said they’d buy an island somewhere, and Bruce would lounge on the beach and supply Batdad in kisses while he writes the best book ever), by the time Bruce gets back to Gotham from his training, Batdad has had to become what Bruce would have been if Thomas and Martha were there. 

He’s a public figure and philanthropist, carrying the legacies of Martha and Thomas on his shoulders. He has to keep Martha’s business running - no, not just running, thriving - and deal with corrupt officials, corporate espionage, and greedy businesspeople all but threatening him to take Wayne Enterprises public so they can trade stock, all while making sure Thomas’ charities are well-funded and the money is actually going where it should (see earlier greed, corporate and personal). This is all while having to attend galas and functions and fundraisers and events or risk pissing off any one of these people who can turn his life into hell - missing one event can lead to being blacklisted and then that means nobody goes to a charity gala, which means that there’s no hospital built for those in the Narrows.

All this and also consider that everybody in high society sneers at you because the only reason you’re there is because you’re engaged to Bruce and you lived with him ever since Martha and Thomas died. You’re besieged on all sides, because the snobs hate you, the press wonders if you’re even qualified to run a business, and there’s always envy and hatred from below because why aren’t you doing MORE to help them? You haven’t been trained in this - your parents were upper-middle-class at best; you met Bruce by chance, so it’s just you and Alfred and this crushing, all-consuming PRESSURE and the fact that none of it is enough, you aren’t doing enough, it’ll never be enough.

Oh, and at this point, you’re probably only in your mid-twenties at the latest. And it only gets harder because Bruce is back and crime fighting and now you have to worry about him dying on patrol, so every night you’re there to assist him (sleep? don’t know her) and patch him up and support him every day even though he pretends a little too well to be a drunken boor and a cheating asshole (sometimes he isn’t even pretending) and help him when he gets frustrated and then you adopt a kid after your first day off in years (day off, what’s a day off, you haven’t slept enough since you were eighteen and Bruce left you and Batman came back but you haven’t said a word about it) and now there’s school and making sure Dick eats enough and is happy and doing good and doesn’t get overworked on patrol and stressing on whether or not Dick is okay whenever he leaves the Manor and again, none of it is ever enough.

You feel like you’re in your fifties by the time you hit thirty and the Justice League forms and that means SO much more work not just physically but emotionally because Bruce can’t meet anyone new without determining a thousand different ways to kill them if necessary (except for Talia, apparently. And Selina. And Silver Freaking St. Cloud. And Julie Morrison. And any number of dalliances Bruce has had because somehow they’re all smarter. or stronger, or maybe he just has a weakness for tall women who don’t take his crap. Is that what you do? Is your loyalty and consistency and unconditional love actually what lets Bruce walk away so often to a woman’s bed? Is it because he knows you will still be there? Is it because you have put so much of yourself into this life, into your children, into the Wayne Legacy of Perfection and Excellence that it would kill you to leave? Is it because you’re just another tool to him, one that will be quickly replaced when you succumb to sleep-deprivation, or that thing you’ve heard about in the news where people are dying from overwork so often the Japanese have a name for it, or the fact that you’re doing the work of ten, no, twenty people and not once have you ever complained to Bruce or begged him like any reasonable person would to stop this vigilante nonsense and actually LIVE), but now you have to coordinate meetings and a thousand different secret identities and make sure everything’s kosher and nobody’s fighting and of course Bruce has a beef with the nicest freaking guy in the League and Clark keeps coming to you to see if you can help them work it out.

Oh, and then there’s Talia, aka the thorn in your existence and her child who literally has tried to murder you for the crime of being married to Bruce years before he had even heard of Talia, and now on top of all the above, you have to balance getting to know the kid and be reminded day in and day out by him that you aren’t enough, that Talia has such a deeper connection to Bruce, that you are an obstacle to his happiness, that she’s so much smarter and stronger than you, that you are weak and everything you touch becomes weak and tainted by you. And not to mention that you still aren’t doing enough because Gotham’s underprivileged are screaming in pain from everything they deal with and at least you are fed and clothed and you have a family you can support and you are rich and you need to be doing MORE. 

And nobody else in the League can even come close to understanding you because wow, you do so much, do you ever take a break? You come this close to crying when Oliver remarks that if he had to do that much work, he’d go back to the island he was stranded on for five years because he’s joking. For anyone else your life would be a living hell and he’s joking. How do you do so much; do you ever sleep; hah, Bruce, your husband is showing you up! And this is when they even acknowledge you, and you feel like a major-league prick for even thinking these thoughts because Bruce and the League put their lives on the line every day (oh god they’re always in danger and the stress of losing your boys - which has happened to you already - and Bruce and your friends who are the only ones you can ever actually talk to without worrying that you’ll give away someone’s identity) and you’re complaining about a little bit of paperwork? You get to go to parties and meetings while your husband fights to save lives and you’re complaining? How selfish are you? All you do, everything you do, it isn’t enough, it’s never enough, there’s always MORE MORE MORE and it never ever stops.

Jason is dead, Jason comes back, Dick is beaten within an inch of his life, the Joker kidnaps Tim and you are hanging by a thread because the last time the Joker took one of your kids and you couldn’t find them meant that there was an empty bed and too many memories but no time to grieve because Bruce threw himself into work without a care and you needed to do even MORE because you can’t lose him too. And even the League was supposed to help with this but it doesn’t because you can’t bear to lose anyone, because they’re family and not only that, the world has gotten careless because the supers will save them and crime is actually going UP somehow and if even one of the League dies, a city could be overrun by now because the police and government are all but useless and the skies are filled with supervillains and the only thing stopping the world from falling into utter disrepair is the League, and thus you. And through all of this you have to be doing better, have to be doing MORE because every new thing means all the rest of your work becomes that much harder and you haven’t slept properly in a decade now and you feel ancient but still, you can’t complain, you haven’t earned the right to complain because you are never hungry and you never go without and there are so many people who need your help and charities that depend on you to function and kids that need fatherly advice and affection and a League that needs managing and you don’t have time for a breakdown because if you’re gone for too long everything collapses and everyone you love suffers and forget about therapy because who the FUCK could you ever talk to about any of this without either revealing a hundred secret identities and putting everything at risk or sound like a whiny crybaby?

Selina and Talia are back and hovering around your husband again and they flirt with him like you don’t exist and it’s not his fault and you love him but you see Talia every day in Damian’s voice and manner and don’t even think about talking to Bruce about his infidelity because he has so many more important things to worry about and he’s already apologized profusely and anything else makes you feel selfish and you HAVEN’T SLEPT in what feels like all your life and every moment not filled with work is filled with stress about work and worry because every time you don’t see your boys is a moment they can be dead and you don’t know it and every moment Bruce isn’t at the Watchtower is another moment Lex Luthor has to enact some horrifiying plan or the Joker gets ahold of a nuclear weapon or something else unforseeably terrible happens and it is TOO MUCH but you still need to be doing MORE because it isn’t enough and you aren’t enough and nothing is ever enough.

Is there even a you anymore? There used to be a kid there who just wanted to help his friend when he lost his parents. A kid who got left behind to stay with that friend. A teenager with dreams and hopes and wishes and a sweet boyfriend who could maybe get past his grief and lead a good life with you. A young man with the chance to stop his lover from leaving, to stay with him and not give in. Where did he go? Is he still there, underneath the years? Or is he gone, and this being made of stress and fear and feelings of inadequacy and stifled complaints and sadness gone unsaid and trauma left to fester all that you are? That kid you once were gets further and further away with everything you do to help, every time you keep silent  because what good would it do to scream the way you want to, the way you’ve needed to for so many years but never let yourself?

And yes, your boys and your husband make it better, make it worthwhile, but it remains that you feel old, you’ve been tired since you were still 19. Your days are consumed with stress and your nights are filled with fear. And you can never say this now because it has been years, and you’ve lost that chance. The guilt would throw Bruce off his game and if he’s off his game, he could die and all of this would be for nothing. Quite against your will, you’ve been trapped in a no-win situation, and even death is no escape because you know that without you, it all comes crashing down and game over. You are Atlas, holding up the world and knowing that you have just enough strength to hold it up for eternity. And no one will release you from your prison.

But you have to endure it, and smile while you do so because if Bruce ever knew (or if he even cared to look), it’d all go falling down. You are the support, and the support’s support, but no one ever thinks that you might need assistance. What do you have going on? Being a dad? Working? Attending parties? It isn’t enough and you know it isn’t enough and everybody knows that it isn’t enough and they always, always need MORE.

I wonder now how Batdad does it. How he doesn’t break down crying. And part of that is because he is fictional, and I never thought about what it would be like to go through that level of pressure every day of your life. I hope someday Bruce comes to his senses. That even if he doesn’t let go of his grief, maybe he stops being Batman. And stops training Robins. Because yes, he gave them a home, but he manipulated them into being what he is. Who knows what good Dick could have done if he had just been Bruce’s adopted son. Maybe a philanthropist. Maybe he just would’ve had a happy life instead of one where he could die every day. Where he constantly has to reopen the wound of his parents’ deaths to convince him to keep at it. I want them to realize that they don’t have to, anymore.

But they won’t. Because they aren’t real. And they exist for our entertainment. And because we’ll keep reading the comics and watching the movies and playing the games, Bruce will always be Batman and never come to terms with his parents’ deaths in a healthy way and there will always be more threats to existence and even just to him personally.

And Batdad too, is trapped.

[ophiuchus-interactive]

27. For Ophelia

Thanks for the ask dearie! I think it fits her pretty well!!

Greed, for lack of a better word, is good.

There was an old human tale that Ophelia had read sometime long, long ago. It told the tale of a man who was so corrupted by his selfishness that the gods cursed him to spend the rest of time unable to obtain the very things he hoarded all for himself. The waters of the pond he would drink from would recede if he dared a sip; the tree that bore his most favorite fruit would pull its branches away from his grasp. He spent an eternity in front of that pond and fruit-bearing tree, enduring the agony of his desires always being out of reach.

Ophelia’s mind recalled that tale as she gazed at your complexion. She did her best to remember the curves and outlines of your face and jawline, the dip of your cupid’s bow and tilt of your chin. She attempts to put to memory the feeling of looking into your eyes- the color pulling her into a fathomless, bottomless depth. She was falling, falling and yet weightless, still.

There were too many nights where she was alone, only to use the image of your face to call her back from the rocky, frigid shorelines of callousness and cruelty. Good things in life were not meant for her.

And yet she wants to touch you, anyway. Drink from you. Run her hands and heart and soul against the cracks and gaps of your own. How perfect she’d fit, she bashfully dreams, how greedy she would be, would you allow her just a taste of yourself.

Ophelia briefly wonders if this is love, this longing that burned and constricted her chest, this mad, dogged hate that she has for even thinking she had a chance for the likes of you.

This desire to have you all to herself.

Good things in life were not meant for her.

So she’ll commit what she can to her mind, and thrive off that lonely prospect. Her heart will grow weary of a love she knows there is no chance of you to return- who would love someone like her, anyway?- and the familiar weight of numbness and indifference would take over. This is what will happen, Ophelia is sure.

But oh, what she would do could she love you.

#ophelia itoos #bittersweet drabbles #longing #n27

[theholycovenantrpg]

CONGRATULATIONS, EMMA! YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF MAMMON.

Admin Rosey: There is something about Mammon that draws people in - but I know that they can be a very fickle character down simply because they are so utterly unique unto themselves. I really enjoyed the application because of the way they were outlined so meticulously, providing the exact understanding of Mammon that I very much longed to see. There was a certain disdain that was interwoven into everything, from the plots to the prose to the dialogue. The apathy that seemed to be teeming on the surface of things was absolutely delicious to eat up.This application was a fun read and I simply cannot wait to see how you develop Mammon along the way! Please create and send in your account, review the information on our CHECKLIST, and follow everyone on the FOLLOW LIST. Welcome to the Holy Land!

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Emma

Age | 23

Personal Pronouns | She / Her

Activity Level | Decently active, at least once a week if I can get  my shit together!!! Always making the effort to stick and get replies whenever available! ( At the moment I’m pretty available but things might change in a couple of months depending on work and etc ) 

Timezone | EST

Triggers | REMOVED

How did you find the group?  | Rosey is a Queen and was like hey look I did something sexy and I clicked and I gasped and I agreed, she did do something sexy. And then I said wow and the rest of the team also did like magic and I was shook. And here I am now applying for the sexy. 

IN CHARACTER

Character | MAMMON 

What drew you to this character? | 

There is something so raw about a demon birthed from nothing - they are the epitome of emptiness, their existence almost synonymous to a black hole which I find extremely fascinating. They are greed, they are consumption, they devour all, eating away at others in physical tangible methods. Perhaps it is their cruelty that is ultimately a big part of what fascinates me - untangling the web of what makes them tick is yet another facet. I’d love to explore their mind and uncover the inner workings of their feral being. Their gluttonous ways and conquest to swallow those around them whole is chaos at it’s finest. The danger that glints in their eyes and the attitude that exudes from them is everything I could ever desire in a character. They’re also really hot. I mean Noma Han though. 

What future plots do you have in mind for the character? | 

& I EAT UNTIL ALL IS CONSUMED | Mammon is a fickle creature who thrives in pandemonium. They tread a questionable line of self indulgent anarchy. Their arms are extended like the angels in mockery, writing their own fanatical laws that no one else could truly understand. Their madness thrives in their mind - their motivation always geared toward their own personal satisfaction. But what if the scale was to tip? Perhaps someone or something will catch the gleam in their darkened eyes. What if they too could live for more than the tool that was once wielded by others. Long accustomed to opulent luxury and gluttonous sin, never had they batted an eye at the politics swirling within courts. Yet for someone as hungry as they, was such mundaneness enough? What if they were to crawl past the line of humdrum satisfaction. What if they dove deeper into their instability - their appetite always growling for more. In a dog eat dog world, they had always been the one to voraciously guzzle first. Enjoying what existed was mediocrity and they were far more than that. With sharpened razor teeth, they know they can bite off more. Nothing would be too much to chew, for eating and taking was what they did best. Take and take until there was nothing left, ambition spirals to the damned heavens itself. 

HOPE? WHAT A PECULIAR CURIOSITY |  Accustomed to eons past of old tales whispered in their name, there is something tedious of Mammon’s life. While they have long been accompanied by their gourmandizing, they too seek out a spark of new excitement. Their bones creak, their jaw snaps at the thought of a new conquest - a new game. Perhaps a pursuit that is unexpected by all others - especially of demon kind. They have seen much and heard much and curiosity is like temptation itself. They too wonder of things like hope - entertaining the concept. They do not understand it as they have long been an inhabitant of the same old Hell. Yet even they tilt their head in interest. What is this so-called thing of wonder that has kept civilizations afloat? And it is this same twisted intrigue that has left their lips parted in bemusement. Will they succumb to it’s enigmatic mystery? What shall become of the creature who begins to understand? 

MONARCH OF PILFERED GOLD | A thief with a stolen crown, it is hardly an understatement to say that Mammon’s a selfish bastard. Anything that caught their eye was plucked by their greedy fingers by the right of their own claim. The excitement that coursed through their being elicits an ecstasy like no other. They will never forget the seal of death against Morningstar himself, oh how delightful it had all been. The sweet taste of bloodied victory is ever so ripe and thus this addiction to capture the same sensation thrusts them forward to chase it all over again. It was never enough for a being like Mammon who was carved from hunger itself. The pupils of their eyes dilate, looking toward shinier prizes - bigger ones that would make tidal wave changes. In their proud arrogant veneer, they mark their target in the back of their mind. Names and faces never forgotten as they seek to take one treasure after another. And perhaps the thrill of the game is only ever more exciting when the opponent viewed them as an enemy. It fuels the maniacal cackles that rip through their throat because what is theirs will be theirs. It would only take a matter of time before they conquered again and again. After all they took down the King of Hell, at this point - what else couldn’t they take? More is more. 

CHARACTER CONNECTIONS & PLOTTING  EXPLORATIONS 

GABRIEL ;  HOW SWEET IT TASTES TO INCITE YOUR WRATH | I really love the potential between Gabriel and Mammon as there’s undeniable heated tension. With him, Mammon feels the very sensation they have long been addicted to. The palpable hatred that lurks beneath Gabriel’s eyes lures Mammon closer - curious to see what would happen if they pushed further and incited an infernal fire. Undoubtedly I can see this dynamic burgeon into something both intimate and unspoken. For Mammon it is their newest game, their newest thrill ride to feel something and be seen. They will not deny themselves of the attention and want to bear witness to Gabriel’s promise of their destruction. ( I’m also here to see the angst ) 

“Destroy me if you can, desire me if you can’t” - Mammon 

ROMILDA ;  FOR THIS ONE’S DEMISE SHALL BE DELICIOUS  | Mammon and Romilda appear to be playing some game of cat and mouse which offers for some spicy ideas. For Mammon, they remain closeby like a voyeur peering into the windows of another’s life - perhaps others would perceive it as a God complex. But it is not stemmed out of arrogance or superiority, rather just another form of amusement for a creature as bored as them. They follow at her feet to watch what will happen because she is interesting and they’re nosy and want to know more. Perhaps Romilda will get sick of it? Who knows! ( I could see them being lowkey kind of obnoxious to Romilda. ) 

“Tell me a story and I’ll give you a show.” - Mammon 

REVNA ;  COME CLOSER INTO THE DARKNESS O FRAGILE ONE | To Mammon, Revna is like the perfect three course meal - so deliciously melancholic and on the verge of hopelessness. They keep her around close to keep her entrenched in her misery. It is also like the finale of a play, they await to see what will snap and send her spiraling - an event that will certainly incite their wicked glee. But Mammon believes themself to be merciful, kind even - giving her a choice to do as she pleases. They just merely amplify what she already believes. And I can’t wait to play that out - this is pretty much a parasitic relationship except Revna gets nothing out of it really. ( They’re the world's shittiest therapist tbh ) 

“The closer to the edge you are, the grander and greater the fall.” - Mammon 

GADRIEL ;  KNEEL BEFORE MY FEET AND BEG FOR MERCY | Mammon has never forgotten the events that had unfolded, a sickly sensation that sticks to the guts of their stomach. It is both a disgrace and a dishonor to have ever allowed such a thing to have occurred. They are not one to bury the hatchet - rather they hold onto it with a grip. I would like to see Mammon and Gadriel perhaps duel once again, mayhaps to the death? If anything this too can make for some good drama. Maybe Mammon will make a friend - or just die, anythings possible! ( They’re in denial that they’re kinda pressed and acting like it’s no big deal but you know deep down it's a big deal ) 

“An outcome must be decided; to the victor go the spoils.” - Mammon

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Yes! But I would also think it’s funny if people keep trying to kill them and they just come back like, bitch you thought. Just imagine the meme potential. 

IN DEPTH

Driving Character Motivation | 

AND IT BEGINS ( THE ORIGINS OF IDENTITY ) 

Largely much of Mammon’s natural instincts seems to center around the concept of “hollowness” or “emptiness” and in turn, it would be likely that they would like to share this void sensation of others, a cruel goal but for them - it is merely how they live. Perhaps another reason to pull others into their sphere of vacancy is the twisted amusement of watching others suffer. They are wicked and have never denied it so, and to share in such pain only feeds into their own warped sense of pleasure and indulgence. However even so, their identity remains a translucent nonlinear jumble of messes, one that they do not wholly understand and seek to untangle. Simply put, they are beyond unusual, strange even and given their long years of existence, have become bored of routine.

THE CHANGE ( A NEW GAME ) 

 And upon a frivolous whim, maybe they shall change it - or not, for they are as volatile as a child. But should change come, perhaps this will force them to act differently from the habits they have long been accustomed to. However, perhaps there is potential within their sinful avaricious vice to fall even deeper into the pitfall of hell. They have always been greedy in their collection of treasures. And surely objects have immense value but what if Mammon were to take it a step further? Breaking past the limits of inanimate items, their eyes may be set on an ever steeper goal. Their nurtured sadism bears fruit to cruel intentions; maybe it's time to take from the essence of humanity itself. It is people they wish to take from now; their hearts, their minds and even their souls. 

DANCING TO THE FINALE ( BOPPING TO NIGHTMARES ) 

They want to carve out the creature that breathes their sweet drink of life. Through veiled grins and snide chuckles, they seek to pull the strings of those they deem of inconsequential value. Upon invisible puppet strings, Mammon will play until they tire once more. For it is all just a game to someone who’s never truly ever had a reason to care. ( Born in the void, they become just as senseless the place they call home - it is a cold cavity that is all they have known. ) They live in their own world of selfishness and conceit, the world just a playground for devils to play. So they shall dance in the dark, picking one human target to another, rejoicing in the cries of anguish. And when the song shall end and the old rickety monster becomes exhausted, they will crack their wrists. It is then they will break the fools until there is nothing left. Again and again the routine shall be repeated. Because Mammon hardly understood life in itself; only ever the depths of shadows and death. 

Every word of hope and moral goodness consumed until by the black tar tongued of hell’s devil; and that is when the being is slaughtered, becoming just a husk of what they once were.  

ABRIDGED : Ok so like to sum up, Mammon’s just a big asshole and just wants to screw up other people because they’re mainly 1. Bored and 2. Why the hell not it’ll be funny. 3. Collecting trash is their hobby. They’re so self absorbed in themselves that I feel like in order for Mammon to be pushed toward some outside motivation would require them to either 1. Get friends or 2. To give a fuck about someone else ( to care - WOW ) But as of the moment any sort of motivation or goal just stems from their own wants or needs which rules above all else. They don’t want much in life at the moment besides hoarding, stealing, taking new shit and playing fake God if they can. Or just be that third person ominous narrator that’s super unhelpful but is there to give unnecessary input. Demons gotta do something to pass the time, right? 

Character Traits | 

Positive Traits 

Observant ; They have long had sharp pointed eyes - ones that watched the slightest ticks upon a visage, the subtlest movements of one’s gestures, the rhythm of footsteps of others. Mammon is a particular being who has long been watchful with a gaze that is both frightening as it is dangerous. But it is through their observations that fan the flames of mania. They play their games regardless of their opponent, their whims self serving first. 

Strategic ; A good player must learn the ins and outs of any game and it is one of the first things that Mammon has long gravitated towards. They pick their wars keenly, sometimes even merely satisfied with the knowledge that things shall work as they had planned. Execution is what they have done best and it takes more than sheer luck and power to finesses such precision. 

Clever ; Far from a moron, Mammon has always prided themselves in their intellect. However, exercising such wit often was a choice rather than a given. For the gluttonous demon celebrated their flaws far more than any of their redemptions. Only in dire circumstances would they ever apply themselves with the extra effort of thinking. Perhaps when a worthy enough challenge came along its merry way, they would finally exert their mind once more. 

Negative Traits 

Rapacity ; Mammon has always had a large appetite for intemperance. Both physical and metaphorical, they celebrate in the excess. The more they devour, the more satisfied they become. To them, boundaries are just suggestions. Their overwhelming need to take everything from everyone fuels them to function. Nothing could ever be enough. More was always better, and they live by these words on a daily basis. 

Sadistic ; They enjoy the thrill of crawling under the skin of both friends and foes. It is amusing to watch souls tortured and in pain, the sound of shrieks and cries are like trumpets to their ears. They rejoice in the reactions, cackle in the face of desperate pleas - they have long been accustomed to cruelty. Perhaps it is the infliction of pain that they themselves can understand human emotions; something so strange and foreign. For they themselves have long lived null and empty. 

Manipulative ; Silver tongued and clawed finger tips, Mammon is shrewd in their approach and sly in their tactics. They enjoy digging beneath the surface of what is seen and plucking out the weakest part of a flawed creation. Behind a face that may mask friendliness lies a sinister creature full of mischief and mayhem. They speak with lies, wearing deceit as their second nature. The craze they exude glints beneath the murky tar colored eyes. 

In-Character Para Sample  | 

EXCERPT 01: LUCIFERS FINALE. 

WHEN SINNERS FALL, DEMONS SHALL RISE

T R I G G E R - W A R N I N G : Implications of Violence, Death / Murder  

Morningstar, the king of Hell, how arrogantly he sits upon the throne of bones and emptied carcasses. His face is marred with arrogance; of kingly conceit that is forged from his own inflamed hubris. How pompous Lucifer appears - but perhaps it is the lens that Mammon perceives that weaves the tale which whispers of their questionable truth. 

But rewind -- it begins from the beginning. The one object that sat like an artificial halo atop Lucifer’s head; oh glory to the shiniest trophy of them all. It was all they ever wanted, clenched fists with fingers dug deep into their palms. Such a beautiful crown wasted on the being they thought most undeserving. 

Mammon had arrived late, birthed in the pits only then. They were nothing but a speck in the universe. Thus they knew, to be worthy of such a precious coronet, they needed to become something. Someone. Their worth must be equal to the item they wished to pursue - or so they once believed. 

And so the fateful day came and Mammon strolled within the gates. Head held high, arms swung side to side as their eyes followed the audience. From one head to another - oh the looks of dissatisfaction restrained at the edges of the crowd’s ugly visages. Mammon sensed it, felt the dissent looming through the room - like fog itself, murmurs could be heard throughout. But all of them were cowards, their heads still bowed lowly before the demon king himself. 

They greet the false King, a cockiness in their stride as they stand with informality, a grin crawling up their knife like features. There is a nonchalance in their posture, an indifference that seemed to agitate his royal hellness. 

“I have returned,” the voice thickened and dark. 

Mammon sees the rage, understands the ticking bomb that lies behind the devil’s veneer. But they did what they did best - they poked and prodded. 

“The world is a pleasurable place beyond the frigid walls of this palace. It seems that you have been forgotten, your name abandoned, forsaken,” Mammon sighs - their pupils never moving an inch away from the Morningstar’s head. 

“I suppose your ‘greatness’ is nothing compared to the man residing upstairs,” they mocked. 

Lucifer is silent but his cool rage could be felt. The stillness that fell could stop time itself. It was then he stood, fingers gripped at the arms of his wretched throne. His voice is a hiss, fueled with laughable jealousy. Words that only Satan himself could ever conjure slithered between the flaps of whatever made his mouth. 

But Mammon remained themself. Unflinching as they awaited - beckoned the fury to light brighter and brighter. They took a step, accepting a dare with the fates. And it was then that they had crossed the line, the servants of Morningstar thrusting them upon their knees. 

They had trekked into uncharted territory - detonating the wrath of the top Devil. A small smile appeared on their face. It was all a joke. But the glee that curdled through their rickety bones brought forth the satisfaction they had gambled for. How sweet was the taste of Lucifer’s anger and jealousy - they could eat up more -for it was aromatically delicious. 

The pits of Tartarus were nothing for a creature like them. They would claw their way out as they had done once before. How amusing it all was, they had stepped on the toes of a ‘supposed king’ who’s envy entrapped him. It was confirmed in that moment that Mammon who had wandered the planes with a trail ablazing, they had become something more. They left once but they’d swore they’d come back for more.

A KING NO MORE 

And so they returned. Indifference worn upon the husk humans called a face. Their decision never came from a place of justice or hatred. No, it was the one fixation that they had long desired. And the only way for them to ever get such a prized possession was to chop it from the head of the wearer. 

It was a merry day for a remorseless killer. 

They spun to the tune that played in their head - the haunting whistle that made their feet tap to a jig. It was the mighty king of hell’s turn to have a taste of damnation. Perhaps somewhere the Angels would have sung for Mammon's praise. But whether the pasty holier than thou freaks did or didn’t, they didn’t give a fuck. 

Mammon wanted what they wanted. Blade in the grasp tightly, exposing the whites of their knuckles. Today was the day to claim their very first love. ( Love? Obsesion? No, it was just another whim, another aimless desire. ) 

Swiftly they cut, quickly they shredded. It wasn’t long before the Morningstar was beheaded. 

In the bloody mess of whatever made the black hearted creature, Mamon ripped the crown from his head. Their fingertips stained with the colors of death, they place the object upon their own head. In the reflection of the glassy floor - they bear a smile, teeth exposed to show their mephistophelian smile. 

And yet the feeling is fleeting - as it always was. They had come and conquered but it was never really enough. The agenda was completed and their excitement gone. They looked at themselves once more, the grin fading. Their fingers gripped the item and threw it on the dirtied ground. 

A sigh of exasperation exited their lips, their back turned as they walked away. Onlookers bowed before them but they did not care. They had their fun and as routine, it was time for Mammon to find a new toy to play with. But before they vanished from sight as they were long accustomed to, they glanced back once more. An itch to feel the euphoric sensations that rattled their ribcage and howled beneath their flesh. 

Alas. 

It was just another fucking crown.

____________________________________________________________________________________

EXCERPT 02: THE UNKNOWN. 

IN MY PRESENCE, ANGELS SCREAM

It was him that they found a fascination like no other, an unsettling sensation that felt akin to perhaps what the humans may call alive. Mammon lurks within the shadows - not to close, just enough to see them. Enough to feel something within that jostled, reminiscent of a beastly heart. 

“I know you’re there.” He blinds like the sun. 

Mammon says nothing. 

It is then that Gabriel makes his approach. Oh glory to a walking God. Each step ringing like the bells of divine retribution. But Mammon does not waver, nor do they run. They welcome it, their lips curling at the corners. 

“I am here oh sweet fair haired angel,” their words spiteful. “Vanquish me if you truly dare.” It is then that they too walk into the light. They should have burned. But darkness consumes all, absorbs all and takes all. 

Gabriel does not speak. But his gaze does not fall. 

LOVE AND HATRED ARE SAME SIDES OF PASSION

It is Mammon's turn to take the stage and so they do. They walk closer, enough to taunt the other. They delighted in the seething temper that boiled beneath. His hatred was like no other; he bears witness to Mammon’s full depravity. It is Gabriel who seems to understand the monstrosity of what they are. And it is in this fragile perverted supposed understanding that pulls Mammon closer. 

“You have cultivated your sainthood, your goodness,” Mammon remarks. “But isn’t that your purpose? The will of accursed God all too shitty. But you see Gabriel - I am like you too. It is just merely a difference in … design,” words hissed with pitch black mirth. 

Their finger is pointed at them. 

“For you, they strove for righteousness.” 

“They gave you light. Nurtured you with warmth.”

“Your existence was a predestined fortune.” 

There is ridicule dripping from their words. No bitterness, no care - just vacant rambles and little thought - a pretend of emotion conducted for theatrics. They raise their arms to the sky, their middle fingers pointed. 

“But I was made as an omen, an example of all things terrible.”

Their arms dropped as their focus returned to one of God’s original favorites.

“They made me hungry.”

“They made me wretched.”

“For all the love and praise you fucking angels sing, how imperious for your kind to judge.” 

Mammon closes the distance, their mouth upturned like a risen half moon. 

“Doesn’t it pain you to know that our fallen creator had us all cut from the same cloth? Despise me should you wish but do not deny that even you, pure and good, harbor something as foul as hatred.” They laugh - cacophonic delirious cackles of a madman facing death. 

Mammon stops - in the quietness their head tilts, a sneer pulling at their lip. 

“Kill me if you choose but it’ll make you no better than the Devil.”  

____________________________________________________________________________________

Extras | 

HEAD CANNONS 

WINGS : I’ve always imagined that Mammon would have wiry or metal looking wings? Like it would be sharp and mimic spare parts or just trash, almost as if they had made their wings by hand. I’m specifically picturing the creepy hand from the “Other Mother” in Coraline but imagine the material as wings ( reference here ) 

FOODIE : I think it would be funny that they’re somewhat of a fancy connoisseur of food. Well food and perhaps anything else that they can put in their mouth. I feel like their standards of what can be eaten really is at a low bar. They would be down to just chew on some dirt and be like “wow the flavor in this silt soil can not be compared to clay.” Seems like the type of thing Mammon would be into. Probably would overshare and even attempt to encourage others to try whatever the hell they’ve decided to swallow that day. 

TRENDSETTER : Given that Mammon likes to take a lot of shit and probably has the attention span of a child, I don’t think they’d be wearing the same outfit on repeat ever. I also feel like they’d be the type to put on a plastic bag and then call it high fashion and maybe people would believe them? Or not - I mean the choice is simple, nod or choose death I suppose. I also see them being a big fan of sunglasses just to be dramatic when they toss it off to really emphasize how crazy and fucking wild they truly are. Also I could see them just being dramatic for no good reason with a little bit of a flair for theatrics. 

WEAPON: Perhaps Mammon’s weapon of choice would be akin to something that looks like a Scythe? Or maybe they’re the type that would keep a handful of sharp blades on them, I could definitely imagine them playing with a butterfly knife and doing tricks with it since they’ve had hours upon hours to learn and fuck around. I could also see them picking up other people’s weapons and going like “well that's nice, going to add it to my collection. This one would be great for some good old stabbing.” 

MUSIC : Despite being kind of a silent type, Mammon secretly is the type to be into a lot of music??? Especially when they’re doing some dirty business or like kicking someone for being a buckethead, I could imagine them jamming to some sweet tunes while doing the ass kicking. Maybe they’ll whistle too. Here’s a scene from American Psycho whis is the inspiration I got behind this ( reference here // trigger warning: murder + violence + blood ) 

OTHERS

PINTEREST |  MOCKBLOG 

ENDNOTE: Thank you for reading through my application! Just wanted to say that you guys did such a great job with the roleplay. Whether I’m accepted or not, I had a lot of fun writing this & exploring the character so thank you! ♥

#accepted #accepted: mammon

[ionfusionpunk]

Sith, Grey Jedi, and Jedi: What They Teach Us About the Force pt 3

All right. We have rather exhaustively examined the black-and-white beliefs of more well-known factions within the Star Wars universe. They are not, however, the only factions. We hear of the Guardians of the Whills, people who guard the Temple of Kyber on the planet Jedha. Besides being guardians, they are also scholars of the Force; they even have their own sort of Code, though I will not go into that. There are also several factions of Dark practitioners - most notably the Nightsisters of the planet Dathomir. And in between them all are the Grey Jedi.  

As I mentioned in the very beginning, the definition for ‘Grey Jedi’ varies on the individual, the era, and the practices of the time. Very broadly, a Grey Jedi is an individual who does not believe in a Light and Dark; to them, there is only the Force, and it is the intent of the individual that determines whether the action is ‘good’ or ‘bad’ - not what side the Force user may have drawn from (because there are no sides). Each Grey Jedi has essentially adopted their own Code - their own moral compass - to guide them, and as such there are several Grey Jedi Codes. For the sake of my own patience and sanity, I only chose the five which vary most in possible interpretation. The shortest of the examples I have chosen is also, somewhat ironically, the closest in structure to the Sith Code, so I would like to start there. 

There is no light without the dark. 

Through passion, I gain focus. 

Through knowledge, I gain power. 

Through serenity, I gain strength. 

Through victory, I gain harmony.  

There is only the Force. 

 This particular variation seems to strike a rather balanced dichotomy between the Sith and Jedi Codes.  

“There is no light without the dark.” This seems to be very straight forward and even obvious. Light creates shadows, and the brighter the light, the darker the shadows. In the Dhammapada, the text Buddhism is based upon, there is a concept that may give us further insight. It is first important to understand, however, that in Buddhism, their very first belief - given, in fact, in the first verse - is that all that we are is made of all that we have thought. The second verse of the first chapter, the title of which is translated aptly as (The) Pairs, boils down to: if you think “pure” thoughts, happiness will follow you like a shadow. In other words, to think only of the Light will make you of the Light, and your happiness will forever be out of reach. From this we devise that the Jedi, as focused on the Light as they are, might find fulfillment in their work but never true happiness. In the black-and-white morals the Sith and Jedi often perceive the universe to be made of, ‘happiness’ is the carnal pleasures, the love, the simple worldly joys found in everyday life - the pleasure and joys the monastic Jedi eschew; these joys are their shadows, the things they leave behind but that haunt them even without their knowing as they strive to look only forward towards the Light. The Sith, on the other hand, thrive in that shadow but by their very nature twist the simplistic and perhaps innocent joys into darker wraiths, contorting and distorting that which the Jedi leave behind. What the Sith have is not happiness but lust and greed, sloth and envy, wrath and gluttony and hubris - the shadows of the shadows, the weapons of their own destruction.  

“Through passion, I gain focus.” Instead of using your passion to propel you forward, you use your passion to help you stay on your chosen path. Your passion, logically, guides you. For example, if your chosen passion is art, then you would not be able to helpfully apply that passion to, say, a job as a data analyst. 

“Through knowledge, I gain power.” Understanding of the situation, of the circumstances, of yourself, give you power over those things. Knowledge is power, essentially, and a Grey Jedi uses this to their advantage. Instead of viewing knowledge as enlightenment, the Grey Jedi see knowledge as a vital tool in their journey whatever it may be.  

“Through serenity, I gain strength.” The danger with drawing strength from passion as the Sith do is this: passion is strong; if left unchecked, if unguided by the knowledge to utilize it as a magnifying glass focuses sunlight, passion can overpower reason. We see this with Anakin Skywalker himself in Revenge of the Sith. His passion in regard to Padme - his need to protect her, his love for her - overwhelms him when Sidious exploits the fears attached to those passions, and it results in Anakin basically going insane. He allowed his stronger emotions - not his lesser loyalty to the Order, not his platonic love for Obi-Wan as a teacher and brother - to control him, and thus is the Fall of a Jedi and the Rise of a Sith. A Grey Jedi, however, draws their strength from their serenity - the serenity that allows them to step back and review the situation, that keeps them from falling prey to their darker emotions and desires, that allows them to control themselves. The Grey Jedi accept that Darkness exists only inasmuch as their Light creates it; they counteract this by finding a way to balance themselves between the two, of welcoming emotion, of harnessing their passions, of using their knowledge, while refusing to allow their emotions to weaken their defenses, their passions to control them, and their knowledge of becoming a poisonous pride. This is demonstrated in “The Art of Happiness,” a book written by the 14th Dalai Lama, which is about ‘divorcing’ yourself from the hate and the anger - the darker emotions - so that they do not become a part of you; this is a HUGE concept in Buddhism.  

“Through victory, I gain harmony.” Now, this Code does not explicitly state what they are gaining a victory over, but if we continue in the vein that the philosophies of the Grey Jedi follow more closely those found in the Dhammapada as opposed to those found in the Bhagavad Gita, then we can look to Buddhism, where control of the self is crucial. This means, then, that the Grey Jedi seek victory over themselves so that a balance might be struck within themselves. If we are the result of what we think, then harmony within ourselves will result in harmony around us. The Dhammapada likewise teaches that all things must be in moderation so that our senses may be controlled, and that balance located.  

“There is only the Force.” This echoes the first tenet somewhat but emphasizes that there is no true ‘good’ or ‘bad’ except what we make of them ourselves. Where the Bhagavad Gita preaches dharma, the Dhammapada teaches us that, as Qui-Gon Jinn - considered by many of the Jedi Order of the time to be somewhat of a Grey Jedi - our focus determines our reality. Albert Einstein expresses something remarkably similar when he says, “Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one.” The Force and only the Force is the truth, the end, and the beginning, and where they go in the meantime. Actually, we had a conversation about this in my Philosophy of Eastern Religions class. When asked what the truth is, our professor said that “Truth is a pathless land.” In all ways this is true. If the Force is the truth, then being an impartial non-entity, it has no direction. The point of all this is that it is up to us to determine what we believe, what our truth is, and what path we take in this friendless wilderness.  

And the Grey Jedi embody this. By walking their own paths, by each one choosing their own Code to follow, they are adhering to their beliefs as the Jedi and Sith never could. The Grey Jedi do not deny the existence of the darkness within themselves - but technically neither do the Jedi. However, instead of allowing that darkness to control them like the Sith or entirely leaving the darkness behind like the Jedi, they accept that darkness as a part of themselves and all living things. In Buddhism there is something known as the Four Noble Truths - the basis of Buddhism, in fact. The First Truth is that all life is suffering. The Second Truth is that this suffering comes from selfishness. The Third Truth is that this selfishness can be overcome. And the Fourth Truth is that only through the Eightfold Path can that selfishness be overcome. The Eightfold Path can be broken down to: Right view; right intention; right speech; right action; right livelihood; right effort; right mindfulness; and right concentration. As discussed, however, “Truth is a pathless land.” We forge our own paths, so the Fourth Truth essentially says that as long as we follow the path of our own making while still attempting to just be decent people, we will be okay. 

There is so much that can be gleaned from these comparisons. The Sith view the Force as a tool and starting point and are, by their very nature, more susceptible to losing control of their own passions even as their Code reflects the natural state of humanity. The Jedi view the Force as a deity and ultimate destination while their Code is an ideal for humanity to reach for. The Grey Jedi view the Force as Truth, the name of whatever path they choose to walk on their way to self-mastery, and the one Code interpreted here strikes a pretty equilibrium between acknowledging the darkness of humanity but also the hope of something better – and attainable.  The Jedi may be a monastic order, but their ideals are, frankly, ultimately unreachable at best and incomprehensible at worst. The Sith are corrupted by themselves even if their Code seems logically attainable. Of the three factions, only the Grey Jedi manage to walk the path any mortal can, the path of compromise, of control, of peace; only the Grey Jedi walk a path where their Light does not create more Darkness and their Darkness does not swallow the Light. 

There is no true ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ here. Reality is what we make of it – what we make of ourselves. If we believe our emotions are our strengths, then we must be aware of how easily manipulated we will be. Should we follow the tenets of a faith that lauds a higher power and encourages self-sacrifice, we must be aware of the things we will be expected to leave in our wake. But as long as we choose to walk our own path, to know ourselves better than those that would control us or blind us with their faith intentionally or not, as long as our Truth resonates, then we will never have to give up enough of ourselves to compromise whatever peace we seek to obtain.

(Part One) (Part Two)

#star wars #the force #force theory #philosophy #jedi philosophy #sith philosophy #grey jedi philosophy #sith #grey jedi #jedi #welcome to my ted talk #this is part three #meta #sw meta #force meta

[human-enthusiast]

One Piece “isms” - #1

--Episode 2/ Chapters 3 + 4

Theme: Abusive Authority

Details: When Luffy and Coby dock in a town named Shells Town, they quickly learn about their troubles with authority. The mention of Roronoa Zoro and Marine Captain Morgan’s name expels fear in the citizens for some similar reasons. Later, after meeting the Pirate Hunter tied to a post, they learn about Morgan’s tyrant ruling over people. Specifically, those that openly defy his rules and authority, treating them like inhumane scum.

Characteristics:

1. Authoritarian Leadership - (Dictatorship quality)

2. Inferiority (Superiority) Complex

3. Obsession with “treacheries”, insubordination, or lack of power over even small matters.

4. Alignment: Lawful Evil

5. Unfair imprisonment - Zoro and the existence of a Crucifixion Yard.

Very early on in the series, we have, what I would describe as a mild introduction to certain conflicts the protagonists face. Now whether or not you ever watch movies or read books centered around pirates, it’s common sense to know they are enemies to the world’s government(s).

It’s not to say pirates don’t have their own form of government or authority -- any society or civilization has one that was structured around those who first joined-- but they separated themselves from the one governed by kings/queens/emperors/ or anyone who governs with written or traditional laws.

So, if being introduced to a character, who begins his journey as a pirate, we would expect his enemy to be the Marines right off the bat.

Not so unusual. Luffy has shown to have a gray morality or chaotic neutral personality, but this isn’t well defined until way later on. He does what he wants, with a mindset that says ‘consequences be damned’. That is pretty much his motto at this point. That being said, the opposite to what Luffy’s side of the story represents would be lawful and justice.

Captain Morgan is actually the first official Marine we see in the series. By that, I mean he’s the first one actually named and given a personality to judge on. Though technically, Helmeppo would be the first to be seen, but it’s his father whose been alluded to since they arrived. Right off the bat, they both show case the worst possible outcome of authorities: power trips, abusing the system, respect is demanded, and rules are absolute.

Both the anime and manga illustrate Morgan’s delusions of control and megalomaniac personality quite well, and how Helmeppo thrives in it by hand-me-down powers.

Something to note, I just started reading the manga, but I have watched the anime for a few years now (English dub), and I’m now just starting the Dressrosa arc. While the anime is good (not perfect) at adapting from the manga, there are more intriguing details to me that do better in narrating the story (at least with the first few chapters).

Here the manga shows tax exploitations:

Some are fairly easy to miss, but the walls and metal gate show signs of poor treatment, or degradation. The anime does something similar with the gate, having more advantage with coloring:

The door used to have what I believe was a darker green color. But now it’s rusted fairly much, even a little on the hinges, and the paint for the symbols looks a little faded. Now, this may just be a way to give texture to surfaces, which is initially true and what I thought when I first watched/read the series. However, the kicker we learn is a little ways after.

It’s explained that the people are under heavy taxation to the point that it depletes a living wage for everyone. Morgan refers to the people as peasants, so he’s clearly aware of their indigent state. It would explain a little about the state of everything and how he could’ve paid for the erected statue of himself.

The red-circled speech bubbles are especially important, and I think highlight Morgan’s character. It’s my favorite detail with him. I’m not saying I like the character all around; if I ever meet someone like this, I’d probably pull a Luffy and straight take a swing at their throat/junk (although I tend to think of the consequences, so I’d more likely take a legal/other direct action if need be).

No, it’s just...characters with this kind of mindset are fun to observe and explain.

There’s another character that is like a mirror image from this Marine: Azula from Avatar: The Last Airbender.

Both are high ranking members of their society, wealthy, completely power hungry, apathetic, and fear inducing to their subjects. There are plenty of complications with Azula, but it definitely shows in her first introduction and later on in Season 3 when she has a psychological break down.

Direct conversation from Season 2 Episode 1:

[Ship Captain]: “Princess, I’m afraid the tides will not allow us to bring the ship into port before nightfall.”

[Azula]: “I’m sorry, captain, but I do not know much about the tides. Can you explain something to me?”

[Captain]: “Of course, your highness.”

[Azula]: “Do the tides command this ship?”

[Captain]: “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

[Azula]: “You said the tides would not allow us to bring the ship in. Do the tides command this ship?”

[Captain]: “No, princess.”

[Azula]: “And if I were to have you thrown overboard, would the tides think twice about smashing you against the rocky shore?”

[Captain]: “No, princess.”

[Azula]: “Well, then maybe you should worry less about the tides, who have already made up their mind about killing you, and worry more about me, who’s still mulling it over.”

I included the exchange between her, the bat-shit crazy royal, and the captain, who has better acknowledgement of the forces of nature, because it’s fairly similar to the exchange between Morgan and the marine he’s talking to about the people’s wealth. The marine and captain regard their authority’s title, and probably have similar worries over their inability to reason maturely.

Any good villain can be vindictive, selfish, and have no regard for others (a lack of empathy), but the one underlining similarity is their negligence with reality. And in order to get like that, there is a deep obsession with control.

Azula wants to disregard nature, specifically ocean tides, rather than change her course and plan. This is a frightening aspect because of her complete ignorance on the mod of reality. She wants to maintain control of her ship, and she is very much willing to sacrifice the safety of others just to feel superior.

While Morgan also wants to keep an iron fist over the citizens. He has this more monetary greed, spending it more in lavish purposes for him and his son. He’s a little more aware of the fact that the people don’t have much money, but to him, it’s no excuse to pay the taxes in full. There’s absolutely no regard for other matters in reality, that including personal finance.

The obstacles or personal matters of those “below” him fly over his head. Because what he believes to be a level of respect is absolute obedience. I almost have no doubt that if Luffy and Coby never made it to Shells Town, it may undergone an actual dictatorship like life. When the people have seemingly ran out of money, an alternative subjection-- or showcase of loyalty--probably would have been enslavement and unpaid labor. Assuming that the money Morgan and Helmeppo spend remains on the island at a high fixation.

Maybe that’s too extreme and would also have economic downfall on the Marines as well, but I wouldn’t put it pass Morgan to come up with anymore extreme ideas.

One other similarity with Azula and Morgan is the insane notion of loyalty. This mental state is compromised more with Azula during the final episodes. At that point, she is given the responsibility of being Fire Lord, and with it, comes absolute hysterics and paranoia about maintaining control over everyone. The slightest missteps from her servants enacts a banishment for them, leaving less people to remain under her control. This may have also been a product of Mei and Ty Lee’s betrayal in the Boiling Rock Part 2 episode, completely warping her sense of trust.

There isn’t much known about Morgan before he was head of the Marine Base that is explanatory of his own behavior, but he has the same obsession over the concept of loyalty and traitors. Whether the actions are from citizens or his own subordinates, there is no excuse for anyone to disobey him. Hell, he found it perfectly acceptable to kill a marine who accidently bumped a part of his statue, that probably didn’t do anything minor to it.

That being said, he has no room to let anyone ignore his orders. When the Lieutenant was ordered to kill Rika because she helped Zoro while tied up, he refused. In response, Morgan went for the kill (he’s very much alive in the anime).

He and Helmeppo also show case this behavior in ways that are actually more foreshadowing for later arcs.

In the manga:

The citizens are bowing as the brat saunters by all high and mighty. This is the earliest render of how Celestial Dragons are introduced. While maybe this isn’t necessarily required for the Marine official, it’s more of a by-product on fear-induced situations. A psychological reaction if anything.

The other foreshadowing is the distinction of what the Marines and the World Government consider justice. What is right to them means following the laws-- obedience and purity are absolute. That’s a whole other topic in of itself. But it sets up the fight that Luffy finds himself in with the Marine. Morgan thinks he’s wrong and worthless, fighting on the grounds while yelling “I am Marine Captain “Ax-Hand” Morgan!”

Names carry power. Titles govern rank and superiority. Morgan believes this should be enough to make Luffy crumble over. It’s not. This is a revelation that goes beyond what someone holds in status. And thus, making Morgan a rather incompetent leader.

It’s also rather ironic how, with their battle, it’s very black and white in terms of morality, and the side that views what’s right is on the ‘wrong’ side (pirates). Pirates aren’t lawfully good, or very empathetic. That’s usually not their objective during the Pirate Era. However, if a group of pirates fight against a base leader, and as a result, creates a more balanced, sustainable life for the citizens in the end, there is something drastically wrong with the authority system.

Morgan really sets up as one of the first Marine antagonists, and it’s done using underlining characteristics of higher powers in more tame situations. What one fight could fix within an hour or two, would take more or less years to handle further along in the Grand Line. What One Piece offers is a focus with a type of matter that resurfaces again with different opponents.

~*~*~*~*~*

#one piece #analysis #themes #manga #anime #world issues reflection

[bastionofbibliophiles]

[Video Transcript]

Do you feel trapped in a broken economic model? A model that's trashing the living world and threatens the lives of our descendants? A model that excludes billions of people while making a handful unimaginably rich? That sorts us into winners and losers, and then blames the losers for their misfortune?

Welcome to neoliberalism! The zombie doctrine that never seems to die, however comprehensively it is discredited.

Now, you might have imagined that the financial crisis of 2008 would have led to the collapse of neoliberalism. After all, it exposed its central features – which were deregulating business and finance, tearing down public protections, throwing us into extreme competition with each other – as, well, just a little bit flawed.

And intellectually, it did collapse. But still, it dominates our lives.

Why? Well, I believe the answer is that we have not yet produced a new story with which to replace it.

Stories are the means by which we navigate the world. They allow us to interpret its complex and contradictory signals. When we want to make sense of something, the sense we seek is not scientific sense but narrative fidelity.

Does what we are hearing reflect the way that we expect humans and the world to behave? Does it hang together? Does it progress as a story should progress?

Now, we are creatures of narrative, and a string of facts and figures, however important facts and figures are – and, you know, I'm an empiricist, I believe in facts and figures, but – those facts and figures have no power to displace a persuasive story.

The only thing that can replace a story… is a story.

You cannot take away someone's story without giving them a new one.

And it's not just stories in general that we are attuned to, but particular narrative structures. There are a number of basic plots that we use again and again. And in politics there is one basic plot which turns out to be tremendously powerful, and I call this "the restoration story." It goes as follows:

Disorder afflicts the land, caused by powerful and nefarious forces working against the interests of humanity.

But the hero will revolt against this disorder, fight those powerful forces against the odds, overthrow them, and restore harmony to the land.

You've heard this story before. It's the Bible story. It's the "Harry Potter" story. It's the "Lord of the Rings" story. It's the "Narnia" story.

But it's also the story that has accompanied almost every political and religious transformation going back millennia.

In fact, we could go as far as to say that without a powerful new restoration story, a political and religious transformation might not be able to happen. It's that important.

After laissez-faire economics triggered the Great Depression, John Maynard Keynes sat down to write a new economics, and what he did was to tell a restoration story, and it went something like this:

Disorder afflicts the land! (Laughter) Caused by the powerful and nefarious forces of the economic elite, which have captured the world's wealth.

But the hero of the story, the enabling state, supported by working class and middle class people, will contest that disorder, will fight those powerful forces by redistributing wealth, and through spending public money on public goods will generate income and jobs, restoring harmony to the land.

Now like all good restoration stories, this one resonated across the political spectrum. Democrats and Republicans, labor and conservatives, left and right all became, broadly, Keynesian.

Then, when Keynesianism ran into trouble in the 1970s, the neoliberals, people like Friedrich Hayek and Milton Friedman, came forward with their new restoration story, and it went something like this – you'll never guess what's coming. (Laughter)

Disorder afflicts the land! Caused by the powerful and nefarious forces of the overmighty state, whose collectivizing tendencies crush freedom and individualism and opportunity.

But the hero of the story, the entrepreneur, will fight those powerful forces, roll back the state, and through creating wealth and opportunity, restore harmony to the land.

And that story also resonated across the political spectrum. Republicans and Democrats, conservatives and labor, they all became, broadly, neoliberal.

Opposite stories with an identical narrative structure.

Then, in 2008, the neoliberal story fell apart, and its opponents came forward with...

Nothing.

No new restoration story! The best they had to offer was a watered-down neoliberalism or a microwaved Keynesianism.

And that is why we're stuck. Without that new story, we are stuck with the old failed story that keeps on failing.

Despair is the state we fall into when our imagination fails. When we have no story that explains the present and describes the future, hope evaporates. Political failure is, at heart, a failure of imagination.

Without a restoration story that can tell us where we need to go, nothing is going to change, but with such a restoration story, almost everything can change.

The story we need to tell is a story which will appeal to as wide a range of people as possible, crossing political fault lines. It should resonate with deep needs and desires. It should be simple and intelligible, and it should be grounded in reality.

Now, I admit that all of this sounds like a bit of a tall order. But I believe that in Western nations, there is actually a story like this waiting to be told.

Over the past few years, there's been a fascinating convergence of findings in several different sciences, in psychology and anthropology and neuroscience and evolutionary biology, and they all tell us something pretty amazing: that human beings have got this massive capacity for altruism. Sure, we all have a bit of selfishness and greed inside us, but in most people, those are not our dominant values.

And we also turn out to be the supreme cooperators. We survived the African savannas, despite being weaker and slower than our predators and most of our prey, by an amazing ability to engage in mutual aid, and that urge to cooperate has been hardwired into our minds through natural selection.

These are the central, crucial facts about humankind: our amazing altruism and cooperation.

But something has gone horribly wrong. Disorder afflicts the land. (Laughter)

Our good nature has been thwarted by several forces, but I think the most powerful of them is the dominant political narrative of our times, which tells us that we should live in extreme individualism and competition with each other.

It pushes us to fight each other, to fear and mistrust each other. It atomizes society, it weakens the social bonds that make our lives worth living. And into that vacuum grow these violent, intolerant forces.

We are a society of altruists, but we are governed by psychopaths. (Applause)

But it doesn't have to be like this. It really doesn't, because we have this incredible capacity for togetherness and belonging, and by invoking that capacity, we can recover those amazing components of our humanity: our altruism and cooperation.

Where there is atomization, we can build a thriving civic life with a rich participatory culture. Where we find ourselves crushed between market and state, we can build an economics that respects both people and planet. And we can create this economics around that great neglected sphere, the commons.

The commons is neither market nor state, capitalism nor communism, but it consists of three main elements: a particular resource; a particular community that manages that resource; and the rules and negotiations the community develops to manage it.

Think of community broadband or community energy cooperatives or the shared land for growing fruit and vegetables that in Britain we call allotments.

A commons can't be sold, it can't be given away, and its benefits are shared equally among the members of the community.

Where we have been ignored and exploited, we can revive our politics. We can recover democracy from the people who have captured it. We can use new rules and methods of elections to ensure that financial power never trumps democratic power again. (Applause)

Representative democracy should be tempered by participatory democracy so that we can refine our political choices, and that choice should be exercised as much as possible at the local level. If something can be decided locally, it shouldn't be determined nationally.

And I call all this the politics of belonging.

Now, I think this has got the potential to appeal across quite a wide range of people, and the reason for this is that among the very few values that both left and right share are belonging and community. And we might mean slightly different things by them, but at least we start with some language in common.

In fact, you can see a lot of politics as being a search for belonging. Even fascists seek community, albeit a frighteningly homogenous community where everyone looks the same and wears the same uniform and chants the same slogans.

What we need to create is a community based on bridging networks, not bonding networks. Now, a bonding network brings together people from a homogenous group, whereas a bridging network brings together people from different groups. And my belief is that if we create sufficiently rich and vibrant bridging communities, we can thwart the urge for people to burrow into the security of a homogenous bonding community defending themselves against the Other.

So in summary, our new story could go something like this:

Disorder afflicts the land! (Laughter)

Caused by the powerful and nefarious forces of people who say there's no such thing as society, who tell us that our highest purpose in life is to fight like stray dogs over a dustbin.

But the heroes of the story, us, we'll revolt against this disorder. We will fight those nefarious forces by building rich, engaging, inclusive and generous communities, and, in doing so, we will restore harmony to the land. (Applause)

Now whether or not you feel this is the right story, I hope you'll agree that we need one. We need a new restoration story, which is going to guide us out of the mess we're in, which tells us why we're in the mess and tells us how to get out of that mess.

And that story, if we tell it right, will infect the minds of people across the political spectrum.

Our task is to tell the story that lights the path to a better world. Thank you. (Applause)

[End Transcript]

#George Monbiot #neoliberal #neoliberalism #Keynesian #Keynesianism #economics #video #politics #TED Talk #TED Talks

[pro-exotics]

By Melissa Smith, original link above

Are you debating whether or not exotic pets should be legal or if it is ethical to own them? If you haven’t decided on whether you are “for” or “against” exotic pet ownership, the truth is that exotic pet owners are unfairly persecuted for no logical reason.

Exotic pet keeping is rapidly becoming a "taboo" in this country, thanks to the persistence of animal rights groups and the unfortunate tendency of many Americans to view animals as precious, innately pure, human-like beings. Wild animals are often celebrated as "free spirits," and it is thought that they cannot and should not be tamed by human greed.

The Truth for Your Debate

The cusp of the argument is that the ethics of exotic pet ownership differ not at all from traditional, so-called domesticated pets that few question the ethics of owning. To argue for exotic pets alone would be a debate for the keeping of pets in general, and it wouldn’t make a lot of sense for someone to be forced to take on that philosophical debate solely because they support exotic pet ownership.

Exotic pet owners want to enjoy the same rights as owners of traditional pets. The majority of anti-exotic pet arguments rely on the logic that exotic pets are significantly different from "normal" pets.

Comparing Traditional and Exotic Pets

Hatred of exotic pet-keeping thrives from the "fear of the other" psychology, or fear of something different. Why do people question some pets and not others? When someone sees a pet they are not familiar with, there must be a reason keeping it is bad. This is why parrots, which are very demanding pets, get less criticism than a less common exotic, including even other birds like a toucan.

What is an exotic pet? Where is the line drawn? Some exotic pets are also traditional pets such as budgies, chinchillas, and pet reptiles. How would one distinguish from the needs of a fox and a hamster? Hamsters can run for miles in the wild, which is something the largest hamster cage cannot replicate. Both species are subjected to unnatural conditions.

Context

The most common deception of anti-exotic pet arguments is that all exotic pets are somehow significantly different from domesticated and traditional pets. Opponents will try to remove exotic animals from the context of traditional pet owning ethics and elevate their status as something close to human. An example of this is the knee-jerk reaction people have when people "exploit" (sell, trade, re-home, etc.) exotic animals. This is seen as appalling for exotics, but unobjectionable in the context of dogs, horses, and other traditional pets.

Even the most socially acceptable domesticated pets have striking similarities. The only issue they don't have in common is environmental concerns from over-harvesting; however, domesticated pets impact the ecosystem in their own unique ways. People who are apt to find problems with the exotic pet trade while failing to see similar or even worse problems with the pets they find acceptable are using confirmation biases.

Debate Point 1: "Exotic Pets Are Dangerous"

Exotic pets, overall, aren’t dangerous, or the level of danger present reflects on the competency of the owner. First and foremost, exotic pets include a massive number of diverse species ranging from those the size of an eraser to the largest animals on Earth. Exotic pets can never be identified as dangerous as a whole; rather, we should define what danger means and which exotic pets are identified in the debate.

If danger means lethality, only extremely large exotic pets and venomous animals have killed people in the U.S. This is mostly limited to big cats, bears, wolves, the largest constrictor snakes, venomous snakes, and large ungulates (deer, camels, bison, elephants). It is only accurate to then state that large or extremely venomous animals are dangerous.

In comparison, medium-sized dogs have caused human fatalities, and these deaths are more likely to involve people who are not the owners of the animal (or living with it) or have not voluntarily interacted with it. Large and inherently dangerous exotic pets are often owned with more discretion, so while there is a valid point for regulating these animals (although bans are still unnecessary), none exists for the majority of exotic pets.

Smaller exotic pets are capable of inflicting harm by biting, but this is true of any pet that has teeth. All domesticated pets also can inflict injury, but this never receives the attention of an exotic pet-related injury, even if it is more severe.

Exotic pets are not more dangerous than comparably sized dogs and cats and are sometimes less dangerous. Exotic pets that pose an unusually high risk of severe injury or death are reasonably safe when owned by responsible people, although mistakes and isolated incidences of tragedy are inevitable—just as they are with any other pet—and that is just a part of life.

Dogs kill 30 people annually in the U.S. Large constrictor snakes kill 0-1 people per year. Big cats within the last 30 years have killed no more than 5 people in one year, although most years it is 0-1 fatalities annually. This figure includes accredited zoos.

There are substantially more dogs in the U.S. than exotic carnivores, but most dogs are too small (about 30 pounds and under) to cause fatalities and are easy to control.

People pay more attention to serious exotic pet attacks, even though they are extremely rare, due to sensationalism.

Most exotic pet-related fatalities involve the owner and willing individuals who interact with the animals, not the public; therefore, exotic pets are not a significant public safety threat.

Debate Point 2: "Keeping Exotic Pets Is Selfish"

Keeping exotic pets is not any more "selfish" than keeping domesticated pets. The argument of selfishness suggests that exotic pets are different from traditional pets, and this is simply not true. All animals are subjected to unnatural conditions, and this even includes dogs and cats. Accusing an exotic pet owner of being selfish is mostly an empty attack holding them to a higher standard when it is convenient for the accuser. It is a common, emotionally manipulative, demonization tactic.

Debate Point 3: "Wild Animals Do Poorly in Captivity"

Exotic pets are not “wild animals” and can adapt to captivity reasonably well. Animals that do not do well in captivity tend to breed poorly and make bad pets, so they do not last long in the pet trade. Exotic pets enjoy more popularity when they are adaptable to living with humans under the proper conditions.

Another variation of this topic is that wild animals have instincts that cannot be satisfied in captivity. All animals have instincts, and no animal, domesticated or otherwise, has truly adapted to living indoors with a human. An example is that indoor cats can suffer health problems and perform stereotypic behaviors which can be corrected using the same methods from the care of so-called wild pets.

Another common argument is that cages are too small and inhibit naturally free-ranging animals from roaming. All pets roam longer distances than enclosures allow. Studies show that most cats will roam a considerable distance from their home when permitted.

The worst argument people use is that exotic animals can survive in the wild and domesticated animals can't. This couldn't be further from the truth. There are several domesticated species thriving and reproducing in the wild including cats, dogs, and horses, while even true wild animals raised by humans require special rehabilitation before they have a chance to survive in the wild.

Debate Point 4: "The Exotic Pet Trade Hurts Wild Animal Populations"

This is only partially true for some species, particularly reptiles, fish and birds, which make up the majority of the illegal trade involving shipments destined for the United States. A good portion of the trade occurs locally, in the country of the animal's origin, which is not related to the trade in the U.S. but often is cited as related.

There have been some problematic trades that have affected wild populations prior to enacting regulations. The trade can be successfully regulated as are other industries such as hunting, although habitat fragmentation is the major cause of most declining populations that make resolving the situation more difficult or impossible.

A significant number of species in the exotic pet trade are now captive-bred, and the importation of threatened species has been reduced or eliminated. There always remains a threat from the illegal black market, which already has laws in place against it. To simplify:

The wildlife trade now has reasonable regulations in place.

The local wildlife trade is damaging but wouldn't be affected by bans in the United States and other countries.

In most cases, habitat fragmentation is the cause of species decline, resulting in any further species removal to be cited as an additional threat.

Debate Point 5: "Most People Cannot Care for Exotic Pets"

There are different animals in captivity, and some are harder to care for than others. Some dog breeds would be miserable in a traditional household, while some cats have traits that are very similar to the so-called wild traits of exotic pets. It is understood that these animals shouldn't be banned just because they are not suitable for most people. Instead, educating the public is the answer. Most exotic pets that are considered to be hard to care for are already less popular than unsuitable dog breeds like border collies, high-drive hunting dogs, and working lines of shepherd breeds.

Debate Point 6: "Can You Justify Exotic Pets?"

This is a typical argumentative trap that requires a response based on the assumption that keeping exotic pets is inherently wrong. Do not fall for this loaded question. If someone were to say "justify owning dogs", it would be seen by most as a silly question, as literally all of our actions could be seen as negative should we be required to establish them as inherently good in order to be unobjectionable.

This treads into some more severe philosophical questions (do we deserve to exist?) that places an unfair standard for exotic pet owners to meet in relation to everything else. Defending exotic pet owners with arguments (it's good for conservation, it saves animals from the wild, etc.) is indirectly supporting anti-exotic pet arguments.

Pros of Allowing Exotic Pet Ownership

While exotic pet ownership is not 'wrong' there are also some societal benefits people may want to take into consideration to further enhance how much of an injustice blanket exotic pet bans are.

Property rights: Pet owners should be able to choose the type of pet they want. The personal feelings of other people shouldn't impact the rights of others.

Mental health: Many studies show that pets could have a benefit for people who wish to own them. While the species studied tend to be dogs and cats, this likely applies to many more species.

Education: Pet owners continue to learn from their pets and may even pursue higher education from experiencing the care of unusual animals. Many owners contribute information to zoos that enhance our understanding of the natural world.

Economy: The exotic pet trade encourages the creation of many jobs including but not limited to exotic pet medicine, pet supplies, animal ambassador programs, and pet boarding.

Conservation: In some cases, exotic pet ownership has contributed to conservation efforts. Private owners have aided in species survival programs and offered knowledge for some species that are difficult to care for or breed. Some animals can be offered for in situ conservation programs.

#exotics #exotic pets #article

[jayblackbirdsblog-blog]

Karma-yogi America

Just like when the “white man” floated his way west and via biological warfare wiped out thousands of Indigenous communities, the world is today seeing the effects of Imperialism. Take overs of complete worlds, and the ruthless assassination of endless cousins and aunties and grandparents and babies was not enough to teach humanity to change its pattern of taking “ownership” of the world. The dark aspect of Imperialism has now become visible again to the worlds eye, as the New Coronavirus has been taken around the world by people traveling in and out of China; Which we all know is the new MVP in the game of economics and taking over the world.

I in no way want anyone to think that I am blaming this tragedy on a whole country, but since I don’t have any names of who exactly is in “power”, I must call them the Chinese Empire. The American Government seems to have met its match; facing a Government made in its image. One that does not provide for its citizens with what is righteous, and yet has been for centuries using its people to expand its borders through modern day colonization. Both also following the Capitalistic model, committing every sort of atrocity in the name of growth and prosperity. With millions being ruled over by a few(who knows who); rarely(if ever) by the choice of the people. Today in the midst of the COVID crisis, it seems the “American Dream” of having it all has died by the hands of karma. Dying sick and living in fear of losing loved ones, as our Native ancestors had to live and die for the sake of the white American Empire’s growth. A brilliant and naturally thriving set of nations from North to South and East to West, which had to die for the sake of greed and -Manifest- Destiny. I wonder if humanity will finally be ready to escape this cycle of Karma and dare to dream up a new way of living. For how many more generations must we lose to desire for power and obsession with having everything our minds come up with, wanting something different on an hourly basis. I may not speak as eloquently as a more educated person might speak about the government or spirituality or anything else for that matter; But I do have the education of my experience. The experience of a life within this matrix, and the observed experience of all my loved ones who are also living in some sort of captivity. Permanently indebted to the “getting” itself. Living painfully dissatisfied and chronically depressed, always working for a more magazine worthy life that no one ever catches up with. Suffering under the impression that we all are never enough, unless our lives resemble the movies.

Beyond this pause could it be possible for people to finally learn the ways in which we are being robbed and enslaved by the governing forces? Will shopaholics and overly ambitious “career” people be able to possibly let go of the dream? The dream to have the next best thing, the dream to be the most successful at our passions so that we can display our egos on pedestals without shame. We have turned materialistic success into God and we pray to it endlessly day in and day out, believing that eventually we can live in some kind of heaven on Earth. But look to this day please and notice the rich celebrities, bored and lonely, and sometimes sick and old, unable to escape their humanity as this new plague crosses the earth, washing away our sin. What sin? The sin of forsaking the present. The idea of death has brought humanity to its knees, as millions try their best not to die. With the most “religious” and “spiritual” crying and fearing “the end” as if their Gods, and their resurrections, and their redemptions, and their eternal aspects never existed. As if their faith only extends as far as their desires being satisfied goes. In the words of Lauryn Hill I pose the same question, “Is it really God that you’re serving?”. Or has the obtaining of material wealth or objects been your God? Have you forsaken your own inner calling endlessly ignoring the talents and gifts that were bestowed upon you by nature, all for the sake of “making more”, anything. Have we turned our backs on Divinity for the sake of the gifts she has to share?

I dare to imagine a world in which people could finally be satisfied. A world in which everyone finally remembers. A day in which we reach the end of all wanting, sitting presently on the surface of the Earth, or at the edge of the infinite seas, Knowing. Knowing without thinking. A humanity living in the understanding that gratitude can turn eating a piece of fruit into the most delicious and magical experience. Fruits that spring up from the earth freely when grown in accordance to nature. That we can Succeed without doing anything, simply by succeeding to sit in the presence of a moment; finally allowing ourselves to watch our children grow and develop the beautiful little intricacies of their personalities as I have been allowed to in the midst of “the global crisis”. Today so many are with their families and still wish they could continue evading connection, saddened by not being able to fill the voids through pointless shopping and attaining amongst other addictions.

This leads me to believe that Imperialism is not only the problem of a race or country. It is also the problem of all of us who have internalized imperialistic ways of being. For what else are we doing when we are embodying a self which is never satisfied with what it has and is always searching for more. Today as we see yet another tragedy being caused by this undying need for more and more, I invite you all to reconsider your motives and desires. Are all your desires wrapped up in you alone or do they have the good of others in mind? And is this “good for others” aspect really good for them, or is it just an idea you have attached yourself to while the actual good of others around you goes unnoticed or ignored? Is it time to take selfish ambition off of the pedestal we place it on, looking down our noses at those who have reached the stages of desireless-ness and eternal presence?

Regardless of your answer to any of the questions I have posed, I beg you to at least reconsider the good of our Goddess Mother Earth, who has herself been the longest most affected victim of our endless pillaging and mining for products. Consider a new way of being in which you are aligned with her cycles. Knowing that there are seasons for giving, and seasons for taking, and seasons that are meant for doing nothing but being-living and sometimes dying.  Understand that there is nothing that can hurt the Earth which can not hurt us. Just as if you killed a newborns mother, and left the baby alone without milk and warmth; we will suffer and die without the sustenance of our mother Gaia. But no one seems to remember this dependence. So many disgusted to have dirt touch their bodies, but never think twice at the endless filth that they release onto her body through ruthless and careless-consumption. I pray that we all remember our origins. And are freed from the Karmic cycle of desire. Forever being freed by the wanting of “nothing”, and finding the ultimate sitting there within that space of nothingness within ourselves, a “nothing” that is the canvas for all of creation.

[thehedgelabyrinth]

[Chapter 0] Morningstar

What is a god? An idol that is worshipped. An omnipotent being that is both celestial and divine. They tend to be the creator of all life as we know it. We are their creation. Mortals, golems made come to life by fusing atoms, cells, organisms, living tissue merging with the ethereal "soul". A human being is what we became, and the plain we thrive on is the mortal realm, where nothing is permanent. Earth compared to Elysium, is a wasteland of sin and terrors with scattered oasis of peace and order.

The creation of humanity became self sufficient, they could reproduce, build and provide. However, with time, a dark stain would consume the innocence of man as they became more self aware. They became self serving, selfish and arrogant, questioning their own creator and turning their back on the enlightened ones. This made my god, Eos very sad, left with little choice but to let them walk freely unto a stormy world of unruliness and chaos. Mankind would soon learn what took my god aeons to understand, pain.

And so, mankind in defiance continued to thrive, to live the life they thought they wanted but soon would learn that on this side of the realm, everything had a price. Weakened by discord from one of his subjects, and casting out a beloved vessel of light, this was the last straw. Eos, needed time to heal old wounds, but a beast stirred in the bowels of hell, slithering around in the abyss, waiting for the day to strike the heavens. The outcast now made a strong whisper to the ancient beast all the encouragement it needed, it sprung from the depths of darkness with the outcast riding on his back and an army of darkness behind them toward the celestial gates. There, while the good of man was being tested below, celestials and infernals fought in the heavens. The outcast broke through defenses until reaching the holy sanctum. He found our god Eos sitting on his throne, listening and replying to his tiny creations. The communication suddenly stopped. Prophets will remember this day as the day God left us all alone. Faith would become even more vital now for mankind.

Meanwhile, upon a throne carved out of white stone, a river of blue flowed from an open wound. The outcast had stabbed our beloved Eos straight through the heart. "I know this won't kill you but it will buy me some time…" the defiler said as he plunged his blade deep into the gap. "I will find "your children" and break them. Bring them to my side, fill them with my darkness and at last my will shall be done. I will be the new god your creations will adore. You will wither and turn to dust. The wise bearded god looked up at his once proud child. "What has become of you Lucifer? You had it all but this greed, this hate, this pain...where did you get these things? You lived in heaven, a place where there is nothing but peace and happiness, my child, even as ancient as I am, I do not know how you became so tainted."

Lucifer simply smugly smirked at the weakened Eos. "I met someone else who showed me the way. The truth. I was but a tool to you."

Eos shook his head with eyes shut. "My child you were always loved. Please do not do this."

Lucifer hopped off the throne,leaving the blade in place. "Any moment now my brothers and sisters will break through my forces and disintegrate them where they stand. Their power is divine, because of you of course. So I will leave them a present, they will never be able to forget about their brother again. The massive serpent appeared from the shadows casted by Lucifer upon the throne. The snake coiled around Eos locking him in place.

The archangels Gabriel and Michael rushed through the hordes. The armies of hell banded together and created a tidal wave of terrors, abominations and monsters that crashed against the celestial's cavalry but to no avail. Seraphim stood at the forefront, casting powerful spells that disoriented the infernals. Allowing Michael's forces to strike at their flanks, while Gabriel followed with his own angels and cleaned up those that ran off the battlefield.

Through the sheer chaos of war, Gabriel stretched his wings out and jumped into the air, spearheading into a gathering of powerful demons. Legionmakers, is what they were called. Before the infernal captain of the guard could say the word, Gabriel had chopped his head clean off. He looks to Michael now standing in a putrid, foul stench pool of demon's blood and points at the sanctum. "UP AHEAD BROTHER, OUR FATHER NEEDS US." Michael signaled his archers to rain holy fire upon the monstrosities. To us mortals this battle went on for days but for immortals it was only half a day. When Michael stepped through the big doors he felt the cold blood of Eos flood the room. He ran in without hesitation until he reached the throne. What he saw broke dear archangel Michael, the warrior. Eos was still alive but he had no limbs, nor eyes. Lucifer was long gone. He retreated with what little army he had , riding on the back of his favorite beast.

Archangel Gabriel arrived to comfort Michael, he held him in his arms. Gently patting the back of his head. "We must bring the vessels to him Michael. We have to." Michael bitterly sobbed, screaming in despair. Gabriel looked on with the light in his eyes fading fast. Numbness was taking over him. Their creator was barely breathing, and no heirs to continue his legacy. Michael and Gabriel finally stood back on their feet, they called upon the Seraphim to heal what they could. They purified the wounds, closing them up.

"He is stable for now, but he needs much rest." The leader of the Seraphim said with much gravity. "In this state, our creator is vulnerable."

The two brothers quietly stood by watching the somber ritual of locking away their divine father in a box made out of marble, protected by a spell to ward off all evil.

Michael stepped forward toward the holy reliquary and placed his hand over the glass pane, where he could still see his creator, peacefully dormant. "I promise, their obsidian towers shall crumble...their false king will die by my blade.... Forgive me, father."

And thus begins this dark tale of the fall of a god, heralding a new dawn of chaos... But there is hope, in the form of seven souls, chosen by the creator himself that will bring forth, the age of Enlightened....

[To be continued]

[diveronarpg]

In fair Verona, our tale begins with BRIELLE KING, who is TWENTY-TWO years old. She is often called BEATRICE by the MONTAGUES and works as their SOLDIER. She uses SHE/HER pronouns.

The first time she laughed, the world paused to listen, and it hasn’t stopped since. It was almost as if she knew her surname was a MOCKERY from the moment her mother whispered it behind her first; fate’s own cruel reminder that she was the farthest thing from a princess, and her father the farthest thing from a KING. Born the first daughter of a man who ate of the crumbs from a rich man’s table, she was raised not in the lap of luxury, but at the feet of it, always close enough to touch it but never enough to take it. Such a life might’ve driven a lesser girl crazy, but the curse of wanting more fit her far better than any sweater her dear mother could’ve made her, and instead of buckling under the weight of everything she hadn’t been given, she THRIVED under the pressure of helping her father put food on the table, of climbing—rung by rung—out of the gutter. People often speak of losing one’s innocence young, but she didn’t lose it; she shed it like a winter coat in the first days of spring—out of necessity. With dark eyes keen enough to see the world for the ridiculous thing it is and an elastic heart tough enough to wake up and face it every day with a smile, Brielle King is a woman under no ILLUSIONS about the world and the people in it—aware but not bitter, kind but not soft.

For the first eighteen years of her life, everything began and ended with a prestigious Thoroughbred farm on the outskirts of St. Petersburg; it was at once a prison and a HOME, the very place that had shaped her into the young woman she’d become and the very place she longed to leave, and it was for this reason that her departure was as delayed as it was premature—before her mother was ready to let her go, certainly, but not soon enough.OPPORTUNITY made itself at home in the curve of her wrist, did its bidding in the form of a stable hand too spoiled to do his own work and too arrogant to believe she could do it better, but she did, and the consequences they were dealt when she was discovered doing his job were nearly as surprising as the fact that—for a poor groom’s daughter—she excelled at it. Within months, she’d been hired to ride in low-profile races, had begun to help her family out of the gentle hell they’d fallen into every time she chased the wire. She was FEARLESS in a way few others her age were, because she’d seen what happened to those who weren’t—people like her mother, who cringed every time she raised her voice, people like her sister, afraid to say too much lest a boy think she had a mind of her own, people like her father, who had been on the ground for so long he’d forgotten how to pick himself up.

The only thing harder than catching her was reining her in. Fiercely independent and doubly driven, she spent long hours at the track perfecting her rugged art; she OUTRAN every doubt risen against her, laughed up at those who looked down on her. There’s something to be admired about girls like her, girls utterly unafraid of calling the world on its bluff and bold enough to demand a response—girls who revel in the stability of having both feet on the ground and the freedom of flying in equal measure, for that was what she was: a woman rooted in the burden of having NOTHING who allowed herself to dream of the high of having it all. She was hungrier than she’d ever been in her life when she raced, the type of HUNGER no feast could satisfy, and even a blind man could’ve seen it. And see it her benefactor did, though he was the farthest thing from blind as there ever was. He’d confronted her in the stables long after the other patrons and even the owners had left and made her an offer she’d have been a fool to refuse, and a fool was the one thing she’d resolved herself to never be—an opportunity to ride in the west, in the city of love. She left for Verona the following week, having said her goodbyes and readied herself for the next great hello, for the only thing more tragic than leaving the city that had built her was choosing to stay.

If the city and the people in it seek to swallow her whole, to make a meal of her as most wolves do to girls who strayed too far from the path, they would do well to stick to victims that have never known hunger themselves, that wouldn’t know a trap if it dragged them straight to hell, for her suffering did not make her cruel or hard or vicious; it made her WISE—wise to a city far tamer than the one she came from and all that it holds dear, and wise to the inclinations of people enslaved by greed and other false deities. And perhaps it made her hopeful, too, for unlike most cynics, she wouldn’t mind being proved wrong. Thus, here she stands, and here she’ll stay: a woman who wanted the WORLD and dared it to deny her, a woman who conquered with neither pen nor sword. There’s a reason they never told you that the hardest hearts shatter the easiest and that wanting doesn’t make you cruel: the world can’t bear the thought of being held in the palms of hands that have shed no blood for the privilege. Only time will tell whether she’s earned her chance.

HUGO KIM: Indebted to. Heaven and hell are at war within her, a holy crusade brought about by a man intimately familiar with both. Her pride—one of the deadliest sins, she’s heard, but a keepsake from home all the same—insists that she has no reason to associate with the servant of a God who let her family damn near starve; to pretend she’s made her peace with it all seems its own form of blasphemy. But her humility—a product of her simple upbringing, surely—counters that the God he worships might be making up for lost time in him, or at the very least, that he deserves to be seen for who he is instead of what. She knows the weight of a judgmental gaze better, perhaps, than anyone, and for all her reservations about him, he’s been kind, something of a rarity in Verona. Far be it for him to make a disciple of her, but he might one day call her friend.

BERNADETTE DU PONT: Caution. If the time she’s spent in the mob thus far taught her anything, it’s that Verona is a city of gluttony; of overindulgence; of greed in all of its maleficent forms. But as she got more and more submerged in the muddy waters of Verona’s underworld, Brielle has come to realize that perhaps it might not have been the city itself that has taught her as such but rather, the symbol of rot that it harbored; the renowned Bunny Du Pont. She can’t put her finger on it but something about them screams excess and not the kind that she stubbornly abstains from but the kind that breeds chaos. It’s an unfounded perception because outwardly, Bunny is merely an image of elegance; of saccharine frailty and blunt edges but Brielle can’t help how her gut knots with distaste and her shoulders tense with discomfort when she’s around them. She has never known fear but she imagines that sensation to be as close as she’ll ever get.

CATHERINE DALY: Interest. The Daly girl reminds her of her sister sometimes, all well-mannered intelligence and edges on the cusp of being sharp. She’s bolder than her little sister was—far less concerned with offending than she is telling what she feels is the truth, and over the course of several weeks and a handful of chance meetings, Brielle has come to admire her for it, to wonder at the steel nerve of a wrongly underestimated girl (perhaps they’re kindred spirits in that respect). Her presence conjures up the warmth of a hearth fire long abandoned, a sort of familiarity she hadn’t realized she’s longed for. It hit her like a freight train one morning as she listened to the younger girl talk about her father that she just might like it here; if Catherine Daly can make a corner booth feel like home, surely she can make something of an entire city.

FARON VASILIEV: Mentor. He is a pinnacle of pride and prestige; a flesh-and-blood testament to the sheer power that a family name can hold and it was for that reason that Brielle’s initial reaction to him was nothing short of wariness. Yet despite the distance she was careful to maintain, her keen eyes were able to spot the cracks in his flawless veneer and before she even realized it, distrust became a long-forgotten notion and only admiration was left in its wake for not even their differing lineages could overshadow the threads of commonality that bound them together time and time again. She sees her righteousness reflected in him and knows that it is what wills her to remain steadfast, to remain in this place. Indeed, those traits were rooted in selfishness and ambition for Brielle but for Faron, they were tethered to the principles of loyalty and justice. As such, he is pure in all the ways she is not and all the ways that she could be. Even when he seemed to drown in the shadow of the vengeance he so desperately sought, he was still pure in her eyes. A kindred spirit in every sense of the term.

Brielle is portrayed by COURTNEY EATON and was written by BREE. She is currently TAKEN by ROGUE.

#rp #rpg #bio rp #lsrp #lsrpg #courtney eaton fc #w #tw #mont #brielle king

[hyrulecast]

A Hero’s Tale

-- While I’d love to present this in some other format like a comic, I know I’m far too busy to get it done so here’s a space to just... write down what their whole backstory is.

--- Warning: a very long read ahead

The Hero was (unsurprisingly) born under the name of Princess Zelda in an era shortly after the Hylians have returned to Hyrule from their exile in the sky (Skyloft).

Zelda, at the time, was very self-centered. A spoiled brat who knew that she(they) were essentially worshiped as the descendant of the Spirit Maiden and and the goddess Hylia.

Monsters who inhabited or conquered the land under Demise’s rule were less than happy to have the Hylians return. They of course went right back to what their original plan was: to kill them all.

The Hylians themselves were under a lot of pressure, and many of them took up an “every man for himself!” motif where they’d simply abandon their own kind in times of need.

This brought criticism on the royal family for “doing nothing” about their plight.

Zelda, being a conceited lil shit basically said “I’ll show you” and ran off to play the role of this era’s hero. (From hereon out, I’ll refer to “Zelda” as “Hero”)

They besought the goddesses for the abilities to be big and strong and powerful---the very idea that a Hero should be! But the goddesses had other plans.

Of course, no true hero could be as spoiled and self-centered as Hero was. They had to learn some humbling lessons brought upon them as a curse. ---from none other than the goddesses’ little messengers, the Minish.

From big to small, strong to delicate---they were the first earthly creature, human, hylian, or otherwise to be transformed and to enter the Minish realm.

Displeased, the Hero fought back against these little imps and insisted they be brought back to normal. After all, how could they fight the plague threatening Hyrule if they were only the size of a thumb?!

The Minish wouldn’t hear of it, for the Hero still had a great lesson in courage and wisdom to confront. Only then could they unlock the power they sought.

But!! The Minish weren’t totally heartless. The elder of the Deepwood Shrine gifted the hero two complimentary pieces: what appeared to be a kinstone with an inconceivable power untapped, and a sword un-tempered, therefore unfinished, but yielded a raw element that could cause destruction in the wrong hands.

From here, the true journey began. Trials were laid out to test the Hero’s ability and to help them answer the question that daunted them from the start: “Who are you?” ---A hero? A princess?

One humbling journey later, they’ve harnessed the power to split themself in half. They are both. Hyrule’s protector born into a single vessel. They’ve come to terms with their own internal darkness, their selfishness, and pride, and realized that the people of Hyrule needn’t only be saved from monsters, but from themselves.

Each and every person had a dark half that would grow and fester within these times of stress. Allowing it to go on unchecked meant that the future of Hyrule would crumble under a Civil War. The more people gave into their vices of greed and cruelty, the more they became the monsters that the Hero set out to fight.

Despite the downfall of the land of light, there was always still hope. The Hero’s hope that the goodness and kind hearts of the people will overcome the evil.

In a final* act of their love for their land, the Hero created a powerful seal to lock away the darkness inside the hearts of men. Every being that thrived on darkness would be henceforth sealed away under the lock of the sacred blade they’d been gifted, leaving only the power of the Light Force unlocked by the love of Hyrule’s eternal successor to shine upon the land.

This Bound Chest came with a grave sacrifice. The Hero came into this land as a duality of spirit: two beings in one. Yet, they left as only the Princess. Their other half was the lock that sealed the chest for eons to ensure Hyrule’s prosperity and safety from evil.

Ideally, Hyrule would never need another hero so long as their spirit was sealed within to combat the darkness.

A tournament was held every year since the hero’s sacrifice. The victor would receive the high honor of touching this sacred blade.

The legend says: the Hero’s spirit will awaken once a new chosen one touches the sword.

Fate has a funny way of interpreting this.

While by no means the winner of the tournament, nor one who had ever intended to enter--- the broken Picori Blade was placed in the hands of a young, humble swordsmith with the daunting task to reforge its sacred magic.

The Hero was reborn.

And thus, the legend continues.

#headcanons; hero of men