#primitive mending

[mcromwell]

www.marandart.com/s/shop THE PATCHES ARE HERE! Supply is limited, so grab one while you can until I find more material to work with, yee haw. (Next on my list: shirts, more patches, and a new sticker design!)

[astral-mariner]

I'll do the WIP Wednesday thing too, why not!

A little snippet of the sequel to my vegebul one-shot (read here if you haven't read it yet and want to) I've been working on! I've written about 4k words so far, and it might end up somewhere around 8 to 10k when all is said and done 👀

He entered the guest room he’d taken up from the balcony, bypassing the rest of the house. He wasted no time stripping, washing thoroughly under a hot shower that stung his fresh wound, and finding a clean pair of dark training shorts. He’d return to the ship once he’d eaten. First, however, to dress his shoulder properly. A drawer beneath one of the water basins contained assorted capsules of primitive medical supplies, and he popped one of them open. Some gauze would protect the burn for now while the flesh mended itself. He wrapped his shoulder and upper arm loosely before searching a dresser for a shirt. Damn that woman again—she still hadn’t delivered the new battle suits. She’d fuss over his wound if she saw it, too, so a shirt was necessary. He chose a black one that would conceal any oozing lest his body betray him yet again. At least the topic of the suits gave a reason to meet with her unrelated to her demanding it. He felt her presence in the kitchen. Waiting, no doubt, and poised to deliver some infuriating remark. He prepared a few of his own before he turned the corner. He didn’t come because he obeyed nor because she had any power over him, and he wouldn’t let her suggest otherwise. Instead, when he entered, she merely looked up from where she sat at the counter, electronic tablet in hand, and smiled at him. This was worse somehow. He glanced away instantly. He heard rather than saw her pat the seat next to her. The scent of all the foods she’d spread out struck him too before his eyes registered the sheer quantity and variety of it. “I realized that I’d never actually asked you which foods you liked,” she said after a moment. “So I just ordered a bunch of different things.”

[inkykeiji]

YES, please talk more about Ranpo because I love him!!

I LOVE HIM TOOOOO ANON but i don’t have many other thoughts atm aside from what i said to that other anon!!! hmm other than that tbh i could see him being borderline vicious in the bedroom with his teasing & so so so condescending because he’s sooo intelligent and you’re sooo idiotically cute and sooo sweetly stupid and he’s sooo much better than you <3

but it’s okay, he still loves you, still thinks how unbelievably dumb he can make you with merely his cock and his voice is so fucking adorable <3 he has a talent for being able to smash you to absolute bits with his words and wit alone—doesn’t need to resort to any of those more primitive methods like bondage or impact play, the way dazai likes to, to supplement his thorough shattering of you, to cut you up into little fragments of yourself, diminished to snotty sniffles and spit-weighted words (gurgles, more like it, he thinks; it’s almost disrespectful to call those garbled noises words) and shimmering eyes overflowing with thick tears, fat dewdrops caught in salt clumped lashes that glitter with each flutter of your lids; all gorgeous pieces of evidence, proof of his intellect and ingenuity, his sheer aptitude.

being such a skilled and smart wordsmith, he excels in language-based kinks: praise, degradation, humiliation, and (his personal favourite) dumbification. and after he’s reduced you to a beautifully broken mess of yourself, shivering and snivelling and so, so soft, he is an absolute expert at mending you back together with loving affirmations and gentle affections as his tools, murmuring about how good you were for him, how well you did for him, how perfect and gorgeous and awe-inspiring you are, and how much he fucking loves you—the only sentiment he’s sure no words in the world could accurately express, but he tries his darnedest to tell you anyway <3

[moiyume]

death is the only end for us — chapter ii. imaginary

pairing: yandere!satoru gojo x fem!reader

sumary: Discussions about the past bring out an important revelation, [Y/N] will not surrender, she is willing to destroy everyone in her path to prove her innocence, even Satoru.

warnings: angst, threats, mentions of death, humiliation, yandere thoughts, spoilers from the main story.

word count: 2265.

more information about the history: here.

⠀⠀⠀⠀───◌┈┈───♡⃝───┈┈◌───

AND BY PLANTING MISTRUST, LOVE WILL COOL DOWN, GIVE WAY TO HATRED AND RESENTMENT. There is no way to mend a broken glass, when you put the pieces together, the cracks and scars of the breakage will be there forever, the glass will break again if you fill it with water. There is no way to mend the heart of someone who has already been betrayed or abandoned.

After ten years forced to live in ostracism you have learned that curses are not as bad as the wizards say they are. Curses are predictable, they obey the primitive instinct to kill humans and devour each other for more power, they have no filters, they are direct in what they set out to do. But people are not, people are cunning, people deceive, people betray, people change, people are not what they appear or say they are, and above all, no person can be trusted. Father, mother, brother, friend or stranger, it is the nature of human beings not to be trusted.

You have learned the hard way that you cannot trust anyone. No matter how well you think you know someone, you really don't know how much someone can change in a day, maybe even in ten years. It was a long ten years living a miserable life, hunted like an animal for slaughter across three continents, you saw and experienced many things, but nothing surprised you more than the falseness of the human being.

However, there is a proverb that says that the prey will kill the predator. In the game Gō the winner is the one who has the most pieces on the board, however it is not as simple as it seems, you need to knock down the opponent's houses if you want to ensure victory, because as in the animal kingdom there is no draw, only the strongest will prevail, the one who is able to continue living. It is a game of survival, but it is also a mental game, you beat the enemy destroying what he worked hard to build, you take his place and eliminate him. Satoru and you are adversaries in this battle. He vehemently believes that victory is his, but the foundation of the houses he plays with are as fragile as a house made on the sand of the beach, and like Gō's board, you will knock down all the pieces that hold him up.

He approaches you with a smug smile, there is no escape, it is only you on this empty hill, there are no trees you can use to hide, yet there is no way and no reason to hide when the Six Eyes search for you. You stop walking away and accept that there is no other option but to stand still, he seems pleased with your decision, the smile on his face widens. However, you will never surrender.

"I don't..." Disappointment tries to swallow your words, but you swallow your tears and face Satoru with clenched fists. "I'm not willing to give up my freedom just yet."

He takes a wrong turn with your words, to his ears they are just childish statements, but you are a human being and it is your nature to insist even when things seem impossible. The man in front of you falls into laughter and wipes away a tear that has run down the corner of his eye, it is annoying to see him mocking you, but to Satoru Gojo all people were such idiots that they were worthy of pity, and you were no exception.

"You act like you're a heroine from a light novel, that's hilarious." Satoru teases you with a smug smile on his face, you struggle to keep your cool, but a vein pops out on your forehead. "Seriously! Look at that pose! A great actress." He measures you from top to bottom. "Of our old group, you're the only one who keeps acting like a pre-teen, always wanting to prove to others that you're a martyr, it's ridiculous, don't you see?" He shoves one of his hands into his pocket and takes out a black blindfold and puts it over his eyes. "You have become such a pathetic person that it is hard to believe that you were considered a threat. Man, you killed civilians for nothing, I never understood the motives behind it, but honestly? I don't understand how we came to have anything, for a moment I even thought of you as an equal, but even Suguru did better in the villain role than you."

You are startled by those hostile words, he had never been so mean to you before, you even thought he would have some mercy for your bestie dying, but as usual you are expecting too much from Satoru Gojo. You never wanted to be a martyr, but there is some truth behind such hostility, the way you have behaved all this time as if you were being wrongly accused. Your hands have been dripping blood since the moment you were accused and the lives you took will haunt you until the day you die, but the people who died that night were not innocent and they were not civilians either, and the person who killed them was not you. You have put up with it all quietly, but this time you are determined to make a mess of it, as in gō, you will surround your enemies and let them fall alone.

"You're not entirely wrong." You admit waving your index finger towards him, mimicking his smug smile, I straighten my posture and take a step forward. "But I'm not the same girl you knew."

"Really? You still look like an idiot to me."

"Eh." You mutter amidst his debauched laughter. "The difference between the 18-year-old [Y/N] and the 28-year-old [Y/N] is: she doesn't mind crushing every ant that crosses her path."

You raise your hand towards his face and abruptly close it, making him take a step back, you laugh dryly and dullly, it's comforting to know that you're still able to mess with his head.

"Get out of my way, Gojo, before I crush you too." You threaten him, your will like a sharp sword about to slash his throat, he frowns and you step forward. "Don't tell me you don't know why no one had the courage to come to me." You watch his hesitation to give you an answer, but before he can say anything, you hold up your index finger to get him to shut up and listen, "Looks like you're the idiot here."

You place your hands together behind your body and lean forward, he is very close at this point, so you stand face to face, you feel the hesitation in his posture, his right foot goes back a step and a half before he steadies himself. You make no point of hiding your evil intentions beneath an innocent smile, the intent to kill is obvious, but it only comes from one side. Satoru may be many things, but you doubt he would kill you before he could experience the torture of the court again, he likes to play with his fangs and that would be his downfall. The moment he realises something is wrong, his hand comes towards your neck like lightning, however she is unable to touch you. The sky blue eyes shine in fury and you can't contain your laughter, it's not a genuine laughter, you just couldn't miss the moment to debauch his innocence.

"What have you done?!"

The scenery around you begins to change. The once bright and colourful landscape of the hill turns into a hostile, cold and gloomy environment, the welcoming atmosphere has become inhospitable, the peace you provided was false, as you had said earlier it is just an imaginary space. Satoru knows it is too late, however you give him the chance to move, and he approaches to attack me, but to his despair the distance between you is still the same, as if he cannot reach you, he is stuck in your trap, and you are waiting for him to place the piece on the board that will make him fall into ruins.

"What kind of cheap trick is that?!" He shouts in exaltation, unable to touch you, his steady footsteps crunch the frozen grass making an annoying creaking noise, he seems in a hurry. "What have you done to me?"

"That's not the right question, darling, try again." You reply in a playful voice and make the distance between you disappear, you grab his cheeks and lower his head so you can pull the blindfold off. "That looks really ugly on you, it makes you look like you have no forehead." You throw the piece of cloth on the ground, it's hard to believe that someone as vain as him chose to wear an accessory that would devalue his beauty so much, is that kind of thing fashionable in Japan? You would like to know.

"DAMN. [Y/N]!"

"Hm?!"

"What the hell is that?" He insists.

"You must be wondering why the Six Eyes don't recognise what's happening now, right?" He nods for you to continue explaining. "It's because you're not seeing anything, really. You taught me that for the Six Eyes to work, you need to see things around you, and okay, I know you can perceive the world on an atomic level, but I'm inside your head and not in front of you, got it? Or do you want me to draw?"

You tap your index finger on his temple and watch his eyes grow larger, it is satisfying to see him like this, for years you have kept a vow to Master Tengen not to use his true cursed technique for your own benefit, but you no longer have any connection to him, let alone the school. You cannot allow yourself to be the person who is passed over. You feel sweat drip down your hand, but it's not yours, rambling made you forget that you were still holding Satoru pinned in your hands.

"My cursed technique is called ████, by the way." You whisper, it's the first time you hesitate to tell Satoru something, you slowly back away until your hands can no longer touch him. "You must know what it means."

Satoru's skin turns as pale as paper, nostrils dilated and hairs standing on end, like an animal on alert, you would like to laugh and mock him as unassumingly as he did you, but you would not be satisfied with scaring him even more, you are not like that. You gather up a snowflake and the landscape has started to change again, this time it has started to crack, as if you were inside an old television full of static, living through a film locked in a stormy day.

Melancholy suddenly takes over you, you let out the air trapped in your lungs and watch the smoke of hot air, he's right when he says you're still a dumb teenager with childish aspirations. You turn your back and walk towards the "exit door" of the illusion you created to trap him, but before you go, you look at him over your shoulder, Satoru is staring at you with a weird look, clenched fists are at the side of his body, one leg is in front of the other as if he wants to come to you, but there is something holding him, only this time it's not you who holds him.

"When I disappear you will regain consciousness, I recommend you look around and be careful." You give him a weak smile and nod. "We will see each other again."

Satoru watches you enter a doorway of light that disappeared as soon as you stepped through it. His hands are sweaty and burning, nails are digging into his palm, blood drips down the spans of his fingers, it wasn't the first time an opponent had played a trick on him, but it's been so many since it happened he's forgotten how bad it feels to be tricked. A vein popped on his forehead and he began to laugh nervously as the word 'tricked' came to his mind, not much can be expected of you, you are clever and slippery as jelly, if he is not careful you will slip like sand or blood between his fingers.

"Bitch!" He roars exhausted and slaps his own forehead.

The space in which Satoru was trapped crumbled in a magical pass as he surged, soon the sound of horns and car tyres singing on the tarmac pierced his ears, regaining consciousness he hurriedly climbed onto the pavement. You dumped him in the middle of a busy avenue, it's your nature to play tricks on people, no matter how serious, you're the kind of childish person who would put a bucket full of water on the door to wet the first inattentive person who walked by. Drivers drove past him cursing and grumbling, but he didn't give a shit, his thoughts focused elsewhere, someone else.

- "We will see each other again" Satoru repeated and looked up at the sky, it was daylight a few minutes ago, no? He wondered if you could mess with time too and laughed bitterly, then brought his hand up to his face and covered his eyes, maybe nothing was impossible for you and Satoru resented that. "I hope so, but..." He paused before admitting to himself. "You have to pay for leaving me."

⠀⠀⠀⠀───◌┈┈───♡⃝───┈┈◌───

━ to be continued; ﹢ ⌑ ﹒

[diaryofaphilosopher]

With the ‘discovery’ of America, the idea took root that colonization was also a climatic normalization, a way of improving the continent’s climate by clearing and cultivating land. It was a promise to the colonists and a discourse of domination: a way of saying that native peoples had never really owned the New World. In the eighteenth century, acting on the climate served to rank societies and their historical trajectories hierarchically: Amerindian peoples still in the infancy of a savage climate; European peoples creating the mild climate of their continent; Oriental peoples destroying theirs. The Maghreb, India and, later, Black Africa: in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, the French and British empires were built on accusing Blacks and Arabs, Islam, nomadism, and the ‘primitive’ mentality, of wrecking the climate. Colonization was conceived and presented as an attempt to restore Nature. The white man must mend the rains, make the seasons milder, push back the desert – and to that end command the natives.

— Jean-Baptiste Fressoz & Fabien Locher (translated by Gregory Elliott), Chaos in the Heavens: The Forgotten History of Climate Change.

Follow Diary of a Philosopher for more quotes!

[catierambles]

The bag was ripped from her head and she blinked a little in the light, flicking her head to get her hair out of her face.

"If you wanted to speak with me, Mr. Hunt," She said, "You could have just made an appointment. You needn't have resorted to all of...this." She would have gestured to her surroundings, had her hands not been bound behind her. "Oh, hello." She said, smiling pleasantly at Benji and Luthor. "I don't believe we've met. Cait Logan, a pleasure."

"Who is he?" Ethan asked and she cocked her head at him quizzically. "The man pretending to be August Walker. Who is he?"

"He's not pretending to be anyone. He is August Walker." She said.

"Bullshit." Benji said.

"Unless I brought a different man who was killed by being brained by a cargo hook and falling down a mountain back to life." She mused, "Possible. Highly unlikely, but possible, I suppose."

"You brought him back life?" Luthor asked incredulously. "How?"

"I mended his wounds and breathed life back into him." She said simply, as if it were obvious.

"You're being pretty candid with it." Ethan pointed out.

"I'm far too old for subterfuge." She scoffed, "Besides, no one believes the truth anyway."

"How did you bring him back to life?" Benji asked, "How were you able to?"

"To say that I am not as I appear would be a gross understatement."

"What are you?" Ethan asked.

"What I am is beyond your comprehension. I was already very old when this world was young and let's leave it at that." She said and Luthor snorted.

"You're out of your damn mind." He said and she gave him a look.

"Why does he want me dead?" Ethan asked.

"Mr. Hunt, August died with a singular focus in his heart and that was ending your life. Until he fulfills that, he will never rest."

"Not unless I kill him first."

"Good luck with that one. I brought him back to life, and therefore his life is tied to mine. As long as I live, so will he, and--" Ethan drew his gun and fired. "If you had let me finish, I would have told you that I cannot be killed. Interrupting people is really quite rude."

"Holy shit." Benji whispered. "What the hell are you?"

"I am the thing that made your primitive ancestors huddle around their fires at night, thinking the light would keep them safe." She said and the darkness around them started to creep closer, "I am a devourer of worlds and a mother of creation." Inky black tendrils reached out of the darkness towards them, searching and seeking. "My true form would drive you insane and force you to claw the eyes from your skull, just to try to unsee what you have seen."

"Why him?" Ethan asked. "Why Walker?"

"Many eons ago, I cast little pieces of myself out into the aether, just to see where they would fall." She said, "August has one such piece inside of him. His is bigger than others. Not by much, but bigger. I knew when he was born, I saw his life, and I knew when he died. He is a part of me that I wish to keep."

"You're his mother?" Luthor asked.

"No." She snorted, "I am not responsible for his creation."

"But if he has a part of you inside him..."

"Do you consider the recipient of a blood transfusion the child of the donator?" She asked, "Of course not."

"So you're what?" Ethan asked, "Some kind of cosmic eldritch being?"

"More Lovecraft than Giger, but basically." She said with a shrug. "You cannot stop him, Mr. Hunt, anymore than you could stop me. His is a singular focus, and he will not stop until he is done and you are dead. The easiest thing for you to do is to get on your knees and beg for a mercy that will not come, and hope he makes it quick."

[aneptuniana]

FLEMING [spotify] - 2h 0min

"quiet village" - les baxter // "the nile" - sun ra // "old devil moon" - chet baker // "off shore" - martin denny // "i concentrate on you" - fred astaire // "blue lester" - lester young // "stardust" - hoagy carmichael // "nature boy" - robert maxwell // "wondrous place" - billy fury // "diamonds" - the ventures // "action line" - dorothy ashby // "comin' home baby" - mel tormé // "love potion #9" - herb alpert & the tijuana brass // "a taste of honey" - lenny welch // "the look of love" - sergio mendes & brasil '66 // "mojave" - antonio carlos jobim // "my kind of town - frank sinatra // "pink champagne" - georgie fame & the blue flames // "women of the world" - jimmy smith // "harlem shuffle" - bob & earl // "i come from jamaica" - clifford brown // "the russians are coming" - val bennet // "traveling man" (version I) - the techniques // "la madrague" - brigitte bardot // "jet set" - david pike // "saint-tropez blues" - marie laforêt // "summertime" - the zombies // "that's life" - james brown // "i put a spell on you" - alan price // "primitive london 2" - basil kirchin // "graham greene" - john cale // "sukiyaki" - kyu sakamoto // "footprints on the moon" - johnny harris // "time doesn't matter anymore" - margie day // "solaris" - lalo schifrin // "daydream" - wallace collection // "cry baby cry" - ramsey lewis // "time beat" - ray cathode

[gapless playback on - crossfade 12s]

[theclimateconversations]

Science and activism can and should rely on each other

I identify as both a scientist and an activist. The creation of The Climate Conversations  stems from a gap in the climate world, in which key scientific discussions never really leave the academy, and in turn the climate science space is not made accessible to activists. In sharing news, scientific breakthroughs (the good and the bad), adaptation and mitigation successes, and general climate knowledge, this community page strives to facilitate and support the conversation between scientists, activists, and anyone else who has an interest in our changing climate. Activists should utilize the climate data available in order to further their work; science can provide an even stronger foundation for justifying the climate fight and for combating misinformation. In order for this to occur, science should be made easily available to those outside the scientific community. Scientists should also listen to and keep up with activists as they develop their research, implement their methodologies, and share their results; without considering the social justice aspects and implications of their work, the data can only go so far in aiding communities impacted by climate change. As building solidarity between various social justice movements is a recognizable way to make them stronger, creating an interdisciplinary connection that transcends categorization (ie, within or outside academia) can also serve to mend theory with practice, bringing scientific studies into the realm of real life.  An additional nuance that is important to take into account is the difference between the uses of Western science and traditional knowledge. The scientific method follows Western ideals, and Indigenous knowledge ends up forgotten and ignored. Western science can take a page from climate activist’s books by acknowledging and uplifting these traditional beliefs, wisdom, and ideas. Incorporating Indigenous perspectives when engaging with science and activism can provide richer and more nuanced outcomes and insights for the benefit of our planet, our environment, and our communities.

To close up these thoughts is an excerpt from Sherri Mitchell - Weh’na Ha’mu Kwasset’s essay Indigenous Prophecy and Mother Earth featured in All We Can Save: Truth, Courage, and Solutions for the Climate Crisis:

“Ironically, the Indigenous ways of knowing and being that European colonists saw as primitive and uncivilized are now being actively sought out to save our environment and humankind from the brink of extinction. Indigenous knowledge is based on millennia-long study of the complex relationships that exist among all systems within creation. It encompasses a broad array of scientific disciplines: ethnobotany, climatology, ecology, biology, archaeology, psychology, sociology, ethnomathematics, and religion. [...] Unfortunately, a great deal of critical Indigenous knowledge has remained outside the carefully ordered categorization of Western thought, making its holistic concepts difficult to comprehend for those who have been trained to see the world in fractured pieces. It is this fractured view that has been central to the fracturing of our societies and environment.”

[beardedmrbean]

Wait wasn’t it the boomers that preach to us this “We need to save the world!” shit? I mean would could have better eco system if wasn’t for say

1. The US, USSR/China piss competition that was the Cold War

2. SEVERAL countries being fucked over thanks to the push of communism/US meddling/ etc and many of those countries are still recovering from it.

3. I mean in the west developed countries, people have fucking meltdowns over a Japan McDonald’s wholesome family tweet. So our family unit need some fixing

4. Manufactured nihilism, so a lot of people don’t give about themselves much less the environment.

5. Have corporations that being run by medically confirmed sociopaths.

I can say more, but Greta sweetie, I know you want to do good, but blaming the older generation thinking many were hellbent on destroying the earth isn’t so simple. Many do/did want to save the world, but we have to deal with the fallout of ww2, communist dumbasses, and so much more with humanity itself before we can do the ideal environmentalism.

Was confused for a moment till I remembered I'd scheduled that one, was gonna run it yesterday but I had to get around the subscription wall which is more complicated than a paywall.

In the end just archiving it works but the links in the article don't work if you do that, which is what I had to do.

It's not even the stuff you're mentioning up there either. I had a 1966 Plymouth Fury III there was this weird green plastic thing with a device inside it and a couple vacuum hoses attached to it, one in one out.

Primitive Smog control device, if you never worked on older cars that were manufactured for sale in California you'll never see one, but every vehicle sold in CA had a smog control device for the longest time, all changed when the auto industry realized it was cheaper to just do the same thing to every car, it's something that's been going on since before I was even born though, so current generation isn't the first to care or take action.

Been lots of missteps along the way, the shift from paper bags to plastic ones at grocery stores is a big one, people thought it would save the trees and it didn't do much there and now we've got a totally different problem.

Hole in the ozone layer on the other hand, we got that issue taken care of and it's on the mend, has been since long before gretta was born too.

National parks predate my grandparents, thanks Teddy, leaving large swaths of land alone for the purpose of conservation.

My grandparents when they got their pool installed in the early 80's had a big fat solar water heater installed so it could heat the water for that as well as the water for the house, weren't super common but they existed and were in use by people who wanted to both be nice to the earth and lower their gas bill at the same time.

Nearly all of the solutions being discussed by the young climate weekend warriors involve technology developed for the purpose they want it used for before they were born.

I'm just dandy with people wanting to save the earth, I've been trying to do my part for decades now, which I would appreciate it if gretta and co would acknowledge instead of acting like they're the first people ever to give a damn.

Several centuries of damage all culminating at the peak of the industrial revolution that we need to undo, that takes time and being a snobby, whiny, self important, twit who bashes everyone who came before her, who's shoulders she's standing on, doesn't do anything real.

And quite possibly does more harm than good.

Not going to totally blame her though, she did start out as a pawn on someone else's game and to some extent she still is.

[dailyunsolvedmysteries]

Daniel Camargo Barbosa

Camargo's mother died when he was a little boy and his father was overbearing and emotionally distant. He was raised by an abusive stepmother, who punished him and sometimes dressed him in girls clothing, making him a victim of ridicule in front of his peers.

Camargo had a de facto union with a woman named Alcira and had two children with her. He fell in love with another woman, Esperanza, age 28 whom he planned to marry, but then found out that she was not a virgin. This became a deep root of Camargo's fixations, and he and Esperanza formed an agreement that he would stay with her if she aided him in finding other virgin girls to have sex with.

This began a period of their partnership in crime. Esperanza was Camargo's accomplice, luring young girls to an apartment under false pretenses and then drugging them with sodium seconal sleeping pills so that Camargo could rape them. Camargo committed five rapes in this way, but did not kill any of the girls. The fifth child that they abused in this way reported the crime, and both Camargo and Esperanza were arrested and taken to separate prisons. Camargo was convicted of sexual assault in Colombia on April 10, 1964.

A judge sentenced Camargo to three years in prison, and Camargo was initially grateful for the perceived leniency of the judge, swearing to repent and mend his ways. However, a new judge was given precedence over the case and Camargo was sentenced to eight years in prison. This provoked Carmgo to rebellious anger. He served his full sentence, and was released.

In 1973 he was arrested in Brazil for being undocumented. Due to a delay in sending Camargos criminals records from Colombia he was deported and released with his false identity. When he returned to Colombia he took up a job as a street vendor in Barranquilla selling television monitors. One day when passing by a school he kidnapped a nine-year-old girl, raping her and murdering her so that she could not inform the police like his previous victim had. This was his first assault involving murder.

Camargo was arrested on May 3, 1974 in Barranquilla, Colombia when he returned to the scene of the crime to recover the television screens that he had forgotten beside the victim. Even though it is believed that he raped and killed more than 80 girls in Colombia, Camargo was imprisoned in Colombia after being convicted of raping and killing a nine-year-old girl. He was initially sentenced to 30 years in prison, but this sentence was reduced to 25 years, and he was interned in the prison on the island of Gorgona, Colombia on December 24, 1977.

In November 1984 Camargo escaped from Gorgona in a primitive boat after having carefully studied the ocean currents. The authorities assumed that he died at sea and the press reported that he had been eaten by sharks.

He eventually arrived in Quito, Ecuador. He then traveled by bus to Guayaquil on 5 or 6 December, 1984. On December 18 he abducted a nine-year-old girl from the city of Quevedo, in the province of Los Ríos Ecuador. The next day a 10-year-old girl also disappeared.

From 1984 to 1986 Carmago committed a series of at least 54 rapes and murders in Guayaquil. The police at first believed that all the deaths were the work of a gang, not understanding that one man could have killed so many. Camargo slept on the streets, and lived off of the money he could gain by reselling ballpoint pens in the streets. Occasionally he supplemented his income by selling clothing or small valuables belonging to his victims.

Camargo selected helpless, young, lower-class girls in search of work and approached them, pretending to be a foreigner who needed to find a Protestant pastor in a church on the outskirts of town. He explained that he had to deliver a large sum of money, which he showed them as proof, and he offered them a reward if they would accompany him to show him the way. He pretended that he was a stranger to the area, and hinted at the possibility of the girls getting a job at the factory. No one was suspicious of an older man accompanying a girl or young woman who could be his granddaughter. Carmago would then enter into the woods, claiming to be looking for a shortcut in order to avoid arousing suspicion in his victims. If the girls grew suspicious and drew back, he did not prevent them from leaving. Camargo raped his victims before strangling them, sometimes stabbing them when they resisted. After his victims were dead he left their bodies in the forest to be picked clean by scavengers.

Camargo was arrested by two policemen in Quito on 26 February 1986 only a few minutes after he had murdered a 9-year-old girl named Elizabeth. The policemen were on patrol and approached him at the height of the avenue Los Granados, thinking that he was acting suspicious. They were surprised to find that he was carrying with him a bag containing the bloody clothes of his latest victim, and a copy of "Crime and Punishment" by Dostoyevsky.

He was taken into custody and later moved to Guayaquil for identification. When he was arrested he gave a false name, Manuel Bulgarin Solis, but he was later identified by one of his rape victims who escaped.

Daniel Camargo very calmly confessed to killing 71 girls in Ecuador since escaping from the Colombian prison. He led authorities to the dumping grounds of those victims whose bodies had not yet been recovered. The bodies had been dismembered. While he told the Ecuadorean authorities of the locations of the bodies and how the sadistic crimes were committed, he showed no feelings of remorse. After raping his victims, he had hacked, slashed and crushed the girls with a machete. He gave a cynical explanation for choosing children. He wanted virgins "because they cried"; this apparently gave him greater satisfaction.

According to Camargo, he killed because he wanted revenge on woman's unfaithfulness. He hated them for not being what women are supposed to be. His victims were all virgins.

It was reported that in November 1994, he was murdered in prison by Luis Masache Narvaez, the cousin of one of his victims.

[nazorneku]

this is smth i wanted to touch upon, considering i've been asked 'bout this before and just to accentuate his strengths and weaknesses due to his nature

An oni is a kind of youkai, demon, orc, ogre or troll in Japanese folklore. They are known for their superhuman strength and have been associated with powers like thunder and lightning, along with their evil nature manifesting in their propensity for murder and cannibalism. They are typically portrayed as hulking figures with horns growing out of their heads, massive teeth, with red, blue, black or yellow colored skin. Oni are able to change their looks to fool their victims into trusting them. It is believed that oni were originally once human beings, but are born when an evil human dies and is sent to one of the several Buddhist hells where they are transformed into an oni. Oni, written in kanji as 鬼, meaning something invisible, formless or unworldly, in other words, a 'ghost' or the 'soul of the dead'. Particularly powerful oni may be described as kishin or kijin (literally "oni god"; the "ki" is an alternate character reading of "oni"), a term used in Japanese Buddhism to refer to Wrathful Deities. The Japanese oni represents bad luck and violence in Japanese culture. In art and literature, they attract destruction, plagues and disease around them. Paradoxically, the Japanese demon is also a figure of protection and good fortune.

Even if in possession of physical bodily form, an oni in its core nature is a spirit, thus the damage done by primitive weapons such as knives would eventually be mended; despite breaking the integrity of the skin and drawing blood. Such injuries would not last, nor they would cause great impact upon his over whole constitution. Momentarily disturbance and unpleasant sensation, but nothing critical. In addition to own demonic physique, that grants him strength which exceeds of a regular human (example to compare from modern world, above the level of professional bodybuilder or weightlifting athletes), as let's not forget how Ais broke ribs of a roughneck without turning body into a poppy mess; there's also a matter of borrowed powers from Ocudeus, that undoubtedly have healing and shielding properties. Hence to influence such creature you would need to implement powers of corresponding nature - magic. That also would include wards, runes, incantations, potions, bombs with specific herbs or ingredients that hold sway over demons, and obviously enchanted or magical weapons would deal great damage to both body and spirit. Worth to mention that due to demonic nature he does not easily become inebriated with human made beverages. He drinks and smokes for its taste mostly. As well him accepting Leander's shots serves as a welcoming challenge to actually experience being intoxicated, made body languid or his mind being affected in a way. After all, Leander applies magic to his concoctions. Specifically in my portrayal, Ais draws powers from the depths of the Seaspring, from its pool, from the blood. Now I'd avoid writing a detailed description of how his powers manifest, as I actually intend to write this specific moment in one of my responses. I also want to reference Blood Pond Hell in the hot spring town of Beppu. Its connection to healing and improvement in health, its symbolism as it's notoriously mentioned for its striking appearance, which according to Buddhist belief, resembles the entry to hell. And I also want to point one of my previous posts, as the torii gate, that stands in the middle of the spring, could be an actual gateway, a demonic door to the domain of Ocudeus'.

[kimerarts]

WoW crest: Shaman

For millennia, since the primitive tribal cultures of Azeroth and Draenor, the natural elements of the physical universe have been celebrated, feared, and even worshiped. Mystics sought communion with the earth, air, fire, and water, and learned to tap into their raw power. In time, these spiritual guides came to understand that nature’s elemental forces aren’t wholly benevolent, but have, in fact, been locked in an unending conflict of chaos and primal fury that once consumed the physical realm. So began the calling of the Shaman, to bring balance to these volatile energies, leveraging their intensity to mend wounds . . . or inflict them.

(Shaman lore, Wowpedia)

Prev: Rogue

Next: Warlock

[ask-de-writer]

I would like to thank

@nevermord​​ for READING, LIKING,

REBLOGGING and COMMENTING ON

ALMUA : Part 1 of 9

a tale of the Bizarre Borderland

of which he said:

You are right.  Many skills are now languishing that used to be basic.  Make a fire without matches?  Not really too difficult.  I know and have done three different ways.  Weaving?  Perhaps, along with making string and rope, one of the most necessary skills of mankind.  Now an art.  I have made and used three different sorts of looms.  I can use a spinning wheel too.  Net making is still a widely practiced art.  Most ocean going fishers can at least mend their nets. I can tie them but would not call myself an expert.

Flint tools?  I have known one person who knew the ways of flint.  He made a pretty good living at it.  He sold arrow heads and spear points to the primitive archery crowd and did many sorts of tools from all the different cultures world wide.  He sold those to museum gift shops or made them display duplicates.

I can make a passable arrowhead.  I prefer using glass to flint.

So many things are passing quietly away from the world.

[the-ravens-requiem]

5 – Rattle

Sometimes, there is nothing you can do. Death comes for most in The Known World, and no amount of moral intervention can cease the unyielding march of the Reaper.

With such primitive weapons as salve and potion and bandage, the war against mortality is a constant losing battle. There are no moral phyrric victories in this clash, and the tides will always turn. Even the secret blade of a healing spell will not always prevent someone’s final dance with death. The itching scars, skin pulled too taut like an abominable drum, bones and flesh forced to mend before the fabric of the body is ready. And worse still, the fevers of disease and impenetrable phlegm.

These sorts of battles are won with anxious patience. The moment of victory is never guaranteed. The man laid heavily upon the straw-stuffed mattress, limbs tangled and weak. Too weak to stir, too weak to rise. The skin was pale, a corpse whose soul had possessed the flesh and refused to let go even as the body gave way to eternity.

It was quiet in the dark room, sparsely decorated, yet artifacts of the life once lived strewn about carelessly. The hat the man war when he was toiling in the sun. The mirror he used to see when he combed his hair in the morning. A simple clay cup fashioned years ago, it’s purpose to supply a warming drink before bed.

The stench of illness could not break through Doctor’s mask, and yet the air seemed to almost grow thick with it. Like vines climbing brick, like the roots of a rose bush choking the ground beneath.

The family had already been told that the war was over, all that was left to do was wait.

The death-rattle from the old man’s chest whistled and creaked, like a machine that needed oil. Wet and horrible. Wrong, lonely.

Doctor was unable to weep.

[techno-toister]

The Story of Winx [part 5]

The next morning Winx smelled rotting meat and sees arrows stuck in the red head’s back. Along with pits that looked like creepers blown up here. winx quickly gets up "hey... HEY!!" he looked at Winx emotionlessly. “Huh? Wha—“ the red heads vision was blurred. he felt disoriented.

"it looks like seletons and creepers attacked you" winx looked worried, the red head held the bow. Pulling the string back and forth. “Yeah and they are pretty primitive too when it comes to fighting...” he spoke. “are you okay?!” she asks, vary worried about his well being, “What, yeah why do ask?” he said. “there’s arrows in ur back” she still looks worried.

“Huh...” The realization hits him. “Oh GOD there’s arrows in my back!?” the red head shouted. “Help me help me help me!” “I-idk how to get them out without killing or hurting u” she was now really worried. “I didn’t feel them when they came in, it’s alright...” he exclaimed, “o-okay, I’ll take them out” she takes them out wile trying not to hurt him. the red head had no nerves so there was no pain inflicted. "Great lost my arm... nearly my back... What is the worse that can happen."

“I’m sorry...” winx looked sad as the red head sat there. “don't worry... You’re good.” winx then says "maybe we should find a village? we won't understand them vary well but they have food and other resources" he exclaims “We are getting off track. We have a portal to get to. But then, it would be nice to see what this place is all about.”

“I have to get to the portal.” he tells her. "i understand i just don't know if u can come back from dying" she responds, “You say I will fail traversing to my destination?” he questioned Winx. "n-no, i'm just worried.." winx said back, “No need to be, last time I failed was a little cube. I prepared for a journey as terrifying as this. As long as we don’t get distracted we will be fine.” he spoke out.

"alright.." winx said as she stood up "we should go then.." “Give me a minute to mend myself. Then, we will get going. Grab enough supplies for us both, it may be primitive but at least it will help us in the long run.” he sat down coughing up blood rubbing it around the wounds. "o-ok" she looks around for any supplies, she finds a lot and brings it back "this enough?" he looks at the supplies to see what's there, he sees some bows food and a little bit of armor.

he stared. “Can I wear that armor? Im a bit exposed.” she replied "yea, it won't fit me anyway." then gives him the armor and weapons. he points to the missing arm. “My holding capacity is— limited.” she takes back most of the weapons beside one sword, he grabbed the sword and looked uneasy. “Uhm— thanks!” he spoke before standing. winx smiled "well u need a weapon right?" “I just needed armor really, I have a weapon. I’ll hold onto it...” he spoke before walking. "oh okay" she starts walking with him.

[campbluelake]

Her Judgment

It is something Abigail Bradley should be used to at this point in her existence. This sort of experience should be nothing more than an old friend she’s grown close to over time. This experience is, naturally, seeing those that she loved and was loved by (thought she was loved by, at least) be torn to pieces in front of her, their gore painting the insides of her eyelids for the rest of eternity. Max eats her only family’s heart, silencing him forever to protect the world from his foul actions, and Abbie…

Abbie feels.

There is no burst of warmth, though. There is no anger or pounding misery. There is only that familiar, lonely static. 

As she watches her family die in front of her for the second time, becoming an orphan once again, Abbie submits to the clawing apathy that threatened to overtake her 309 years before. Perhaps this time, the world will allow her to see her life flash before her eyes before death takes her–in that moment, she’ll be able to see the faces of all those she’s ever cared about. It would be nice to see them one last time, to be able to remember their faces as she wishes more than anything for them to know how desperately she yearns for a world where they truly had been protected, had been saved by someone.

Laying there on the ground and feeling the grass against her cheek, she breathes in deeply, prepared for these moments to be her last. The imitation of the scent of summer, the distant noises of the counselors she cares for (the very ones she just now tried to kill), and the gentle coolness of the early evening air…

[♫♫♫]

There is a breeze.

It sways gently the facsimile of leaves on the town square’s tree, still standing tall despite the carnage endured here. It carries a warmth that starkly reminds you that the wind Abbie has conjured for you these many months was nothing more than an imperfect approximation. This, you realize, is real.

As suddenly as the breeze began, it dies away.

A woman stands among you. You do not know who she is nor when she arrived; only that she is here now.

Her otherwise unassuming presence realized, the woman strides forward on bare ivory feet toward where Abigail lays. In her wake, the scent of rain and damp soil remains. Something inside of you – something primal, instinctive – keeps you rooted to your spot as you watch the distance between her and the abandoned thrall grow shallow.

You blink once. She is a dire wolf, dwarfing Abigail in size. Her maw opens; a thousand cicadas speak.

“Forsaken child of man; unwitting deceiver who weaves vulgar mockeries of my gifts. To find reprieve in this apathy is a privilege of which you are undeserving. By my judgment, it is revoked.”

The dire wolf’s maw drips with the heat of summer lightning. Pungent ozone spreads thick through the air, and it is by the primal instinct keeping you silent that you identify what now speaks to Abbie. There is no primitive fear more powerful than that of Nature’s ambivalent fury.

A heavy paw is placed on Abbie’s back; around her neck, the jaws of an atlas bear hang slack. Through raging torrent and pounding thunder, Her judgment is further delivered.

“Henceforth, each snuffed flame of a stolen life will burn deep in your breast. The pain of their loss at your hands; the pain of those left behind in their absence; the centuries of torment you have created; you will know this pain intimately. Every moment of your days, you will be ravaged by the knowledge that there is no mending the broken lives left in your wake. So shall the weight of your misdeeds weigh as heavy as they should.”

An ebony hand ghosts across the back of Abbie’s neck, fingers finding her hair. Humanity is a beast of nature, and She wears no single face. This new one parts its lips; from them, the melody of a bubbling brook.

“But I see you now, child. I have known that which brought you to these ends. An aberrant fate has befallen you by unnatural means, and it is in part by my own erring. There is mercy in my judgment. Through it, I offer you penance; a chance to do the good that you meant to do.”