#WHY ARE PEOPLE VOTING FOR ASRA | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cinnella · 4 years

Text

I dunno if this has been done yet but here it goes-

✨The Arcana: Main 6 in Among Us✨

Asra

blue

with the flamingo hat

is pretty damn good at lying about being the impostor, most of the time gets away with it because he blames Lucio, most of the time..

"don't get me wrong, but Julian and Lucio are really sus" "why them?" "they just sus" <Asra was The Impostor>

with other impostors, he tends to stick by himself tho

usually feels bad about killing Nadia or Portia, and spares Muriel and the MC

as crewmate, he gets the tasks done pretty quickly and then calls for a meeting to gather info about who might be the impostor

Julian

red

with the pirate bandana

absolutely SUCKS at being impostor, he can hardly lie and most times he'll kill someone and get immediately caught red handed

"guys i found lucio dead lmao, might be asra" "i literally saw you snap his neck tho?" "fair enough" <Julian was The Impostor>

he lets the other impostors on his team vote him out when killing someone, so they don't seem sus

literally the only one who he'd not feel bad about killing is Lucio, just saying

pretty good at being crewmate but he struggles with the wires and swipe card

Nadia

purple

with the flower hat

probably THE BEST at being impostor

most of the time the others don't even suspect her because she's so damn good at convincing people

"Quite honestly, if it were me, I would have been near the body" "but you could've vented" "The body was in the communications hallway, no? I was in reactor. Your argument is invalid" <Portia was not The Impostor>

she slays when in a team, quite literally, and 90% of the time they win

she's fast on tasks and rarely gets killed because she's always wary of the others

Muriel

green

with the egg hat

literally leaves the game as soon as he sees he's impostor

ain't no way he's killing or sabotaging anyone or anything, nuh-uh

doesn't really like to play in a team of impostors either, will probably only do so to offer alibi but that's about as far as he goes when being impostor

"do you guys think it's muriel that's one of them, he's really quiet" "...you have no proof" <Muriel was An Impostor>

as crewmate, he's very efficient, but he's not fond of electrical and reactor and always makes sure nobody's within range to kill him

Portia

orange

with the cherry hat

too damn good at being impostor, strategically using the vents for her advantage

but sometimes it happens that she vents in the wrong area and gets caught

"i saw Portia vent in medbay, it's her" "now hold on a minute buddy, i saw YOU vent" "THE FUCK YOU MEAN I HAD JUST GOTTEN THERE" <Lucio was not The Impostor>

she's even better with a team, always winning, snapping necks left and right

as good as she is at impostor, she loves being crewmate, getting to do tasks around the ship and help out the others when they're falsely accused

Lucio

yellow

with the goat horns

he ENJOYS being the impostor, HE LIVES for that adrenaline, but of course there's a downside

he's the absolute WORST at lying

"it's lucio" "OKAY YOU LISTEN HERE PUNK" "i'm listening" "actually.. i have nothing to say" <Lucio was The Impostor>

in a team tho, he's pretty damn good, of course he gets ejected pretty soon because he was caught killing and then fleeing, but he keeps sabotaging even as a ghost

he doesn't really like being crewmate, but he does tasks anyway because others will suspect he's the impostor

✨Bonus: The Apprentices✨

Eris

white

with the safety glasses

not very keen on being impostor, 50% of the time she'll call a meeting and tell everyone to vote her off so she can be crewmate

but when she is impostor, she avoids killing and focuses on sabotaging, sucks at lying

"i think it's eris" "you do me like that, really? You know i don't even like being impostor" <Eris was The Impostor>

if it's with multiple impostors, she'll always have the others' backs, in turn making everyone sus of her

is pretty good at being crewmate, completes her tasks and then goes on cams to spy on the others

Syro

pink

with the robber mask

damn good at being impostor, kills and vents faster than you can say 'lasagna' and doesn't accuse anyone aimlessly so he can gain their trust

"i mean, i didn't see anyone near except for asra and nadia, but in reality... Who wouldn't kill lucio?" "sy's got a point" <Julian was not The Impostor>

he sticks by the other impostors and offers alibi only when the crewmates blame them without proof

kinda slow on tasks because even if he doesn't accuse anyone immediately, he's sus all the time

tends to hang out by visual tasks like the medscan or storage chute to see who's clean

Morana

black

with the 'dum' sticker

average at the impostor, is bad at lying but good at killing and sabotaging so her chances of winning are 50/50

"you guys can believe whatever you want, but i was all the way in shields" "that's cap, both me and muriel were in shields" "that is true" "shit.." <Morana was The Impostor>

the other impostors give her a boost so she always wins when in a team

really good at being crewmate, she's fast but careful so she gets certain tasks done on first try

always does the admin swipe card first and rarely goes in electrical alone

Calyx

lime

with the plant hat

sucks sucks SUCKS at being the impostor, he just... doesn't like the concept at all, and if he does kill someone, he ALWAYS gets caught

"guys i just wanted to sabotage the reactor, i dont wanna kill nobody.." "wait, it's you?" "yeah, please just vote me off already" <Calyx was The Impostor>

let's the killing to the other impostors while he sabotages if he's in a team

he sticks close to his crewmates when doing tasks, the other finding it super sus

often offers alibi to those he knows are innocent

Libelle

cyan

with the bear ears

if you thought Calyx doesn't like the concept, hoo boy Libelle hates it, NEVER wants to be the impostor

"GUYS I JUST GOT IMPOSTOR WHAT DO I DO" <everyone voted Libelle> <Libelle was The Impostor>

literally just roams around while the other impostors do the deeds, making it look sus

as crewmate she usually follows Nadia or Calyx, cause she knows she can trust them

if she gets backstabbed by anyone, she'll continue her tasks as a ghost while mumbling "I trusted you..."

✨Feel free to add your own apprentices✨

98 notes · View notes

asrascum · 5 years

Text

The world of Vesuvia: fan made map interpretation.

So I noticed @asra-moon was looking for someone to make a map of the world Vesuvia takes place in so I did that because I’m geography/ history nerd.

*click for better resolution.

This map is by no means pretty but allow me to explain myself.

1) This is an upside down map of the Roman Empire. Which is here in the modern world:

I did this for a few reasons.

• The devs have said that Vesuvia is a sea-side Mediterranean city-state.

• as far as racial diversity and equality, the Roman Empire was extremely advanced in this field, they even had a few minority Emperors.

• it is upside down because in The Arcana northern areas are warm and southern areas are cold, that is the exact opposite of how the Mediterranean is in our world, so I flipped it.

2) Prakra is Rome.

• Voting, election, and order were big in Rome. Nadia says this about Prakra quite a bit.

• Nadia’s parents are literally an Emperor and Empress.

• In Ancient Rome, there was a central Emperor and government. Then there would be people to preside over individual city-states, this would explain why Nadia is countess of Vesuvia, because her parents put her in that position.

3) Nevivon is in Ukraine.

• Julian and Portia look very Ukrainian/ Russian in my opinion.

•Also the names Ilya and Pasha are very Eastern European.

• So are the names Mazelinka and Lilinka.

• Portia and Julian grew up around pirates so I chose an area on the Black Sea.

4) And finally, Vesuvia is in Egypt.

• Asra is a native Vesuvian, he’s clearly middleastern/ North African/ Arabic.

• Asra, Aisha, and Salim are all Arabic names and Aisha wears a hijab.

• So Vesuvia has to be in a part of the Roman Empire that is middleastern/ North African/ Arabic.

• this is the canon map of Vesuvia and if you zoom in on the map of the Roman Empire provided, that area of Egypt looks exactly like the area Vesuvia is located on.

Anyway these are just my personal headcanons!

5K notes · View notes

arcqna-hoe · 5 years

Text

vesuvia high (high school au!)

Julian is a senior, president of Vesuvia High’s (tiny) drama club. He’s completing his school's healthcare pathway and plans to try to go to med school if he can make it in. He was voted onto Homecoming Court his sophomore year but has since fallen out of the popularity game ever since some nasty rumors about him nearly getting expelled (courtesy of Superintendent Lucio) were passed around. Since then, he’s become more eclectic in his style (though still consider extremely attractive) and simply floats around outside of the drama department. His only constant friend is his sister Portia and Asra Alnazar, who is equally as much as a character as Julian is.

Julian’s Archetype: The Gorgeous Edgy Kid

Nadia is the Principal of Vesuvia High. Rumor has it she had a fling with the Superintendent a couple years ago, but people are so intimidated by her beauty and power that they’ll only mention it over private text messages or in dark corners of parties - never at school. She’s quite nice after getting to know her, though. She deals with trouble students elegantly and quickly, without much clamor. People say the only reason she didn’t expel Julian Devorak was just to spite the Superintendent, but others say she knew Julian didn’t do anything wrong in the first place.

Nadia’s Archetype: PILF (Principal I’d Like to Get Freaky With)

Asra is a junior at Vesuvia High. He competes on the school’s Academic team and is a favorite of Principal Nadia, frequently being called upon to report on the current social climate. He is labeled as a “hippie” by many and has snuck his snake Faust into school multiple times, much to the delight of some and the horror of others. He’s quite friendly with everyone but sometimes gets a bad rap for hanging out with Julian Devorak, who has grown to be mainly disliked. Despite this, overall he seems to be the most popular of the bunch. He’s just trying to finish high school just in time to start studying to be a literary historian (with a minor in religion, of course).

Asra’s Archetype: Cute Hippie Boy

Muriel is a sophomore at Vesuvia High. People seem to think he’s a senior or even a returning alumn due to his appearance, but the past year’s yearbook seems to have squashed those ideas quickly. He was on the football team his freshman year - pressured by the Superintendent to do so - but quit immediately after accidentally giving one of his teammates a concussion. (He still feels extremely guilty about this and curses his overbearing power every day). Despite seeming to be admired during his first year, sophomore year has turned Muriel into a social outcast and is only ever seen talking to Asra Alnazar. His secret hope is that, once he graduates, he’ll move to the countryside and open a senior dog sanctuary. Poor boy doesn’t have enough faith that such an idea will ever happen.

Muriel’s Archetype: Big Scary Softie

Portia is a junior and the sister of Julian Devorak. She’s another favorite of Principal Nadia and is extremely passionate about zoology, which she wishes to study after she graduates. She’s likely the most neutral when it comes to the social hierarchy of high school, preferring to be nice to everyone rather than having a small, tight-knit group of friends. (Though she does seem to spend an inordinate amount of time with her brother, whom she dubs a “complete moron”.) Many come to her asking for advice and usually end up walking away pleased - she seems to have a maturity many lack at her age. In the end, Portia is simply Portia, and the most likely to make it out of high school alive (if her idiot brother doesn’t kill her first).

Portia’s Archetype: Sweetie of the School

Lucio is the Superintendent of the Arcana School District. His policies, such as shortening the lunch period of Vesuvia High in order to add an extra half hour to Physical Education class, are often met with much backlash. No one but Principal Nadia dares to challenge him, whom he’s rumored to have had a fling with (maybe that’s why she’s not afraid of him?) Nonetheless, the only people who seem to enjoy him are the wealthy parents in the districts, the ones who can raise their children's’ grades with the slide of a hefty wallet in his direction. For some reason, Julain Devorak, who does not have a parent with an inexcusable amount of money to spend, is his least favorite student at Vesuvia High. He is often seen dropping into Julian’s classes in an attempt to catch some reason for expulsion. Overall, Lucio is one of the most underqualified Superintendents to ever rule preside over the Arcana School District. (He is hot though if that’s any consolation).

Lucio’s Archetype: Tyrant Superintendent That’s Frustratingly Hot

Whew! That’s the first writing post I’ve ever made on this page! I really hope y’all enjoy it and if you did, thank you so much for reading - oh and question of the day: where would your MC fit into this au?

#the arcana #arcana visual novel #julian devorak #ilya devorak #asra the magician #asra arcana #asra alnazar #portia devorak #muriel #nadia satrinava #count lucio #imagines #headcanons #writing

138 notes · View notes

polynymph · 5 years

Text

What Once Was Chapter 10

I’m alive!! Sorry it took so long, depression sucks, but I remember how fun writing is and people telling me that I’m the story is good please give me validation. TW: Mentions of alcohol, Get’s pretty steamy in the library ;)

A loud knock woke Armyah with a start, squinting under the scrutiny of the sun’s rays glaring through the window. She had slept in. Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, she hauled herself out of bed, and pulled her clothes on. Asra’s bed was already empty, but another pounding knock tells her that he’s out and about in town. That’s not so unusual...he is usual up and gone before his apprentice. Armyah shuffled down the stairs as she covered a yawn.

“Armyah? You home?” a voice called out from the other side of the heavy, wooden door, “It’s Portia, we really need to talk!” Armyah winced; last time she heard a Devorak tell her they “needed to talk” it didn’t end well. Then, realization struck...did something happen with Julian? The magician dove for the door handle and flung it open. The magician eased when her friend didn’t seem panicked. Instead, she moved aside to let Portia in. “There you are!” she beamed, “Phew, I was hoping to catch you before you left.” Before she could continue, she gets distracted by the shop around her. Her expression makes it obvious that she wasn’t familiar with magic shops. “This is your shop?” Portia said in awe, mouth agape, “look at this place!” She peered down into a crystal ball, tapping on it as if it were a fish bowl. The servant moved to a shelf with various herbs and spices to examine them. Plucking a vial of dried agrimony of the shelf, she uncorks it and inhales its sweet scent deeply before replacing it on the display.

“Portia?” Armyah chuckled as her friend was reaching for a phial of angelica root, “you said we needed to talk?” Portia looked back at the magician, face red with embarrassment.

“Oh, sorry,” her smile faded as she chewed on her lip, “Milady wanted me to check up on you...see how the investigation was going.” She didn’t meet the fortune-teller’s eyes. “You know, with Ily- I mean...Doctor Devorak.” Armyah leaned her hip on the glass counter and smiled knowingly at the other woman.

“Do you really want me to catch him?” Portia scoffed, blue eyes darting around the shop.

“Pbbbfft, me?” she laughed nervously, “Why would that matter?” She made the mistake of looking at the magician, her smile never ceasing. “I…” she sighed, defeated, “...no.”

“Me either,” Armyah admitted, looking away. Even with everything that happened last night, she still didn’t want to see him hanged. Tension released from Portia’s shoulders and her face lit up in a smile.

“Great!” she squealed with glee, “so we’re partners then.” The fortune-teller pushed off the counter.

“Partners?”she looked at her friend oddly. There was a twinkle in the servants eyes as she nodded rapidly.

“Yeah! We want the same thing, right?” Portia gestured between the two of them, “you don’t want my brother to die, I don’t want my brother to die.” A clap of her hands rung out through the empty store-front, “now we just have to work of making sure my brother doesn’t want my brother to die.” Easier said than done. “We need to get him out of the city...as long as he’s in Vesuvia, he’s in danger.”

“Will he even let us help?” Last night he didn’t seem interested in letting anyone close. Not even his sister and...whatever Armyah is to him. She doubted that he had changed his mind over night.

“Sounds like your talking from experience,” Portia offered a sympathetic smile. Armyah looked away quickly in an effort to hide the blush spreading across her cheeks. It didn’t work. “Let me guess...it’s to ‘keep you safe’?” Armyah blinked back the tears threatening to spill. A hand on her shoulder made her turn to her friend. “He used to do that to me all the time when we were younger...he never let me handle anything,” she rolled her eyes in annoyance, “always shouldering someone else’s burdens all while lamenting how heavy the load is.” They shared a laugh at Juilan’s expense and Portia clapped the magician on the shoulder. “Come on, Ilya needs people he can rely on,” she starts toward the door with purpose, a familiar mischievous smile painted on her face, “and I think I might know where to find him. Follow me.”

The Rowdy Raven was quiet as the pair stepped inside. A few patrons milled about, talking in low murmurs. The burly bartender behind the counter nods at them before returning to the cloth he was swirling around the glasses. They glance around the room until the tell-tale flash of auburn catches Armyah’s eye and she nods in its direction for Portia to see. Julian was slumped over the table, face obscured by his messy curls. Glasses similar to the full one in his hand littered the table.

“Oh boy...” Portia groaned, motioning the magician to follow her. The red-headed woman marched over to the table with the lanky doctor and stood at the edge with hands on her hips. Armyah slid into the booth across from him and cleared her throat loudly to get his attention, but he didn’t move. The girls shared a look in agreement. Portia slammed her hands down on the table and leaned against her arms. “ILYA!” Julian jumped a foot, nearly dropping his stein, and blinked blearily between the magician and his sister.

“Armyah! Portia! You’re here...in the Raven...in front of me,” he stammered, eye wide and face flushed from a mix of embarrassment and inebriation. “What, uh...what are you doing here?” He was looking at Armyah, but she swallowed thickly, unable to form words. Seeing him like this broke her heart. Her mind was running a million miles per second. She wasn’t sure whether to kiss him or slap him. Luckily, Portia was there to the rescue.

“What are you doing here?” she seethed, “it’s the middle of the day!” Julian laughed as if he remembered an inside joke with himself.

“It’s never too early for a glass of Salty Bitters, Bartholomew makes a grand one,” he waved over to the bartender, “Hey, Barth! Two more Salty Bitters, would you?” Barth looked up from his glass, but Portia waved him off.

“This is a good way to get yourself caught, Ilya!” Portia reasoned, but he only scoffed.

“Good. I deserve it,” he threw his arms out dramatically, hitting a chair in the process, “Look at me, Armyah, I’m all...” he hiccuped, “I’m all washed up! If you weren’t relieved last night, you will be now.” He leaned back and draped his arm over his face, “you’d better get out of here before I drag you down too.” That was the last straw, she wasn’t about to leave him there to wallow in his own self-pity until he gets arrested.

“No.” she deadpanned. Julian blinked and looked at her confused.

“I-er...what?” he hadn’t heard that tone since she commanded him to stop moving while she was searching him outside her shop...he kind of liked it.

“We’re not leaving,” she shrugged nonchalantly. He looked at her for a moment, processing what she said, before dropping his head to the table and groaning.

“I don’t want either of you tangled up in this mess,” his voice was quiet and muffled in reluctant admission, “I can’t be the reason you get hurt.” Portia shook her head.

“We get to decide that, Ilya, not you!” she crossed her arms over her chest, “stop trying to push us away.” The doctor groaned again before lifting his head with a deep sigh.

“Well...you both came all this way,” he smiled innocently, “Pull up a seat and take a load off. Have a Salty Bitters, they’re disgusting.” He sneered in disgust before flashing that roguish grin of his, “I’ve had five.” Julian looked like he was in no rush to move, but they couldn’t stay in the Raven all day.

“We have two options,” Armyah started, “we can either spend the day here, crying into our drinks...” she gave the doctor a pointed look.

“That’s my vote!” he replied, raising his stein before taking a large gulp.

“Or we can find out the truth and discover what really happened the night of the Masquerade.”

“Third option,” Portia offered, “we get Ilya the hell out of town now and figure out the rest later.”

“I can’t just run away, Pasha,” he furrowed his brow, “I tried to before and it didn’t turn out so well...it’s time to face the music.” His sister waved off the beginnings of a dramatic monologue.

“Fine, fine,” she rolled her eyes, “so, if you didn’t kill the Count, someone else must have, right?” Julian looked at her in horror.

“I, uh...I didn’t actually think about that,” he stroked his chin in thought, “either I did it, or there’s another killer on the loose. Which is...bad.” They needed a plan if they wanted to discover with really happened that night. Julian’s life could depend on it. If there was a way to get him to remember...wait.

“We need to get to the Count’s room!” Armyah blurted out a little too loudly. Her companions looked at her oddly, “It might help jog his memory!” It work for her last night when her and Asra were arguing, maybe it’ll work for Julian.

“How will we get Ilya into the palace undetected?” Portia retorted, “if someone sees him it’s all over.” Armyah smiled mischievously...she had been hanging around the Devoraks too long.

“They’re not going to see him,” she mused. The siblings looked at each other and then back at the magician, still dumbfounded.

“Have you been hitting the Bitter Saltys- or whatever- when I wasn’t looking?” Portia scoffed, ignoring Julian’s attempts of correcting the name of his precious drink.

“There’s a spell I can use,” she laughed, “something to disguise him.” Julian’s eye went wide, a slight gleam hinted at some curiosity.

“You mean I’d become another person?” he chewed his lip deep in thought, “but who would I become?” There was only one person that would make sense to be coming into the palace with her and Portia, but she’s not sure Julian is going to like it.

“I think I have an idea,” she dodged the question, “come on, I’ll change you in the ally.” She gestured her companions to follow as her and Portia helped support the doctor from the table to the back door as he tried valiantly to keep his balance. They hid in a secluded corner of the very alley that Armyah bumped into Julian when she ran from the palace, well away from prying eyes. She didn’t tell them, but she had never used a glamour spell herself, but she had seen Asra do it dozens of times. She was sure she could it. “Close your eyes, Julian,” she directed as she bent down to gather some dirt from the ground. He does as she said and she blows it onto him, shimmering in the air before settling onto his skin, sending ripples of magic across his body. His auburn hair turns white and his pallid skin tans instantly. Even his clothing changes from his usual dark uniform to a tunic and a colorful vest and wrap. Stormy eyes fade into a brilliant amethyst as he blinked rapidly in confusion.

“Ooooh! Who’s he?” Portia squealed, “he’s handsome!” Julian looked down at his glamoured self to inspect his new identity, but couldn’t discern anything from what he saw.

“Who is it?” he looked around for something to look at himself in, “Who do I look like?” Scrambling to his knees to gaze into a puddle, a familiar face looks back at him...Asra. “Ooh, I am definitely too drunk for this.” He might have had the magician’s face, but his smile was all Julian. He made a number of faces into the puddle; eyebrows up, eyebrows down, smile, frown, sticking out his tongue to see a jewel settled into it. “When did he pierce his tongue?!” he cried out in disbelief. The girls ignored him, pulling him to his feet and dragging toward the palace.

Julian dedicated the entire journey back to the palace on practicing his Asra impression. Regardless of his glamoured self being shorter, his pace was still quick like before with his long legs. By the time the reach the bridge, Armyah and Portia leaned on the ramparts to catch their breaths.

“How do you suppose he’d be feeling in this moment?” Julian mused mostly to himself, eyes narrowed, “like a lamb, entering the den of wolves? Or maybe...a wolf, entering a den of vipers, hmm?” He chuckled to himself, “Vipers he wouldn’t mind, he and Faust would fit right in.” He winced at the thought, his face- Asra’s face- turns to Armyah, tight with pain. “Faust...that’s the snake’s name, isn’t it?” The magician nodded, still panting. His brow pinches and he rubs his temples in irritation, “I remember the snake...she nearly squeezed the life out of me once.” Armyah smiled, but he looked away once he saw it. He had been like that since the bar; keeping a careful distance between them and casting searching, hopeful glances to her, but shying away when she tries to return any kind of reassurance. He wanted it to all be okay, but he knew she wouldn’t forgive him for breaking her heart last night.

“Hey, Ilya,” Portia called out, breath returning to her, “I know this is gonna be a challenge for you, but try not to talk too much, okay?” She rolled her eyes when Julian clutched his chest as if she wounded him, before regaining his composure.

“Naturally not,” he reasoned, “Asra doesn’t talk much.” A blush flooded across his tan face, “believe me, it’s hard to maintain such an aura of mystery once you open your mouth.” There was a deeper meaning behind that statement, but neither Portia or Armyah could place it.

“Maybe he was quiet around you,” his sister jabbed, “you’ve got a real bad habit of doing the talking for everyone, Ilyushka.” Armyah’s heart fluttered, she loved his real name. As much as she wanted to, she thought it would be strange for her to call him that when he’s only introduced himself to her as “Julian”. When they reached the looming threshold, Portia held her breath, squared her shoulders, and thrust open the great doors. They part for the trio to step inside and close behind them with a sound like grinding stone. The girl expected to be greeted by a plethora of servants, but exchanged an uneasy glance when there was no one to be found. “Where is everybody?” she wondered aloud before shrugging, “Well, where can I take you first, oh great magicians?” Julian was still on high alert despite the unusually sparse hallway, his eyes darted around the room in apprehension.

“The bedroom,” he finally answered, “the room where the dark deed was done.” Another roll of her eyes, Portia gestured for them to follow her lead. The dogs were not on their step and, for some reason, that was unsettling to Armyah. The air grew cold as the three ascended the stairs to Count Lucio’s wing. There were sounds, voices, echoing up and down the hall at Portia lead them to his room. Julian fidgeted beside the magician, casting sidelong glances to her when he thought she wasn’t looking. In an effort to comfort him, she placed a careful hand on his arm, but he only stiffened underneath it so she pulled away. “Didn’t you say no one ever comes to these rooms anymore?” he asked their guide.

“No, never in the years I’ve been here,” Portia replied evenly, “but there are a lot of stories floating around downstairs. People have heard things…seen things.” When they reached the door, a ghostly moan floated through the rafters, making Julian bristle from head to toe. Portia tentatively turns the handle to find it already unlocked, she cautiously leans on it when- CRASH! The room shakes from the inside and the door swings open. Inside, the room is already occupied; servants scrubbing the surfaces caked in many years’ grime. Wide, sweeping streaks of ash climbed the wall behind the heavy canopy bed and standing beside the best was a very wide-eyed Countess Nadia. She looks from Portia, to Armyah, to Julian with a flash of recognition.

“Portia, there you are,” she greets evenly, “Hello, Armyah...and who is this?” Julian clears his throat nervously.

“I am the majulian-er magician, Arsa,” he announced, too dramatically for Arsa, “here to help my apprentice help you, Countess.” As Nadia steps closer, a cold tremor ran down the glamoured doctor’s spine

“Asra...” a slight smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, “at last, we meet.”

“Ah, yes, I’d have offered my help earlier, you see, but, uh...” Julian stammered, searching for something Arsa would say, “I was on a, uh...a quest!” He shouted a bit too loudly before regaining his composure, “yes! A quest to...um...open my...third ear!” Armyah had to bite back a groan. This was going to end horribly.

“I see...” Nadia’s brilliant garnet eyes narrowed in what looked like suspicion. For a moment, Armyah and Portia thought they were found out. “My apologies, I thought we had met before...but you are indeed a stranger to me.” Portia heaved a sigh of relief and the tension in Armyah’s shoulders released. “Or my eyes deceive me...it is terribly dim,” she gestured over to a cobwebbed sconce high up on the dusty wall, too high to reach by hand, “perhaps if that lamp was lit.” Armyah saw Julian’s throat bob from the corner of her eye. He gives her a sidelong glance before he gives a dramatic flourish. Discreetly, the actual magician sent a bolt of fiery intention toward the lamp. The light burst with life with a snap, showering sparks into a portrait of the Count underneath the sconce. “Oh my!” Nadia gasped. As the sparks start to smoke, Portia snatches a nearby ladder and rushes to take care of it.

“It’s fine, milday,” she scrambled up the ladder, “I got it!” The servant beats the embers away from the painting’s face with a rag. As she was doing so, Armyah noticed a shape of white smoke forming in a dusty corner. She clutched Julian’s arm involuntarily, but he doesn’t turn in time to see the flash of movement dart across the room and collide with the ladder his sister was standing on. Knocked off balance, the ladder comes crashing down and taking Portia with it...into Nadia’s waiting arms.

“My heavens!” the Countess exclaimed, “Portia!” The two women blinked at each other before blushing and Portia straightened herself out, dusting herself off.

“So quick! That was a feat of amazing foresight, Countess!” Julian said too quickly, in effort to distract from the awkward tension, “Almost as if you saw the future!” All eyes laid on him oddly as he swallowed thickly, “you may have, uh...abilities in, uh...magic!” Nadia eyed him curiously.

“I wonder...” she replied, unconvinced, “perhaps when I am through here, I shall join you both investigating-”

“In the library!” Portia cried, “Investigating in the library.” The Countess bristled at the sudden outburst, but quickly regained her composure to look between the magician, his apprentice, and her servant.

“Ah yes, a perfect place to start,” her gaze settled on the younger Devorak, “Portia, I believe you keep the keys.”

“I uh...yes!” she stammered, “I...ahem, follow me.” Portia’s eyes glittered as she led them out of the room. Once the door was shut and the trio was alone, Julian lost the fine control of his Asra facade and allowed a grin of delight stretch across his face. A smile too much like himself to pass as anyone else.

“Well...” he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, “that went well.” They all shared a strained laugh.

“Did it, Mr. Majulian?” Portia teased, poking her brother in the ribs.

“On a quest to open your ‘third ear’?” Armyah joined in. The girls held their sides as they laughed. Portia snorted as she laughed, which only made the magician laugh even harder. Julian crossed his arms in front of his chest in mock indignation.

“Are we done?” he tried to sound irritated, but a smile slipped through the cracks.

“Yeah...” Portia said between lessening fits of laughter, wiping her eyes of tears. She beckoned the others to follow her down the hallway.

By the time they reached the library, Armyah’s brows her pinched together in strain, the throbbing in her head was almost too much to bear. A cloud was closing in on her vision and her magic was hanging on it’s last thread, threatening to give way at any moment. However, she was determined to not let the glamour drop until they were behind closed doors. Portia could see her discomfort so she made quick work of the locks, mentioned something about keeping watch, and let the door shut and lock behind her once Julian and the fortune-teller were inside. Armyah fell against the nearest wall and let Julian’s glamour drop like sheer fabric from his hair to his boots. He rushed over to the magicians side and rested his hands on either side of her face.

“Are you alright?” he tilted her head so he could see her clearly. She looked exhausted, a clear display of overexertion. She reached up to wrap her hands around his wrists, savoring the feeling of is touch.

“I’m fine,” she assured him, pulling his hands away from her face. “Glamour is a tough spell and the veil is thin here...” Julian pulled away from her, satisfied with her answer, and looked around the library.

“I can sense that too,” he mused, more to himself, “I may not know magic, but there’s definitely something going on here.” His gloved fingers brushed along the dusty spines of books lined up on the shelf. “Something beyond my knowledge.” He turned back to the magician with a smile and flourish of his coat, “lucky for us we’re in a library so let’s see what we can learn.” Armyah returned the smile and pushed off the wall to follow him.

They slipped through the stacks, Julian’s eye scanned across the tomes and plucking certain ones off the shelves and tucking them neatly under his arms.

“All these books, and I kept going back to the same old…” his voice was low, talking to himself, “around that corner...I had a desk.” His pace quickened, “it’s close, at the back of my mind. I can taste it!” He spun around suddenly, causing Armyah to jump. He was startled as well, like he had forgotten she was there. He started at her for a second too long, blushed and cast a bashful gaze to the floor. “You’re mad…” her brow furrowed. Was she? Should she be? He did break up with her the night before. Was it a break up? They weren’t really seeing each other. Did she even have a right to be upset? He doesn’t belong to her, they didn’t have any sort of relationship that would render her to be upset.

“I’m not mad,” she said sincerely.

“You’re not, huh,” he looked past her, “you know there is such a thing as being too forgiving, right?” Armyah sighed, making him look at her.

“Julian, I know you want me to be mad,” she said evenly, “you want me to scream at you, berate you for breaking my heart and tell you I never want to see you again.” His gaze dropped to the floor. She closed the distance between them, chest flush against his so he was force to look her in the eyes. “I don’t want that.” He gripped her upper arms tightly as if she’d vanish into thin air if he let go.

“Armyah, I...” His stormy eye went wide suddenly and his breath catches. Shuffling past her to a cluttered, unassuming desk tucked away in a dark, dusty corner of the library...his desk. “There it is,” he breathed, “that’s my desk.” He seemed to forget everything else as he tore through it in pursuit of something. Papers that he tossed haphazardly were meticulous drawings, diagrams, and logs. Armyah retrieved one from the floor and examined it as he rambled to himself. It was a beetle…she knew she had seen it before, but she couldn’t place from where.

“Julian, do you-”

“Ah ha!” Julian interrupted. His hand was trembling and in it, an oily metal key with a red stone in the eye. “This! This is what has been calling to me! Don’t ask me how I know, but I know it.” He tosses it into the air, snatching it on the way down and pocketing it with a scheming gleam in his eye. He grasps Armyah and pins her to the bookshelf behind her in manic excitement, “I’m one step closer and if it wasn’t for you, dear Armyah, I’d still be two behind.” He sweeps the magician off her feet victoriously and spins her in his arms. His joy was contagious and she laughed along with him. She thought he would do a jig until a guttural screech made them jump and Julian yanked her down to the nearest corner, pinning her with quivering arms as he watched the window. A slow, deep breath as he relaxes, “just a bird...sorry.” His gaze trails down to her chocolate eyes and pushes a stray lock of curly hair behind her ear. “About everything, Armyah...I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking, rejecting you like I did.” His eye flickered from her eyes to her her lips, slightly parted and so inviting. His throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly, “I can’t stop thinking about you. I try to push you away for your safety, but I always find myself running back to you.” He gently cupped her cheek and almost melted when she leaned into it. “Like a moth to a flame, I can’t stay away. You are the very air I breathe, the water I drink to survive. I-”

“Julian...” Armyah cut off his monologue. His eye snapped to hers, pleadingly, “shut up and kiss me.” He freezes, eye wide. The magician stared him down, almost daring him to as if he had heard her correctly. Instead, he flashes that roguish grin of his as leather clad fingers grasped the back of her neck and crashes his lips against hers, ravenously. He steps forward to close what little space was between them and his other hand snakes around to the small of her back, pulling her to him. Her hands grab at the chest of his jacket, beckoning him closer if it were even possible. Her heart pounding in her ears was impossibly loud and time seemed to slow down around them. Parting for air, he presses his forehead to hers he gives her a suffering look.

“Oh, if we had time, the things I would do...” before he could continue, she tilts her head to the juncture of his neck and shoulder and bites down...hard. A moan erupts from the back of his throat and it’s as if a fire was ignited within him. Before she could react, he spins them both until her hips are pressed against the desk and he lifts her onto it, knocking the books onto the floor. “Don’t mind those,” he breaths, lips never leaving hers. She can feel him, hot and hard on her inner thigh and the way he grinds against her sends white hot flames to her core. His movements cause her skirt to bunch up by her thighs and he places a hand on her knee, trailing up toward her hips and hiking her skirt up even higher. It’s not enough, she needs more. More touch, more friction, more him. All reason leaves her as she reaches up to his jacket and fumbles to undo the buttons. She almost has the second one open when they hear a noise on the other side of the door.

“AH! Milady! Finished up so soon?!” It was Portia. Nadia’s low, dulcet tone replies. Indecipherable, but her voice is enough to snap the lovers out of their tryst. In a flash, Julian takes Armyah’s wrist and rushes her into the shadowed corner they had previously shared. Neither dared to speak, but they knew they was no other way out of the room. They were going to be caught. This was the end of the line. I’ve rewritten the ending four times and this was the best one and I’m still not too happy with it. Let me know how I’m doing! Thanks for sticking with me through the break, I love each and every one of you <3 Tag List: @julians-chest-hair @vundis-scientia

#the arcana #The Arcana Game #julian devorak #julian x apprentice #portia devorak #Muriel #asra #count lucio #nadia satrinava #What Once Was

4 notes · View notes

forever-more-never-again · 5 years

Text

Three Times (A Nadia Request)

Requested: Anonymous

Important!: This is not my art and does not have any significance to the story. All credit goes to the original artist.

Pairing: Nadia X Reader

Word Count:1990

Warnings: Talk of death, grief, spoilers of the game!

Request: YOU WRITE FOR NADIA THE LOVE OF MY LIFE. Okay I'm pretty sure your swimming in requests but... I have to at least ask, can I have a imagine for countess nadia where R somehow dies and Asra brings R back but R does not remember anything so nadia has to make them fall in love with her all over again? Pretty please?

a/n: You probably wanted something happy...but the angst demon found me and had me write this little bit of trash. Sorry! I may or may not make a part two...it all depends.

Masterlist

She stormed, but it was a quiet, deadly, grey storm, up to the magic shop door.

“Asra! I know you’re in there!” Her voice was not raised, but it was strong.

Slowly, the door creaked open, the person waiting on the other side aware of the danger of the grieved Countess.

Nadia stepped inside, sliding the scarf that was hiding her face, off and onto the floor of the shop. The familiar smell of incense and the tingle of subtle magic making her lips quirk into a short smile.

The Magician, Asra, stood beside her, patiently waiting for her words.

Nadia sighed, running a finger along the dusty countertop, “You haven’t been open.” It was not a question so Asra did not answer.

Nadia huffed a laugh, glancing at the white haired man, “You know why I’m here.”

Another not question.

But Asra answered, “I do. I felt it. You forget, they had a piece of my heart inside them.”

Nadia’s face was stoic and calm as ever, but inside she was reeling with a tidal wave of emotions. Anger, Grief, Jealousy, pain, loss...love.

“Bring them back. Bring them to me. I can’t...Without…” Nadia’s words started breaking as she did. Her violet eyes filling like a well, tears that she would never shed.

Asra shook his head, his own eyes seeming to stare into her soul and know her wish, “It’s dangerous. I already brought them back once. I don’t know what bringing them back a second time would do. To them, or reality.”

Nadia heard his reasoning, but her heart did not. She loved [Y/n]. Ever since their journey through the Arcana realms, their fight with Lucio, the courtiers, and the devil, Nadia had known that the strong, beautiful, powerful, magical Apprentice had ahold of her heart.

“Talk to your Arcana! The High Priestess will not answer my pleas.” Nadia was practically begging the Magician. She would beg, if it came to that.

“You no longer have Lucio to worry about. You rule Vesuvia and the people love you. What would you give to bring them back?” Asra asked her, his words pointed.

He walked to the back room, Nadia following along as though on automatic. Her heart was clenched tight. The pain almost enough to bring her to her knees.

“I would give it all. I would give myself. [Y/n]...they were the moon shining on me, bringing me peace on tumultuous days. They were the pieces that fit with me. They defeated the Devil! And yet a simple…” Nadia couldn’t finish her sentence. She couldn’t...didn’t want to, relive how [Y/n] had died.

Asra led her into a chair, where she collapsed, her mouth opening and closing, but no words coming forth.

Asra sat opposite her, “I felt the heat. I felt the pain. I felt them call out for you in their heart. I know they loved you as well, Countess.”

And the tears spilled. Heaving sobs racked her body at Asra’s calm, quiet, yet knowing voice.

The world blurred, her heart reminding her of all the happy memories with her love, [Y/n], the apprentice turned Enchanter.

The Masquerade, where they laughed and ran through the maze to get away from partygoers, their laughter filled with joy and surprise in the Arcana realms, their eyes shining with devotion after the Devil was defeated, their cheer standing out among the citizens of Vesuvia as Nadia won by popular vote to continue her rule of Vesuvia without Lucio.

“Please.”

One word. Tugged out from the bottom of her soul. Nadia was used to being in control, but with [Y/n], she was at peace. And without them, she was lost.

Asra sighed deeply, but he pulled out the cards.

Spilling them out onto the table, he closed his eyes and began chanting.

Nadia held her breath, waiting.

A buildup of purple smoke, billowing throughout the shop, piling slowly. Taking form. And then a humanoid fox stood next to the table.

“You called?” His voice held amusement, his hands clasped in front of his elegant robes.

Nadia stood at once, anger overtaking sorrow, “You!”

The fox turned his gaze to the countess, his stare endless, his eyes an unreachable dark depth of years of knowledge, “Me?” Again with some amusement in his musical voice.

Nadia jabbed a finger at the Arcana’s chest, “You promised them freedom! You promised them a life! And yet you take it back so soon? They gave up the Fool to stay with me! They...they gave up everything...for me.” Again, her words came out harsh and in between broken sobs.

Asra stood and clasped her shoulders in his hands, bringing her back a step. Noticing the warning in the Arcana’s eyes.

After a tense silence, broken only by Nadia regaining her breath, he spoke, “I promised nothing.”

Nadia took a deep breath, straightening up, Asra’s hands sliding off her. “I was there. Your words were, ‘The sacrifice will cost you the abilities you have unlocked, but the reward will last a lifetime’.”

The Magician tilted his head, the russet fur glinting off the lamps of the shop, his eyes flickered between the Countess and Asra, “Those are my words, but I did not promise anything.”

Nadia had enough, “Bullshit!”

Asra gasped softly, reaching to stop her, but she evaded his hands, getting right up into the Arcana’s face, her eyes filled with pain and rage, “It doesn’t even matter anymore! I just want them back! Take me instead! Take everything, anything you want! Just...bring them back. They deserve happiness and life…”

The Arcana brought his face even closer to Nadia’s, “Think of what you are offering. Think carefully. You wish for [Y/n] to be brought back to the land of the living? And you will give up anything?��

Asra seconded, “Please, Nadia, I know you’re hurting, but think this through.”

Nadia never tore her gaze away from the Magician’s, “This is my decision Asra. I will have them back. I only ask for you to look after them if I cannot.” To the Magician, “Yes, it is my wish. Anything, you can take, just bring them back.”

Asra stepped back. He knew he could not say anything else to the bereaved Countess. It was her choice, and he knew the Magician to be the most reliable of the Arcana, even if he was a known trickster.

The Magician smirked, but it held no malice. It seemed almost sad in it’s short appearance. And then the Magician was gone.

Nadia staggered backwards, an elegant hand rising to her chest as she took a breath.

“What?”

And then the shop shook.

Nadia and Asra shared a look of concern and fear before racing out to the street.

The shaking stopped abruptly as soon as their feet hit the cobblestones.

The sky was still dark, with the half moon hanging in the middle, lighting up the small section of the city.

“Hello? I don’t know where I am...Could you help?”

Nadia fell.

Rushing to her side, Asra pulled her up to sitting. Her violet robes spilling against the dirty street like blood.

Her ruby lips parted, her violet eyes flashing, “[Y/n]?” The name a whispered prayer.

The person standing before them stared in concern, that quickly turned into confusion, “[Y/n]...that sounds familiar..do you know me?”

They reached down, Nadia automatically holding a hand so that they could pull her off the ground and off Asra.

Asra stood silently, his heart already aching for the additional pain that Nadia was about to go through.

“What do you mean? [Y/n], it’s me, Nadia. I can’t believe...you’re back!” She threw her arms around the startled person in a rare disregard of comportiuam.

The person looked over at Asra, and receiving no help, slowly pulled away from the jubilant strange woman.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know who you are. I’m afraid I don’t know a lot of things,” They let out a self conscious chuckle, rubbing the back of their neck, as dawning horror fell on Nadia’s face, “I just woke up standing here. I don’t know my name or how I got here. But you call me [Y/n]?”

The countess regained her composure, but inside she was screaming.

Was this a cruel joke? Was the Arcana laughing at her at their jest?

“[Y/n]...it is I. You must remember.” Nadia was pleading, her eyes shining with the love that poured from her heart. But she kept her distance this time, watching the oh-so familiar face that she had woken up next to for months, stare at her with indifference and confusion, as if she was a stranger.

“Remember Asra.” Nadia pulled the silent white haired man forward, but he received the same look from the person standing before them.

Nadia was rattled, she wracked her brain for something, anything. She gasped, “You must remember the game of chase at my castle. You must remember Doctor Devorak and the search for Lucio’s killer. Please…[Y/n]...remember the soft morning light filtering into my room as we stretched and then settled down with a cup of tea. You must remember Procurator Volta and how grateful she was when you released her from the Devil’s chain. She baked a thousand cakes and you laughed in delight all day as I hand fed you bites.”

The person tilted their head, a perplexed look on their face, “ I see that you are overwhelmed. And I may have known you before. I do apologize for my lack of memories.” They smiled softly at the Countess. Their courteous and caring nature coming forth even though they did not seem to remember the love they once held for Nadia.

Nadia grabbed their hands, squeezing them in her grasp, “We first met on a night much like tonight.” Her words were watery, filled with remembrance and hope and love.

She glanced up at the moon and the stars, the night sky a glittering candle, silently watching the hearts breaking into glass beneath them.

“You let me into your shop although it was closed. I had an odd request but you stayed calm and helped me even though I was countess and had never spoken to you before.”

Nadia’s voice fell to a harsh whisper, “I fell in love with you so quickly, I feared you had put me under a spell.” She laughed weakly, “But then you admitted that you loved me as well. And when all was calm again, I promised to stay with you forever. As long as you would have me. And you gave up everything for me. But it was all for naught…” Nadia trailed off. Her gaze unfocused.

[Y/n] squeezed the elegant, slim hands that held theirs and spoke, breaking the strange reverie that Nadia was trapped in, “You speak fondly, as if they are memories. But I’m afraid their yours alone now. The last thing I can recall is arriving in Vesuvia two years ago, and then it is blank until tonight.”

Nadia breathed deeply, holding back the waterfall of tears building behind the dam in her eyes. “You died.”

Two words. They echoed down the empty dark streets of the neighborhood.

“I’m sorry?” It was an apology with an air of uncertainty and questioning.

Nadia let go of the hands in hers, realizing now what the Arcana had meant when he asked, ‘you will give up anything?’

Nadia felt her heart shatter and she doubted it could ever be fixed, but she forced herself to speak calmly into the night, “You have had three lives. And I see now that I was only a chapter, a footnote, in one of them. Please let Asra take care of you and I’m sorry for that display of emotion. I will take my leave now.”

And with that, Nadia walked away from her broken heart.

FOREVER Taglist:

@sxph-t @mialeelavellan @rainydaysrnevergrey @platonic-plots @sociallyawkwardcircus-freak-hi @ayyidkeither @mcuimxgine @mythixmagic @chas-z @iflew-onabus @thefridgeismybestie @strangersstranger

#The Arcana Game #arcana #arcana game x reader #the arcane game #nadia x apprentice #fan apprentice #reader insert #Countess Nadia #nadia satrinava #nadia route #nadia x mc #asra the magician #imagine #imagines request #please give credit #please let me know #rose writes

43 notes · View notes

thrandilf · 5 years

Text

Happy Mediums- Asra/Apprentice

I was @arcanas-fool’s @thearcanasecretcupid secret cupid! Here is Asra/Jalal fluff, I hope I did him justice 💜 shout out to @mamawolf0714 for helping me with editing!

-~-

Jalal and Asra tended to sleep late into the morning, until the sunshine was far too bright to keep their eyes closed. Asra awoke first, yawning and stretching his lithe form.

Jalal groaned and tried to pull Asra into a hug with his eyes still closed. “Ugh, stop moving!”

“We’re closed today- so we have a whole day to ourselves. C’mon, get up!” Asra sprang out of bed cheerfully as if he hadn’t been out cold moments before. He gently scooped Faust up from a patch of sunlight and smiled at her as she wound herself around his body to snuggle under his shirt.

Jalal slid out of bed and hugged Asra from behind, resting his nose in Asra’s fluffy white hair. He loved being able to hold the magician close and advertise his taller height whenever possible. “You have an adventure in mind?”

‘Water!’

Asra smiled at Faust as she nudged his cheek. “Faust votes for swimming- I think it might be fun to go to the beach, maybe work on our magic. Does sound good?”

“I’m always alright with seeing you take your shirt off.” Jalal winked and laughed as Asra grabbed a pillow and lobbed it at him. “Alright, the beach sounds great!”

Jalal allowed Asra to free himself from the embrace, albeit reluctantly, and watched as his lover trotted downstairs into the kitchen. Smiling to himself, Jalal dressed in light summer clothes and tamed his brunette hair, brushing out the length of it. He carefully tied it into a ponytail that trailed down his chest and looked in the mirror with a cheeky grin. The shorts and a vest he chose made for a cool outfit in the Vesuvian heat.

By the time he made it downstairs he could already scent the savory aroma of fava beans, chili pepper, and garlic cooking on the stove. Asra turned from where he was heating the pan of beans. “I’m making ful- care to chop the parsley for me?”

“Sure!” Jalal took out the cutting board and knife to dutifully chop the parsley Asra set out. Their kitchen was quiet, just the soft taps of the knife on the board and Asra stirring his bean mix on the stove. In moments like these, Jalal swore the bond between them was nearly tangible- infinitely comfortable and and yet beyond words. After all they��d been through, simply sharing space and being at the other’s side was enough to make Jalal to glow with happiness. He imagined it was how they used to be, before the plague.

Their finished breakfast was a humble spread on their table, of grilled flatbread, eggs, the fava bean mix topped with diced tomato, onion, and parsley, and black tea to drink. Asra and Jalal ate appreciatively in domestic bliss. No matter how simple or complex, Jalal loved Asra’s cooking.

“Thank you, Asra.”

“Hey, you helped. Your tea always tastes better than mine.”

“Hmmmm, yet you taste better than anything else,” teased Jalal.

Asra huffed with a grin and automatically leaned in for a kiss. “All these pick up lines- I’m lucky to have you using them on me.”

“I fall in love with you every day!” Jalal beamed as Asra blushed. “Really though, it’s fun to spoil you. I could never take you for granted, Asra.”

Asra looked Jalal square in the eye with a dreamy, unflappable smile on his face. “I feel the same way. I was also thinking about how you and Muriel don’t have one shirt between you.”

“Hey! It’s hot outside!”

“I thought you would have said it’s hot in here!” Asra wiggled his eyebrows and laughed, cheerful as they cleared their table before heading out into the city.

The town square was crowded and bustling with activity. The instinct to hold hands was natural to both of them now, as was walking side by side so they would never lose the other. Vesuvia was beautiful in the sunshine, with bright light shining off the white stone of the main plaza and a rainbow array of people, shops, and plant life making it alive. Jalal breathed deep, grinning and content, energetically waving at acquaintances while Asra wove them through the crowd, mostly unseen.

At last the bustling city faded into the background and Asra led Jalal away from the docks towards a stretch of wild, untouched beach. Asra kicked his shoes off and discarded everything but his slacks, rolling them up to his knees. Faust slithered from the discarded shirt and wallowed happily in the sun-warmed sand.

“Care to join me?” Asra asked, setting his clothes and boots on a rock.

“Of course!” Jalal shrugged his vest off and also set his shoes next to Asra’s. The sand felt good under his feet, and he followed Asra to the water’s edge where he was testing the temperature. Jalal ran up and kicked water at Asra with a laugh. “There, is that warm enough for you?”

“Oh, you don’t know who you’re messing with!” Asra shook wet hair out of his eyes and concentrated, slowly moving his hands over the water in a wavelike motion. The ocean responded, shifting to mimic the motion of his hands on the surface. He suddenly thrust in Jalal’s direction and a wall of water crested over his head and swallowed him. “HA!”

“Agh!” Jalal laughed and scooped water up with his hands and splashed back in retaliation, managing to soak Asra without magic. They warred playfully with each other until both were breathless, giggling like children and thoroughly drenched. “Your magic is amazing.”

“I could teach you.” Asra slicked his hair back and waded up to the dry sand, uncaring as it stuck to his bare feet. “This was my favorite place to play as a child. I lived below the docks, but I loved this beach. People don’t really come this far away from the port.” Asra gave Faust a fond look as she dozed under the sun on a large rock. “I could practice magic undisturbed, and in my mind I created a gate much like this, but bright with all the bright magic I felt when I was truly happy.”

“Your gate is beautiful. I mean, it’s beautiful here too-“ Jalal gestured to the coastline with its tall, sunburnt grasses and low greenery that led into the wilderness. He could see why it was a perfect spot to meditate or rest alone. “-but that’s just another place. The most spectacular thing you’ve ever shared with me is you.” He sealed the statement with a salty kiss on Asra’s lips.

Asra took Jalal’s hand again and they walked along the shore, listening to the steady soothing lull of waves lapping the shore. They walked in silence for a time before Asra spoke. “I appreciate that- although I admit, I spent a lot of time in my dreamscape.” He stopped and stared at a tide pool, where small fish and sea stars were trapped until the ocean was able to claim them again. But then he took them beyond, until they reached a spot where the rocky outcroppings created a natural inlet for the waves to crash on shore. “If you want to use water magic, you simply have to feel it. Listen. Close your eyes.”

“Hmmmm.” Jalal let go of Asra’s hand and walked to the water’s edge. The waves lapped at his toes as he tried to feel the same push and pull that Asra could. His eyes slid closed as he felt his lover move behind him and press against the taller man’s back. Asra’s heart beat slowly with his, perfectly in tune with the lazy tide drawing out to sea. Jalal focused and swore he felt the current of the life running through the ocean, from the largest kraken to the smallest creatures swirling at their feet and beyond, so tiny they couldn’t be seen with the naked eye.

Jalal frowned with concentration until he felt an odd current flow through him. It was cool and fluid, supremely malleable but infinitely powerful. Jalal thought he had found the heart of water magic. He opened his mouth to let Asra know of his success at connecting with the ocean, but a wall of water as tall as him crested with a roar before nearly knocking Jalal off his feet. “HEY!”

Asra cackled from behind, having crept away to weave the spell. Jalal smirked and ran at Asra to kick more water up, but instead stumbled and sent them both tumbling. Asra cried out as they fell into the sand, still laughing as Jalal landed on top of him, holding the magician on the beach as the waves caressed Asra’s sides and fanned out his hair. They were covered in sand and soaked again, but Asra was gleefully amused. “You should have seen your face! Never let your guard down around the ocean!”

“Hmmmmm, you win this round.” Jalal’s expression softened and he nuzzled Asra’s neck with the tip of his nose. “But being sprawled on the beach is the perfect time for a kiss.”

Asra rested his head on the sand, violet eyes half-lidded and playful. “Then kiss me.” He ran his hands up and down Jalal’s sides, encouraging him towards action. Asra was enamored and glowing as Jalal accepted the invitation and kissed him, propped up on his palms as their lips brushed together in a salty, soft kiss. He brought Jalal closer with an arm around his waist and buried a hand in Jalal’s messy hair. The world melted away except for his beloved’s warm body and gentle affection. Their tongues tangled together for a time before Asra sighed and pulled away for a brief moment. “If this is going to progress- I’d prefer it somewhere without sand.”

Jalal sat up and folded his arms. “Progress? We’re supposed to get some eggs from Muriel, and some rice and fish for dinner. You’ll have to wait for ‘progress’, Asra.”

Asra chuffed and stood up, giving Jalal a chaste kiss. “You think you can wind me up and then make me wait? I should never have told you I like being denied.”

“As If I’d ever forget key information to my lover’s preferences. Too bad we’re covered with wet sand, thanks to you. We can’t go shopping like this.”

“I can always fix that.” Asra shrugged unapologetically. He concentrated and snapped his fingers, pleased with himself as all traces of sand and water vanished from them. They returned to the spot where Faust was still asleep. Asra stretched himself beside her with perfectly dry, fluffy hair and a smug expression. “She has the right idea, you know. Relaxing in the sun.”

Jalal stared and ran a hand through his hair with shock. It was tousled, but otherwise exactly how it had been before the water fight began on the beach. The only sand on him were the warm granules stuck under the soles of his feet. “You could’ve done that at any time? And you didn’t tell me?”

“Hmmmm? Of course. But you look so good wet.”

Jalal rolled his eyes but admitted to himself that he liked the compliment. He climbed up beside Asra and let the sun warm his skin. Later, they would do their shopping, visit Muriel, and make dinner together. And the night would consist of whatever they decided to do under the stars. But this quiet moment, beside the ocean and under the hot sun, was theirs alone to enjoy as they pleased.

#thearcanasecretcupid #the arcana #asra/apprentice #asra the magician #asra/mc #fanfic #fluff #arcanas-fool

17 notes · View notes

arcasra · 6 years

Text

Arcana Spotlight Entry — “Death-Cast”

@thearcanagame

‘Death-Cast’

-modern au

-fan apprentice au

By @arcasra

Inspiration:

This entry is inspired by the book I just finished reading (in 4 days) and instantly became my favorite. That’s Adam Silvera’s “They Both Die At The End”. As I’m writing this on a word document, it is nearing 11 p.m., and just a few hours ago I cried inside my classroom, reading the last page of it. I faced the wall for a good solid 10 minutes.

I read that a week before finals and, safe to say, it gave me much hope. The story follows two teenage boys who are both Deckers—people who are about to die. They develop a special friendship that nothing else can ever replace. This book taught me, as ironic as it sounds, to live each day to the fullest. I always think that after each day, there would be a tomorrow, but this book contrasts to all of that. What if it is your last day on earth? How would you spend it?

I would like to thank Adam Silvera, whether this message would reach him or not, for all the lessons and morals inside the book. I read this book in school, surrounded by noisy classmates, but every time I delve myself into the world of Mateo and Rufus, I feel like I’m in the world with them. Thanks to Adam, also, for making me believe more in the probability of death, and that it is inevitable. All of us have our expiration dates. So until that day will come, we should be living in every moment that we can.

Synopsis:

On April 6, just a few minutes after the clock struck midnight, Asra and Ida received a call from Death-Cast, a company that rings your phone to tell you that you’re going to die on that day. The two have never crossed paths before, but, for different reasons, they’re both looking to make a new friend on their End Day. Through the app called Last Friend, Asra and Ida are about to meet up for one last great adventure—to live a lifetime in a single day.

I D A

12:27 a.m.

Death-Cast is causing my phone to ring, about to tell me that I’m going to die today. I’ve dreaded this day since I knew about the algorithm, and I never had the idea to question how, but why. It was launched when I was in third grade, sitting in the same bed that I have now. My dad and I were watching t.v., and this headline comes up of a company that calls you on the day that you are scheduled to die. At first I thought that it was kind of awesome, for the world to come to that point of technology, but as I grew older, I feared the call that nobody else wanted.

Yet here I am, staring at the caller ID on my phone. It’s there alright, bright and clear: DEATH-CAST. I could come to think of it as a prank, but the chances are too slim. Someone up at midnight just to instill fear into random people? Wait, that’s what the heralds do, anyway.

I press the bright green button and place the phone to my ear.

“Maureen, are you there?” the herald says. In what world am I a Maureen?

My throat grumbles. “No, no I’m not Maureen. I’m actually Ida. Ida Crest. Can you check to see if I’m really the one you’re supposed to be calling?” I could still get out of this, live another day.

“Sorry about that, but Maureen was the person who I got just got off the phone with. Anyway, you’re Ida Crest, born and raised in Lower Vesuvia?” but the herald puts my thoughts to shame.

“Yes, I am her.” I say. My phone is shaking as I hold with two, very sweaty hands. I stare out the window.

“Then hello, I’m calling from Death-Cast. I’m Liam.” he pauses. Should I say hi to him?

“Hey, Liam.” I do.

“Ida, I regret to inform you that sometime in the next twenty-four hours you’ll be meeting an untimely death. And while there isn’t anything we can do to suspend that, you still have a chance to live.” That sentence gives me a bit of hope, but it instantly shatters as he starts advertising to me the different simulations and programs for Deckers—those who are about to die—are recommended to do on their End Day. That’s kind of sweet to think about, but once you’re the one dying, it’s a whole lot different.

At age four I wanted to die because of an unknown disease, like a sudden loss leading to a ground-breaking cure or something more important. Instead I get this, some guy named Liam calling me on my year-old phone to tell me that I’m about to die today. That’s great. I whisper a little ‘sorry’ to the four year-old me. She can go back to braiding her dog’s hair.

Liam keeps speaking. “Log on to death-cast.com and fill out any special requests you may have for your funeral in addition to the inscription you’d like to engrave on your headstone.”

I don’t exactly have a clear idea of what I want the world to remember me as, other than ‘another girl who’s just there to waste the earth’s oxygen’.

“And Maureen, on behalf of everyone here at Death-Cast, we are so sorry to lose you. Live this day to the fullest, okay?” Liam says. I could feel his eyes getting droopy through the phone.

I hold my breath, close my eyes, and let everything slip away from me. “Okay.”

He hangs up.

A S R A

1:32 a.m.

Death-Cast calls me an hour after midnight, making me stop reading cookbooks at this late. This is it, I’m going to die. I press the answer button.

“Hello, Asra. I’m calling from Death-Cast. I regret to inform you that sometime in the next twenty-four hours—”

“Twenty-three.” I cut the herald off. They should get their clocks fixed.

“Sorry, in the next twenty-three hours, you’ll be meeting an untimely death…”

She goes on about programs for Deckers around Vesuvia, and how life isn’t always fair. It isn’t. In no way. It’s only up to us to make it a fair game.

“Asra, on behalf of everyone here at Death-Cast, we are—”

“—sorry to lose you. Thanks.” I complete, and I hang up. I’ve heard this call before, when my younger brother received it on his Nokia two years ago. I was beside him, holding his hand as he cried. He told me that he wanted to go playing video games, so I stayed at home all day with him. After dinner, he went to the bathroom. I voted to go with him but he said he needed privacy. I continued playing Resident Evil. You get that feeling that if you’re doing something that you enjoy, you won’t notice the time going by?

Exactly what happened to me. I finished a whole level before I realized that it has been an hour and a half since my brother went in the bathroom. The controller slipped out of my hands as I darted to go find my brother. As expected, the door was locked, so I had to kick it with all my might.

On the bathroom floor he lay, blood pouring out of the back of his head which is slumped on the edge of the bathtub. A rug was out of place, so I took it that he slipped. He’s very clumsy, I’ll say.

And I don’t want to go like that.

I drop my phone to the floor, and lie back on my bed, eyes completely open, staring at the dark ceiling.

Just like my brother.

I D A

2:09 a.m.

I made a Last Friend account. It’s an app where you can make a profile to meet other people who are dying the same day as you. On there, I go through almost ten profiles of guys and girls, before I come to some guy who’s in the area with me. He’s Asra, and he’s messaged me first.

A S R A

2:12 a.m.

@asranomy at 2:12 a.m.: you near upstate park?

@crestida at 2:12 a.m.: yea

@crestida at 2:13 a.m.: are you dying today?

@asranomy at 2:13 a.m.: sounds like a harsh way to put it but yeah, i am. how about you?

@crestida at 2:14 a.m.: same…

@crestida at 2:16 a.m.: wanna meet up somewhere?

@asranomy at 2:16 a.m.: how do i know that you’re not some sketchy dude?

@crestida at 2:17 a.m.: because i would be asking you the same thing

@asranomy at 2:17 a.m.: fair enough. so where do you wanna meet up?

@crestida at 2:18 a.m.: you’ve mentioned it already so maybe… upstate park?

@asronomy at 2:18 a.m.: cool. you better look like your account pic

@crestida at 2:19 a.m.: you should too

I D A

2:45 a.m.

I reach the park before he does, sitting down on one of the hundreds of empty benches. If he comes up behind me and kidnaps me and takes me to his basement, that would be an ugly ass End Day.

From the bench I could hear the soft ruffling of the leaves. The moon is still out, being my only light since the lampposts are all turned off.

The sound of the leaves and crickets tone down and I hear footsteps walking towards me.

A S R A

2:52 a.m.

On a bench I spot a figure. No, it’s a girl. She must be Ida.

I come up in front of her, hands in my pockets. Her eyes widen a little, I have no idea why.

“Are you Ida?” I ask.

“Are you ‘bout to pull a knife at me?” she retorts, hands pressing down on the wooden bench at either side of her.

“Hell no. That’s too mean, dying two hours right after you get the Death-Cast call. I’m Asra.” I pluck one of my hands out of my pocket and hand it to her.

She grabs it but doesn’t shake it. She uses it to pull herself up.

I D A

2:57 a.m.

I stand beside him. From here I could see that he’s at least an inch or two taller than me, nothing grand.

“So… Asra. How do you wanna spend your last day on earth?” I ask, looking up to face him. He’s got these wonderful violet eyes that I could get lost in, and striking white hair that looks like a cloud pooped on his head.

“Well I couldn’t travel the whole world in one day, so maybe with someone who’ll die with me.” he says, smiling the slightest.

“Who do you think will die first?”

“I bet that I do. Look, I know I’ve just met you, but I don’t wanna see you die, nah. That would hurt.”

A S R A

3:31 a.m.

We’ve both agreed to head to a coffee shop that both of us have never been at before. Ida orders something crazy, something they call a ‘unicorn frappuccino’. She told me she’s always had an iced coffee, and never bothered to try something new.

So on the day that she’s going to die, which happens once in a lifetime, she gets an unusual drink, which also happens once in a lifetime.

I get a cup of black tea from China.

L U C I O

3:42 a.m.

Death-Cast did not call Lucio because he isn’t dying today, but he is making drinks for two very different people. Out of all the customers Lucio’s had, they’re the most… unique. He thinks they’ve had a mutual agreement prior to this moment to get to this coffee joint and order drinks that were about to be crossed off the menu.

At the back of his head he has a thought that one of them’s dying today.

Lucio guesses it’s the boy white the white hair, but he could be wrong.

I D A

4:06 a.m.

After a quick trip to the coffee shop, Asra and I head to the hospital where my mom is. She’s scheduled to have an operation for one of her kidneys in two days, and since I most likely won’t make it in two days, I decide to leave a note for her. She’s been in a medically-induced coma for about four days now.

The hospital is a quick walk from the coffee shop, only two blocks away. I tell Asra the whole story while we walk.

A S R A

4:18 a.m.

The hospital is still bright, standing out like a star. The woman at the front desk is surprisingly not asleep. She tells us that visiting hours ended at ten. I encourage her to let us—heck, only Ida if she insists—in Ida’s mom’s room.

Just when I thought all else failed, Ida steps in and tells the lady that we’re both Deckers. The lady gives us a bit of her sympathy, and hands us two visitor passes. I pocket both of those.

We decided not to take the elevator, since it seems like an instant death wish, and we both want to last as long as the world will let us. Three floors up doesn’t look like a big climb, so we agree on taking the stairs.

P O R T I A D E V O R A K

4:22 a.m.

Death-Cast did not call Portia Devorak because she isn’t dying today. Or in a few days, she hopes. A week ago her boss gave her a warning not to let people in after visiting hours, since she’s done it about five times already. Ms. Samuels said these exact words: “Another visitor after visiting hours, and you’ll find yourself on the streets of Vesuvia. Stop risking the patients’ lives.”

But because of those two young people at the counter on that early morning, she would gladly give up her job. Portia couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have your mother asleep when you’re about to die. For those two kids, she would gladly do anything.

Even if that meant being kicked out of the hospital she’s worked at for six years.

I D A 4:57 a.m.

It doesn’t take particularly long for us to reach the third floor. Not one of us died on the way up, so I’ll take that as a good sign.

Mom’s doctor is in the room when Asra and I walk in. He’s checking her vitals, making sure that she’s set to live another day, something that I would be beating her to.

“Ida, why are you here this early?” Julian, mom’s doctor since she’s had me, asks.

“Visiting mom. Is there something wrong with that?” I say. He shakes his head frantically, red hair dishevelling itself.

“No no no, nothing is. Take all the time you need, Ida.” he says, leaving mom’s bedside. “Oh, you’re informed about the operation on Thursday, right?”

“Yeah, I am.”

He smiles at me, then at Asra, who gives him a stern look.

“Have I seen you before?” Asra asks.

“I don’t think so,” Julian quickly replies, then walks out of the room.

J U L I A N D E V O R A K 5:04 a.m.

Death-Cast did not call Julian Devorak because he isn’t dying today. But Ida’s mom might.

Ms. Crest is close to fading away, yet Julian doesn’t tell her daughter so that he won’t add to her troubles.

He’s met Asra before, at the hospital as well. Asra brought in his younger brother who had his head split, bringing him to the first doctor he can see. Julian told Asra that he wasn’t in pediatrics, but he’s offered to take Asra’s brother to an emergency room to try to save him.

Julian was the one who brought him in. Julian was the one who tried to save him. Julian was the one who exited the emergency room alone. Julian was the one who told Asra that his brother was dead.

A S R A 5:37 a.m.

Ida takes one hell of a long time to say goodbye. I stayed in the room with her, which was her choice. She whispers words to her mom, hoping she’s listening. Ida writes something down on a notepad next to the bed, then walks out the door, I follow suit.

We pass by the woman at the front desk again, and now she looks worried like she’s seen a ghost. I don’t pay any more attention as we pass the double doors and out of the hospital.

Ida’s hungry, so we stop by her favorite diner. We eat for about an hour, in complete silence.

7:00 a.m.

They’re both full from their last breakfast.

8:00 a.m.

Asra convinces Ida to go visit Muriel, his best friend. Ida agrees. Asra leaves Muriel an envelope with cash in it, and a note telling him to go to college, for Asra.

10:00 a.m.

Asra and Ida take a bus tour all around the city of Vesuvia. They both see sights they’ve never seen before.

12:00 nn

Asra reaches to hold Ida’s hand as they walk to a restaurant for lunch. Ida doesn’t pull away.

2:00 p.m.

Asra and Ida go to a travel expo. They both buy tickets for a trip to the Bahamas.

3:00 p.m.

They leave the Bahamas’ tickets on the side of the road.

4:00 p.m.

Ida insists they visit the college she’s supposed to attend. It turns out to be the school Muriel dropped out of.

5:00 p.m.

Asra and Ida enter a bookstore and buy a stranger named Nadia, who has purple hair, the books on her reading list. Nadia offers a coffee trip with the two, but they decline.

6:00 p.m.

Asra bumps into a businessman named Lucio, who drops his briefcase. It’s full of amazing drawings of Vesuvia in the ancient days, with castles and magic shops. Asra and Ida help him gather his sketches, then tell him to quit doing business, and just draw. Lucio takes it to heart.

7:00 p.m.

Ida kisses Asra under a streetlight.

8:00 p.m.

They sit back at the bench in Upstate Park.

9:00 p.m.

Asra and Ida play with a lost puppy, who eventually wanders off into the dark. Both of them become anxious of their time left together.

10:00 p.m.

Ida volunteers to go looking for the puppy. Once she’s out of Asra’s view, he goes searching for her.

11:00 p.m.

Asra finds police cars and and ambulance truck. He pushes through crowds of people and spot Ida run over by a black car. The puppy runs off into the distance. He begs the paramedics to take her to a hospital. Instead of bringing out a stretcher, they bring out a body bag. Asra sulks and walks off, back into the park. He lies down on the bench that he first saw Ida in.

11:30 p.m.

Asra closes his eyes to go to sleep. He doesn’t wake up.

12:00 a.m.

#Arcana Spotlight #the arcana #the arcana game #nix hydra #writeblr #they both die at the end #adam silvera #modern au #fan apprentice #arcasra #ida x asra #asra #julian devorak #julian #portia #nadia #lucio #muriel

13 notes · View notes

asifzschool · 5 years

Text

A woman from the other political party

Because the issue is not feminism. Definitely not. Since I began with 'political party', I think I should mention a few. Take BJP & AAP for example. Both from India. Not only BJP has a woman wing, their radical Hindutva alliance and their main propagandist RSS too has a woman wing. Even a Muslim wing exists for BJP. I know some stories around this women. Right now, I'm typing on my keyboard, and putting down the words on a gmail draft - whatever is coming to my mind. As I remember, I was googling up that Congress woman this December. Renuka Chowdhury was holding the Women's and Child Development Minister's post in Congress era, a while ago. Well, several years ago. Now, Renuka was a fierce lady. Whoever else I have seen in the Indian stage? I would, definitely mention Asiya Andrabi - because I was never a supporter of Mehbooba Mufti. I hated her, to be precise. Her Kashmiri political party, PDP - formed an alliance with BJP. Some times later, she resigned.

I support Asiya Andrabi, instead. Because she is the one fighting the colonial power. Mufti, along with Taslima Nasreen, Sushma Swaraj, Uma Bharti etc - are supposed to be written in a different record. I made an attempt to think up a name for that. Should it be 'The Indian Mademoiselles'? Asiya Andrabi is a Muslim lady, called for death penalty for Islamophobes - which was a bit of 'too much Muslim fanaticism' on the TV screen. The Indian channels did broadcast what she was saying, to generate public views, needless to say - in favor of BJP. The fanatic Hindutva party from whom even Hindus are not safe, they kill Dalits because they are from lower caste, not Brahmins - which is still happening in our world. And they kill/ask the Bangladeshi Government to kill and burn and loot the Bangladeshi Hindus - to further their Hindutva agenda. We bear witness to all this claims. We know they are not allegations, they are real. But caste is a thing in our world. I'm allowing my words to flow on, to take whatever turns it wants. In Bangladesh, the lower cast is BNP, lowest is Jamat - the 'political pariah'. The Brahmin is Awami League, though BNP is the word which begins with a B. That is all BNP and Brahmin have in common. The Brahmin ideology is about inferior race and superior race. Everybody else is inferior if you're a Brahmin. However, we were supposed to talk about political feminism - not religion. There are things around women happening in Bangladesh. That is our politics. The two women - Khaleda Zia, and Sheikh Hasina. If we look at India, it's BJP and Congress. Sushma Swaraj vs whom? Renuka Chowdhury? Or Sonia Gandhi? Renuka is long out of news. But she was as fierce as Asiya, our Kashmiri Jihadist woman. Mamata Banerjee has been termed 'Jihadi didi' by BJP supporters, that J-word reminds me. She has a fan base in Bangladesh, since there are Bangladeshis who know too well changing the Delhi politics is probably the only way out for our stupid, unlivable, insufferable country. The fact is, Bangladeshis themselves are not a big fan of Bangladesh. I call it a ‘shit-hole’. We know our country is gone. Taken. India is in control. We wish we would still be discussing Benazir Bhutto and Reham Khan - but sadly, that is not what is happening. We are discussing Hasina-Khaleda, both of them has been put in the same bracket in world media, 'the two begums'. My talk is simple. If you want Indian women's rights in Bangladesh, you have to deprive Bangladeshi women of their rights. Yesterday, just after I wrote something on Facebook about Hasina's Gopalganj, I got a taxi driver named Sanjaya Gopal. Here in Malaysia. We talked a lot. Even he is aware of it. He knows how Indian crime lords are taking over the SAARC nations. Sanjaya's girlfriend is Bangladeshi, and he complimented me, sayin' you're a nice man, it's difficult to get foreigners like you these days. Back to the point. What are we looking for? Sushma Swaraj's rights? Will she vote in Bangladeshi election? Should she control the Pakistani politics? Is she the one to decide who will come in power in the White House? Donald Trump. Asra Nomani. Nomani is a Muslim reformer, who voted for Trump. Mina Farah is a Bangladeshi feminist who advocates Bangladesh Jamat-e-Islami. Farah voted for Trump.

Here again, this two trump voters are different. Nomani is rather from the Israeli table of the politics. I remember her Facebook post, asking to 'vote for Nazi'. Nazi was a Muslim woman, not the German Nationalsocializmus Party. The post was hilarious, more hilarious than the lady Clinton whose name begin with an H. Asra Nomani kept calling it 'Beloved Yoga'. Well, it's absolutely fine to love Yoga. It's an exercise. I completely understand the sentiment. I know how the flower smells like, if your Yoga seat is in the garden. But she was saying it at a time when Yoga was taking lives in Delhi, Gujarat and other Indian states. BJP used it in their poster, the way it uses classical Indian dance pictures to justify their fascism. We've been reading in the Bangladeshi media that Hilary should have been the President of United States solely because she's a woman. Is that enough? Does your gender auto-qualify you for a very crucial, very important post like that? I'm not saying things wouldn't have been better or worse if Hilary came to power instead of Trump. I'm saying that just because Virginia Woolf once fought for Women's rights and now feminism itself is a commodity in today's world doesn't mean your not-a-he identity auto-qualifies you for something. Trump's party itself has women as well. I'm not into American politics, so I'm skipping the hazard to find out their names for now. Back to the point again. Bangladeshi media is comparing Hilary Clinton with Sheikh Hasina, though Hilary is rumored to be a chief patron of Muhammad Yunus. Hasina was giving Yunus a not-so-enjoyable time a while ago. So, what are we looking for? The right of Indian women in Bangladesh? Or the right of Bangladeshi women in their country? There is no reason to think Bangladeshi women have a say in political affairs. They don't. Khaleda Zia was a Prime Minister because she was Ziaur Rahman's better half, her party chose her as their leader. Hasina is the Prime Minister because she is the daughter of Sheikh Mujib. That is all she has. Her father. That is the landscape and boundary of her world. Nothing else has a chance of existing there, unless it's about she and her father. Other than Khaleda Zia, the Bangladeshi social media was having its women's hour where the women involved are BNP. There was Afroja Abbas, there was this 25-or-something-years-old Sansila Jerin Prianka - both complaining about how Awami men are treating them. Still I remember I joined a protest demanding Khaleda Zia's immediate release last year. The same day was Women's Day. The Awami-sponsored feminists did everything in their ability excepting physically attacking the BNP protesters. The Awami police was there to perform that job. Awami-sponsored firebrand women were right beside our rally. Their microphone was louder. They were shouting louder. It was Women's Day, and they were proving their point why Khaleda Zia should be kept in jail. By yelling in a higher pitch with their loudspeakers. That is as hilarious as it gets.

But my point is different.

If you give Indian women what they want, you will have to deprive Kashmiri women of what they want.

If you give Israeli women what they want, you will have to deprive Palestinian women of what they want.

If you give BJP women what they want, you will have to deprive Congressi 'Jihadi didis' of what they want. Asiya Andrabi and Asra Nomani can not work together. Even if their names begin with the same letters. No matter how we wish for it, reality is something else. BNP itself had a woman candidate this time, Hasina Ahmed. Ahmed or whatever. Her name too, was Hasina. This Hasina from BNP too was attacked by Awami Hasina party.

So, who is our girl? Hasina or Khaleda Zia? If one stays in power, the other will stay in jail. It's as simple as that. The issue is definitely not about feminism. The 'Sarkari Feminism', which went to it's worst when Masuda Bhatti, a supporter of Awami League requested to arrest a man who was talking against the government - is all about 'Sarkari' women's rights. Sarkari means Government endorsed. The reality is, our world does have women who are not 'Sarkari', who talk against the Government. What about their rights? What about the Non-Sarkari feminists?

Sheikh Hasina was congratulated from her patron countries, which includes both India and Saudi. If it was not for her, I myself wouldn't have been talking about so many Indian women here. These Saudi fascists, who are treated as notorious in the world stage at the moment for killing Jamal Khasoggi, and those Indians from a different religion, hated in Bangladesh by the Bangladeshi people for ruining our democracy... They are clearly Hasina's favorite, and vice versa. They are aiding her to execute her plans. After the last 30th December, which was two days ago - we know Khaleda Zia is destined to take her last breath in jail. She will not live for long. She is not going to make it.

This systematic murder of the opposition party is happening right in front of the world. World does nothing about it. Bangladeshis have serious conclusions about the world media. Even when it criticizes Hasina, we know it is going to praise her sooner or later. Somebody in the media from either US or Britain has called it 'a choice between Freedom and Prosperity.' Freedom, being a mostly Israeli table's word these days, is about Khaleda Zia right now. Prosperity, is about Sheikh Hasina. This type of headlines gives Hasina the credit, which she doesn't deserve. There are beggars in Kuala Lumpur. But not a lot. However, beggars are a third world phenomena most of the times. Bangladesh, is full of beggars. What the BNP-Jamat women have gathered from recent events is, Hasina was bribing the corrupt police system in Bangladesh. After the election, it turned out that the Army is just as corrupt as police there. If Hasina makes them happy, she stays in power. She even said that loud, I'm quoting her exact words here: 'take bribe from Jamat-BNP, vote Awami'. This is her model of the country, which is Bangladesh. So, what about other women?

There are women in Bangladesh who hate their Prime Minister. Sharing the gender identity with her makes them feel more disgusted.

There are women in BNP.

There are women in Congress, though they too, have patronized Awami League, in historical times.There are women in PTI. Everybody is not a Reham Khan. Everybody doesn't talk negatively about their ex-husband if he becomes the Prime Minister.

There are women in Kashmir. Mehbooba Mufti, Asiya Andrabi and many others. They too are fighting each other to make Kashmir free from India.

There are women in Palestine who might not agree with Gal Gadot. If Gadot takes the lead role in 'Wonder Woman', that is definitely troublesome for the entire world.

Fighting women with women, feminism with feminism, problem with problem - is rather difficult. In today's world, things are definitely changed. Today's world is not like what it used to be a hundred years ago. More or less, women have different kind of rights. But the world is not a gender war. Women are still getting engaged to men, bridal shops are still in business. Lesbian marriages are a different topic. We are fighting a war against fascism, which is definitely not about gender. Just because you are a man does not auto-qualify you for President's post in the White House, the same thing goes for Hilary with her gender. Everybody expected a surprise. Like Barack Obama was the Black President, the world thought we are going to get a female President. That will happen sooner or later, when you are more qualified than your male counterpart. In Hilary's case, the American people's votes went for Trump.

The Bangladeshi people's votes, everybody knew, were for Khaleda Zia this time. The whole election has been rigged, hilariously. BNP, the second largest political party in Bangladesh with at least 80 million supporters out of 180 something, barely got six seats. Hasina is back to the office again, like I saw in a youtube ad which was auto-promoted, 'the prosperity burger is back'. In reality, fascism is back. I saw that ad before the election and after reading that headline, which claimed it is a choice between freedom and prosperity in Bangladesh.

It's not a choice between genders.

It's not He vs. She.

That ‘gender war’, nobody is fighting. Excepting a few radical feminists. If women now eliminates men/the whole male species go extinct, the world will get destroyed. That will be the apocalypse day. But if the choice becomes She vs. She, which ‘she’ will you choose?

What about the other woman, from the other political party?

Asif Tamoso

02 January 2019

#Politics #Feminism #Trump #Hilary #Khaleda Zia #Sheikh Hasina #Bangladesh #India #Pakistan #Gender #War #Kashmir #Israel #Palestine

0 notes

oswednesday · 5 years

Text

sablestine replied to your post “just drafts up an entire nadia route re-write hhjhghg”

i would love to hear

okay omg

the upright would be all about keeping nadia grounded but connected to her feelings/intuition, where the reverse would be handling stuff isolated and unconnected to reality, with a balance of encouraging her to persue her own interests as well as maintaining your id

so it would be waay slower for one, but she’d start out like that iron tyrant you heard gossip about (like she had no power over anything but the palace was run so she takes that out on everyone around her and retires to her room frequently so for the first few chapters your interactions are seldom between like that actual investigation) you join her that first night and she lowkey threatens asra and you with jailing like vague i think magic should more regulated, maybe even outlawed, ect, should you not compile to the investigation, you work along side one of the courtiers depending on your actions at the salon (like,,,its literally valdemars job title but theyre like peace sign fades out about it) its easiest to get valerius

your early options with nadia is like when do i get paid/i dont need your money (and she’s all like i can do more than pay you and starts showering you with things and attention), i want to wear my own clothes thanks (or you can wear them), i dont need a title (she offers you like grand investigator or w/e and you can take it or not), your time will be split between nadia and the investigation like she’ll be like come bathe with me, come walk with me, come enjoy private time with me that’ll make you miss out on clues or getting to talk to witnesses or even bumping, (taking nadia’s invite also alerts valerius’ suspicions and will accuse her in julian’s stead) (see also: valerius feeling like nadia is even a threat to his power felt soo out of place and also like if she’s starting out Ungrown he wouldnt need to be like oh shes in our way)

the like romance rising action is where you dream of her coming to your shop, but you Feel different, wiser, stronger, more whole then the night asra left as she knocks on your door and you wake up , realizing its happening irl, she’s all like i had a nightmare and came to you : c idk why you dont even like me (i think there’d be a reverse version of that where she wakes you up to Test your loyalty to her, i think in a re-write it would be cool if it was like each card had the potiental to be upright or reverse!) and youre like,,,,i dont know you, youre just the countess,,,and then she starts sharing Emotions with you (in the test one you can go with it or protest when something goes too far, and thats probably like giving her everything asra has given you including the cards)

as she opens up to her you can either encourage her in an unproductive way like Wow! I Cant Believe They Did That! Comfort Her and like upright ones are like Wow! That’s Messed Up Have You Ever Spoken To Them About It? Why Do You Think They Did That? like i think its important to agree with someone emotionally? even if its irrational? but then like work through that, like what would you do about this if you could? what can you do right now? and nadia could be all like but thats how lucio was like Reaction to her Inaction, then the upright/reverse balance would be balancing that like nadia i cant tell you what to do, more than being like Punish Portia!

then depending on what you did early on and how much time you spent with valerius nadia gets arrested in julian’s stead, you learn about the hanged man thing and need to do a magic switcharoo (reverse ending paths)

upright is like nadia proceeds over the court and promises to put an end to unjust laws, sentencing julian to like live his life out under house arrest but julian requests himself to be hung and she respects his wishes as the countess of the city

then the reverse path has you and her doing astral realm things, basically everything that happens in the nadia upright canon one Except when people see her theyre like enraged by it! wasnt she hung! oh so shes royalty she can get out of that lmao! were we fooled ect, (your options are basically to avoid all of this but i think there’d be chances to talk everyone down and get back to upright outcomes maybe?) your confrontation with lucio happens in the collosium where vlastomil sentences him to death for being overdue on his debts and nadia can be all Wow About Time and vlastomil is like Hmm you Are in charge now arnt you? perhaps we can work out a deal, you can i and nadia is all like, ill Think about it, you and nadia get married in the heriophants realm after killing valerius so no like redemption there (also leaving vevsuiva with no clear and easy order of rule after the consol ((like its probably valdemar which LMAO) then you two bind the devil and ponder over all the work to do and its like, lets stay here awhile i dont want to face anyone, and you two like wonder the realms where your feelings take you with a cg of nadia’s like outstretched becoming owl-y hand in the light of a pink moon

the end

and the upright path is like you and nadia spend no time together in the magical realm,instead its like listening to others as well as being punctual to meetings (like, i think we should meet with the court right away instead of playing mind games) and delegating, like between portia, her sisters, asra, you and eventually julian

you, asra and julian, while portia helps nadia with lucio and muriel stands guard other the others bodies, in the real world nadia confronts her family, they talk it out and hear each other and her sisters offer their help to nadia and accept being told what to do by her, with their help they calm down the courtiers and seek common ground (like doctor sister and nahara tell valdemar about diseases outside of vesusia they’ve been in their travels and they like are more interested in that then The Plan and joins them to talk about it, nasmira sister chills out with valdemar, navaha manages to tire vulgora out with like dance fighting, natiqa hangs out with volta whose on your side at this point but is like freaking out, your parents and oldest sister agree to find valerius)after all that nadia passes tf out and joins you all, you help volta in the temperance releam and then lucio confrontation happens in the colleseium where he still is like um? free me? make a deal? hello? i want to be good! and vlastomil proceeds over his trial, where he’s sentenced to death for failing to pay his debts, theres an option to attempt to stop it but even if you take it (there’s a strong leading to accepting due process) the world shifts to the heriphant realm and you deal with valerius then finally all four of you see the mysterious, hard to reach high priestess, instead of being like friendly out right she stands in the way, and some confessions have to be made to all four of you before seeing the realm and her clearly (asra hide your past from you because he didnt want to lose you as well as his past with julian and nadia and he doesnt understand why youre not WITH him, julians did want to just die or be whisked away and he doesnt even know why he bothered to come back, nadia knew her actions were self centered, you were uncomfortable by nadia’s initial advances and wanted to be yourself with her (see the keep my own clothes options before hand) and that you and here were going too fast) (the lazeret and the power happens here) once thats all clear and youre all trusting each others guts, the high priestess is there and offers you all guidance and advice and tea, you all head off to the devil and bind him together

afterwards, nadia has stepped down from her place and established a republic, the people vote julian as the senator, portia has been titled as the consul, nadia has "retired" to a public servant incharge of the board of education, she has a cute little cottage home in the country side where she comes into town on horseback, asra and muriel are away on a magical adventure to find his parents, they check in every now and again, in your dreams, they look happy, you close up shop to bring nadia a meal you packed for the two of you, you and she have been going steady since agreeing to take it slow, every day you learn more about her and about yourself, you open the door to the newly built library and an owl flights through it, out into the darkening sky, you see nadia and she's radiant as she stands up behind the desk and smiles at you

the end!!

#sablestine #long post #the arcana

0 notes

republicstandard · 6 years

Text

When Progressives Exploit School Shootings

I believe the children are the future. Indoctrinate them with neo-Marxist ideology and let them lead the way.

What if I told you that the conversation about gun control in the United States wasn't about guns? A lot of what we're about to look at is speculative- but to be frank the lines that are being drawn between major political actors are far too interesting to ignore. Why I'm writing this is not because I don't care about the victims of mass shootings or even that I'm being paid to do so. This is concerning an exploitative progressive ideology that has thrust kids involved in a mass shooting to the spear-tip of their agenda. What I contend that the following evidence shows is a calculated and cynical political move that has been planned in advance for these exact circumstances.

(adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({});

This hypothetical mobilization playbook requires the tacit support of the media to keep the focus on the activism following the Florida Parkland shooting and away from the victims. Can you remember the names of those 17 victims? Anderson Cooper says that he does.

.embed-container { position: relative; padding-bottom: 56.25%; height: 0; overflow: hidden; max-width: 100%; } .embed-container iframe, .embed-container object, .embed-container embed { position: absolute; top: 0; left: 0; width: 100%; height: 100%; }

youtube

This was the 15th of February, 2018. It is important to remember the people that have died not only for the tragic waste of life that set these wheels in motion but to recognize the utter disregard with which their memories have been treated by those with political agendas.

We know from repeated analysis of gun violence that the United States represents a negative correlation between homicides and gun ownership. To frame this entire conversation as being one of righteous children against the gun-lovin' government requires the influence of powerful political actors- applying an evidence-based approach to the causes of gun violence is unpalatable to Progressives. Exploitation of tragedy is nothing new when dealing with these agents of chaos. We can only be surprised at our own surprise at the quickness the machine moves to capitalize on the deaths of the innocent.

Parkland student: "We are not to be bought by the NRA. ... We are the ones who deserve to be kept safe because we were literally shot at" https://t.co/5yk1EL23q4

— CNN (@CNN) February 16, 2018

As reported by the New York Times on Feb. 18th:

“We want this to stop. We need this to stop. We are protecting guns more than people,” said Emma González, 18, one of five core organizers, whose impassioned speech at a rally in Fort Lauderdale on Saturday drew national attention. “We are not trying to take people’s guns away; we are trying to make sure we have gun safety.”

Ms. González, a senior at the school, said the group was inviting elected officials “from any side of the political spectrum” to join the movement. But she said: “We don’t want anybody who is funded by the N.R.A. We want people who are going to be on the right side of history.”

The right side of history. Who do we know that loves being on the right side of history?

Linda Sarsour speaking at DOJ #NRA2DOJ 18 mile end today: "We are on the right side of history and only time will tell." @lsarsour pic.twitter.com/lb63fJZTiw

— john zangas (@johnzangas) July 15, 2017

It would be a surprise at this point in history to discover that the Women's March was not heavily involved in the politicizing of this mass murder. It is no surprise that March For Our Lives (one of the names for the post-Parkland political movements) has popped up with almost identical web design on Squarespace, who host the lion's share of Women's March affiliated online assets. I do hope that Linda got the kids a good deal.

Statement from @womensmarch YOUTH EMPOWER & @schoolwalkoutUS coordinating in solidarity & also pledging support for #marchforourlives. Our present & future are BRIGHT. #Enough #NationalSchoolWalkout pic.twitter.com/W47IVNQoHD

— Linda Sarsour (@lsarsour) February 19, 2018

Sarsour and her allies have had a major rage on for the NRA for some years, particularly thanks to the activism of Tamika Mallory, women's march organizer and blacktivist.

My life-changing call came when I learned that my son’s father had been killed by a gun. I became a single mother and my son lost his father. I’m proud of @WomensMarchY @schoolwalkoutUS @AMarch4OurLives and all the young people leading the way to say #ENOUGH. ✊🏾🖤 https://t.co/hWzvd2KoKO

— Tamika D. Mallory (@TamikaDMallory) February 19, 2018

In a piece last year entitled When Progressives Embrace Hate recent Twitter pile-on victim Bari Weiss noted that both Sarsour and Mallory embrace racists like Louis Farrakhan and the cop killer Assata Shakur.

Ms. Mallory, in addition to applauding Assata Shakur as a feminist emblem, also admires Fidel Castro, who sheltered Ms. Shakur in Cuba. She put up a flurry of posts when Mr. Castro died last year. “R.I.P. Comandante! Your legacy lives on!” she wrote in one. She does not have similar respect for American police officers. “When you throw a brick in a pile of hogs, the one that hollers is the one you hit,” she posted on Nov. 20.

Knowing their admiration for racial supremacists and literal communist dictators, it is not particularly of note that exploitative activists like Sarsour and Mallory are political bottom-feeders who weaponize tragedy for their own ends. What becomes interesting indeed is what is turned up when the paper-and-cash-trail behind these power-players is followed, as Asra Q. Nomani of the New York Times-affiliated site Women in the World did over a year ago.

What she discovered was that key Hillary Clinton financier George Soros;

"[H]as funded, or has close relationships with, at least 56 of the march’s “partners,” including “key partners” Planned Parenthood, which opposes Trump’s anti-abortion policy, and the National Resource Defense Council, which opposes Trump’s environmental policies. The other Soros ties with “Women’s March” organizations include the partisan MoveOn.org (which was fiercely pro-Clinton), the National Action Network (which has a former executive director lauded by Obama senior advisor Valerie Jarrett as “a leader of tomorrow” as a march co-chair and another official as “the head of logistics”). Other Soros grantees who are “partners” in the march are the American Civil Liberties Union, Center for Constitutional Rights, Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch."

Particularly illuminating in the context of Nomani's work is the leaked 2007 memo from John Podesta to George Soros and others that set out the framework for the exact behavior we are seeing today from the liberal media and these spontaneous groups like March For Our Lives.

Podesta wrote to Soros that he wanted to:

better utilize these networks to drive the content of politics through a strong echo chamber.

Control the political discourse. So much effort over the past few years has been focused on better coordinating, strengthening, and developing progressive institutions and leaders. Now that this enhanced infrastructure is in place—grassroots organizing; multi-issue advocacy groups; think tanks; youth outreach; faith communities; micro-targeting outfits; the netroots and blogosphere—we need to better utilize these networks to drive the content of politics through a strong “echo chamber” and message delivery system.

This memo was released with a focus on the 2008 election of Barack Obama. I don't like much agreeing with John Podesta about anything, but he saw back in 2007 that the future of America is about demographics. From the memo:

Ensure that demographics is destiny. An "emerging progressive majority" is a realistic possibility in terms of demographics and voting patterns. But it is incomplete in terms of organizing and political work. Women, communities of color and highly educated professionals are core parts of the progressive coalition.

A message delivery system in service of a progressive movement that combines multiple issues into a sledgehammer against the state. Pure Alinsky.

I don't think at the time Podesta could realize that the explosion of social media influence would convert the liberal media into a progressive blogosphere in the service of his agenda. The media are maintaining attention exactly where I would want them to be looking if I were a Linda Sarsour or George Soros. Keep the eyes of America on the crying rainbow nation teenagers reciting the progressive talking points and milk the 24-hour news cycle for all it is worth. Convert this into a publicly funded war-chest to power a Women's March clone -but this time, for the kids.

With 11 years between that memo and now, can anyone deny that his plan worked perfectly? Up until the ruinous election of Donald J. Trump, Podesta was bullet-proof. Despite that defeat at the hands of populism, the plans of Podesta and Soros have continued, not only unabated but financially and ideologically reinvigorated. Re-energized with new blood and new revenue after the rejection of the Obama/Clinton procession of succession resulted in a billionaire boogeyman against whom the troops can be rallied. The neo-Marxist agenda rolls on with even more money than ever before.

(adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({});

Imagine then, based on what we know now- is it so impossible that an anti-NRA strategist had this playbook ready to roll when the next school shooting happened? Is it too brutally cynical to suspect people of such callous foresight? Recognizing the weakness in the system is the raison d'être of all acolytes of Saul Alinsky; It is how they have effected change for decades. Crack open the seats of institutional power by holding them to impossible standards- the thirteenth rule is in full effect with this Children's Crusade. I have no doubt that the kids involved truly believe in the justness of their cause- but they are a cat's paw, plunging their young hands into the fires of gun debate for no reward but burned flesh.

Teens between 14 and 18 have far better BS detectors, on average, than “adults” 18 and older. Wouldn’t it be great if the voting age were lowered to 16? Just a pipe dream, I know, but . . . #Children’sCrusade?

— Laurence Tribe (@tribelaw) February 19, 2018

Following these threads backward through time reveal that this moment of what appears to be the investiture of moral right into teenagers is not a spontaneous outcry against gun violence. As we will show in tomorrow's article, the kids who are shooting to fame on the back of a brutal shooting are themselves junior progressive political activists who, willingly or no, are now exploiting the deaths of their classmates to push an agenda that began long before they were born.

Tomorrow we shine a light on the kids who are shooting to fame on the back of a shooting.

Thank you for reading Republic Standard. We publish this magazine and the Freebird Forum because we believe in free speech- but it doesn't come cheap! Will you make a small donation towards our running costs? You can make a difference by clicking here.

from Republic Standard | Conservative Thought & Culture Magazine http://ift.tt/2sNm6O7 via IFTTT

#IFTTT #Republic Standard | Conservative Thought & Culture Magazine

0 notes

hfitnss · 7 years

Text

Liberal Muslim Immigrant Breaks Silence And Reveals Why She Voted For Donald Trump

[ad_1]

Some say that Donald Trump became President because he speaks his mind and he has stayed true to himself throughout the entire election. People voted for Donald Trump because they agreed with what he was saying and what he has promised to do for our country and its citizens.

There are many others out there, such as Asra Nomani, who happen to have been failed by Obamacare, as well as…

View On WordPress

0 notes

ccshowme · 7 years

Link

Soros's Women's March of Hate The Left's rage unleashed on the streets of Washington.

By: Matthew Vadum

On Saturday, the nation's capital was inundated with masses of loud, obnoxious, foul-mouthed Trump-hating women (and some men) at what was billed the "Women's March on Washington." The Guardian called the event a "spontaneous" action for women's rights, while Vox spoke of a "huge, spontaneous groundswell" behind the march.

While the mainstream media bombarded news consumers with news stories claiming few Americans were interested in the inauguration festivities, television ratings for President Donald Trump's inauguration were the second-highest Nielsen has recorded in 36 years, drawing 30.6 million TV viewers across 12 networks. Factoring in live streams provided by the networks, YouTube, Facebook, Twitter, and other online portals adds millions more viewers to the total. But what happened Saturday at the "Women's March" was not spontaneous. No mass rallies are, especially on the Left.

This so-called "protest", like the violent attacks orchestrated by the DisruptJ20 coalition on pro-Trump events such as Friday's "DeploraBall" at the National Press Club, was not an organically generated demonstration.

The usual culprits were involved behind the scenes using the same fascistic tactics they used to shut down the massive Trump campaign rally at the University of Illinois at Chicago in March last year.

The groups that organized the Women's March on Washington on Saturday were underwritten by radical currency speculator George Soros, the same man who says Communist China's system of government is superior to our own and that the United States is the number one obstacle to world peace.

The Soros people brought in protesters from all over the country to express their displeasure with Donald Trump on his first full day as president of the United States. These left-wingers don't accept the votes of the 63 million Americans in 3,084 of the nation's 3,141 counties or county equivalents who chose Trump as president. They keep telling themselves the lie over and over again that Trump is somehow not a legitimate president even though he received a majority of Electoral College votes, as the Constitution requires.

Writing in the New York Times, Asra Q. Nomani writes that "the march really isn't a 'women's march.' It's a march for women who are anti-Trump."

Nomani is a former Georgetown journalism professor and Wall Street Journal reporter who describes herself as "a lifelong liberal feminist who voted for Donald Trump for president."

She continues:

As someone who voted for Trump, I don't feel welcome, nor do many other women who reject the liberal identity-politics that is the core underpinnings of the march, so far, making white women feel unwelcome, nixing women who oppose abortion and hijacking the agenda. Nomani burnt the midnight oil poring over, in her words, "the funding, politics and talking points of the some 403 groups that are 'partners' of the march."

She discovered that "Soros has funded, or has close relationships with, at least 56 of the march's 'partners,' including 'key partners' Planned Parenthood, which opposes Trump's anti-abortion policy, and the National Resource Defense Council, which opposes Trump's environmental policies."

According to Nomani, among the Soros grantees designated as "partners" in the Women's March on Washington are MoveOn, American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU), Center for Constitutional Rights, Amnesty International, and Human Rights Watch.

In a spreadsheet she links to in her article she identifies plenty more organizations that are partners in the march that have received grants through the two major Soros philanthropies, the Open Society Institute and the Foundation to Promote Open Society.

Some of the other left-wing Soros-funded groups involved in the women's event were: Advancement Project; American Constitution Society; America's Voice; Arab American Association of New York; Asian Americans Advancing Justice; Center for Reproductive Rights; Color of Change; Communities United for Police Reform; Demos; Economic Policy Institute; Every Voice; Green for All; League of Women Voters; Make the Road New York; MPower Change; NAACP; NARAL Pro-Choice America Fund; National Asian Pacific American Women's Forum; National Council of Jewish Women; National Domestic Workers Alliance; National Network for Arab American Communities; National Council of La Raza; PEN America; Psychologists for Social Responsibility; Public Citizen; United We Dream; and Voter Participation Center.

Muslim terrorist supporter Linda Sarsour, president of the Arab American Association of New York, was deeply involved in planning march-related events. Sarsour has familial ties to HAMAS and works with the terrorist front group Council on American-Islamic Relations (CAIR).

One of the angry women to show up in Washington was the entertainer Madonna who told the crowd of Trump-haters that she thought many times about "blowing up the White House" but had decided against it because it "wouldn't change anything." She is expected to be investigated by the Secret Service. On stage, Madonna wore a "pussyhat" created for the occasion and used the F-word four times. The vagina motif among leftist protesters is nothing new. Code Pink has been using it for years. But it was given new life after audio footage was published during the campaign that captured Trump's locker room remark, "grab 'em by the pussy."

The marchers took the vulvar vulgarity a step further. Apart from the usual pro-choice and male-bashing placards, they carried signs reading: "My neck, my back, my pussy will grab back"; "Stay cunty"; "Pussy trumps tyranny"; "Keep your politics off my pussy"; "Mike Pence has never satisfied a woman in his life"; "Support your sisters not just your cis-ters"; "We are the grand-daughters of the witches you could not burn"; and "It's feminist not feminazi[.]"

The atmosphere in downtown Washington wasn't much different from the Democratic National Convention in Philadelphia last summer. The same in-your-face radicalism and hatred of cops and white people.

Radical documentary maker Michael Moore handed the microphone to actress Ashley Judd who read a goofy, childish poem aloud. "I feel Hitler in these streets," Judd said, "A mustache traded for a toupee. Nazis renamed."

So many washed-up celebrities turn to political activism as people stop caring about them. It's a coping mechanism Mother Nature invented to ease them into irrelevance. They shout and carry on and we forget about them.

Angela Davis, the academic and former Black Panther, spoke at the event. She was described by Elle as a "[c]ivil rights activist." The article left out that she used to be a fugitive and that she ran for U.S. vice president in 1980 and 1984, alongside Gus Hall, on the ticket of the Communist Party USA. In 1991 she was expelled from the CPUSA for opposing the coup against then-Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev. She joined an arguably more radical group called the Committees of Correspondence.

Davis's speech consisted of the usual tedious ultra-politically correct drivel, praising traitors, terrorists, and cop killers.

Women's rights are human rights all over the planet and that is why we say freedom and justice for Palestine. We celebrate the impending release of Chelsea Manning. And Oscar López Rivera. But we also say free Leonard Peltier. Free Mumia Abu-Jamal. Free Assata Shakur. "The next 1,459 days of the Trump administration will be 1,459 days of resistance," Davis said. "Resistance on the ground, resistance in the classrooms, resistance on the job, resistance in our art and in our music."

Davis saw no need to tone down her rhetoric because she was addressing true believers.

Her co-religionists were busy trying to burn down Washington in the days prior to her address.

Unrepentant terrorist and Obama pal Bill Ayers showed up in Washington for the inaugural festivities with his terrorist wife, Bernardine Dohrn.

"On our way to demonstrate for several days in Washington," Ayers wrote on his blog Jan. 19. The same day Ayers appeared on a TV show hosted by a fellow small-c communist, "The Big Picture with Thom Hartmann," on the Russian government controlled-RT America network.

Former President Obama launched his career in electoral politics in 1995 in the Hyde Park, Chicago living room of Ayers and Dohrn. They hosted a fundraiser for Obama for his run for the Illinois State Senate.

Austin, Texas-based anarchist Lisa Fithian also came to Washington to cause trouble. She led the union goons and anarchists who rioted during the 1999 World Trade Organization meeting in Seattle. She also organized riots as part of the Occupy Wall Street and Black Lives Matter movement and community-organized in post-Hurricane Katrina New Orleans.

She was part of the "queer dance party" Jan. 18 that was intended to intimidate Mike Pence at his pre-inaugural home in the Chevy Chase neighborhood in Northwest Washington.

"We are here to celebrate the queer liberation and say that love will trump hate," Fithian told CNN. "Mike Pence needs to find his heart and recognize that this is a country that needs to be loving and welcoming to everyone. If they want to make America great again, we actually need to embrace our humanity."

Black mask-wearing rioters destroyed private property a few blocks from the White House, smashing windows at a Bank of America branch, a Starbucks, and a McDonald's. They set cars and trash cans on fire and assaulted police using crowbars, bottles, and sticks. They blocked uniformed Air Force officers from entering the inauguration grounds. They injured at least six cops. About 3,000 local, state, and federal law enforcement officers were stationed in Washington, along with 5,000 members of the National Guard.

Perhaps unaware that he works for their friends in the Russian government, rioters torched the limousine of RT America broadcaster Larry King.

At least 217 individuals were arrested and charged with rioting. The U.S. Attorney's Office said each offender is facing up to 10 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

The violence in Washington and cities across the country was organized by fringe-left groups that wield a lot of influence in organizing circles.

And as my colleagues at Dangerous Documentaries, the documentary-making division of Capital Research Center discovered, organizers from two communist groups, the Workers World Party (WWP) and the Freedom Road Socialist Organization (FRSO) were integral to planning DisruptJ20 demonstrations and riots across America during Inauguration Week.

Their research was highlighted in the popular 20-minute documentary, "America Under Siege: Civil War 2017," which is directed by Judd Saul, and written and narrated by eminent researcher of radicals, Trevor Loudon. It may be viewed for free online at Capital Research Center's website. At time of writing, the viral hit had been viewed more than 250,000 times on YouTube after being published Thursday at 11 a.m. Eastern time.

WPP First Secretary Larry Holmes, who adores the North Korean dictatorship of Kim Jong-un, vowed in a speech to prevent Trump from being sworn in as president. "Sisters and brothers, we are going to build through massive counter-inaugural protests on Jan. 20. We're going to shut this down. You know, Trump has started something. We're gonna finish it."

WPP youth secretary Ramiro S. Funez boasted in a speech that DisruptJ20 would be "one of the most important political events in modern history."

WPP youth leader Tom Michalak went to Moscow in 2014 as a guest of the Putin-funded group known as the Antiglobalization Movement of Russia. "The United States government is the greatest enemy of the peoples of the world," Michalak said.

Another WPP operative, Caleb Maupin, spreads anti-American propaganda as a journalist and political analyst for Iranian government-controlled Press TV and RT America, which is controlled by the Russian government.

"U.S. society born in racism, slavery, and the slaughter of the indigenous people, is now entering a deep political crisis," Maupin said at the New Horizon Conference in Tehran, Iran, in late 2015.

FRSO leaders Mick Kelly and Joe Iosbaker also helped organize DisruptJ20.

Losbaker helped organize the rioting at the March 11, 2016 Trump campaign rally at the University of Illinois at Chicago. Leftist violence forced Trump to cancel his appearance at the rally.

This is only the beginning. Get ready for four to eight years of nonstop violent activism and turmoil.

The Left never sleeps.

1 note · View note