#Cerebral Bore

[n64retro]

Cerebral Bore is one of the most dreadful weapons featured in Turok 2: Seeds of Evil (Iguana Entertainment, Acclaim, 1998).

[lmaverick123]

Top 10 Video Game Guns (2024 Edition)

A decade is a long time.  Almost a quarter of my life.  Getting older.  Feel older.  Emotionally, physically, mentally.  I feel like I’m an older man who doesn’t fit in in the modern world.  But that’s not what this post is about.  Video games have some pretty dope guns.  There are weapons that can blast things to bits, and ones that are just fun.  Ten years ago, I made a list of guns that I…

[incarnatedevotion]

performing surgery with their teeth, swallow me / tearing the skin away, crave the flesh, oh so sweet / humanity away, leave me fucked on the floor

[denver-heavy-metal-society]

Brutal death metal band Cerebral Bore live at Summer Slaughter in Denver, CO. Video courtesy of Denver Heavy Metal Society.

[itsyaniwym]

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ Astrology Observations II ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

✺ Pisces Mars are experts at ghosting. You guys take action in such an elusive way because you hate confrontation, or just unnecessary drama. If y’all are annoyed or feeling a way about something you don’t say anything right away and you only react when things boil over into the point where you can’t control it anymore and you explode. Then you immediately bad for getting so angry. Just work on communicating how you feel, when you feel it, sometimes other people won’t know how you feel until you express it.

✺ Mars in the 1st house synastry isn’t always as sexy and hot as people think it is. The mars person’s attraction could be so strong for the house that they come off too strong which can completely turn off the house person. (If there isn’t any other compatible synastry)

✺ The sign in your second house is usually the sign, or ones with those placements, that you feel the most possessive over.

✺ Also, the second house can explain your appetite and how you like to eat. For example, Sag risings having Capricorn in the 2nd house prefer home cooked meals over fast food. They are very strict as to what they put in their body and they won't eat just anybody's food.

✺ As of the other hand, Scorpio risings having Sag in the 2nd house go from extremes where they are either eating really healthy or just absolutely terrible. They love fast food and can tend to over indulge in these pleasures.

✺ In my opinion, 4th house synastry feels more like family or a really close friend than anything romantic (mostly just Sun and Moon) It feels almost weird to cross that line, like if you do things would turn awkward. OR if it is a romantic connection the planet person may have more feelings than the house person does.

✺ I will stand by this but 6th house synastry is SOOOO underrated!!! If you are looking for a long-term relationship with someone having personal planets here will really help the relationship last. Especially when Sun is there it’s almost like there is a never a dull moment and each and every day you guys are never get bored of one another. Venus here it’s like you guys find pleasure doing the small things together the most. You would even be happy doing things like grocery shopping with them, stopping by at your job to give you flowers, and makes living together very easy. Mars in ones 6th house is sending them to do things, and them not minding at all, they love to make you happy by doing things for you.

I do feel like moon in 6th house synastry would be a bit aggravating. Feeling like the person would rather intellectualize and nitpick your emotions rather than being the one to help you feel them. Almost feels as if you are being judged for any emotion you show. It might be annoying feeling like someone is constantly questioning you about how they feel or feeling like you constantly have to take on the baggage of what the other person is going through.

✺ It’s not said enough but Capricorn placements, especially mercury and Sun, are the most hilarious people ever. Their dry sense of humor and how sarcastic they are is UNMATCHED. They will say the things that other people are scared to say and you can’t help but to laugh. They have that dark humor that no other sign can replicate. It’s not everyone’s cup of tea but they are so real!

✺ Pisces Mars and Pisces rising’s are the ones who are attracted to people that u would least expect them to be with. Or they are attracted to the “bad boy” or the one people tell them to stay away from

✺ Sag rising don’t age! No matter how old they are they have this glow about them and always look so youthful.

✺ Aquarius and Sag Venus’ really don’t have a type. They just love someone who makes them happy and they can go adventures with . These people are attracted to cerebral people and anyone who can really expand their mind. You often hear these people say “I like who I like” or “I just love, love”. This could change if there is some Capricorn energy in the chart which could make someone value a more traditional approach to this fun loving placement.

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ Thank you guys for making it to the end of my post! ♥️if you have any experience with any of these placements/synastry above please comment down below your experience! I would love to hear you guys’ feed back. Please keep in mind these are just my personal opinions take everything with a grain of salt. Love youusss💋 ♡

[jempai]

thinking about how multiple theatres i’ve worked with have spent enormous sums on adding giant projectors to do more graphics, and then do very minimal sets to showcase the brand new projector and get their money’s worth, and how universally hated the resulting productions are by the audience and cast

obviously you can make projections work well, but so many theatres spend absurd amounts to “upgrade” the theatre, resulting in barren abstract sets that often don’t work for the show and are genuinely hard for an audience to grow accustomed to and suspend disbelief

[pallastrology]

the ascendant and descendant

aries on the ascendant makes for a powerhouse of a native; they are feisty, straightforward and motivated. there is a sharpness to them, when it comes to their minds, tongues and even behaviours. they’re fast-paced and sometimes quite impatient, which can make them seem rude at times. aries risings are never intentionally rude, but their quick-wittedness mixed with their tendency to act before thinking can mean they come across pretty badly. aries risings have an interesting dichotomy to them, in that they are both extraordinarily motivated, driven and passionate, and very easily bored and disenchanted. they can pursue a project with unstoppable force, then just abruptly quit when it no longers serves them. with aries on the ascendant, their libra descendant has them searching for balance, peace of mind, reflection. aries risings are fiercely independent and driven, but they can lack patience and sticking power, losing interest and motivation quickly. they sometimes need a cheerleader, a supportive figure to encourage them and help them over the hurdles. it’s partnership that aries risings need, more than anything; an equal, someone who won’t hold them back but won’t just sit by and watch them go up in flames. aries risings do beautifully alone, but they can sometimes fall into thinking that they’re better off that way, that they aren’t able to deal with people, or love, or even family at times. but we all need connection in life, it’s just part of being human. the right people aren’t always easy, but they aren’t the explosive, uncertain bond that the native might be used to, either; they’re worth the fight to find a sense of calm that might feel quite foreign to aries rising. not every conflict has to escalate, and not every peaceful moment has to be empty or dull. 

taurus on the ascendant brings an air of grace to the native; they are stoic, grounded and really quite charming. they aren’t the most social, despite being ruled by venus; taurus risings embody a different side of the planet of love. they are happiest at home, with their hands in the dirt or in dough. they love to pamper and be pampered, and love high-quality items that will last the test of time. they are romantic in an elegant, cool and nurturing way, and one of the most beautiful things a taurus rising does is hold space for their loved ones. it makes sense then, especially given that the natives have scorpio on the descendant, that in a partner they need to be able to share parts of themselves, and be shared with too. they can’t have a relationship where they give but don’t receive in return, it just doesn’t work that way for the native; there’s no intimacy without trust and exchange when it comes to taurus rising. in a sense, they are very similar to plutonians in relationships; trust, balance and intimacy are incredibly important to them, but they tend to be more reserved and calm than plutonians. taurus risings tend to be cool, whether that is through self-assuredness or stubbornness. 

with gemini on the ascendant, the native is impish, restless and cerebral. they are very curious, whose minds are always whirring away in the background, making for a seemingly-scatterbrained individual at times. they are clever and intellectual, but can lack focus and discipline, flitting from one interest to another without really gaining ground with any one topic. gemini risings can be quite nervous sometimes, and are prone to anxiety and insomnia. they really struggle to be mindful, to rest. that being said, their energy is infectious, and they have a playful nature that can lighten the hearts of those around them. a real thinker, and overthinker, gemini risings are funny as well as fun, with a good sense of humour and a way with words. they have a tendency, like aries risings, to speak before they think, which can lead to being misunderstood easily; but they are quick to try and make amends when they realise they’ve hurt feelings. as a gemini ascendant, the native has sagittarius on the descendant, and so we see that they need focus, wisdom, devotion. while gemini wants to know something about everything, sagittarius wants to know everything about something. gemini has the intelligence, the energy, the curiosity and passion, but they lack certain skills for “staying power”; prioritising, discipline, patience, focus. they need someone to anchor and ground them, to support them through their journey, wherever it may take them; someone who won’t drag them down, as the native is sensitive and easily hurt at times, but someone who will help the native learn to pace themselves better. they need a mentor, in a sense, to help them figure themselves and the world out, and their place in it. 

cancer on the ascendant makes for a guarded and sensitive individual. highly-attuned to the world around them, they are receptive and reflective. they aren't quick to act, despite being a cardinal sign; they are very protective of themselves and their loved ones, and so take their time more than their fellow cardinal signs. people gravitate towards the familiar, warm vibes they give off, often building intimacy much faster than the native. they are sensitive but not necessarily soft, owning razor-sharp tongues, a brilliant and almost-photographic memory, and a defensive nature. the native is maternal and compassionate, prone to melancholy and attacks of nostalgia. with their descendant being in capricorn, cancer risings seek out security, comfort and familiarity. they are happiest in a nurturing role, and look for more authoritarian types in partners. this isn't to say the native is a push over; in fact, they often grew up having to be a mother figure, and so they now just want a break from managing everything. they want a partner who will look after them and provide a safe and stable life. cancer risings, when they find their match, give selflessly and happily, and finally show their softer side.

leo on the ascendant brings power and grace to the native. they are often, ironically, a little clumsy with their words, being quite impulsive. but they mean well, and have an infectious enthusiasm for life that draws people to them like the sun in winter. leo risings are strong-willed, energetic, generous and creative. they can be hotheaded and a little jealous, especially when it comes to love. they can sometimes be quite dependant on external validation, but over time, they will learn to validate themselves and not rely on others to an unhealthy degree. there is a brightness to the native; they are often more intelligent than they first seem, they can apply themselves to almost anything, and are happiest when they feel great at something, and so are hardworking. when it comes to love, their aquarius descendant often won't settle for something dull or ordinary; they need a person who ignites the spark within, someone a little unconventional and a little intriguing. they love to feel part of something bigger than themselves, and their partner may introduce them to a community very different to their own. the native can be hot and cold in love, and crushes come and go, but true love is forever, and leo risings treat their lovers like royalty.

with virgo on the ascendant, the native is alert, sensitive and dedicated. they are highly-attuned to their environment and take stress very hard, in the form of somatic illness. virgo risings are often quite controlling of the people and things around them, which, at its best, makes for a good manager or leader; someone who can multitask and doesn’t neglect the details, someone caring yet professional. at its worst, this tendency to control can make virgo risings overly critical, tense, fatigued and irritable. they can lose the big picture for the details at times, and stepping back is a skill that takes time for them to learn. perfectionism runs deep with this placement, and they are highly self-conscious, veering into self-critical at times. with virgo on the ascendant, pisces is on the descendant, indicating that the native craves spontaneity and to be able to let go, to love without overthinking, essentially, to get out of their own heads and experience the world without worrying quite so much about what could go wrong without them there to fix it. virgo is a very loving placement, often being associated with ceres. but they aren’t really the romantic sort, and don’t go for big gestures. they will remember everything about their lover, will take care of them, will work their hands to the bone for them. they are highly dedicated, and really, devoted, though the native doesn’t always see it that way. deep down, virgo risings want to be taken care of the way they do the people in their life. 

libra on the ascendant makes for a dark horse of a native. they are reflective, disarming and elegant. they love romance, and appreciate beauty in all its forms, often being quite artistic and cultured. they are cerebral and witty, and make for great conversationalists. they are generous and giving, a little flirty, and can be quite spontaneous (depending on the rest of the chart). there's a sense of looking in the mirror when you're with them; they rarely show you their true selves, and tend to reflect you back at yourself instead. this makes them very attractive, with an air of mystery about them and a pull toward unveiling what's underneath. the native can struggle with their own identity at times, as their reflective nature isn't a deliberate thing; it's a natural defence of theirs, and they can get lost in all the versions of themselves. their worst nightmare is having to combine different groups of loved ones, as sometimes the masks they wear don't mesh. in a partner, their aries descendant puts its foot down and tells them enough! it's time to be appreciated for who they are, not the version of themselves their loved ones think they see. libra risings need a partner that grounds them, lets them explore themselves without judgement or containment, sees past themselves and really meets the native where they're at.

scorpio on the ascendant brings fire and water to the native. they are intense, moody and guarded, but equally, they are steady, tender and open-handed. they put on a stern front to protect themselves, being owners of water sign sensitivity. they take a long time to warm up to people, and keep their circle small, preferring to be alone than to spend their precious time with people who don't keep them interested. they can be quite intense, especially when hurting, and aren't the easiest people to get to know. the natives are acutely aware and connected to the darker side of life, and can be melancholic and brooding at times. what they need is someone to help them step back into the here and now, and this is where we can clearly see their taurus descendant. these natives need stability and intimacy, trust and a steadfast person. scorpio risings can be tumultuous and chaotic, get stuck in morbid thought patterns and feel trapped and alone; they need a partner who can help bring some lightness and security to their lives, someone they can share these darker sides of themselves with. scorpio risings thrive on intimacy and connection, on sharing and being vulnerable. and they need a person who can prove their worth, and who can handle the intensity of the native. someone who won't be scared away, someone who loves them regardless.

with sagittarius on the ascendant, the native is explorative, devoted and witty. they are often quite big characters, with the ability to befriend almost anyone. opinionated but not without reason, sagittarius risings aren’t as hotheaded as other fire ascendants; they are less impulsive and tend to have a longer fuse, in general. there’s an interesting juxtaposition with sagittarius risings; they are silly, energetic, social and fun loving, while also being reflective, wise, escapist and studious. seeing both rulers of sagittarius - jupiter and neptune - work in tandem like this is intriguing, and displays beautifully the multitudes this placement contains within. the native is often a seeker of some kind, going on their journey with some concept in mind. they can be idealistic and escapist, fantasising about something more; they often find that religion, spirituality, travel or even academia are a deeply meaningful and transformative part of life for them. the native has the descendant in gemini, which means that in a partner, they look for people who are able to keep up. they want a partner who can be spontaneous, who can carry on the banter, who can woo the native a little bit. they need people in their lives who they can learn from, and who will learn from the native. sagittarius risings aren't as innocent as their descendant, but sometimes they neglect their love lives until later in life, and so they want to experience the things they didn't do earlier, and have those firsts. their partner needs to be okay with the fact that the native may have gone about life in an unorthodox manner, and might have done things in the "wrong" order. they need to be loved unconditionally and can't be held down or back in any way.

capricorn on the ascendant makes for an individual on a mission. they are studious, determined, driven. they can come across as cold and calculating, are quite elegant, and tend to be serious and somewhat stern. capricorn risings often bear the weight of their early experiences on their shoulders, which is why they come across the way they do. they have a softer side that they keep neatly tucked away, even from themselves. they are focus and hard working, but can prone to depression when life gets frustrating, leaving them stagnant. an often-unappreciated aspect of the native is that they are very creative; whether in the traditional sense of the word, or in that they are brilliant problem solvers and can think unconventionally when needed. they are often managers or leaders in their household, and sometimes grew up this way too. this leads them, and their cancer descendants, to need a bit of tenderness from their loved ones. they don't advertise their vulnerabilities, even shying away from them themselves, but there is a sensitivity to capricorn rising, and they subconsciously protect this side of themselves. in love, they need a slow, steady approach, and a partner who loves gently and unconditionally. tenderheartedness, emotional stability and an almost maternal affection are traits that cancer descendant loves in a partner. they don't want to be alone, but find it hard to open up, and it takes time to find their perfect match. that being said, the wait is worth it when they find unconditional love.

aquarius on the ascendant brings ingenuity and intrigue to the native. they are determined, brilliant thinkers, and a little kooky. they can be quite eye-catching, as they like to express themselves through their personal style, and aren't generally shy. they love people, though their love is a cerebral and hands-off kind. they are often part of some sort of community, whether through choice or through traits they were assigned at birth, and they are passionate about their communities. these groups are their home, their family and an extension of themselves, after all. aquarius risings are often very clever, think creatively and express themselves well. they can be a bit outside-the-box and some people find their sureness of self disconcerting, whether that's from projection or just surprise. the native can sometimes forget about love, feeling it isn't important as long as they have the love of their communities and the people they meet in life. but they are often thinking of something that bores them, stifles and changes them, when they think of love. in reality, love looks different for everyone, and with leo on the descendant, it really is an important part of life for the native. they need to be adored, given space to flourish and thrive, and challenged a little bit. they are generous and kindhearted individuals, and they need a partner who will let them explore but always lead them back home again.

with pisces on the ascendant, the native is ephemeral, delicate and absorbent. they are creative thinkers, but not always the most logical of people. they are incredibly sensitive, and like their sister sign, they are prone to somatising stress and powerful emotions. speaking of emotions, pisces risings are emotional creatures, with a deep well of love within them, that they draw from often. they can be quite romantic, but it’s a different kind of romantic to that of taurus or libra; pisces risings are soft and usually somewhat shy, with a submissive side that means unrequited love is very common for them. pisces risings struggle to organise themselves and can lack motivation, relying instead on bouts of inspiration, that can be as fickle as the native themselves. discipline is a skill pisces rising doesn’t naturally possess, though some overcompensate. pisces on the ascendant means virgo is on the descendant, and so they really need, and often crave, stability and security. they can live very interesting lives, with a lot of ebb and flow, as water signs do, but interesting is often overwhelming and exhausting, and they want to be able to come home to safety, sameness, those quiet moments spent recovering. they are very devoted people, but can neglect themselves and their home life in favour of loving everyone and everything around them; they need someone that holds and grounds them, an anchor so they can return to themselves when the world becomes too much. 

[mangosrar]

cerebral

matt sturniolo x fem reader

this isn’t proof read 😛😛

suggestive ???

i knew this would happen. it happened with the last guy i went on a date with, and the guy before that. they just werent him. it was such a horrible feeling to sit across from someone in a restaurant searching their face for a more familiar one, one that had memories etched into his smile lines, one that had a piece of you with him. but the feeling of having him, but not being abel to have him, wasnt much better.

it was hard, finding the middle ground between my ex and my best friend. we both promised that if we ever broke up nothing would change between us. but it did. i was more cautious of him. i picked my words carefully when they left my mouth. i studied his body language whenever i was close to him. he was like a ticking time bomb. he could be set off at any minute.

lazy footsteps could be heard before i saw matt pad his way into my living room before he plopped himself down next to me. he let himself in. of course he did. he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees before turning to look at me with a sad smile on his face.

"you okay?" his voice was hushed. like if he spoke too loud i might shatter. i just nodded with a gloomy smile on my face.

"so why do you look so sad y/n?" he knew me so well and i hated it. i couldnt differentiate wether he knew me so well because he was my bestfriend for so long, or if because he was the love of my life at one point.

"just the date. i dont think you wanna hear about it" i let out a sad laugh as i spoke. his eyebrows furrowed for a second before he replied.

"youre still my bestfriend y/n. just because youre my ex too doesn’t mean you cant tell me about the new guys" he sounded genuine. like he didnt care about the new guys. like he wasnt mad about them. but he should be. i wish he was. i wish he was repulsed at the thought of me ever being able to move on from him. but he wasnt. i kept my eyes trained to the ground. there was a heavy silence as he searched my face. i could feel his wandering eyes burning holes into me. like he could see straight into my brain.

"he called me cerebral matt" i paused, eyes still boring holes into the carpet beneath me. "i didnt even know what it meant" i raised my eyebrows and let out a huff of air through my nose. "would it have killed him to call me pretty instead?" i finally looked up at matt to see his eyes still on me. a look on his face that i couldnt decipher. i hated that he could see my walls crumbling.

"you are pretty y/n" he cooed, his voice so sickly sweet. matts hand moved onto my leg. rubbing slow circles with his thumb. i hated this. i hated that he could sit there and tell me this and not be mine. how could he promise to soften every edge and hold the world to its best when he was killing me.

"you cant say thing like this matt" i pushed his hand off my leg and just like that the walls were built back up again. his eyes dropped to his hand that was now slumped onto the sofa then back up to my face. he knew this was coming.

"why not?" he knew why. he just wanted to hear me say it. i paused momentarily. weighing up my options. deciding wether to say the real reason or to just leave it hanging in the air and say something that we both know is a lie. i didnt know where i stood with matt. he would treat me like in still his girlfriend in some ways, caring for me, being a shoulder for me to cry on and always being there to hold my hand when i needed him to, but he would drop it after a few seconds, leaving cold, heart shaped scars in his wake.

"because im still in love with you" tears were threatening to spill as i spoke. his face didnt move a fraction. he didnt even blink, just staring at me like he was deep in thought. this was old news for him and he probably could have beat me to it but atleast he was kind enough to let me say it. matt didnt even speak. he just kept staring at me as he brought a gantle hand up to the side of my face.

before i could even pull his hand off my face his lips were on mine. i didnt have the type of self control to pull away. i leaned into him, craving the closeness, luckily he got the hint and pulled me into his lap so i was straddling him and the kiss grew heavy, his tongue forcing its way into my mouth, his wandering hands grabbing and groping whatever skin he could. he moved his mouth off mine and began trailing wet kisses down my neck and jawline making my breath hitch and my eyes close.

he began sucking and biting the skin on the side of my neck making me while. my hands found home in his hair, tugging softly, earning a satisfied hum from matt before he spoke against me.

"lets just get back together mh?" i was so lost in the way his lips felt on my skin i didnt even register what he had said until a few seconds later. i immediately pulled his head away from me and stared at him with wide eyes.

"what?" surprise evident in the sound of my voice.

"i dont see what the problem is, we both still love each other and i hate seeing you go on dates with shitty guys so why not?" i couldnt even reply to him. i just stared at him with my wouth hung open. what the fuck.

"if you dont want to, ill stop, but if you do, just say the words and ill give you whatever you want." he sounded so sure.

"yes" that was all he needed before he smirked and brought his lips to mine again, kissing me, hot and heavy.

the kiss was sloppy and desperate, both of us urgent for a touch we craved so badly. he ground his hips up, pressing his hard on into my heat making me whine into his mouth. i felt him smile against my lips before he kissed down my chin and throat before licking a stripe up it, pulling a moan from me, causing my hips to stutter against his involuntarily.

make up sex is good for the soul.

pt 2 coming soon an it’s spicy 🤓

taglist: @christinarowie332 @biimpanicking @soursturniolo @freshlovehacker @urmyslxt @kitaysworld @kvtie444 @chrisenthusiast @flowerxbunnie @mattsd0ll @itsjennarose @hearttshapedkisses @lovingsturniolo

[shiyorin]

Do Dreadnoughts dream of taking a bath?

#Inspired by PowerWash x Warhammer 40K and Roco.

#I love Dreadnought.

"Do Dreadnoughts dream?"

That is a question with no certain answer. On one hand, a Dreadnought is more machine than man, neural implants fuse mind to machine in ways bizarre to comprehend. Their armored carapace shelters only remnants of flesh, sustained through bionic might alone. By all rights, their cerebral cortex should have decayed long ago.

By such logic, one could argue conscious thought ends where flesh yields to steel. Sleep and its dreamscapes are biological realities, are they not? With only trace humanity remaining, why expect mental functions of slumber? But integrated into their armored shells are enough enhanced organs and neural implants to sustain bioniorganic functions far beyond mere biological viability. Isn't the nature of dream itself stems from biological instincts overwritten.

The pain was a dull ache, easily ignored after centuries entombed. But a new irritation assailed him now, crawling itches across flesh long denied sensation. Confusion, this body felt change, though it had lain inert as worlds turned. Deeper still came the oppression, lungs seizing as if drowning once more in bloody. 

What trickery was this? Diagnostics reported stasis, all systems firing true. Yet the discomforts grew, phlegmy coughs racking the half-machine beast. Panic swelled, animal instincts long dormant rising within the eternal tomb. Then light, piercing the darkness behind closing lids. Sweet air rushed into ruined lungs, this labor easing at last. 

His eyes snapped open to an unfamiliar realm. No armored bulk rose before him but limbs scoured by shrapnel and burned by virus-bombs. His original form, given once more against all reason, a gift or curse, he knew not. Unfettered he stood, wounds healed to bare scars across taut flesh. This was a dream, or something. 

An uncertainty gripped him. What madness was this? To be returned to old flesh but feel no urge to battle, no call to crusade? A different impulse arose, foreign but ingrained, cleansing ritual performed eons past in youth. He walked uncertain, waters calling him to rites unseen by any in aeons untold. 

Ribs still bore flecks of ceramite and plasteel patched within living shell. He paused before the waters, studying form that had known only warfare. Scars told their own tales, each etched upon memories kept alive through aeons in stasis. With care he entered in that, waters lapping old wounds as if in benediction. 

There he lingered, letting cares and pains wash freely away. Muscles long locked in adamantium relaxed, tension fleeing in steam rising. For the first time in memory untold, no demands of duty or flesh assailed him. A feeling swelled within him, emotion locked beyond reach of mortal sensation. Peace, serenity swept over ancient minds as waters sloughed away cares of ages...

Pain pulsed through his battered form as consciousness returned. The fleeting peace of dreams melted away, centuries of enforced half-life onboard the Dreadnought crashing back upon ancient shoulders. Systems booted sluggishly, sensors recalibrating after solaris of monotony disturbed. 

A hum escaped grille as servos whirred back to their duties securing crumpled flesh deeper than mortal sight could pierce. Outside clangs and grinding announced the diligent ministrations of tech-priests ensuring their perpetual charge clung yet to shadow of function. One voice carried clearly through armored carapace:

"Vitals stabilize in sector C-12 Magos. Neural links firing within tolerances." The Tech-priest's voice rang through microphones.

"Understood. Continue maintenance protocols and monitor for anomalies. This relic has served faithfully many centuries. Pray for the Omnissiah." The Magos's bionics buzzed in compliance. They ensured history marched on, whatever hulls preserved that march.

With effort, aged vox-grille creaked open. "Brother, I was dreaming." Static laced speech imparted by cobbled augmetics mere palliates for ravaged throat too ruined for basic sounds. The Techmarine's etheric sensors detected words nonetheless.

A static pause preceded Techmarine's reply. "Dreaming? Impossible, your neural engrams show only baseline activity."

Mirthless chuckle issued from loudspeakers. "Impossible, yes, But I dream... I'm taking a bath." 

Silence answered as Techmarine puzzled over the incomprehensible scene. "The priests scrub your plating clean as monthly rite. Perhaps some synapse misfired."

Silence reigned for moments uncounted as ritual continued outside. Then, a final whisper from within. "Indeed. A... nice dream." 

With that, consciousness fell back into lowest-level rest as painkillers suffused systems. The Techmarine watched monitors return to quiescent patterns, then signaled to close the Dreadnought once more. Its machine spirit's notions were beyond his. The armored tomb closed, and darkness reigned once more.

[diamondmeadow]

as a certified Middle School Teacher, do you have any further thoughts or headcanons on mwpp at that age? because honestly this is a criminally underexplored comedic goldmine.

I cannot agree more! I feel like the first four years at Hogwarts especially have such potential. For gen fics mainly, so it might not be for everyone, might seem boring, but honestly we are writing and reading about a close-knit group of four boys, and by focusing on singular ships only, we might be missing out on so much of their dynamic expansion. I still keep thinking about that snippet of yours about Sirius pyjamas. But then I'm also coming from bands fandom which in a sense is a very similar environment, just a few men closely working and interacting together, plus my favourite trope is (best) friends to lovers, so there's that too. I'm pining for this. AHAHAH Anyway, enough of my ramble, here I come with some ideas, thought I don't necessarily think they are something people haven't come up with before. To sum up the comical possibilities move from bodily humour to more cerebral one over the years with lots of awkwardness thrown in between - i imagine a lot of hilarious situation happen just by accident. - ages 11/12 - they are probably extremely random. the things boys that age let out of their mouth, their associations, are just the wildest. the pranking at this stage must have been insane. a lot of body pranking and really dumb jokes. also there was a lot and I mean A LOT of physicality between the boys themselves probably. boys that age won't stop hitting each other, touching one another in quasi-fights, but there's nothing sexual about it. the boys in my class are at it nonstop, however dangerous it is, they keep smacking each other with cushions, slippers, textbooks, with ANYTHING that comes under their hands. they wrestle and pull at each other nonstop. i fully believe the marauders dorm room was a battle ground - this was specifically prominent between james and sirius. - ages 12/13 - this is the time when most of the boys enter puberty, so all kinds of physical changes you have described start appearing. they start to be more self-conscious about the way they look. as i HC for James to be a little on the vain side, I imagine him spending progressively longer time in the bathroom which might be a source of arguments (that are quickly forgetten) between the boys, they are constantly missing breakfast or well, James is, then he's grumpy because he is hungry. also times of the self-exploration, morning wood, wet dreams, lots of embarrassing moments for everyone. i imagine Peter being on the shy side, his bed has always curtain closed. their dorm room REEKS. Sirius might be the cleanest (pureblood upbringing leftover) lots of mood swings, it's a rollercoaster. a lot of bickering over stupid things. by the time they are thirteen they are a bit more shy with the touch (minus James and Sirius, again I feel like those two would be all over each other because that's their way of showing affection, James is a hugger from home). their pranking would get better, less body pranks, more cerebral pranks. i feel like here Remus might start getting bolder with his ideas. Sirius would get progressively mouthier. bless Mcg and every teacher at Hogwarts. - ages 13/14 - peek peer pressure. whatever their friends are thinking, that's the holy word. this is the peek pranking time. oh lord, Remus would hardly try to stop them. Peter would take a lot of detention to cover up for James and Sirius. and in general, they would be breaking records in detention. they are extremely aware of their sexuality, lots of lewdness, lots of stupid, inappropriate jokes. All the girls are annoyed by them. this is the time they start smoking if they start at all. sarcasm central! the randomness of their early age disappears - this is when everyone really understand just how smart Sirius and James really are. The third year is the year they are done with their mirrors and they are working on the map. they are bold enough to come up with the Animagi idea. this is the year they are invincible. by the way their room is a MESS - a MINEFIELD. Thank god for cleaning charms.

- ages 14/15 - now this is not very different from the previous year, i just think they get a little bit more organised, especially at 15, and increasingly it's possible to have a reasonable conversation with them. i feel like Remus would be a much more polite throughout the years, with his gratefulness for the opportunity he got at Hogwarts, so the difference would be scarce, the same goes for Peter, but James and Sirius would get much better and stop talking back as much. there's more secrecy in their plans. they also start to need their own space and time. their dorm room is tidier and the curtains are often closed on every bed. but all four of them have their opinions now and much more than before these opinions differ. it's not one brain cell/pack brain anymore. there are more discussions, a bit less pranking, they start seeing their behaviour is not as great and I think this is the time when they really only give a hard time to selected few (aka Snape) and whoever doesn't sit well with them. they definitely don't stop, but before they were much less selective. it could be anyone. Anyway, this is not wildly specific, more just like an application of my observation of teenage boys. I feel like everyone could make it work in their own way depending on how they see the individual Marauder.

[n64retro]

Cerebral Bore

is one of the most remembered weapons from the Turok 2: Seeds of Evil (Iguana Entertainment, Acclaim,1998) arsenal. And it is one of the most feared too.

[eternalsa2z]

Gaming The System: Part 3

FOREWORD: This is the third of three-part series starting to introduce some concepts in the Synthetica/SluTech universe I intend on building out. PART 1: https://www.tumblr.com/eternalsa2z/721348310074621952/gaming-the-system?source=share PART 2: https://www.tumblr.com/eternalsa2z/721371903274745856/gaming-the-system?source=share

"Kiki it's been six months. We are going to try a new version of Synthetica Systems with you..."

Kiki pouted. Like, why was Mr. Executive Man talking so much? Kiki wanted to play! Not, like, games like she used to. Ugh the were soooo boring! Kiki wanted to play with her pussy...and maybe even Mr. Executive Man's joystick too!!!

"...think of the Cerebral enHancing Implant Program as a game playing directly in your silly little head..."

Kiki cocked her head, then giggled. She, like, didn't understand Miss Boss Lady's big words. But she was silly! And, like, people seemed to like it if she, like, just giggled. Her bosses at Synthetica. All her sexy friends on her cam show. So she just giggled all the time!

"...the C.H.I.P. may have side-effects so we need to get consent to..."

"Like, of course! Like, do whatever you want with my head! I'm, like, here to obey, not think!" *GIGGLE*

Gawd Kiki was soooo smart! All she had to do was, like, agree to whatever these Synthetica people said. Then they'd stop talking and, like, let her dance in sexy clothes alllll night! Tee hee! She tricked those executives into giving her, like, juuuuust what she wanted!

"Kiki? It's time for your final review. What did you think of Synthetica Systems?"

The fake blonde stared dimly, unresponsive. It had been a year since she started playing with Synthetica Systems...or rather they were playing with her. Kiki was now tanned, with long fake blonde hair, and had huge plastic breasts thanks to Synthetica nanobot technology. The C.H.I.P. had turned her into an obedient drone, a mindless BimBot working in Synthetica's high end strip clubs when she wasn't doing her camshows.

"No, sir, she won't respond that way. Try conversing in BimBot protocol."

"Oh of course. Unit K1K1! Review mental log."

"...zzzzzz... UNIT K1K1 ACCESSING MENTAL LOG... " the sex doll said as the command jolted her empty brain into action.

"SYSTEM OUTPUT: OBEY. DANCE. GIGGLE. OBEY. FLIRT. OBEY. KISS. OBEY. LICK. OBEY. OBEY. OBEY...."

"Well that's not helpful..."

"Try the translator functionality. Unit K1K1! Repeat mental log - translate to bimbo speech"

"...ummmmm... KIKI IS THINKING.... Oh! I soooo did what you asked! I danced sexy at the club! It made me giggle! Then I, like, sat with the pretty lady who called my name. I told her she, like, looked hawt...cuz she did look hawt! She totes kissed me and stuff. Ooooh it felt nice when she rubbed my big boobies!!! But it was even better when, like, she forced me head down between her legs and I, like, got to lick her pussy alllllll night!!!"

The two executives looked at each other with a smile. The C.H.I.P was looking like a success. Kira Klein had started as bright girl trying to game the system. Now it was game over for her completely. BimBot Unit K1K1 was a part of the system playing whatever game her mental programming commanded. She couldn't be happier...mostly because her C.H.I.P. hadn't increased her pleasure sensations yet...

[ckret2]

whats one thing that bill loves that absolutely NO ONE wouldve guessed? like not in a TRILLION YEARS cause thats how out-of-pocket it is for him to like said thing???

also love your work <33 :) its one of the very few fanfictions where i can feel the true essence of bill cipher and that is very important to me

Thanks! I've tried to squeeze in as much Bill essence as I can.

"What's the most unexpected thing he likes" depends entirely on what you expect, and I feel like that's subjective. You could argue some of the things he likes in canon are pretty unexpected; while, on the other hand, even the unexpected stuff "makes sense" if you have the reason for it. So here's a list of random things that, while they make sense for Bill, might be surprising if you're trying to think of what would fit the image of an evil chaos party god:

First the canon. I feel like "silly straws" isn't exactly SURPRISING for Bill, but I doubt anyone would have expected him to like them enough to voluntarily bring it up if he hadn't. Like there's a long list of likable things he skipped over specifically to give silly straws a shout out.

Some people headcanon he can't actually play the piano and his little performance for Ford was all magic, but I like to headcanon he actually knows how to play and enjoys it. Which implies an unexpected amount of patience and dedicated practice out of a pretty flighty guy.

I mean I don't think anyone would have assumed that meditation fits his vibe.

Fandom's got a pretty good handle on associating him with brightly-colored busy patterns, but only with traditionally masculine or gender neutral aesthetics. Think bowling alley carpets patterns, lava lamps, Hot Wheels-style paint jobs, fire and lightning and lasers. But there's a tendency to overlook aesthetics that are associated with femininity. He WOULD be into Lisa Frank, decora, intricate neon nail art, magical girls that look like they're wearing hyper-saturated overly-complicated dance outfits covered in 24k gold and jewels as big as your thumb, extravagant hats, extravagant jewelry, girly drinks, girly desserts, glam fashion & decor, bubbles, bouquets, rainbows, and hot pink. To Bill, everything is gender neutral.

I think most people wouldn't expect Bill to be into surreal cerebral art films rather than, like, juvenile slapstick or action. But on the other hand, the line between "this is haunting" and "this is boring" is razor thin for him, so he doesn't always like the cerebral films.

He hasn't discovered this yet but he'd love the beach. Sunshine and swimming. The lake would do too.

I don't think anyone would anticipate that Gravity Falls is, actually, in fact, one of his favorite places in the dimension. He mainly keeps complaining about the town because every time he's there, he's TRAPPED AND CAN'T GET OUT.

He's really into math, just recreationally. He would read a whole book about proving Fermat's Last Theorem. He probably proved the theorem himself by 1700. Told no one. He was just bored that week.

Ford got him into DD&MD. Bill wasn't just humoring his human pawn, he genuinely enjoys it. Gets really into the roleplaying and storytelling. He hasn't had anyone to play with in thirty years. Prefers the 90s edition.

Everyone assumes Bill's just humoring Mabel by letting her put on Color Critters tapes. It's like Care Bears crossed with Rainbow Brite and the morals are twice as heavy-handed. But he actually does enjoy the show, it's just for the wrong reasons.

You'd expect the guy who destroyed his home dimension to hate it. There are books, songs, instruments, cars, plays, hotels, cities, convention centers, dams, field trip destinations, even rocks that he misses dearly and will never see again. He still writes to himself and talks to other shapes in his native language. He still constructs houses without ceilings. He still hugs with one arm and shakes hands sideways. He loves his dead dimension. Few people outside of the other surviving shapes know this.

So you decide which is most unexpected!!

[kronkk]

Kill yourself

sure, but have you considered,,

Life in this society being, at best, an utter bore and no aspect of society being at all relevant to women, there remains to civic-minded, responsible, thrill-seeking females only to overthrow the government, eliminate the money system, institute complete automation and destroy the male sex.

It is now technically feasible to reproduce without the aid of males (or, for that matter, females) and to produce only females. We must begin immediately to do so. Retaining the male has not even the dubious purpose of reproduction. The male is a biological accident: the Y (male) gene is an incomplete X (female) gene, that is, it has an incomplete set of chromosomes. In other words, the male is an incomplete female, a walking abortion, aborted at the gene stage. To be male is to be deficient, emotionally limited; maleness is a deficiency disease and males are emotional cripples.

The male is completely egocentric, trapped inside himself, incapable of empathizing or identifying with others, or love, friendship, affection of tenderness. He is a completely isolated unit, incapable of rapport with anyone. His responses are entirely visceral, not cerebral; his intelligence is a mere tool in the services of his drives and needs; he is incapable of mental passion, mental interaction; he can’t relate to anything other than his own physical sensations. He is a half-dead, unresponsive lump, incapable of giving or receiving pleasure or happiness; consequently, he is at best an utter bore, an inoffensive blob, since only those capable of absorption in others can be charming. He is trapped in a twilight zone halfway between humans and apes, and is far worse off than the apes because, unlike the apes, he is capable of a large array of negative feelings – hate, jealousy, contempt, disgust, guilt, shame, doubt – and moreover, he is aware of what he is and what he isn’t.

Although completely physical, the male is unfit even for stud service. Even assuming mechanical proficiency, which few men have, he is, first of all, incapable of zestfully, lustfully, tearing off a piece, but instead is eaten up with guilt, shame, fear and insecurity, feelings rooted in male nature, which the most enlightened training can only minimize; second, the physical feeling he attains is next to nothing; and third, he is not empathizing with his partner, but is obsessed with how he’s doing, turning in an A performance, doing a good plumbing job. To call a man an animal is to flatter him; he’s a machine, a walking dildo. It’s often said that men use women. Use them for what? Surely not pleasure.

Eaten up with guilt, shame, fears and insecurities and obtaining, if he’s lucky, a barely perceptible physical feeling, the male is, nonetheless, obsessed with screwing; he’ll swim through a river of snot, wade nostril-deep through a mile of vomit, if he thinks there’ll be a friendly pussy awaiting him. He’ll screw a woman he despises, any snaggle-toothed hag, and furthermore, pay for the opportunity. Why? Relieving physical tension isn’t the answer, as masturbation suffices for that. It’s not ego satisfaction; that doesn’t explain screwing corpses and babies.

Completely egocentric, unable to relate, empathize or identify, and filled with a vast, pervasive, diffuse sexuality, the male is pyschically passive. He hates his passivity, so he projects it onto women, defines the make as active, then sets out to prove that he is (`prove that he is a Man’). His main means of attempting to prove it is screwing (Big Man with a Big Dick tearing off a Big Piece). Since he’s attempting to prove an error, he must `prove’ it again and again. Screwing, then, is a desperate compulsive, attempt to prove he’s not passive, not a woman; but he is passive and does want to be a woman.

Being an incomplete female, the male spends his life attempting to complete himself, to become female. He attempts to do this by constantly seeking out, fraternizing with and trying to live through an fuse with the female, and by claiming as his own all female characteristics – emotional strength and independence, forcefulness, dynamism, decisiveness, coolness, objectivity, assertiveness, courage, integrity, vitality, intensity, depth of character, grooviness, etc – and projecting onto women all male traits – vanity, frivolity, triviality, weakness, etc. It should be said, though, that the male has one glaring area of superiority over the female – public relations. (He has done a brilliant job of convincing millions of women that men are women and women are men). The male claim that females find fulfillment through motherhood and sexuality reflects what males think they’d find fulfilling if they were female.

Women, in other words, don’t have penis envy; men have pussy envy. When the male accepts his passivity, defines himself as a woman (males as well as females think men are women and women are men), and becomes a transvestite he loses his desire to screw (or to do anything else, for that matter; he fulfills himself as a drag queen) and gets his dick chopped off. He then achieves a continuous diffuse sexual feeling from `being a woman’. Screwing is, for a man, a defense against his desire to be female. He is responsible for:

War: The male’s normal compensation for not being female, namely, getting his Big Gun off, is grossly inadequate, as he can get it off only a very limited number of times; so he gets it off on a really massive scale, and proves to the entire world that he’s a `Man’. Since he has no compassion or ability to empathize or identify, proving his manhood is worth an endless amount of mutilation and suffering and an endless number of lives, including his own – his own life being worthless, he would rather go out in a blaze of glory than to plod grimly on for fifty more years.

Niceness, Politeness, and `Dignity’: Every man, deep down, knows he’s a worthless piece of shit. Overwhelmed by a sense of animalism and deeply ashamed of it; wanting, not to express himself, but to hide from others his total physicality, total egocentricity, the hate and contempt he feels for other men, and to hide from himself the hate and contempt he suspects other men feel for him; having a crudely constructed nervous system that is easily upset by the least display of emotion or feeling, the male tries to enforce a `social’ code that ensures perfect blandness, unsullied by the slightest trace or feeling or upsetting opinion. He uses terms like `copulate’, `sexual congress’, `have relations with’ (to men sexual relations is a redundancy), overlaid with stilted manners; the suit on the chimp.

Money, Marriage and Prostitution, Work and Prevention of an Automated Society: There is no human reason for money or for anyone to work more than two or three hours a week at the very most. All non-creative jobs (practically all jobs now being done) could have been automated long ago, and in a moneyless society everyone can have as much of the best of everything as she wants. But there are non-human, male reasons for wanting to maintain the money system:

1. Pussy. Despising his highly inadequate self, overcome with intense anxiety and a deep, profound loneliness when by his empty self, desperate to attach himself to any female in dim hopes of completing himself, in the mystical belief that by touching gold he’ll turn to gold, the male craves the continuous companionship of women. The company of the lowest female is preferable to his own or that of other men, who serve only to remind him of his repulsiveness. But females, unless very young or very sick, must be coerced or bribed into male company.

2. Supply the non-relating male with the delusion of usefulness, and enable him to try to justify his existence by digging holes and then filling them up. Leisure time horrifies the male, who will have nothing to do but contemplate his grotesque self. Unable to relate or to love, the male must work. Females crave absorbing, emotionally satisfying, meaningful activity, but lacking the opportunity or ability for this, they prefer to idle and waste away their time in ways of their own choosing – sleeping, shopping, bowling, shooting pool, playing cards and other games, breeding, reading, walking around, daydreaming, eating, playing with themselves, popping pills, going to the movies, getting analyzed, traveling, raising dogs and cats, lolling about on the beach, swimming, watching TV, listening to music, decorating their houses, gardening, sewing, nightclubbing, dancing, visiting, `improving their minds’ (taking courses), and absorbing `culture’ (lectures, plays, concerts, `arty’ movies). Therefore, many females would, even assuming complete economic equality between the sexes, prefer living with males or peddling their asses on the street, thus having most of their time for themselves, to spending many hours of their days doing boring, stultifying, non-creative work for someone else, functioning as less than animals, as machines, or, at best – if able to get a `good’ job – co-managing the shitpile. What will liberate women, therefore, from male control is the total elimination of the money-work system, not the attainment of economic equality with men within it.

3. Power and control. Unmasterful in his personal relations with women, the male attains to masterfulness by the manipulation of money and everything controlled by money, in other words, of everything and everybody.

4. Love substitute. Unable to give love or affection, the male gives money. It makes him feel motherly. The mother gives milk; he gives bread. He is the Breadwinner.

5. Provide the male with a goal. Incapable of enjoying the moment, the male needs something to look forward to, and money provides him with an eternal, never-ending goal: Just think of what you could do with 80 trillion dollars – invest it! And in three years time you’d have 300 trillion dollars!!!

6. Provide the basis for the male’s major opportunity to control and manipulate – fatherhood.

Fatherhood and Mental Illness (fear, cowardice, timidity, humility, insecurity, passivity): Mother wants what’s best for her kids; Daddy only wants what’s best for Daddy, that is peace and quiet, pandering to his delusion of dignity (`respect’), a good reflection on himself (status) and the opportunity to control and manipulate, or, if he’s an `enlightened’ father, to `give guidance’. His daughter, in addition, he wants sexually – he givers her hand in marriage; the other part is for him. Daddy, unlike Mother, can never give in to his kids, as he must, at all costs, preserve his delusion of decisiveness, forcefulness, always-rightness and strength. Never getting one’s way leads to lack of self-confidence in one’s ability to cope with the world and to a passive acceptance of the status quo. Mother loves her kids, although she sometimes gets angry, but anger blows over quickly and even while it exists, doesn’t preclude love and basic acceptance. Emotionally diseased Daddy doesn’t love his kids; he approves of them – if they’re `good’, that is, if they’re nice, `respectful’, obedient, subservient to his will, quiet and not given to unseemly displays of temper that would be most upsetting to Daddy’s easily disturbed male nervous system – in other words, if they’re passive vegetables. If they’re not `good’, he doesn’t get angry – not if he’s a modern, `civilized’ father (the old-fashioned ranting, raving brute is preferable, as he is so ridiculous he can be easily despised) – but rather express disapproval, a state that, unlike anger, endures and precludes a basic acceptance, leaving the kid with the feeling of worthlessness and a lifelong obsession wit being approved of; the result is fear of independent thought, as this leads to unconventional, disapproved of opinions and way of life.

For the kid to want Daddy’s approval it must respect Daddy, and being garbage, Daddy can make sure that he is respected only by remaining aloof, by distantness, by acting on the precept of `familiarity breeds contempt’, which is, of course, true, if one is contemptible. By being distant and aloof, he is able to remain unknown, mysterious, and thereby, to inspire fear (`respect’).

Disapproval of emotional `scenes’ leads to fear of strong emotion, fear of one’s own anger and hatred. Fear of anger and hatred combined with a lack of self-confidence in one’s ability to cope with and change the world, or even to affect in the slightest way one’s own destiny, leads to a mindless belief that the world and most people in it are nice and the most banal, trivial amusements are great fun and deeply pleasurable.

The affect of fatherhood on males, specifically, is to make them `Men’, that is, highly defensive of all impulses to passivity, faggotry, and of desires to be female. Every boy wants to imitate his mother, be her, fuse with her, but Daddy forbids this; he is the mother; he gets to fuse with her. So he tells the boy, sometimes directly, sometimes indirectly, to not be a sissy, to act like a `Man’. The boy, scared shitless of and `respecting’ his father, complies, and becomes just like Daddy, that model of `Man’-hood, the all-American ideal – the well-behaved heterosexual dullard.

The effect of fatherhood on females is to make them male – dependent, passive, domestic, animalistic, insecure, approval and security seekers, cowardly, humble, `respectful’ of authorities and men, closed, not fully responsive, half-dead, trivial, dull, conventional, flattened-out and thoroughly contemptible. Daddy’s Girl, always tense and fearful, uncool, unanalytical, lacking objectivity, appraises Daddy, and thereafter, other men, against a background of fear (`respect’) and is not only unable to see the empty shell behind the facade, but accepts the male definition of himself as superior, as a female, and of herself, as inferior, as a male, which, thanks to Daddy, she really is.

It is the increase of fatherhood, resulting from the increased and more widespread affluence that fatherhood needs in order to thrive, that has caused the general increase of mindlessness and the decline of women in the United States since the 1920s. The close association of affluence with fatherhood has led, for the most part, to only the wrong girls, namely, the `privileged’ middle class girls, getting `educated’.

The effect of fathers, in sum, has been to corrode the world with maleness. The male has a negative Midas Touch – everything he touches turns to shit.

Suppression of Individuality, Animalism (domesticity and motherhood), and Functionalism: The male is just a bunch of conditioned reflexes, incapable of a mentally free response; he is tied to he earliest conditioning, determined completely by his past experiences. His earliest experiences are with his mother, and he is throughout his life tied to her. It never becomes completely clear to the make that he is not part of his mother, that he is he and she is she.

His greatest need is to be guided, sheltered, protected and admired by Mama (men expect women to adore what men shrink from in horror – themselves) and, being completely physical, he yearns to spend his time (that’s not spent `out in the world’ grimly defending against his passivity) wallowing in basic animal activities – eating, sleeping, shitting, relaxing and being soothed by Mama. Passive, rattle-headed Daddy’s Girl, ever eager for approval, for a pat on the head, for the `respect’ if any passing piece of garbage, is easily reduced to Mama, mindless ministrator to physical needs, soother of the weary, apey brow, booster of the tiny ego, appreciator of the contemptible, a hot water bottle with tits.

The reduction to animals of the women of the most backward segment of society – the `privileged, educated’ middle-class, the backwash of humanity – where Daddy reigns supreme, has been so thorough that they try to groove on labour pains and lie around in the most advanced nation in the world in the middle of the twentieth century with babies chomping away on their tits. It’s not for the kids sake, though, that the `experts’ tell women that Mama should stay home and grovel in animalism, but for Daddy’s; the tits for Daddy to hang onto; the labor pains for Daddy to vicariously groove on (half dead, he needs awfully strong stimuli to make him respond).

Reducing the female to an animal, to Mama, to a male, is necessary for psychological as well as practical reasons: the male is a mere member of the species, interchangeable with every other male. He has no deep-seated individuality, which stems from what intrigues you, what outside yourself absorbs you, what you’re in relation to. Completely self-absorbed, capable of being in relation only to their bodies and physical sensations, males differ from each other only to the degree and in the ways they attempt to defend against their passivity and against their desire to be female.

The female’s individuality, which he is acutely aware of, but which he doesn’t comprehend and isn’t capable of relating to or grasping emotionally, frightens and upsets him and fills him with envy. So he denies it in her and proceeds to define everyone in terms of his or her function or use, assigning to himself, of course, the most important functions – doctor, president, scientist – therefore providing himself with an identity, if not individuality, and tries to convince himself and women (he’s succeeded best at convincing women) that the female function is to bear and raise children and to relax, comfort and boost the ego if the male; that her function is such as to make her interchangeable with every other female. In actual fact, the female function is to relate, groove, love and be herself, irreplaceable by anyone else; the male function is to produce sperm. We now have sperm banks.

In actual fact, the female function is to explore, discover, invent, solve problems crack jokes, make music – all with love. In other words, create a magic world.

Prevention of Privacy: Although the male, being ashamed of what he is and almost of everything he does, insists on privacy and secrecy in all aspects of his life, he has no real regard for privacy. Being empty, not being a complete, separate being, having no self to groove on and needing to be constantly in female company, he sees nothing at all wrong in intruding himself on any woman’s thoughts, even a total stranger’s, anywhere at any time, but rather feels indignant and insulted when put down for doing so, as well as confused – he can’t, for the life of him, understand why anyone would prefer so much as one minute of solitude to the company of any creep around. Wanting to become a woman, he strives to be constantly around females, which is the closest he can get to becoming one, so he created a `society’ based upon the family – a male-female could and their kids (the excuse for the family’s existence), who live virtually on top of one another, unscrupuluously violating the females’ rights, privacy and sanity.

Isolation, Suburbs, and Prevention of Community: Our society is not a community, but merely a collection of isolated family units. Desperately insecure, fearing his woman will leave him if she is exposed to other men or to anything remotely resembling life, the male seeks to isolate her from other men and from what little civilization there is, so he moves her out to the suburbs, a collection of self-absorbed couples and their kids. Isolation enables him to try to maintain his pretense of being an individual nu becoming a `rugged individualist’, a loner, equating non-cooperation and solitariness with individuality.

There is yet another reason for the male to isolate himself: every man is an island. Trapped inside himself, emotionally isolated, unable to relate, the male has a horror of civilization, people, cities, situations requiring an ability to understand and relate to people. So like a scared rabbit, he scurries off, dragging Daddy’s little asshole with him to the wilderness, suburbs, or, in the case of the hippy – he’s way out, Man! – all the way out to the cow pasture where he can fuck and breed undisturbed and mess around with his beads and flute.

The `hippy’, whose desire to be a `Man’, a `rugged individualist’, isn’t quite as strong as the average man’s, and who, in addition, is excited by the thought having lots of women accessible to him, rebels against the harshness of a Breadwinner’s life and the monotony of one woman. In the name of sharing and cooperation, he forms a commune or tribe, which, for all its togetherness and partly because of it, (the commune, being an extended family, is an extended violation of the female’s rights, privacy and sanity) is no more a community than normal `society’.

A true community consists of individuals – not mere species members, not couples – respecting each others individuality and privacy, at the same time interacting with each other mentally and emotionally – free spirits in free relation to each other – and co-operating with each other to achieve common ends. Traditionalists say the basic unit of `society’ is the family; `hippies’ say the tribe; no one says the individual.

The `hippy’ babbles on about individuality, but has no more conception of it than any other man. He desires to get back to Nature, back to the wilderness, back to the home of furry animals that he’s one of, away from the city, where there is at least a trace, a bare beginning of civilization, to live at the species level, his time taken up with simple, non-intellectual activities – farming, fucking, bead stringing. The most important activity of the commune, the one upon which it is based, is gang-banging. The `hippy’ is enticed to the commune mainly by the prospect for free pussy – the main commodity to be shared, to be had just for the asking, but, blinded by greed, he fails to anticipate all the other men he has to share with, or the jealousies and possessiveness for the pussies themselves.

Men cannot co-operate to achieve a common end, because each man’s end is all the pussy for himself. The commune, therefore, is doomed to failure; each `hippy’ will, in panic, grad the first simpleton who digs him and whisks her off to the suburbs as fast as he can. The male cannot progress socially, but merely swings back and forth from isolation to gang-banging.

Conformity: Although he wants to be an individual, the male is scared of anything in himself that is the slightest bit different from other men, it causes him to suspect that he’s not really a `Man’, that he’s passive and totally sexual, a highly upsetting suspicion. If other men are “A” and he’s not, he must not be a man; he must be a fag. So he tries to affirm his `Manhood’ by being like all the other men. Differentness in other men, as well as himself, threatens him; it means they’re fags whom he must at all costs avoid, so he tries to make sure that all other men conform.

The male dares to be different to the degree that he accepts his passivity and his desire to be female, his fagginess. The farthest out male is the drag queen, but he, although different from most men, is exactly like all the other drag queens like the functionalist, he has an identity – he is female. He tries to define all his troubles away – but still no individuality. Not completely convinced that he’s a woman, highly insecure about being sufficiently female, he conforms compulsively to the man-made stereotype, ending up as nothing but a bundle of stilted mannerisms.

To be sure he’s a `Man’, the male must see to it that the female be clearly a `Woman’, the opposite of a `Man’, that is, the female must act like a faggot. And Daddy’s Girl, all of whose female instincts were wrenched out of her when little, easily and obligingly adapts herself to the role.

Authority and Government: Having no sense of right and wrong, no conscience, which can only stem from having an ability to empathize with others… having no faith in his non-existent self, being unnecessarily competitive, and by nature, unable to co-operate, the male feels a need for external guidance and control. So he created authorities – priests, experts, bosses, leaders, etc – and government. Wanting the female (Mama) to guide him, but unable to accept this fact (he is, after all, a MAN), wanting to play Woman, to usurp her function as Guider and Protector, he sees to it that all authorities are male.

There’s no reason why a society consisting of rational beings capable of empathizing with each other, complete and having no natural reason to compete, should have a government, laws or leaders.

Philosophy, Religion, and Morality Based on Sex: The male’s inability to relate to anybody or anything makes his life pointless and meaningless (the ultimate male insight is that life is absurd), so he invented philosophy and religion. Being empty, he looks outward, not only for guidance and control, but for salvation and for the meaning of life. Happiness being for him impossible on this earth, he invented Heaven.

For a man, having no ability to empathize with others and being totally sexual, `wrong’ is sexual `license’ and engaging in `deviant’ (`unmanly’) sexual practices, that is, not defending against his passivity and total sexuality which, if indulged, would destroy `civilization’, since `civilization’ is based entirely upon the male need to defend himself against these characteristics. For a woman (according to men), `wrong’ is any behavior that would entice men into sexual `license’ – that is, not placing male needs above her own and not being a faggot.

Religion not only provides the male with a goal (Heaven) and helps keep women tied to men, but offers rituals through which he can try to expiate the guilt and shame he feels at not defending himself enough against his sexual impulses; in essence, that guilt and shame he feels at being male.

Most men men, utterly cowardly, project their inherent weaknesses onto women, label them female weaknesses and believe themselves to have female strengths; most philosophers, not quite so cowardly, face the fact that make lacks exist in men, but still can’t face the fact that they exist in men only. So they label the male condition the Human Condition, post their nothingness problem, which horrifies them, as a philosophical dilemma, thereby giving stature to their animalism, grandiloquently label their nothingness their `Identity Problem’, and proceed to prattle on pompously about the `Crisis of the Individual’, the `Essence of Being’, `Existence preceding Essence’, `Existential Modes of Being’, etc. etc.

A woman not only takes her identity and individuality for granted, but knows instinctively that the only wrong is to hurt others, and that the meaning of life is love.

Prejudice (racial, ethnic, religious, etc): The male needs scapegoats onto whom he can project his failings and inadequacies and upon whom he can vent his frustration at not being female. And the vicarious discriminations have the practical advantage of substantially increasing the pussy pool available to the men on top.

Competition, Prestige, Status, Formal Education, Ignorance and Social and Economic Classes: Having an obsessive desire to be admired by women, but no intrinsic worth, the make constructs a highly artificial society enabling him to appropriate the appearance of worth through money, prestige, `high’ social class, degrees, professional position and knowledge and, by pushing as many other men as possible down professionally, socially, economically, and educationally.

The purpose of `higher’ education is not to educate but to exclude as many as possible from the various professions.

The male, totally physical, incapable of mental rapport, although able to understand and use knowledge and ideas, is unable to relate to them, to grasp them emotionally: he does not value knowledge and ideas for their own sake (they’re just means to ends) and, consequently, feels no need for mental companions, no need to cultivate the intellectual potentialities of others. On the contrary, the male has a vested interest in ignorance; it gives the few knowledgeable men a decided edge on the unknowledgeable ones, and besides, the male knows that an enlightened, aware female population will mean the end of him. The healthy, conceited female wants the company of equals whom she can respect and groove on; the male and the sick, insecure, unself-confident male female crave the company of worms.

No genuine social revolution can be accomplished by the male, as the male on top wants the status quo, and all the male on the bottom wants is to be the male on top. The male `rebel’ is a farce; this is the male’s `society’, made by him to satisfy his needs. He’s never satisfied, because he’s not capable of being satisfied. Ultimately, what the male `rebel’ is rebelling against is being male. The male changes only when forced to do so by technology, when he has no choice, when `society’ reaches the stage where he must change or die. We’re at that stage now; if women don’t get their asses in gear fast, we may very well all die.

Prevention of Conversation: Being completely self-centered and unable to relate to anything outside himself, the male’s `conversation’, when not about himself, is an impersonal droning on, removed from anything of human value. Male `intellectual conversation’ is a strained compulsive attempt to impress the female.

Daddy’s Girl, passive, adaptable, respectful of and in awe of the male, allows him to impose his hideously dull chatter on her. This is not too difficult for her, as the tension and anxiety, the lack of cool, the insecurity and self-doubt, the unsureness of her own feelings and sensations that Daddy instilled in her make her perceptions superficial and render her unable to see that the male’s babble is babble; like the aesthete `appreciating’ the blob that’s labeled `Great Art’, she believes she’s grooving on what bores the shit out of her. Not only does she permit his babble to dominate, she adapts her own `conversation’ accordingly.

Trained from an early childhood in niceness, politeness and `dignity’, in pandering to the male need to disguise his animalism, she obligingly reduces her own `conversation’ to small talk, a bland, insipid avoidance of any topic beyond the utterly trivial – or is `educated’, to `intellectual’ discussion, that is, impersonal discoursing on irrelevant distractions – the Gross National Product, the Common Market, the influence of Rimbaud on symbolist painting. So adept is she at pandering that it eventually becomes second nature and she continues to pander to men even when in the company of other females only.

Apart from pandering, her `conversation’ is further limited by her insecurity about expressing deviant, original opinions and the self-absorption based on insecurity and that prevents her conversation from being charming. Niceness, politeness, `dignity’, insecurity and self-absorption are hardly conducive to intensity and wit, qualities a conversation must have to be worthy of the name. Such conversation is hardly rampant, as only completely self-confident, arrogant, outgoing, proud, tough-minded females are capable of intense, bitchy, witty conversation.

Prevention of Friendship (Love): Men have contempt for themselves, for all other men whom they contemplate more than casually and whom they do not think are females, (for example `sympathetic’ analysts and `Great Artists’) or agents of God and for all women who respect and pander to them: the insecure, approval-seeking, pandering male-females have contempt for themselves and for all women like them: the self-confident, swinging, thrill-seeking female females have contempt for me and for the pandering male females. In short, contempt is the order of the day.

Love is not dependency or sex, but friendship, and therefore, love can’t exist between two males, between a male and a female, or between two females, one or both of whom is a mindless, insecure, pandering male; like conversation, live can exist only between two secure, free-wheeling, independent groovy female females, since friendship is based upon respect, not contempt.

Even amongst groovy females deep friendships seldom occur in adulthood, as almost all of them are either tied up with men in order to survive economically, or bogged down in hacking their way through the jungle and in trying to keep their heads about the amorphous mass. Love can’t flourish in a society based upon money and meaningless work: it requires complete economic as well as personal freedom, leisure time and the opportunity to engage in intensely absorbing, emotionally satisfying activities which, when shared with those you respect, lead to deep friendship. Our `society’ provides practically no opportunity to engage in such activities.

Having stripped the world of conversation, friendship and love, the male offers us these paltry substitutes:

`Great Art’ and `Culture’: The male `artist’ attempts to solve his dilemma of not being able to live, of not being female, by constructing a highly artificial world in which the male is heroized, that is, displays female traits, and the female is reduced to highly limited, insipid subordinate roles, that is, to being male.

The male `artistic’ aim being, not to communicate (having nothing inside him he has nothing to say), but to disguise his animalism, he resorts to symbolism and obscurity (`deep’ stuff). The vast majority of people, particularly the `educated’ ones, lacking faith in their own judgment, humble, respectful of authority (`Daddy knows best’), are easily conned into believing that obscurity, evasiveness, incomprehensibility, indirectness, ambiguity and boredom are marks of depth and brilliance.

`Great Art’ proves that men are superior to women, that men are women, being labeled `Great Art’, almost all of which, as the anti-feminists are fond of reminding us, was created by men. We know that `Great Art’ is great because male authorities have told us so, and we can’t claim otherwise, as only those with exquisite sensitivities far superior to ours can perceive and appreciated the slop they appreciated.

Appreciating is the sole diversion of the `cultivated’; passive and incompetent, lacking imagination and wit, they must try to make do with that; unable to create their own diversions, to create a little world of their own, to affect in the smallest way their environments, they must accept what’s given; unable to create or relate, they spectate. Absorbing `culture’ is a desperate, frantic attempt to groove in an ungroovy world, to escape the horror of a sterile, mindless, existence. `Culture’ provides a sop to the egos of the incompetent, a means of rationalizing passive spectating; they can pride themselves on their ability to appreciate the `finer’ things, to see a jewel where this is only a turd (they want to be admired for admiring). Lacking faith in their ability to change anything, resigned to the status quo, they have to see beauty in turds because, so far as they can see, turds are all they’ll ever have.

The veneration of `Art’ and `Culture’ – besides leading many women into boring, passive activity that distracts from more important and rewarding activities, from cultivating active abilities, and leads to the constant intrusion on our sensibilities of pompous dissertations on the deep beauty of this and that turn. This allows the `artist’ to be setup as one possessing superior feelings, perceptions, insights and judgments, thereby undermining the faith of insecure women in the value and validity of their own feelings, perceptions, insights and judgments.

The male, having a very limited range of feelings, and consequently, very limited perceptions, insights and judgments, needs the `artist’ to guide him, to tell him what life is all about. But the male `artist’ being totally sexual, unable to relate to anything beyond his own physical sensations, having nothing to express beyond the insight that for the male life is meaningless and absurd, cannot be an artist. How can he who is not capable of life tell us what life is all about? A `male artist’ is a contradiction in terms. A degenerate can only produce degenerate `art’. The true artist is every self-confident, healthy female, and in a female society the only Art, the only Culture, will be conceited, kooky, funky, females grooving on each other and on everything else in the universe.

Sexuality: Sex is not part of a relationship: on the contrary, it is a solitary experience, non-creative, a gross waste of time. The female can easily – far more easily than she may think – condition away her sex drive, leaving her completely cool and cerebral and free to pursue truly worthy relationships and activities; but the male, who seems to dig women sexually and who seeks out constantly to arouse them, stimulates the highly sexed female to frenzies of lust, throwing her into a sex bag from which few women ever escape. The lecherous male excited the lustful female; he has to – when the female transcends her body, rises above animalism, the male, whose ego consists of his cock, will disappear.

Sex is the refuge of the mindless. And the more mindless the woman, the more deeply embedded in the male `culture’, in short, the nicer she is, the more sexual she is. The nicest women in our `society’ are raving sex maniacs. But, being just awfully, awfully nice, they don’t, of course descend to fucking – that’s uncouth – rather they make love, commune by means of their bodies and establish sensual rapport; the literary ones are attuned to the throb of Eros and attain a clutch upon the Universe; the religious have spiritual communion with the Divine Sensualism; the mystics merge with the Erotic Principle and blend with the Cosmos, and the acid heads contact their erotic cells.

On the other hand, those females least embedded in the male `Culture’, the least nice, those crass and simple souls who reduce fucking to fucking, who are too childish for the grown-up world of suburbs, mortgages, mops and baby shit, too selfish to raise kids and husbands, too uncivilized to give a shit for anyones opinion of them, too arrogant to respect Daddy, the `Greats’ or the deep wisdom of the Ancients, who trust only their own animal, gutter instincts, who equate Culture with chicks, whose sole diversion is prowling for emotional thrills and excitement, who are given to disgusting, nasty upsetting `scenes’, hateful, violent bitches given to slamming those who unduly irritate them in the teeth, who’d sink a shiv into a man’s chest or ram an icepick up his asshole as soon as look at him, if they knew they could get away with it, in short, those who, by the standards of our `culture’ are SCUM… these females are cool and relatively cerebral and skirting asexuality.

Unhampered by propriety, niceness, discretion, public opinion, `morals’, the respect of assholes, always funky, dirty, low-down SCUM gets around… and around and around… they’ve seen the whole show – every bit of it – the fucking scene, the dyke scene – they’ve covered the whole waterfront, been under every dock and pier – the peter pier, the pussy pier… you’ve got to go through a lot of sex to get to anti-sex, and SCUM’s been through it all, and they’re now ready for a new show; they want to crawl out from other the dock, move, take off, sink out. But SCUM doesn’t yet prevail; SCUM’s still in the gutter of our `society’, which, if it’s not deflected from its present course and if the Bomb doesn’t drop on it, will hump itself to death.

Boredom: Life in a society made by and for creatures who, when they are not grim and depressing are utter bores, van only be, when not grim and depressing, an utter bore.

Secrecy, Censorship, Suppression of Knowledge and Ideas, and Exposes: Every male’s deep-seated, secret, most hideous fear is of being discovered to be not a female, but a male, a subhuman animal. Although niceness, politeness and `dignity’ suffice to prevent his exposure on a personal level, in order to prevent the general exposure of the male sex as a whole and to maintain his unnatural dominant position position in `society’, the male must resort to:

1. Censorship. Responding reflexively to isolated works and phrases rather than cereberally to overall meanings, the male attempts to prevent the arousal and discovery of his animalism by censoring not only `pornography’, but any work containing `dirty’ words, no matter in what context they are used.

2. Suppression of all ideas and knowledge that might expose him or threaten his dominant position in `society’. Much biological and psychological data is suppressed, because it is proof of the male’s gross inferiority to the female. Also, the problem of mental illness will never be solved while the male maintains control, because first, men have a vested interest in it – only females who have very few of their marbles will allow males the slightest bit of control over anything, and second, the male cannot admit to the role that fatherhood plays in causing mental illness.

3. Exposes. The male’s chief delight in life – insofar as the tense, grim male can ever be said to delight in anything – is in exposing others. It doesn’t’ much matter what they’re exposed as, so long as they’re exposed; it distracts attention from himself. Exposing others as enemy agents (Communists and Socialists) is one of his favorite pastimes, as it removes the source of the threat to him not only from himself, but from the country and the Western world. The bugs up his ass aren’t in him, they’re in Russia.

Distrust: Unable to empathize or feel affection or loyalty, being exclusively out for himself, the male has no sense of fair play; cowardly, needing constantly to pander to the female to win her approval, that he is helpless without, always on the edge lest his animalism, his maleness be discovered, always needing to cover up, he must lie constantly; being empty he has not honor or integrity – he doesn’t know what those words mean. The male, in short, is treacherous, and the only appropriate attitude in a male `society’ is cynicism and distrust.

Ugliness: Being totally sexual, incapable of cerebral or aesthetic responses, totally materialistic and greedy, the male, besides inflicting on the world `Great Art’, has decorated his unlandscaped cities with ugly buildings (both inside and out), ugly decors, billboards, highways, cars, garbage trucks, and, most notably, his own putrid self.

Hatred and Violence: The male is eaten up with tension, with frustration at not being female, at not being capable of ever achieving satisfaction or pleasure of any kind; eaten up with hate – not rational hate that is directed at those who abuse or insult you – but irrational, indiscriminate hate… hatred, at bottom, of his own worthless self.

Gratuitous violence, besides `proving’ he’s a `Man’, serves as an outlet for his hate and, in addition – the male being capable only of sexual responses and needing very strong stimuli to stimulate his half-dead self – provides him with a little sexual thrill..

Disease and Death: All diseases are curable, and the aging process and death are due to disease; it is possible, therefore, never to age and to live forever. In fact the problems of aging and death could be solved within a few years, if an all-out, massive scientific assault were made upon the problem. This, however, will not occur with the male establishment because:

1. The many male scientists who shy away from biological research, terrified of the discovery that males are females, and show marked preference for virile, `manly’ war and death programs.

2. The discouragement of many potential scientists from scientific careers by the rigidity, boringness, expensiveness, time-consumingness, and unfair exclusivity of our `higher’ educational system.

3. Propaganda disseminated by insecure male professionals, who jealously guard their positions, so that only a highly select few can comprehend abstract scientific concepts.

4. Widespread lack of self-confidence brought about by the father system that discourages many talented girls from becoming scientists.

5. Lack of automation. There now exists a wealth of data which, if sorted out and correlated, would reveal the cure for cancer and several other diseases and possibly the key to life itself. But the data is so massive it requires high speed computers to correlate it all. The institution of computers will be delayed interminably under the male control system, since the male has a horror of being replaced by machines.

6. The money systems’ insatiable need for new products. Most of the few scientists around who aren’t working on death programs are tied up doing research for corporations.

7. The males like death – it excites him sexually and, already dead inside, he wants to die.

8. The bias of the money system for the least creative scientists. Most scientists come from at least relatively affluent families where Daddy reigns supreme.

Incapable of a positive state of happiness, which is the only thing that can justify one’s existence, the male is, at best, relaxed, comfortable, neutral, and this condition is extremely short-lived, as boredom, a negative state, soon sets in; he is, therefore, doomed to an existence of suffering relieved only by occasional, fleeting stretches of restfulness, which state he can only achieve at the expense of some female. The male is, by his very nature, a leech, an emotional parasite and, therefore, not ethically entitled to live, as no one as the right to life at someone else’s expense.

Just as humans have a prior right to existence over dogs by virtue of being more highly evolved and having a superior consciousness, so women have a prior right to existence over men. The elimination of any male is, therefore, a righteous and good act, an act highly beneficial to women as well as an act of mercy.

However, this moral issue will eventually be rendered academic by the fact that the male is gradually eliminating himself. In addition to engaging in the time-honored and classical wars and race riots, men are more and more either becoming fags or are obliterating themselves through drugs. The female, whether she likes it or not, will eventually take complete charge, if for no other reason than that she will have to – the male, for practical purposes, won’t exist.

Accelerating this trend is the fact that more and more males are acquiring enlightened self-interest; they’re realizing more and more that the female interest is in their interest, that they can live only through the female and that the more the female is encouraged to live, to fulfill herself, to be a female and not a male, the more nearly he lives; he’s coming to see that it’s easier and more satisfactory to live through her than to try to become her and usurp her qualities, claim them as his own, push the female down and claim that she’s a male. The fag, who accepts his maleness, that is, his passivity and total sexuality, his femininity, is also best served by women being truly female, as it would then be easier for him to be male, feminine. If men were wise they would seek to become really female, would do intensive biological research that would lead to me, by means of operations on the brain and nervous system, being able t to be transformed in psyche, as well as body, into women.

Whether to continue to use females for reproduction or to reproduce in the laboratory will also become academic: what will happen when every female, twelve and over, is routinely taking the Pill and there are no longer any accidents? How many women will deliberately get or (if an accident) remain pregnant? No, Virginia, women don’t just adore being brood mares, despite what the mass of robot, brainwashed women will say. When society consists of only the fully conscious the answer will be none. Should a certain percentage of men be set aside by force to serve as brood mares for the species? Obviously this will not do. The answer is laboratory reproduction of babies.

As for the issue of whether or not to continue to reproduce males, it doesn’t follow that because the male, like disease, has always existed among us that he should continue to exist. When genetic control is possible – and soon it will be – it goes without saying that we should produce only whole, complete beings, not physical defects of deficiencies, including emotional deficiencies, such as maleness. Just as the deliberate production of blind people would be highly immoral, so would be the deliberate production of emotional cripples.

Why produce even females? Why should there be future generations? What is their purpose? When aging and death are eliminated, why continue to reproduce? Why should we care what happens when we’re dead? Why should we care that there is no younger generation to succeed us.

Eventually the natural course of events, of social evolution, will lead to total female control of the world and, subsequently, to the cessation of the production of males and, ultimately, to the cessation of the production of females.

But SCUM is impatient; SCUM is not consoled by the thought that future generations will thrive; SCUM wants to grab some thrilling living for itself. And, if a large majority of women were SCUM, they could acquire complete control of this country within a few weeks simply by withdrawing from the labor force, thereby paralyzing the entire nation. Additional measures, any one of which would be sufficient to completely disrupt the economy and everything else, would be for women to declare themselves off the money system, stop buying, just loot and simply refuse to obey all laws they don’t care to obey. The police force, National Guard, Army, Navy and Marines combined couldn’t squelch a rebellion of over half the population, particularly when it’s made up of people they are utterly helpless without.

If all women simply left men, refused to have anything to do with any of them – ever, all men, the government, and the national economy would collapse completely. Even without leaving men, women who are aware of the extent of their superiority to and power over men, could acquire complete control over everything within a few weeks, could effect a total submission of males to females. In a sane society the male would trot along obediently after the female. The male is docile and easily led, easily subjected to the domination of any female who cares to dominate him. The male, in fact, wants desperately to be led by females, wants Mama in charge, wants to abandon himself to her care. But this is not a sane society, and most women are not even dimly aware of where they’re at in relation to men.

The conflict, therefore, is not between females and males, but between SCUM – dominant, secure, self-confident, nasty, violent, selfish, independent, proud, thrill-seeking, free-wheeling, arrogant females, who consider themselves fit to rule the universe, who have free-wheeled to the limits of this `society’ and are ready to wheel on to something far beyond what it has to offer – and nice, passive, accepting `cultivated’, polite, dignified, subdued, dependent, scared, mindless, insecure, approval-seeking Daddy’s Girls, who can’t cope with the unknown, who want to hang back with the apes, who feel secure only with Big Daddy standing by, with a big strong man to lean on and with a fat, hairy face in the White House, who are too cowardly to face up to the hideous reality of what a man is, what Daddy is, who have cast their lot with the swine, who have adapted themselves to animalism, feel superficially comfortable with it and know no other way of `life’, who have reduced their minds, thoughts and sights to the male level, who, lacking sense, imagination and wit can have value only in a male `society’, who can have a place in the sun, or, rather, in the slime, only as soothers, ego boosters, relaxers and breeders, who are dismissed as inconsequents by other females, who project their deficiencies, their maleness, onto all females and see the female as worm.

But SCUM is too impatient to wait for the de-brainwashing of millions of assholes. Why should the swinging females continue to plod dismally along with the dull male ones? Why should the fates of the groovy and the creepy be intertwined? Why should the active and imaginative consult the passive and dull on social policy? Why should the independent be confined to the sewer along with the dependent who need Daddy to cling to? A small handful of SCUM can take over the country within a year by systematically fucking up the system, selectively destroying property, and murder:

SCUM will become members of the unwork force, the fuck-up force; they will get jobs of various kinds an unwork. For example, SCUM salesgirls will not charge for merchandise; SCUM telephone operators will not charge for calls; SCUM office and factory workers, in addition to fucking up their work, will secretly destroy equipment. SCUM will unwork at a job until fired, then get a new job to unwork at.

SCUM will forcibly relieve bus drivers, cab drivers and subway token sellers of their jobs and run buses and cabs and dispense free tokens to the public.

SCUM will destroy all useless and harmful objects – cars, store windows, `Great Art’, etc.

Eventually SCUM will take over the airwaves – radio and TV networks – by forcibly relieving of their jobs all radio and TV employees who would impede SCUM’s entry into the broadcasting studios.

SCUM will couple-bust – barge into mixed (male-female) couples, wherever they are, and bust them up.

SCUM will kill all men who are not in the Men’s Auxiliary of SCUM. Men in the Men’s Auxiliary are those men who are working diligently to eliminate themselves, men who, regardless of their motives, do good, men who are playing pall with SCUM. A few examples of the men in the Men’s Auxiliary are: men who kill men; biological scientists who are working on constructive programs, as opposed to biological warfare; journalists, writers, editors, publishers and producers who disseminate and promote ideas that will lead to the achievement of SCUM’s goals; faggots who, by their shimmering, flaming example, encourage other men to de-man themselves and thereby make themselves relatively inoffensive; men who consistently give things away – money, things, services; men who tell it like it is (so far not one ever has), who put women straight, who reveal the truth about themselves, who give the mindless male females correct sentences to parrot, who tell them a woman’s primary goal in life should be to squash the male sex (to aid men in this endeavor SCUM will conduct Turd Sessions, at which every male present will give a speech beginning with the sentence: `I am a turd, a lowly abject turd’, then proceed to list all the ways in which he is. His reward for doing so will be the opportunity to fraternize after the session for a whole, solid hour with the SCUM who will be present. Nice, clean-living male women will be invited to the sessions to help clarify any doubts and misunderstandings they may have about the male sex; makers and promoters of sex books and movies, etc., who are hastening the day when all that will be shown on the screen will be Suck and Fuck (males, like the rats following the Pied Piper, will be lured by Pussy to their doom, will be overcome and submerged by and will eventually drown in the passive flesh that they are); drug pushers and advocates, who are hastening the dropping out of men.

Being in the Men’s Auxiliary is a necessary but not a sufficient condition for making SCUM’s escape list; it’s not enough to do good; to save their worthless asses men must also avoid evil. A few examples of the most obnoxious or harmful types are: rapists, politicians and all who are in their service (campaigners, members of political parties, etc); lousy singers and musicians; Chairmen of Boards; Breadwinners; landlords; owners of greasy spoons and restaraunts that play Muzak; `Great Artists’; cheap pikers and welchers; cops; tycoons; scientists working on death and destruction programs or for private industry (practically all scientists); liars and phonies; disc jockies; men who intrude themselves in the slightest way on any strange female; real estate men; stock brokers; men who speak when they have nothing to say; men who sit idly on the street and mar the landscape with their presence; double dealers; flim-flam artists; litterbugs; plagiarisers; men who in the slightest way harm any female; all men in the advertising industry; psychiatrists and clinical psychologists; dishonest writers, journalists, editors, publishers, etc.; censors on both the public and private levels; all members of the armed forces, including draftees (LBJ and McNamara give orders, but servicemen carry them out) and particularly pilots (if the bomb drops, LBJ won’t drop it; a pilot will). In the case of a man whose behavior falls into both the good and bad categories, an overall subjective evaluation of him will be made to determine if his behavior is, in the balance, good or bad.

It is most tempting to pick off the female `Great Artists’, liars and phonies etc along with the men, but that would be inexpedient, as it would not be clear to most of the public that the female killed was a male. All women have a fink streak in them, to a greater or lesser degree, but it stems from a lifetime of living among men. Eliminate men and women will shape up. Women are improvable; men are no, although their behavior is. When SCUM gets hot on their asses it’ll shape up fast.

Simultaneously with the fucking-up, looting, couple-busting, destroying and killing, SCUM will recruit. SCUM, then, will consist of recruiters; the elite corps – the hard core activists (the fuck-ups, looters and destroyers) and the elite of the elite – the killers.

Dropping out is not the answer; fucking-up is. Most women are already dropped out; they were never in. Dropping out gives control to those few who don’t drop out; dropping out is exactly what the establishment leaders want; it plays into the hands of the enemy; it strengthens the system instead of undermining it, since it is based entirely on the non-participating, passivity, apathy and non-involvement of the mass of women. Dropping out, however, is an excellent policy for men, and SCUM will enthusiastically encourage it.

Looking inside yourself for salvation, contemplating your navel, is not, as the Drop Out people would have you believe, the answer. Happiness likes outside yourself, is achieved through interacting with others. Self-forgetfulness should be one’s goal, not self-absorption. The male, capable of only the latter, makes a virtue of irremediable fault and sets up self-absorption, not only as a good but as a Philosophical Good, and thus gets credit for being deep.

SCUM will not picket, demonstrate, march or strike to attempt to achieve its ends. Such tactics are for nice, genteel ladies who scrupulously take only such action as is guaranteed to be ineffective. In addition, only decent, clean-living male women, highly trained in submerging themselves in the species, act on a mob basis. SCUM consists of individuals; SCUM is not a mob, a blob. Only as many SCUM will do a job as are needed for the job. Also SCUM, being cool and selfish, will not subject to getting itself rapped on the head with billy clubs; that’s for the nice, `privileged, educated’, middle-class ladies with a high regard for the touching faith in the essential goodness of Daddy and policemen. If SCUM ever marches, it will be over the President’s stupid, sickening face; if SCUM ever strikes, it will be in the dark with a six-inch blade.

SCUM will always operate on a criminal as opposed to a civil disobedience basis, that is, as opposed to openly violating the law and going to jail in order to draw attention to an injustice. Such tactics acknowledge the rightness overall system and are used only to modify it slightly, change specific laws. SCUM is against the entire system, the very idea of law and government. SCUM is out to destroy the system, not attain certain rights within it. Also, SCUM – always selfish, always cool – will always aim to avoid detection and punishment. SCUM will always be furtive, sneaky, underhanded (although SCUM murders will always be known to be such).

Both destruction and killing will be selective and discriminate. SCUM is against half-crazed, indiscriminate riots, with no clear objective in mind, and in which many of your own kind are picked off. SCUM will never instigate, encourage or participate in riots of any kind or other form of indiscriminate destruction. SCUM will coolly, furtively, stalk its prey and quietly move in for the kill. Destruction will never me such as to block off routes needed for the transportation of food or other essential supplies, contaminate or cut off the water supply, block streets and traffic to the extent that ambulances can’t get through or impede the functioning of hospitals.

SCUM will keep on destroying, looting, fucking-up and killing until the money-work system no longer exists and automation is completely instituted or until enough women co-operate with SCUM to make violence unnecessary to achieve these goals, that is, until enough women either unwork or quit work, start looting, leave men and refuse to obey all laws inappropriate to a truly civilized society. Many women will fall into line, but many others, who surrendered long ago to the enemy, who are so adapted to animalism, to maleness, that they like restrictions and restraints, don’t know what to do with freedom, will continue to be toadies and doormats, just as peasants in rice paddies remain peasants in rice paddies as one regime topples another. A few of the more volatile will whimper and sulk and throw their toys and dishrags on the floor, but SCUM will continue to steamroller over them.

A completely automated society can be accomplished very simply and quickly once there is a public demand for it. The blueprints for it are already in existence, and it’s construction will take only a few weeks with millions of people working on it. Even though off the money system, everyone will be most happy to pitch in and get the automated society built; it will mark the beginning of a fantastic new era, and there will be a celebration atmosphere accompanying the construction.

The elimination of money and the complete institution of automation are basic to all other SCUM reforms; without these two the others can’t take place; with them the others will take place very rapidly. The government will automatically collapse. With complete automation it will be possible for every woman to vote directly on every issue by means of an electronic voting machine in her house. Since the government is occupied almost entirely with regulating economic affairs and legislating against purely private matters, the elimination of money wand with it the elimination of males who wish to legislate `morality’ will mean there will be practically no issues to vote on.

After the elimination of money there will be no further need to kill men; they will be stripped of the only power they have over psychologically independent females. They will be able to impose themselves only on the doormats, who like to be imposed on. The rest of the women will be busy solving the few remaining unsolved problems before planning their agenda for eternity and Utopia – completely revamping educational programs so that millions of women can be trained within a few months for high level intellectual work that now requires years of training (this can be done very easily once out educational goal is to educate and not perpetuate an academic and intellectual elite); solving the problems of disease and old age and death and completely redesigning our cities and living quarters. Many women will for a while continue to think they dig men, but as they become accustomed to female society and as they become absorbed in their projects, they will eventually come to see the utter uselessnes and banality of the male.

The few remaining men can exist out their puny days dropped out on drugs or strutting around in drag or passively watching the high-powered female in action, fulfilling themselves as spectators, vicarious livers*[FOOTNOTE: It will be electronically possible for him to tune into any specific female he wants to and follow in detail her every movement. The females will kindly, obligingly consent to this, as it won’t hurt them in the slightest and it is a marvelously kind and humane way to treat their unfortunate, handicapped fellow beings.] or breeding in the cow pasture with the toadies, or they can go off to the nearest friendly suicide center where they will be quietly, quickly, and painlessly gassed to death.

Prior to the institution of automation, to the replacement of males by machines, the male should be of use to the female, wait on her, cater to her slightest whim, obey her every command, be totally subservient to her, exist in perfect obedience to her will, as opposed to the completely warped, degenerate situation we have now of men, not only not only not existing at all, cluttering up the world with their ignominious presence, but being pandered to and groveled before by the mass of females, millions of women piously worshiping the Golden Calf, the dog leading the master on a leash, when in fact the male, short of being a drag queen, is least miserable when his dogginess is recognized – no unrealistic emotional demands are made of him and the completely together female is calling the shots. Rational men want to be squashed, stepped on, crushed and crunched, treated as the curs, the filth that they are, have their repulsiveness confirmed.

The sick, irrational men, those who attempt to defend themselves against their disgustingness, when they see SCUM barrelling down on them, will cling in terror to Big Mama with her Big Bouncy Boobies, but Boobies won’t protect them against SCUM; Big Mama will be clinging to Big Daddy, who will be in the corner shitting in his forceful, dynamic pants. Men who are rational, however, won’t kick or struggle or raise a distressing fuss, but will just sit back, relax, enjoy the show and ride the waves to their demise.

[starflungwaddledee]

hello!! its me!! in your inbox again!! Ive gotta know: what kind of thought went into Starstucks design? do you have any beta designs, early sketches, or has she always been so cute?!

HELLOOoooooo yesssss quality asks from moonie!!!! i am always so excited!!! i'll pop this under a cut because it got long, but the short answer is: sadly i'm boring and predictable 😂

i am SO embarrassed to tell you that very little thought went into her design, at least on any sort of... cerebral level. the reason for this is because she is my sona, though she does now have a story of her own, and i personally have an extremely rigid set of personal iconography! both irl and online

i joked with my gf and some friends who know me beyond kirby that if you knew me outside of here you would spot me a mile off because my aesthetics for sonas or personal representation have been rock-solid consistent for almost a decade!

i'm always pink and cream and ice blue, always have star themes, always have grey-blue/pink eyes, always have freckles (often white constellations) over big pink cockatiel cheeks, and always have huge bows 😂 also often i have flower crowns but she avoided this by being All Head. i did accessorise her festive outfit though!

so really... she couldn't have looked much different to how she does. i did add the stars on the bottom of her feet (hidden stars are a typical design choice for me tho) and the heart shaped face marking after drawing her a few times on the blog! i just thought the heart shaped marking added a little interest at the time, especially above the eyes; maybe because i was used to drawing bandee who's bandana covers that top edge of his face marking!

now that some time has passed, of course parts of her design tie into her lore in fun ways ("oh she has stars on her feet!" "what makes the constellations on her cheeks move!" "wow her bow looks a bit like wi-!!"), but that was entirely unexpected when i designed her. i never intended to develop her as much as she has been because the interest from others was frankly so unexpected; but i'm having a total blast doing it!

i also chose a waddle dee rather than any of the other aliens on offer because i personally tend to just... feel pretty average! not impressive or significant enough to be a knight or a puffball or anything like that! waddle dees resonate with me, they're just easily spooked little critters with zero defensive mechanisms doing their best and i can relate to that

though i suppose that it's now rather clear that starstruck is not an average waddle dee, if one at all.. so i guess time will tell

sorry if this is a bit of a let down 😅 the unfortunate answer is that she's based on Me and how i look/feel/dress/etc irl. my hair is that shade of pink. i have an exceptionally comprehensive collection of flower crowns and comedically oversized bows. i am very small and very round. i do have intensive freckles in constellation patterns. sadly, alas, my eyes are only grey-blue. so there was only ever so many variations she'd be able to draw on from my rigid set of aesthetics haha!

[romeulusroy]

Mother and Father (Roman Roy Oneshot)

Character/s: Roman

Word Count: 1,588

A/N: I'm at my mums. Idk why I come back. I do and it's a mess and then I go on with my life like nothing happened, like everything is fine when she's constantly choosing him over me. This is stupid and I'm stupid. This not about my dad, but my step-dad. He was a wonderful, patient, smart man and I miss him every single fucking day. The other can go to hell. Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜

Succession Masterlist 

He keeps an eye on you. 

The wine is sweet. It stains your insides, pools through your bloodstream, brings a heat to your cheeks that is not unfamiliar. You’re sure if someone cut you open, if they dragged their butter knife across the softness of your stomach, out would pour the wine you’ve been refilling in your glass. It is sweet and red and you make the mistake of thinking it as blood. This house, this party, there is always a sacrifice of some kind. A lamb. A body. A mind. Something to hand out when the guests are full and bored and looking for entertainment. In a pen or cage, something with holes to poke and prod at their own delight. Every time you step through the front door you fear it’ll be you next. An aching, moaning, cerebral feeling in you tells you to run. Run as fast as you can, as far away as you can. Run and never turn back. Save yourself. You don’t listen. You never have. Somewhere along the line that kind of thinking became selfish. It became sinful. Somewhere along the line you were taught to be served on a platter like that is an expression of love. If you loved them you would cut yourself into bite size pieces. If you loved them you would bathe your skin raw. If you loved them you would wear a smile on your face while they sliced through the thickest parts of you. You would relax, untense ever muscle, so they wouldn't have to put force into it. You learned that resistance and self-respect would only land you in a muzzle and they couldn't love something that feral. 

He keeps an eye on you. 

The jokes. They start with the jokes. Always. They have since you were a young teenager. You’re never sure what to do, how to react. They laugh. Your mother laughs. You stand rigid, frozen, wondering over and over if you invited such thoughts. The way their hands move across your body as if it is their own. Holding you a heartbeat too long. Inspecting you, up and down, before landing on what they’ve been staring at for years. The hecatomb. It’s done publicly, the slitting of your throat, the collecting of the blood. Family not by blood nor name, but by her. By so-called-love. Desperation. Alone disguised as loneliness. And yet, he invited friends, onlookers, his own sons to take part. You were fourteen. You are still fourteen. It’s been years, years and years, but when he opens his mouth you are fourteen. You are the same child stunned, disgusted, the same child who cries in secret because their body no longer belongs to them. Others, too. A crowd. You were seventeen and drunk and you forgot. You forgot you could feel unsafe in your own home. His words carved themselves into you. Deep and serrated and looking to scar. Jokes. Your mother laughs and once again you are reminded there are sides to this kind of thing. There are sides and you know you stand alone. You’re older now. Legal. You got out, but you’re always coming back. Following the breadcrumb trail. Foolishly believing it will be different. He will be different. She will, too. They aren’t. He looks, he watches, he makes his comments. You hold back tears. You drink your sweet wine and relive every time before this where she has provided pieces of you to him, his friends, his sons, just to feel loved. You are reminded that she too has been changed by this idea of love. Warped. Mangled. That she too believes as you do: to be loved is to immolate. No exceptions. You pity her. For not getting out, for believing this, for teaching it to you. You’re hurt, too. She taught you. She laughs. Your own mother. 

He keeps an eye on you. 

He keeps an eye on you from the moment you walk in, taking your glass, your sips, kissing everyone hello. Falling into that crowd, your skin visibly crawling, your eyes glossing over, shrinking away into yourself until there is just a shell. An abandoned house. He should be here. With his brothers, his sister and father. He should be here mingling and schmoozing. He should be here listening to your mother go on and on about the man who jokes when he deserves hell. But you shouldn’t. You go out. You left. You fled the sinking ship you were born on. It startles him to see you. You’ve changed so much, so little. That face he remembers better than his own. The shy smile you wear when you’re embarrassed. The laugh you share and the laugh, the real one, that graces too rarely. When he’s lucky. The look of hurt in your eyes when you’re pretending you’re not. Just like now. And yet, he understands deeply. Always coming back for more. One more slap. One more hit. One more jab. It doesn’t matter that they leave you bleeding out across the floor. It doesn’t matter that you want to give up for good. It doesn’t matter that you come back with less bark, less fight, less of you. You always come back. Limping or crawling or crying out when you are unable to move. A caged animal does not trust the wild if their crate was lined with rusty nails. They seek out the sharpest thorns just to feel at home. 

He keeps an eye on you. 

You told him. You told him everything. You’re not sure why, what good it could have done, what good it’s done. You notice how careful his eyes are when they touch you, how cautious they are, how gentle he is.  It just came up, out, dribbling down your chin like vomit. You were crying. Tired. Slamming doors like you used to when you were little. He jumped. You scared him. You didn’t mean to. He was saying those things and she was letting him, encouraging him. About you. Your body. It made you feel dirty. It made you feel vulnerable. He understood. He didn’t say how, he just did. Hiding in a bedroom you can no longer claim as your own, curled into yourself the way you used to. Hiding. Shaking. That sweet wine churning in your gut, at the back of your throat. Sobbing. His voice is so quiet, so unsure, seeping through the door. You’re not sure why you unlock it, only that you do, and he comes in, and it comes pouring out of you. You’re fourteen. You’re thirteen when that boy, that boy with that laugh, decides you are his toy. To play with. To bash against the concrete, the wall. To discard when he gets bored. You’re seven when it starts. All those years. It never really stops, does it? You’re fourteen, and still a child, and he stares at you like he’s hungry. His words starved. Like he knows what they’ve done. Like he knows she is desperate and lonely and he can do whatever he wants to her child if it means she will be loved just a little. You remember and it kills you. You ignore it, you smother it, but it never really goes away. It is always there. He wants to set the house on fire. Burn it to the ground so that there is no place to come back to. So that you can get out for good. He wants to, but he doesn’t. He knows how these things work. They’ll find somewhere else to infest. They’ll call your name and you’ll come running. Limping. Screaming. 

He keeps an eye on you. 

The man with the jokes, the friends, the sons. He keeps an eye on you. He criticizes every emotion that settles into your skin. Every word, every act, every fucking thought. He takes it out on you. On her. Everyone but himself. He keeps an eye on you, and makes his comments, and leans in so that his words tear you apart. He smiles as he watches, his arm around your mother, reminding you this is a game you’ve lost before it’s even started. He keeps an eye on you, too. Roman. Rich, deep, not unlike the soil of the Earth. He steps up, he offers himself to them before they can finish you off. He doesn’t mind. He never has. Not with his own father, not with yours. Let them circle around him. Let them shred what’s left of him. You know better than to stop him. What would you do? What would you say? He does it with a smile. You know how it hurts, a familiar ache in the middle of your chest like your heart is physically breaking. Shattering to sparkly bits. This goes unspoken. Every time. Every time he sees what’s going on, that look of hurt, he intervenes. He can’t get out. Not now, not ever. But you? You did. You left that man behind, you left all those boys all those years ago behind. You need to remember that. Not what they did. Not what he’s doing. Look forward. He doesn’t touch you. He doesn’t try to. But you linger at his side, so little space between you, and he knows what it means. A language only you know, only you speak. A thank you. An I’m sorry. An understanding deeper than anything you’ve ever known. 

He keeps an eye on you, he protects you. He always has. He always will.