#this post brought to you by afterlife editor +

[the-blind-assassin-12]

This post is being edited with tumblr’s new 👻 afterlife editor 👻 which allows one to keep screaming into the void after they’ve left this earthly plane.

I’m happy that I have been selected as a beta-tester for this new function, as @something-tofightfor just sent me chapter 9 of Aphelion and without access to 👻 afterlife editor 👻 there would be no way for me to inform you all that you are NOT READY for what is coming your way.

👻 you have been warned 👻

[vtscasefiles]

Case File # 321-5

Trigger warning: blood, gore, violence, death, firearms, injury, rape mention

Case begun: 5/09/20**

Case Concluded: 5/11/20**

Case Locale: [REDACTED], Florida

Marked as Closed

I arrived in Florida, the humidity already fucking with my sinuses. How anyone can live in this swampy shithole I will never understand. But I was offered a job, and my bank account was practically beating me over the head with it’s need to be filled. The pay was too good to turn down, so I loaded up my gear and headed out.

What I wasn’t expecting was a fucking ghost pirate. I mean, of all things, how fucking cliché can you get? The client, Rosie [REDACTED], welcomed me with that famed “southern hospitality” that I’ve heard so much of.

“You the girl with the gun? I expected you to be bigger.”

Fuckin’ peachy. “Yes. I’m the girl with the gun. You got a haunting problem?” I replied, trying not to let my irritation get the better of me. I’m fucking 5′9″. I’m not that small. For fuck’s sake, I can bench two hundo with no problem. Why the -- 

[Editor’s note: this continues for fifteen minutes. For your convenience I have removed VT’s rant.]

After getting a brief rundown of the case, I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. Everything pointed to a simple haunting, it wasn’t something I was considering a challenge, or even something that’d take longer than a few hours.

After doing this job, you think you’ve seen just about all the SC* has to offer. My two best friends are a lich and a witch. Yes, they rhyme, shut up. Point being is that I have never seen a haunting manifest on such a massive scale. Usually it’s restrained to a building, or a patch of land, but this...the whole fucking coast line was haunted. It wasn’t even a Cluster**, it was one. Singular. Spirit.

My first day, as the usual, was spent at the library. The spirit in question, one Captain Fresni, was an infamous pirate in the seventeen hundreds. Played a role in the American Revolution, albeit a small one. According to the books I’d found (mostly useless, but I did manage to glean some insight), his ship The Crooked Jess, was riddled with canon fire by the British. Captain Fresni, a violent fighter if ever there was one, realized there was no way out...lit every barrel of gunpowder he had on board and rammed his ship into the oncoming fleet. The following explosion wiped out three ships, packed with soldiers and set fire to another six.

I was impressed. If the spirit was Captain Fresni, as Rose claimed, then it could simply be a case of the body dying so suddenly and violently that the spirit didn’t realize he was dead. There was one passage that stood out, I won’t repeat it due to it being hella long, but in summation it stated that near the southern tip of Florida there was a hidden cove that served as the pirate captain’s base. Might as well start there.

It was around 9pm on the tenth before I even stepped foot in the cove. Immediately, the air changed. Despite it being disgustingly humid, the air turned frigid and dry. I walked up and down the coast to find a spot that wasn’t freezing, but to no avail. The whole place was a spook zone. We’re talking a good three hundred acres of land completely under the spirit’s influence. Even by a Cluster’s standards, that’s a massive area.

This area was mostly undisturbed, being a historical site. Being in the profession I am, meant that didn’t mean a roasty pile of dogshit. If I got caught disturbing anything here, it only meant one thing: prosecution, if not a bullet through my head. I’m aware of what my ethnic background means; prejudice, racism, outright hate. Hell, it’s dangerous to drive, let alone stand somewhere that I shouldn’t. So I try to be subtle. Try not to pack too much ordinance. Today I only had my duffel bag full of Elinor’s*** special ammo. I’d say it “kills” ghosts, but you can’t kill a spirit. You can however, force it to reconcile with it’s past.

The worst part about this job was I was going to wind up in the water. I hate swimming. Forget what chlorine does to the dye in my hair (red. Blood red. Always.), but just the thought of driving across the country with my clothes soaked in salty water was already putting my teeth on edge. Looks like I’d be hitting a thrift shop on the way home.

I dropped my duffel bag on the beach and sat in the sand next to it, pulling off my dad’s old combat jacket and stowing it inside. I did a quick inventory. I hadn’t brought anything major. Salt. Blessed water (courtesy of Ramona****). A black beeswax candle and, my trusty companion, Peace.

Peace is the name I’ve given to my custom-made revolver. All together, the setup weighs about three pounds. Each part bears a custom engraving that’ll combat just about any supernatural force...even so, there are some things that Peace can’t solve...even with the right ammo. But I had one solution sitting in the backseat of my car: a can of kerosene. If bullets don’t solve the problem, a liberal application of fire will.

The time was midnight, the opening of the “Witching Hour”. I had until 3am to get something. Anything. The spirit wasn’t answering to any of the usual callouts (their name, questions, requests for an audience), so I settled in on the beach to doze. Wasn’t much else to do.

Mother fucker, I wish I hadn’t.

When I woke up, it was to the freezing cold iron around my wrists. The bob and weave that told me I was on the sea. The air smelled of something...something that every fucking time I smell it, I almost lose my lunch.

Corpses.

The deck outside my cell was slick with blood and viscera. I’ve seen my share of gore, don’t get me wrong, but this was a massacre. What was worse...it looked (and smelled) fresh. The good captain had been busy, it’d seemed. What began as a simple haunting was quickly turning into something more sinister. Rosie hadn’t mentioned that the spirit was violent...though I should have assumed, given the amount posted on the job. Even still, this was...a little more than I’d prepared for.

But first there was the matter of the shackles on my wrists.

Lockpicking is an artform that every PE invests time in learning. But that’s usually deadbolts or doors made post 1970. The manacles on my wrists (though they looked brand new) were easily something seen in the eighteenth century. There was even a maker’s mark next to one of the keyholes. I’ll spare you the details on how I got out, but my thumbs ache to all hell.

The second I laid hands on the bars to my cell, they swung open...I’d never been locked in. This worried me. The spirit wanted me free...the manacles were just a precaution. Each step I made was met with the squishy splort of combat boot on viscera. I took my time, as I didn’t relish the thought of slipping and falling into the mess beneath my boots. Proud to say that I didn’t fall. Not once.

[Editor’s note: judging by the stains on VT’s clothes, she fell.]

As far as I could tell, I was on the lowest deck. The stairway didn’t lead up into the fresh air of day, but rather into what I assumed was a galley. Tables and benches had been scattered, and cooking implements rusted on their hooks. Dangling from one of those hooks was my firearms...just waiting for me.

I expected a trap, I anticipated the trap. By that I mean I picked up a piece of busted bench and hurled it at my gun. It fell off the hook with a loud clatter which had me willing myself to fade into the shadows. Nothing. Nothing but the creak and groan of the ship.

Well, I say nothing, but I distinctly heard laughter from the top deck. Feminine, bright laughter. I picked my gun up off the floor, holstered it and climbed the stairs.

There was no ghost crew, as I’d anticipated...but at the helm was a sight that still gives my heart a jolt. It’s no secret that I’m gay. I love women. But what I saw at the helm...fuck me, sideways. She was tall. 6′6″ if she was an inch. Her raven hair captured the moonlight and practically sucked it in. Her breasts were bared to the wind, heavy tattoos that seemed to glow covered just about every inch of bared flesh. I’d have thought her living if not for one thing: her eyes. Pitch black like the void.

“Ahoy, mate.” she purred, setting my teeth to clench. “Found you on my little hideaway, snoozin’ like an infant. Come to join Captain Fresni’s crew, little pet?”

“I ain’t your pet.” I snapped, glowering up at the spirit. “You’ve been killing people, Captain...and everything I’ve read says that you’re a man. Are you actually Captain Fresni, or is that just some title you picked up?”

“Funny how men’ll give the most vicious fighters a cock in death that they never had in life, hm?” the pirate snickered. I took notice then that her arms were like two thick pythons that, any other time, I’d like to see just how much weight they could hold. “I offered my services to old Georgie and he thought me funny. At least until I broke his nose.”

“Georgie? As in Washington?”

“Ye know of him? Interesting. He refusing the afterlife, too?”

Everything I’d assumed about this spirit was wrong. Captain Fresni wasn’t a man, for one. Not to mention she knew very well that she was dead. That still didn’t answer the most pertinent question on my mind. “The bodies...or what’s left of them. Was that you?”

“Aye.” she smiled, wickedly, but offered no further explanation. I was being baited.

“Can I ask why?”

“Ye just did.” a hard spin of the wheel almost sent me tumbling. “But I suppose I can oblige a pretty little thing like you.” I fucking hate being demeaned. And all attraction for this undead bitch was flying out the window faster than you could say “eat my ass”. 

I can’t remember most of her explanation. Looking back, now...it’s like the whole of that night is just a drunken fever dream. What stands out to me is her reasoning. “I only murder the dregs, girlie. Rapists, mostly. Kidnappers. Violence done to women is met with brutal retaliation. It’s the simplest way to clean up this world, savvy?”

Oh, I was savvy. Quite savvy. If anything, I agreed with her and her method. Trash like that shouldn’t be allowed to breathe, let alone exist. “If that’s all you’re doing, Cap, then I see no reason we shouldn’t go our separate ways. You have your work and I have mine.”

“Aye? And just what is your work, lovely?” I didn’t detect any further demeaning playfulness...only curiosity.

“I’m a PE. A Paranormal Eliminator. Usually, I’d have to ask or make you pass on, but as it stands...I think we can say live and let live. Well...live and let un-live.” she’d laughed at that. A warm sound that had my guts twisting around my stomach like some sort of horny serpent.

“So, you came out all this way to end the dread Captain Fresni...only to find a kindred spirit, is that what I’m hearing?” she asked, grinning like the Cheshire Cat with a Glasgow grin. “And now you want to leave, just like that. Don’t a get a kiss or a nice romp? I think I’m owed something after all. I didn’t kill you for trespassing.”

That raised my hackles. Again, this pillar of muscle was underestimating me. What I’d fought, what I’d killed. For fuck’s sake, I’ve killed enough Wendigos to put half the men in my profession to shame. There was that weird case where the woman who hired me was fucking the Wendigo, but...that’s another story for another time.

[Editor’s Note: We’ve never discussed the Wendigo-coitus case. I sincerely want to hear it.]

“Fuck you. You got the drop on me, like a coward.” I regretted the words the instant they left my mouth. I was on her ship and at her mercy. She could sink this ship and I had no idea which way shore was...let alone the hazards that went with swimming in open water.

Instead she’d only laughed. “Little girl, I’m a pirate. I’ve no intent to fight head on when I can sneak up on someone. Honor is a man’s game. It’s what gets them killed, more often than not.” Again, I agreed. I’d put enough bullets in the back of a head to know that stealth is preferable than a face-to-face fight.

“Look, I lost my temper. Can we just...end this and I can go home? We both agree on your method, and I see no reason to stop what you’re doing. Sure, the “authority” of the living world won’t like it...but no one likes them, so they can eat a steaming pile of shit.” I said, frowning. “I don’t want a fight. I just want to get paid and go home.”

The look about the spirit changed, marginally. The tattoos seemed to be rippling along her flesh(?) and her smile faded into a frown. “Missy, we still have a glaring problem we’ve yet to address. I’m one woman...and I need a crew. So, unless you’ve got a solution to that particular snag, you’re it.”

All my like for this spirit (begrudging as some of it was) vanished in an instant. “So I’m being kidnapped.” I responded, feeling my heart start to hammer in my ears. “Just like those men you killed. So, what I’m hearing is, you’re no better.”

“Watch your words, girl. Your pretty face won’t save you from my blade.” she’d snarled. It took all that was in me not to balk, though my teeth desperately wanted to chatter.

“I’m using your own words against you, Captain.” I responded, hoping I sounded calmer than I felt. “Don’t blame me if they don’t line up the way you want.”

“One more word out of you -- “

“I’ll give you two: get. Fucked.” that had torn it. The rippling gave way to something that I’d come to expect. This was no run of the mill spirit: Captain Fresni was either a wraith or a revenant. The only real difference between the two was the level of violence capable. A wraith tends to hunt one person, or their family. A revenant hunts whoever they want...and now I was on the list. I couldn’t fight her here, not out in the open. She’d tear me to shreds. Already her jaw was gaping, revealing razor teeth. Her nails, cut short, were lengthening into something akin to talons...and believe me when I say those things hurt. 

I feel no shame in saying I sprinted below deck and ducked into the galley proper. I wish I hadn’t. She wasn’t just killing people, she was eating them. Body parts, half chewed, dangled from the ceiling and littered the ground. My hand clapped over my mouth and nose to keep the smell out and my dinner in. I heard her footsteps and, as silently as I could manage, I checked my firearm. Peace was still locked, cocked and ready to rock. Well, not cocked. Gun safety, kids.

I pulled one of Elinor’s special bullets out of the cylinder. What made these so special is that, instead of lead, bone served as the projectile. The easiest way to deal with something dead is by using something dead against it. I don’t ask where Elinor gets her bone, and I think I’ll be perfectly happy to continue not knowing.

[Editor’s note: I know. It’s horrific.]

“Little pet, little pet, where are you?” she crooned. Well, I say crooned...more like...rattled. A revenant’s physiology is strange, but once they reveal their form it’s almost as if their bodies begin to decay. I peeked around the corner to see her back facing me. I took aim and...nothing. My gun clicked loud enough to sound like a scream in an empty hallway, but no roar of igniting gunpowder. She turned and...smiled. I think. “There you are.”

“Here I am.” I responded, standing on shaking legs. “Soup’s on, Captain.” she ran at me, talons held out at her sides like sabers. I did the only sane thing I could think of: I ducked as she swung. Luckily, the big swing didn’t hit me. Unluckily, she had another hand. Claw. Whatever.

So, there I was, a talon embedded in my shoulder and blood gushing from the wound like a waterfall. A little known fact about revenant wounds: leave the talon in. If it’s withdrawn the wound will immediately fester and become gangrenous. A lot of PEs have died that way.

I slammed the barrel of my gun against the base of her claw and it snapped off. She screamed her pain and rage and took another swipe at my torso. I barely managed to get far enough back in time. The fact I had to compensate for a long talon still imbedded in my shoulder didn’t mean much, as I was operating off a cubic fuckload of adrenaline. She did however manage to shred my tanktop. Which sucked, because I loved that thing. Said “Boss Ass Bitch” on it and everything...I guess I could see if Ramona would make me another one...

[Editor’s note: RIP tank top. Ramona is making another one at the time of writing.]

I sprinted past her, she’d over balanced and given me time to escape. I went down, back to the cells. I was soaked in a cold sweat by now and thankful that my hair tie had held, despite my panicked movement. I smoothed the strands away from my sweat soaked face and looked for a place to hide. Nothing was presenting itself...but an idea struck. It was a stupid idea. A terrible idea. I ran into a cell and pressed my back to the wall.

When Fresni reappeared, she was smiling. “Ran out of room to run, little rat?”

“Seems that way.” I panted. My head was spinning from the loss of blood. Thankfully, that brief moment I spent pressed against the wall had redoubled my courage...and helped me remember one little fact. “Look, Cap...I’m dead. We both know it. The second this talon is removed, my life is over...so...I guess I’m askin’ if that place on your crew is still available.”

That shocked her, if only for a moment. “You can’t lie your way out of this one.”

“No lie. Kill me now. I’d rather just go ahead and get it over with, thanks.” I said, praying that this would work. If it didn’t well...you wouldn’t be seeing this, would you?

She approached, brandishing those eight inch talons. She clicked them together, thoughtfully. “Stand still, then.” she snarled as I held my breath. “One through the heart, and it’s all over.”

Three more steps. Two. One. I stepped in and latched onto her arm, and...I bit down. I felt fetid blood fill my mouth and choke me. I immediately began to gag and then...voided my stomach, all over my aggressor.

A revenant’s true power isn’t from the change they make, though it definitely looks it. A revenant is best known for it’s insidious way of making the unreal real...so long as its concentration remains undisturbed.

When I finally finished tossing my cookies, I looked up. No ship in sight. Just a revenant, me and glorious land. The sand was disturbed, probably from all my running, and my blood left trails showing my passage. I’d been running in circles for the last hour...while she just watched.

“Shouldn’t play with your food.” I coughed, wiping my mouth. “It’s how you get killed.” she screeched in rage, her partially coagulated blood oozing from the bite mark I’d left. The talon was still lodged in my shoulder. I reached for my gun, ready to put an end to this only to pull out... “A fucking banana? Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”

She roared and charged. My weapon, my baby was strapped to the rotten leather of her belt. She’d touched it. No one touched my weapon except Ray***** and myself. Not even Ramona. 

That pissed me off in a way that nothing else does.

Naturally, I charged straight for her. She took a swipe with her injured arm, but instead of dodging out of the way, I leapt into it. She made contact, but only with her palm. I felt one of my ribs crack and gasped in pain, pure instinct was the only thing that drove my fist into the shredded flesh on her arm, courtesy of my teeth. She balked and I snatched.

Peace was in my hand, albeit barely. She noticed and lunged again, sending us both into the sand. Her pirate nature showed in the way her head collided with my nose, sending fresh gouts of blood over the both of us. She thought me stunned. An easy kill. She thought wrong.

“Any last words, my pretty?” she cackled, her maw open wide. She wasn’t just going to kill me...I’d pissed her off enough that she was going to bite me. My death wouldn’t just be painful, but slow...and my soul would erode right along with my body.

“Yeah.” I croaked, feeling the end of my stamina quickly approaching. “Choke on it.” I rammed Peace as hard as I possibly could into that gaping maw, hearing her gargle in rage around it. My wrist jerked as I fired once, twice, three times. Bam. Bam. Bam. A faint gargle, a twitch...and about two-hundred pounds collapsed on right on my cracked rib, finishing the job her arm had started and broke the damned thing.

I wheezed beneath the re-corpse for...ten, fifteen minutes? When I finally managed the strength to push her off of me, I immediately emptied the last three rounds into the ruined mess of her skull. Say what you will about my methodology, but I like to be thorough. 

It wouldn’t have done just to leave her body there, for a mundane to see. The SC likes it’s secrecy and to risk exposing it? There was no faster way to end a career than to leave a loose end behind. I made the long trek back to the car and returned with the kerosene can. I stood by the raging fire until there was nothing but ash and blackened bone...though I know a certain lich who could make use of revenant bone.

All in all, a happy ending. Had a vampire doc fix up my shoulder to avoid dying of infection. Rosie paid me what I was owed and Elinor bought the bone off of me for further profit. Sure, my shoulder still hurts so damned bad that I can barely lift it, but...thanks to Ramona, it’ll be healed up in no time. Probably.

Yo-ho-ho, mother fucker. Case closed.

Editor’s farewell: This is the first case file VT asked I upload. It’s one she’s particularly proud of and one with a satisfactory ending. There may be names or terminology that you are unfamiliar with, but I have taken the time to star each of them as to explain. They are as follows:

SC*: Supernatural Community. This is self explanatory. Includes all beings, regardless of death, undeath or birth. IE vampires, ghosts, revenants, werewolves

Cluster**: A colloquial term amongst PEs. Used in reference to a small locale with a massive collection of spirits. Usually all working as a coordinated group.

Elinor***: Elinor Lyktor. Lich. Proprietress of Ellie’s, a shop frequented by PEs for their gear. Specializes in Osteomancy.

Ramona****: Ramona Torrez. Witch. A close friend of VT’s. Offers support, healing and consultation. A good 75% of VT’s equipment is blessed by Ramona.

Ray*****: Raleigh Kane. Gunsmith. Took the name Ray from her father, proprietress of Ray’s Armory. Forced into the Supernatural Community by VT during a case. Since, she has dedicated her craft to making weapons to deal with the malignant forces that threaten the community as a whole. Extensively researches customers and will not sell her works to those she does not trust.

[idrawcats]

My thoughts on Graystripe’s Vow

Let me preface this by saying that I’ve never been a huge fan of Graystripe

That said, I really enjoyed this book

I was very surprised that we got a Warriors book about growing old, but I absolutely loved that

Before I actually get into my thoughts, let me give some important character ages (all based on the events timeline on the wiki)

Graystripe is 13, or 68 in cat years

Barley is somewhere between 15 (based on him tellling Ravenpaw that he’s seen “at least two more leafbares than [Ravenpaw]”) and 17 (assuming that Scourge was at least a year old when Barley was born). That makes him 76-84 in cat years

Stormfur is 11, or 60 in cat years

Monkeystar and WarriorClan are apprentice-aged, which would make them anywhere from 6 months to a year old, or 10-15 in cat years

I loved that we got to see the effects of old age on the old cast

It really gave the feeling that a long time has passed since TPB

I’ve always wanted to see a character go back to the old forest, but I never expected it to be Graystripe

This book really brought the nostalgia

Visiting the Tribe, going to the Moonstone, sleeping in Barney’s barn

It really felt like Warriors as it was when I was growing up

I guess I’ll just go in chronological order from here on out

First of all, WHY THE FUCK WAS EVERYONE DISRESPECTING SQUIRRELFLIGHT

SHE’S TRYING HER BEST AND SHE’S DOING A GOOD JOB

I really liked that some of the younger cast got some spotlight and actual personalities

I feel like I actually kind of got to know Flipclaw, Flywhisker, and Snaptooth in this book (although we already kind of knew Flywhisker)

Why on earth did none of the editors catch that Flipclaw had a crush on his AUNT

Someone really needs to go over the family trees

I’m glad she rejected him tho

Kinda hoping for lesbian Flywhisker now (even though I know it’ll never happen)

I was a little disappointed that the wanderers broke apart so soon

I was looking forward to seeing Graystripe and Thornclaw interact with the younger cast

Alas

Flipclaw is my son now

I really thought that he was gonna die and I was STRESSED

I was super happy that Graystripe got to see Stormfur again

Flipclaw x Feather of Flying Hawk is my new OTP

I really thought they might have been hinting at the two of them becoming an item

I hope Feather followed Flipclaw home to the Clans

Brief interlude: I AM SO FUCKING GLAD THAT THEY SKIMMED OVER THE TRAVEL PORTIONS OF THIS BOOK

I really did enjoy seeing what happened to the old forest

But I wish Graystripe had gone and explored ThunderClan’s old territory and maybe tried to find the camp

(Also apparently Fourtrees is a roundabout now :/)

I LOVED WarriorClan with all my heart

It really brought back the nostalgia of LARPing warriors with my friends at recess

Monkeystar is best girl

Glad that we got confirmation that Smudge and Barley are still alive

BARLEY

First of all, it really killed me how much he missed Ravenpaw

I liked seeing Graystripe and Barley bond over the loss of their respective mates

It really felt like a proper send-off to Barley

I also appreciated that the barn owners were taking care of Barley in his old age

THEY EVEN GAVE HIM EARDROPS

The Moonstone scene had me shook

The imagery of the lightning striking the Moonstone was so cool

The old twoleg den was horrifying but also just so sad

It really killed me to see so many cats being so horrifically neglected

But it was even sadder that their owner really loved them

I’ve been waiting to see a character with dementia (Graypool was the only one we’ve seen so far, I think), but I wasn’t expecting it to be a twoleg

Seeing Petunia trying to follow her owner into the ambulance was truly heartbreaking

I hope that Petunia finds her again in whatever afterlife twolegs (and maybe kittypets) go to

I was annoyed at Stormfur for being angry that Graystripe didn’t want to stay with the Tribe

The Clans have always been his home dude

You may have noticed that I haven’t even mentioned the BloodClan conflict

I enjoyed the flashbacks, but not nearly as much as the present-day portions

I thought Gremlin would play a bigger role and I thought we’d see more of Fury

Ashfur was such a little shit I can’t

This book reinvigorated my love for the old leaders (Tallstar, Blackstar, and Leopardstar)

ALSO CINDERPELT MY LOVE

I did like Gremlin’s role as a spy

And I’m glad she found a good home with Petunia and their owner (at least until the dementia set in)

I liked seeing actual strategy in the BloodClan attack

I just wish we’d gotten to see more of Fury

I was a little disappointed that we didn’t get more interaction between Graystripe, Sootpaw, Sorrelpaw, and Rainpaw (especially since this book CONFIRMED that Willowpelt was Graystripe’s mom)

And I wish we’d gotten some kind of mention of Darkstripe

Anyways those are my thoughts on this book

I really liked it

I give it an 8/10 or maybe an 8.5

Not my favorite but still a solid book

Im rereading all the Warriors books in chronological order (I’ve gotten to Spottedleaf’s Heart, which yes, I will be reading)

I’m thinking of posting my thoughts on each book after I read it

Lmk what y’all would think of that

[thatyanderecritic]

Raise wa Tanin ga Ii

Title: Raise wa Tanin ga Ii

Media: Manga. Written/Drawn by Konishi Asuka

Yandere(s): Miyama Kirishima

Yandere Scale: 0/5 *edited*

Criticism written by: Kai

Editor: Julie

Review:

Edit note: Hey there everyone! Kai here and I just want to drop in to say that in recent chapters, it is revealed that Miyama is not a yandere. It a special chapter where we get to see Miyama and Somei’s married life together. In that omake, Miyama is still banging other women and not at all loyal to Somei. It is now confirmed, Miyama is not going to change throughout the manga. You can take this with a grain of salt though since opinions vary on this scene. You can read here and here for the two cases. But to bury the hatchet on this with alternative points, I’ll mention two things about Kirishima. Kirishima has an NTR fetish. As we seen with the Deathless review, NTR, cheating, open relationships, and so on do not mix with yanderes. A true yandere would never be comfortable or even ENJOY having their S/O get taken away by another. So that’s a check off from Kirishima. Another thing about him is that... he doesn’t really love Yoshino for who she is. Kirishima just loves her bitchiness and that she’s fuel for his NTR fantasies. A yandere gotta love their S/O for their entirety... not for their fetish. With that being said, I still hope you all enjoy this old review.

Hello everyone! ( ᐛ )و  Today, I just finished reading Raise wa Tanin ga li (the English translation of the manga is “An outsider is better in the afterlife”). It was a manga that was brought to my attention after seeing a post from fuckyeahmaleyandere. I recommend follow this their blog since it contains tons of male yandere recommendations! ( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ I should mention though that the manga is not at all complete and it only goes up to chapter 6. Normally, I prefer waiting for a series to be over before making a review, but based on the yandere score on Kirishima, I have a couple of things to say. Now! For the review.

The manga starts off with our protagonist, Somei Yoshino finding out that she is now engaged. Yoshino is actually the granddaughter of the head yakuza family in Osaka and she was engaged to the grandson of the head yakuza family in Tokyo. Their wedding is supposed to be the union of the two factions (East and West) but there’s no actual pressure for them to get married. It’s just really encouraged by the two families. To encourage their relationship, Yoshino is transfer to Tokyo and live with the Miyama family for a time. At first, Yoshino considers Kirishima as a normal but nice guy. But soon she learns that he’s really fucked up in the head and a bonafide yakuza through and through. At first, Kirishima was bored of Yoshino who seems to be an ordinary girl. He expected her to be a yakuza lady. A queen bee, THE bitch. But unfortunately, she wasn’t what he expected and encouraged her to either go into prostitution or gtfo of Tokyo and go back home. At first, she wanted to do just that. Go home. But after a prep talk from her grandpa, she was encourage to fight back Kirishima and show him a “yakuza lady”. So what did she do? She sells her fucking kidney to pay Kirishima back for her expenses and told her bullies to fuck off. At this, Kirishima suddenly falls in love with Yoshino. Turns out Kirishima is a highkey masochist. And so, the relationship between Yoshino and Kirishima begins!

Now in theory, Kirishima appears to be a yandere I would like. He fit’s my #YandereAesthetics. He’s always smiling. Always telling Yoshino how much he loves her. He’s clingy, (slightly) manipulative, and acts rather cutely towards her. And the shit he says. Kirishima says some pretty good yandere lines. But unfortunately, his words do not match actions. He may sound appealing but he breaks many of the standards me and Julie made for this blog on what makes a yandere a yandere. The only reason why I even gave him a 1 out of 5 is just because he says and did like, two yandere actions. First, I should say what disqualifies him as a yandere. Two things, I don’t think Kirishima really loves Yoshino and Kirishima fucks other women even though. I think the second point is rather obvious. Yandere’s don’t play around with other people when they have an S/O that they love already. They aren’t a yandere if they do that. But I’m sure some people are surprise that Kirishima doesn’t love Yoshino. It’s a yandere’s whole thing! It literally means “love sick”! Well, I believe that Kirishima loves the “concept” of Yoshino but not herself. The problem lies in how he fell in love with her. Before, he couldn’t give less of a crap for her but the moment she acts like how he wanted her to act he fell in love with her? Kinda weird my dudes. Doesn’t that mean if she goes back to how she was before that he would drop her like a hot potato? These two points are literally the foundation of what a yandere is. Without them, Kirishima is just a psychopath who just happens to be infatuated with Yoshino or can even be considered a yangire.

But in the end, is Kirishima a yandere? I don’t know. I can’t say for 100% certainty if he is or not due to the fact that the manga isn’t finished. But all I know that right now, he isn’t a yandere. But could he turn into a proper yandere as the story develops? Maybe? I most certainly see that he does have the potential to be a proper yandere. With what he says, I can see. But now we have to see if he’s all bark or actually have a bite. I would like to know what you guys think! Regardless if he’s a yandere or not, I do encourage everyone to check this manga out. I found it rather entertaining and the #YandereAesthetics is perfect (even if Kirishima isn’t really a yandere at the moment). I even found Yoshino to be a pretty decent protagonist! (Though Julie would argue with me that Yoshino is pretty vanilla). So give it a shot everyone!

Overall Score: 5/10 *Edited*

[opedguy]

Al-Baghdadi Speaks to Crumbling Caliphate

LOS ANGELES (OnlineColumnist.com), Sept. 28, 2017.--Hiding somewhere in Islamic State of Iraq and Syria [ISIS]-controlled territory, 46-year-old Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi spoke to his crumbling caliphate, urging what’s left of his terrorists to burn their enemies, targeting “media centers of the infidels.”  After the death of Osama bin Laden at the hands of the U.S. Navy Seal Team-6 May 1, 2011, no terrorist spews propaganda better than al-Baghdadi.  “You soldiers of the caliphate, heroes of Islam and carriers of banners:  Light a fire against your enemies.”  Not since Bin Laden, has any terrorist delivered the pseudo-religious propaganda with such ease. Rumored to have died in a Russian air strike June 16, al-Baghdadi’s new audio message dismisses those rumors, letting the world know that he’s still directs what’s left of his terror group. Whether al-Baghdadi’s alive-or-dead is anyone’s guess, despite the recent audiotape.

           Losing Mosul, Iraq July 18 al-Baghdadi knows that his days occupying Raqqa and Deir el-Zour, Syria are numbered, with the Syrian army, Russia, Iran and U.S.-backed Syrian Democratic Forces closing in. Speaking to his dwindling caliphate, al-Baghdadi knows that he’s about to lose any credibility, watching his Islamic fighters wiped out or flee or driven into hiding.  Keeping the message alive is al-Baghdadi’s last gasp to preserve what’s left of his battered terror group.  Recruiting was built on seizing Iraqi and Syria territory, offering recruits the fantasy of a caliphate to meet their every needs.  Seizing young Yazidi women as sex slaves, appealed greatly to ISIS recruits told they’d have their pick of readily available sex slaves, something al-Baghdadi enjoys himself.  Ousting ISIS from Raqqa and Deir el-Zour, the terror group still holds territory from the Euphrates River to the Iraqi border.

            Ridding ISIS from Raqqa and Deir el-Zour scatters the terror group into hiding, much like al-Qaeda today.  Al-Baghadi’s knows that recruitment for the dwindling terror group just got more difficult.  For new terrorist recruits, where do they go now, to unspecified and changing hideouts? “You soldiers of Islam, supporters of the caliphate everywhere, step up your attacks and include the media centers of the infidels and the headquarters of their ideological war among your targets,” al-Baghdadi said in his radio message.  When al-Baghdadi talks of “media centers” or “headquarters” he’s referring to every credentialed news organization or foreign capital on the planet, something so off-the-wall, so unrealistic, so desperate, it looks like a madman’s pleading to save his rapidly sinking ship.  Once ousted from his territory in Syria and Iraq seized in 2014, ISIS no longer has a home base.

            ISIS’s 2014 blitzkrieg, seizing some 30% of Iraqi and Syrian sovereign territory, gave the terror group unprecedented credibility, especially to jihadi recruits from all over the planet.  “Don’t you dare allow the Crusaders and the apostates to enjoy a good and comfortable life at home while your brothers are enduring killings, shelling and destruction,” said al-Baghdadi, knowing he’s used hapless recruits as cannon fodder, watching from his hideout ISIS terrorists massacred by Syrian, Russian, Iranian and U.S.-backed forces.  No one’s killed more fanatical Sunnis than al-Baghdadi, giving them a suicide mission.  Al-Baghdadi offers new recruits only martyrdom, no longer holding enough territory to continue the sex slave operation that brought recruits in by the thousands.  Showing that he’s a master propagandist, al-Baghadi has nothing to offer new recruits other than martyrdom.

            Al-Baghdadi’s new radio appeal was so conspicuously desperate that it can’t be taken seriously by anyone, knowing that there’s no place to go other than to die on the front lines.  Without promising virgins and sex slaves, ISIS no longer has the appeal to testosterone-driven post-adolescents looking for action masked by their phony Islamic practices.  “The sons of Islam will willingly continue to sacrifice their blood and bodies for the sake of their creator,” said al-Baghdadi.  Whether al-Baghdadi lives in a delusional world is anyone’s guess.  His guile, his temerity and his fraudulent appeals to youth to commit suicide for his crumbling cause goes beyond the pale.  Without a home-base, means of paying recruits with something other than the afterlife, al-Baghadi’s foolish message falls on deaf ears.  While some recruits seek suicide for Allah, most prefer cash and sex slaves.

            Watching ISIS eradicated by Syrian, Russian, Iranian and U.S.-backed forces has left al-Baghdadi preaching to a shrinking choir, no longer taken seriously by current or future recruits.  When you have nothing to offer disenfranchised young men other than martyrdom, you’re terror group’s in trouble.  “You Sunnis of Iraq, Syria, Yemen and everywhere , , , get our of your beds and shake off oppression . . . return to your faith and restore your glory and eminence,” said al-Baghdadi, pitting Sunnis and Shiites in Iraq and Syria. Calling the U.S. a shrinking superpower in relation to Russia, al-Baghdadi can only sit in his hole, making poetic appeals that no longer carry any weight.  Robbed of his safe havens in Iraq and Syria, al-Baghdadi’s days are numbered before one of his followers rats him out to collect the reward on his head. “Victory against the enemies and the enemy of God comes next,” said al-Baghdadi.

 About the Author 

John M. Curtis writes politically neutral commentary analyzing spin in national and global news. He’s editor of OnlineColumnist.com and author of Dodging The Bullet and Operation Charisma

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