#daeus

[dont use/repost] rbs >>>> likes  

The #ADOS hashtag sensation that claims OUR people who are #DAEUS (Descendants of Africans Enslaved in the United States) only have a JUSTICE CLAIM with the United States of America is A BOLD FACE LIE. Refreshing/Reviewing American history provide EMPIRICALLY IRREFUTABLE EVIDENCE that multiple countries ENSLAVED OUR PEOPLE ON THIS LAND NOW CALLED U.S.A. So the foundation of this #ADOS hashtag sensation is built on DISHONESTY and PROPAGANDA. The BITTER TRUTH doesn't taste good but it is good for you. You will thank me and appreciate it later. OR NOT. 🤷🏿‍♂️ #RuthlesslyRighteous #BrilliantlyBeastly #SIAisSocialCapital #RescueRecoveryResilienceRenewal https://www.instagram.com/p/B8tsSH-p93u/?igshid=9s5bk9ylm70q

Sigil Masterlist / Ko-fi

Asmodaeus the First ---------------------- The slam of his own heart against his ribs, that panicked HAMMERING as if the organ was trying to crack through to beat & beat & beat like the mindless war drum he had fashioned himself to be. Scorches of fire and ash had laid waste to him, the smell of a storm rolling more prominent now than it had been for ages. The locking glass like plates of armor held up his weight, but he felt himself weakening as he stood steadfast before the magicked figure before him. Standingstanding regaining whatever composure he could scrape together with bleeding fingers he righted himself on his own two limbs and stood there, even as his resilience desperately reached out behind him - sideways - skyward, everywhere and anywhere but forward towards /him/. he leaned his head to the side, partially letting it lol as eyes near snapped shut - and then through GRITTED teeth fire & pain licked at his open wounds, snapping him back to the here and now even if everything told him to retreat from the here and now. Harsh breathing struggled to form words. His breathless proclamations weak, but persisting still even on the verge of unconsciousness. "You dare...do this... To us...?" His words lolled out like liquid tar, growling and barely carrying themselves forward. Wisps of smoke and the scattering of ember and ash falling from a dry tongue and flared nostrils. It didn't seem to phase or dampen the next onslaught. He remembered crackling noises. The taste of copper and iron and mercury in his throat, then tongue. He remembered the feeling of crumpling, of sharp things and a hot wetness. Then the falling. It was the first time the First born had fallen to him. But it would not be his last. Embers never did tend to die out.