#and yes this is opportunistic but hope for a better future is the first step okay. you have to believe its possible before you reach for it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

axiomsofice · 3 years

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2021 Playoff Preview

WEST

1. Colorado: hitting their stride at the perfect time, key players are back from injury. Healthy goalies go a long way (as they found last year). Makar deserves Norris consideration. On top of all their riches Jost and Timmins have finally started to live up to their potential. Don’t forget Newhook and Byram are on the way up as well. This group should be a cup contender for the next 5 years or so. With all that being said it took Tampa quite some time to turn their talents into a cup, and only time will tell if the Avs are able to love up to their projection. 2. Vegas: this team is big and strong and feasted on the lower half of the west division just like the avalanche. One of the most undersold additions of this off-season is probably Pietrangelo, joining Theodore and a strong and young blueline that boasts some really good defenders in Whitecloud and Hague. Yes, Chandler Stevenson is not quite the flashiest name at 1C (he does a good job tho, don’t get it twisted), but even the bottom portion of the forward group has players who are strong, fast, and skilled, such as Roy, Tuch, and Kolesar. A cup win this year is very much in play, but the future is not without hope should Glass and/or Krebs ever blossom into what Stevenson is not. 3. Minnesota: Although a playoff berth without much of a chance to go all the way is not new for the Wild, the sense of ascension in a optimistic future is a welcome change. Even without a series win, the foundation of a strong performance could be a crucial step in their building. 4. St. Louis: letting your captain and best defencemen (player?) walk is certainly a choice. Reminds me a little of Washington letting Trotz walk. I must also admit I’m not a huge believer in Binnington. They’ll need Kyrou and Thomas to continue expanding their influence as the years go, but it’s hard to see this group replicating their success from 2019. Shout outs to Perron for aging like fine wine.

Final four pick: Vegas over Colorado

EAST

1. Pittsburgh: Yes, the goaltending is more stable than last year, but another huge aspect in what looks to be a much stronger iteration of the Penguins is the success of Matheson-Ceci. The duos play has definitely helped Marino-Pettersson to develop at their own pace, not to mention Dumolin-Letang to round out an understated but very strong blueline. Carter has been a great addition and has still got game, people sleep on you when your team isn’t good (I see you Anze Kopitar). Between their cups wins the Pens looked like an easy out at times, but I see that more as a testament to Crosby and Malkin being able to cruise into the playoffs. When they are on they could easily go all the way. 2. Washington: Some have been waiting for the bottom to fall out with this aging group, although they managed to pace the division for large parts of the season. Although Chara joins a defence group that is probably at its best since the Cup win, there are questions up front and in net. Mantha is a nice addition (maybe not worth the price) but there are a lot of injuries heading into the post season. Samsonov and Vanecek have been alright in net, but it is a lot to ask of two young goalies. In 3 years that tandem could be really strong but to this point it hasn’t been elite level. 3. Boston: finally the blueline is healthy. The second line, rather the forward group in general is as strong as it’s been in years. Swayman and Vladar provide some post Rask optimism, but for now there’s not much to be critical about throughout this lineup. 4. NY Islanders: This team is not exciting but they get the job done. They ended Pittsburgh’s 8 series winning streak a few years ago. Barzal/Nelson/Pageau is really solid down the middle. The defence would look a lot better with Toews. I might pick them to beat Washington in a series but that’s about it.

Final four pick: Boston over Pittsburgh

CENTRAL

1. Carolina: This team is stacked. The blueline is very deep. The goalies have all been good in large part thanks to their overall team structure (I’d go Mrazek/Nedeljkovic/Riemer FWIW). Trocheck has fit in so nicely and really shine with Necas, who is big, fast, and skilled, and often looks like he can do anything on the ice. Svechnikov is still coming into his own, but is not being relied on more than he can handle at this point. 2. Florida: This has been the most surprising and fun team of the season. It’s nice to see players like Duclair, Verhaeghe, and Bennett excel when given the opportunity. Splitting Barkov and Huberdeau was huge, and adding lots of sandpaper with the likes of Hornqvist, Wennberg, Gudas, and Nutivaara has helped solidify the bottom of the roster. It sucks that Ekblad is out for sure, although hopefully both he and the Panthers can carry their success into next year, regardless of how a very tough opening round in the battle of Florida unfolds. They really got pooched in the last expansion draft so hopefully that does not repeat itself, although youngsters like Tippett, Denisenko, and down the road Noel and Lundell should help prevent too much of a regression. 3. Tampa Bay: What to say? The defending champs hitting the post season in a return to full health. A roster with no holes, lots of continuity and the best goalie in the world (?) at this point. There’s not much reason to pick against them besides hockey is strange and random and Florida is more fun. Big shout outs to the NHL’s first all Black line, as Mathieu Joseph, Daniel Walcott, and Gemel Smith got the opportunity to start late in the season. In particular Joseph and Smith are players who have had really strong results in short stints fighting for a regular spot in this loaded Tampa lineup (also, shout out to their brothers, Givani Smith and P.O. Joseph who should have a shot at being NHL regulars next season). 4. Nashville: The Preds have the goaltending and defensive structure to pull off an upset. Both the 1st round matchups in this division embody why I really enjoyed this division, as geographical rivals have the chance to square off. In all, this division could provide the most entertainment of round 1.

Final four pick: Carolina over Florida

NORTH

1. Toronto: I will probably be writing more Toronto centric pieces so I’ll keep it short. In three short (actually painfully long) years as GM, Dubas has kept the “can and will” big four and changed the rest of the team to compliment their skill sets and short comings. This team is easily the favourite to come out of the North Division. 2. Edmonton: McDavid is on another level. Seeing some clips in the fall (off-season) it’s as if my eyes forgot how fast he really was, as upon seeing some clips of his I could’ve sworn were playing in fast forward. Draisaitl is really good too. Similar to Dubas, GM Holland has built a roster that compliments his offensive stars, although his route there has involved more patience than anything. Tippett and Smith have been the forefront of their defensive prowess, it’s hard to overlook the effect that defenders like Nurse and Bear have contributed to this new facet of their identity. 3. Winnipeg: the Jets are very much limping into the post season, although they do have the goaltending to pull off upsets, and the talent up front to score opportunistically. In all their blueline and defensive play in general is underwhelming. 4. Montreal: The Habs successfully outlasted the mediocrity in the lower portion of the division to hold onto the last spot. They do have the physicality and depth to outperform their talents in the playoffs as we saw last year, although a lot will have to go right for them to pull off an upset or two, including a vintage Price performance in net should he be available.

Final four pick: Toronto over Edmonton

#nhl playoffs #montreal canadiens #Toronto Maple Leafs #winnipeg jets #edmonton oilers #Nashville Predators #tampa bay lightning #Florida Panthers #Carolina Hurricanes #New York Islanders #boston bruins #washington capitals #pittsburg penguins #st. louis blues #Minnesota Wild #vegas golden knights #Colorado Avalanche

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soulheartthewolf · 4 years

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i am... so sorry

i... i made it. might as well just straight up submit it to you, eh?

---

Caustic is a patient man. On par with Bloodhound with how calm he is.

But the new addition to the league of Legends?

He was testing him.

“Going here—follow me and I’ll gut you like a fish!” the new subject called out, sprinting ahead into the obviously-already-scoured Drill Site, where open doors and unlocked Supply Bins emphasized how already searched this place was. Caustic scowled and followed Revenant, ignoring the threat from the latter. Their third teammate, an unremarkable newbie that almost died six times, follows suit, nervously trailing Caustic.

Revenant, of course, reached the ping faster than the rest of them, having both made the ping and sprinted there. He threw open a door and fired into the building, shooting the small Silencer ability he had. Suddenly, he spoke into the comms, “Whole squad down. Waitin’ like sitting ducks, really.”

“You should have waited for us—they could have—”

“Shut it. Their blood is on the floor and not mine. That’s what matters most,” the simulacrum snapped, irritation bleeding into his voice. He took mostly everything from the deathboxes, and slipped onto a roof, leaving Caustic to plant traps in a house he was soon to leave.

Soon enough, another Squad that had just fled the torturous space outside the Ring headed into the Drill Site, desperately searching for cover. One of them—Wattson, Caustic realized sadly— headed into the booby-trapped house, immediately choking on the new-and-improved hydrogen sulfide gas. She fell quickly, the Ring having depleted her health significantly. Fortunately, the gas emitted from the traps hid her face as she fell, weakly reaching for the nearest human.

Caustic stepped over the lifeless corpse and looked outside, seeing that his teammate had—once again—fallen, what little blood they have gushing out rapidly, quickly killing them. Revenant, however, was holding his own easily, peering through his fully kitted Sentinel, sending round after round in the already-weakened Squad. Eventually, the two of them finally realized that peeking the quick, efficient robot might not be the best idea. So, they hid.

Revenant scoffed, and slung his Sentinel on his back, taking out the EVA-8 he wasn’t much of a fan of. Both him and Caustic stalked towards the small building, the latter priming his ultimate, taking the small gas grenade and preparing to throw it.

A frag grenade flew past them, poorly thrown. Then, Caustic threw his grenade inside, the ghost of a smile under his mask. Revenant threw open the door and fired at the coughing and choking subjects, the ammo ripping them apart. When both of them fell and the cloud of gas dissipates, the two victors stand above the dying victims. Revenant slipped behind his target and snapped their neck, while Caustic stepped towards his frightened target, and punched them thrice.

Their deathboxes appear and the two victors set to work looting them.

After a few minutes, Revenant says, “I saw Sparks go into your death house. Did you kill her?”

“Yes.”

The simulacrum picks up on the lilt of sadness instantly. “Don’t feel bad. She’s just another skinsuit—”

In an instant, the skeleton-esque robot is pinned against the wall, a boxcutter nearly digging into his eye and a Devotion about to shatter his limbs. “I can tolerate your vulgar and unnecessary comments. I can tolerate your views towards teamwork. I even share some. But you will not insult—”

“Touched a nerve?” Revenant laughed, before a receiving a shot to the stomach, or where it would be if he was human. He fell, wires and faux blood pooling underneath him. A wheezing noise punctuated by static emanated from his voice box. Caustic stepped on his neck and snapped it, destroying the connection between the rest of Revenant’s body and his brain.

“I know you’ll live through this—I’ve yet to invent something to melt metal. But I hope you have fun.”

Then, the chemical scientist strode out of the building, leaving Revenant to silently be consumed by Ring, sacrificing a win in the process.

When they both returned to the Ship—where every official Legend lives until the season ends, when they can visit loved ones or go home for a bit—Caustic immediately went to his room, where he reveled in the satisfaction of breaking the smug bastard. After shedding the gear and slipping into more comfortable clothes—a t-shirt with the periodic table and grass-green sweatpants, as well as galaxy crocs— he walked into the hallway that connected everyone’s room, only to be shoved back into his room by a particularly pissed-off Revenant.

“The fuck was that?!” was his first question, slamming the door shut with an audible ‘bang’. Faintly, Caustic heard Renee ask, “What was that?”. Pathfinder, oh-so-helpfully, replied, “Revenant! He’s probably just going to talk with friend Caustic!”

Nox responded, “I could ask you the same thing.”

Revenant, who had orange sparks flying off him and a distinctly burnt look, wrapped a hand around Caustic’s throat and lifted him into the air, fuming. “What. Was. That. You snapped my fucking neck, you—”

Renee opened the door, saw the scene before her, and closed the door promptly. Revenant dropped Caustic, leaving the man to regain his breath. “I told you I did not tolerate you insulting people I care about. Leave.”

“Not a chance—I’m gonna rip you limb from limb you miserable skinbag—” Revenant lunged at Caustic, who quickly grabbed a hammer he kept from a project and swung it at the robot, who’s midsection crumpled under the force, damaging the electric flow that allowed him to move. In a flash, the robot disappeared, an orange trail from where he fell to his room.

“Not as impressive as he was made out to be.”

In a moment, the door was thrown open again, and Nox swung again, the crunch of metal breaking informing the scientist that he had hit his mark. Revenant crumpled to the ground, his face horribly disfigured and bent. He swore, and was respawned in the Medbay.

And there started a feud—one that span across hundreds of matches.

The system designed to set up teams seemed biased, always having Caustic and Revenant together, along with a random.

Caustic always won, eventually destroying the simulacrum.

A crunch under the boot, an experimental gas that melted the wires that let him move, a quick snap of the neck… Every time, a swear that he would get him next time and a ‘recover banner’ right next to his fallen squadmate’s face.

Until, for once, Revenant got the upper hand.

In the Epicenter, Caustic rushed into the center building, bullets trailing him, hitting the building and door as he shut the flimsy defense and moved to a more secure part of the building. He was about to throw a trap when someone knocked him over, sending him to the floor with a kick. Nox, disoriented, flipped over to face his attacker, only to realize it was a squadmate. Revenant stood over him, pinning his limbs and laughing hysterically. “Finally! Fucking finally! Oh, I’m going to make this slow for you.”

Caustic, as opportunistic as ever, revealed a notepad and pen from his apron, an excited light in his pale green eyes. “Fantastic. I will take notes on your methods—”

Revenant snarled and knocked the materials out of his hands, excited hysteria souring into irritation. “Smug fucker. It’s going to be even worse—”

“Even better! I have a remarkable memory anyway,” Nox interrupted. Revenant remained silent, his fingers twitching with the desire to render his adversary blind. He stayed still, even as a grenade was thrown through the broken doors behind him.

Then, the simulacrum realized with a horror, he didn’t want to kill him. Sure, he spited the smug way in which he was about to take notes on his own mutilation, but…

A shot to the back quickly eliminated Revenant, while a well-placed thermite burnt the scientist to a crisp.

[MATCH: FINISHED. You now have a two-day break from the Games to recover and plan for future battles. The Medbay will be closed after 9PM, so please leave as soon as you revive. Lights off is at 10PM. Have a nice evening.]

Revenant thought he had forgotten his humanity. The residue of when he still thought he was a human. As he rushed out of the Medbay, he hurried into his room. His room was barren, not yet having been decorated—not like he had any real desire to decorate, as the other Legends do. With a disappointed huff, he laid down on the stiff bed. He didn’t need to recharge after a match, as Pathfinder does, but he also doesn’t need (or want) the plush bed that most of the human Legends like. So, whoever set up this room decided that a cheap twin bed was good enough for the murder robot.

Said murder robot covered his face with his hands, a very human gesture, as he tried to…think. Just hear himself think. Part of him was screaming that he was failing. Most of him was chiding him on how he missed an opportunity—and the lack of opportunism would ultimately ruin him.

Eventually, he fell asleep—something he was somehow still able to do.

Caustic almost never slept on weekends, devoting the time under the moon to research that would take a while. Mixing chemicals, fixing his traps. Little things that took hours. He hated using up daylight for things that could be done at night. The little things would also often make a lot of noise, and since the rooms are all soundproof, no one would hear him as they slept.

His work stopped when, in the room adjacent to his, a static-filled scream startled him. The lab wasn’t soundproof, so he heard it clear as day. He set down what he was working on and walked to the source of the scream, opening the door to Revenant, covering his eyes with his hands.

Night terrors are common when you’ve died as many ways as the former hitman has, and the feeling of his eyes melting out of their sockets lingered longer than it should have. Caustic tilted his head slightly at the sight, confused.

“Leave me alone.” Static made his voice louder, an attempt to scare the scientist.

“Not after you’ve disrupted my work,” Nox scoffed. “Whatever you’re going through—”

Revenant lunged forward again, hand around Nox’s throat, one hand still covering most of his face. With a growl, he said, “I’m not ‘going through’ anything!”

“Clearly.” Nox sighed, and gently moved the simulacrum’s hand from his face, only to get a glimpse of the skeletal robot… crying? A saline solution had made teartracks of sorts down the skull-like face of the robot, orange light from his eyes glinting off of it.

The scientist froze, as comfort wasn’t his specialty. “I’m—”

“Leave!” Revenant snarled, loudly, before shoving the scientist out the door, shutting and locking the blackened bronze between them.

Nox didn’t move for a minute or so, trying to process what the fuck just happened, before returning to the lab. He sat down, thought for a minute, and muttered to himself, “Could there be any worse way to realize you have a crush on the murder robot?”

DUDE YOU JUST WROTE A WHOLE DANG FIC IN ONE NIGHT XJEJ! ITS GREAT!!! Thank you for submitting 💕💕💕

#if you go off anon id love to credit you A #anon #submission #ficlet #revenox #caustic #revenant #not my fic #apex legends

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nithr · 4 years

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I got you brother

Summary:'As it continues, as baahu's screams echo hauntingly through the chamber the musical quality to that cry disappears. As baahu tries to smile at him through tears , his glee disappears. As his father's laugh suppresses baahu's cries, his loyalty, that he always thought will be steadfast cracks.'

One moment of curiosity changes the history forever.

Notes:What would happen if bhalla and baahu were real brothers at heart. That's my plot and I am going to include the canon events that changes due to this. Just proof read it once so ignore any mistakes please. Enjoy

Bhalla knew that he should stop pacing. It is unseemly for a prince to be seen out of control, his father said. It was all because of that stupid, idiot, bastartd, son of a bitch baahu's fault. He didn't know what the last two meant but his father said those about baahu so it must be true. His mother loved baahu, even more that her own son, him, but it was his father who supported him, talked about him to his mother against baahu, who always stood by his side. The only job his father had given him was to beat baahu, to show him that bijalladeva's son was superior than any other person and he couldn't even do that. Baahu had to have cheated, because no one could have hit a target that far with the arrow without cheating. Bhalla had lost again, and worse, his father had been there watching. The way his father's smile had turned sour bhalla knew that today was going to get worse for him. He knew the routine by now, as soon as dinner got over he had to go to father's room for his punishment. Just thinking about those belts made him shiver. He wished just for a moment he was in baahu's place where he got to go with kattapa and just have fun. But no, he shouldn't think like that, kattapa was a slave not a family member, so he shouldn't talk to him or give him hugs even though kattapa gave the best hugs in the kingdom save for baahu. But hugs were for wussies and he was a big boy now. He was the future king of Mahismathi and he should face his punishments like a man not cower. And he definitely shouldn't cry. He stubbornly tried to will the tears of anger, it was definitely anger, away.

'Boo' the sudden shout made him jump with a dignified cry. Laughter sounded behind him while he tried to catch his breath. He turned towards it in fury knowing who he was going to see there. Baahu was laughing so hard with tears running down his face and a hand on the pillar to support him.

'Baahu, how many times do I tell you not to do that. You are acting so childish wait till amma hears about this. You are so dead.'

'You are eight years old bhalla, still a child, and what are you going to say to amma, that you cried like a two year old?' And it was said with a smirk that bhalla would love to punch it right out of his face.

'Go away baahu, go play with those slaves, I have more important things to do than talk to you'

Baahu's face hardened. He was usually a cheerful boy but if you ever say something about that idiot kattapa he suddenly turns into a scary person. Bhalla was not afraid of baahu, but after that one time baahu had chased him into the top of a tree after he had insulted kattapa, he usually kept out of baahu's reach if he ever was angry.

'Stop that, I told you before, kattapa is family and the others are our people. Dont insult them'

The or else was left unsaid. Baahu was the scariest when he was defending others. He was so done with this conversation, giving baahu the most filthiest scowl he could manage, he did learn from the best, he turned away sharply neatly side stepping baahu without managing to stumble, which was a first so yay him, he strode gracefully to his father's chambers.

'Bhalla ! Bhalla! Stop. Dont run' came the voice of baahu who had seemed to have followed him.

'Princes dont run you idiot! I'm walking gracefully. Open your eyes wide and see'

'Ok your royal pratness. You dont run. But will you stop for a moment'

'No I wont. Father expects me in his chambers. So go away'

He hoped baahu didnt hear the waver in his voice.

The steps which had been following him till now stopped.

He pushed away the disappointment that rose in him. Everyone knew better than to interfere in his fathers' matters, baahu included. Raising his chin high and clenching his fists tight to stop them from trembling, he strode forward to his fathers room.

He should stop crying, he knew, but the most frustrating thing was he just couldn't control it. He was used to it, the screaming, blaming, the insults, even the beating and whipping but it still hurt. The pain lasted for days, but even after the bruises faded the pain still lingered, like a ghost haunting his heart. Father was always so careful, taking care not to leave any bruises anywhere visible that couldn't be covered with his clothes.

A slap to his face made him focus on his father, rousing him from his thoughts while his father had been ranting.

'You wont even listen to me while I am talking. See this is why that useless bastard is able to beat you at every thing. You have shamed me, disappointed me bhalla. Again and again, I've had my expectations on you and you've failed me. You deserve a punishment bhalla. Remember this the next time you are going against that baahubali. Remember to win'

Saying that his father turned to take the whip hanging on the wall. He expected a beating today but the whip… he didnt. The fear that gripped him at the sight of that thing, nothing could ever evoke such an reaction out of him, he was sure.

He loved his father, he really did, but the times he had to be alone with his father and his whip, he wondered if the satan he heard of in the stories looked like his father.

The first hit threw him off balance throwing him on to the floor. A pained cry that he hoped to keep from leaving escaped his lips. He knew the result of making noise during the punishments. As expected the next hit came with much more force than usual. More than the pain from the hits it was the jeering and taunts from his father that made him want to cry. It made him think of running away from home and never coming back again. But this was his father and he does this for bhalla's own good, he has to remind himself of it regularly.

A sudden noise beyond the doors stops his father and makes him put down the whip. The momentary respite comes crashing down when the doors open and baahu enters the room. He sees baahu looking around the room and stopping on him. Sees him examining the wounds and the whip, and watch his face turn to an expression of horror.

'Uncle what have you done???'

Bhalla wants to erase the whole night from his mind. To be seen in such a state by his nemesis, is the utmost humiliation he could ever experience.

It seems baahu wasnt done with expressing his displeasure, after giving his father one of his filthiest looks, baahu rushes to him to help him stand up. Well his father wouldn't have that would he. Rushing, his father grabs hold of baahu and pulls him away from bhalla.

'See here you little scoundrel, this here is my son and what I do with him is none of your business. And if you want to go complain to your precious rajamatha know this, a father has any right to punish his son for shaming the family name'

And baahu does not leave it well alone . Giving a furious little huff he asks.

'And what has bhalla done to shame the family name uncle?'

'He has lost to you, didn't he ?'

And that seems to have shut up baahu. The lost expression on his face was one bhalla would have treasured if it had been present in any circumstance other than this.

Leaving baahu alone his father rounds up on him. Bhalla sees his hands move towards the whip and the words escape from him unbidden.

'Appa no! Not in front of him'

And that seemes to have angered him more if the speed with which the whip strikes him hard.

'STOP IT. STOP IT'

Comes from baahu. Bhalla wants to curse everything bad in this world upon him. Didnt baahu know that it was him, bhalla that has to experience the worsening of the punishments due to his interference.

'Stop it uncle please. It's your own son. And bhalla didnt do anything wrong . please'

There appears a sinister smile in his fathers face as he slowly approaches baahu.

'If it isn't my son's mistake then is it yours baahubali?'

The last word is spat out as his father raises a hand and clenches baahu's chin to meet his eyes.

He sees the turmoil in baahu's face as he battles what to answer. He also sees the resolve forming, for what , he has no idea.

'Yes. Yes it is my fault that I won and bhalla lost.'

The shock that that courses through him is combined with elation. Bhalla may know that that statement was factually false but to hear it from baahu's own mouth no less, it's a red letter day for him.

His father is many things and an opportunist is one of the most important ones.

With glee in his face and laughter accompanying his words his father orders baahu to strip. Bhalla is not given permission to move from his original position and he knows better than to move. So he watches from the centre of the room to where baahu is made to kneel before him, as if an offering to a goddess. The thing was even now baahu has him bet. The fear he knows that ought to come never shows on his face. Baahu just smiles at him as if in a soothing way that just irritates him more. He knows that smile is going to be wiped of that face very fast and he just cant wait for it. Let him experience what bhalla experiences every day and then let's see who is more greater.

The first strike forces an anguished cry from baahu's lips and that is more beautiful that any of Amma's lullabies. Bhalla knows that if he looks into a mirror right now that it'll resemble that of his father's. And he is mostly ok with that.

And then the next hit comes bringing forth more of the cries of hurt.

And then the next.

The next.

As it continues, as baahu's screams echo hauntingly through the chamber the musical quality to that cry disappears.

As baahu tries to smile at him through tears , his glee disappears.

As his father's laugh suppresses baahu's cries, his loyalty, that he always thought will be steadfast cracks.

And he doesnt know what to even think anymore. As baahu gets hurt in his place and even then trying to comfort him, bhalla's beliefs breaks. He knows it's only baahu, his arch nemesis but still, when baahu cries his heart hurts, and he doesnt know why. He doesnt want to hurt, he wants to rejoice. But watching baahu more than anything he feels a sense of comradeship that he hasn't ever felt in his life.

*****

It is after his father has drunk himself into a stupor. Passed out at the bed bijjaladeva doesn't notice two small figures quietly scurrying away from the room. Bhalla leads them both away from the room, supporting baahu as they escape.

Bhalla doesn't know what came over him. He must have lost his mind, because as soon as his father passed out, he rushed to baahu and spirits him away.

They reach bhallas chambers and bhalla leads baahu to the bed and goes to fetch the salve for bruises. Sitting beside him on the bed bhalla gives him the salve and fixes him with a look.

Baahu doesnt notice it at first , busy trying to reach places to apply the salve. But as soon as he notices it he gives a questioning look back.

' What?? Why are you looking at me like that?'

'You are asking me why I'm looking at you like you are a lunatic. Wht were you thinking you idiot. Why would you do something like that?'

Bhalla knows his voice has risen with every word but he has stopped caring at this point. If he doesnt get the truth now it is he who feels like will go mad.

Baahu doesnt stop his methodical application of the salve and as eons drag by bhallas hands itch to wrap around baahu's throat.

'What else should I have done. You are my brother. Bhalla, what else should I have done?'

As bhalla stares at baahu , who holds his gaze as if trying to implant that piece of knowledge into his mind with his will power alone, he feels free.

It is liberating, to know that there is one person there who will always have your back. So he smiles, a small one that shows how grateful he is to have a brother and watches baahu smile back.

He knows that this moment is important. A change that may affect their future paths altogether.

@carminavulcana @mayavanavihariniharini @ruminationsofaraven @thelonewolfwrites

A03

#baahubali #devasena #bhalla #baahubali x devasena #brothers #brotherly love

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diveronarpg · 4 years

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Congratulations, RACHEL! You’ve been accepted for the role of GONERIL with an FC change to Katie McGrath. Admin Rosey: There are so many nuances to Grace that I think are difficult to capture -- her voice, her mannerisms are so unique to her but in the span of a single application you’ve been able to give us all that and more. Your plot points make me so excited for what is to come, while your paragraph sample had me head over heels for the Grace that you put in front of us. Veronesi, we finally have our Daly sisters gathered together and we’re ready for them to wreak havoc! Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Rachel

Age | 21

Preferred Pronouns | she/her

Activity Level | Probably a 7/10? I’m on my computer a lot but it sometimes does take me a while to get through replies because I am a bit of a perfectionist. Inspiration comes in fits so there will definitely times when I rip through a ton of writing and others where is just isn’t coming as fast.

Timezone | PST

How did you find the rp? | I’m pretty sure I saw a teaser for this when y’all were first starting/again when you revamped but I was not in a place where I had the time/energy to write as much as I wanted so I filed it away and then forgot about it until now, when I finally have the desire to get back into writing!

Current/Past RP Accounts | Whiskey Bishop (past)

IN CHARACTER

Character | Goneril / Grace Daly

What drew you to this character? | Grace wasn’t the character that first caught my eye, but boy did she keep it. I’m a sucker for bull-headed women and Grace’s self-centeredness and bloodlust really drew me in. Goneril canonically is kind of a righteous bitch, played much more one-dimensionally than I’d like; this is where I think the shades of Grace’s character really grab me. She’s ruthless but not reckless, cold not from an absence of love but from too much - Louis Daly’s principessa, first born, beloved, spoiled like milk left too long in the sun of her parents’ affection. This is what intrigues me most, and what I think will be the most difficult part of her to work through for me as a writer. I’ve written characters that are hardened because they had to be, but none that truly chose wickedness simply because they could…. I hope to draw out Grace’s self-confidence and self-centeredness and see how far personal gain can really get her. She’s very calculating but also impulsive; the second she sees an opportunity that benefits her and determines the ends justify the means, she’s all over it. It’s dichotomies like this that really capture me and I think it’ll be interesting to work out all the ways she’s human, despite her seeming attempts not to be.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? | These turned into more of little character studies and possible engagements to further Grace’s character than specific plots - I’ve tried to condense the ideas at the start into more specific playable beats that could become direct interactions!

DOMINION: Playing the long game, working her way up to a power grab that consolidates to herself - what is step one? After all, everyone must start from the beginning…

There are three things Grace Daly is sure of: she was born, she will (eventually) die, and that she alone dictates her life. She’ll take direction, sure, but she knows what she wants. There is always, always something bigger, something better, just out of her reach, something she wants desperately to have. Maybe it’s a fault in how she was raised, never wanting for anything, but now - now she burns with righteous fire for that which is denied her: control. Grace is power-hungry and doesn’t care who knows it. She sold her soul to one devil and sold it again right out from under them when a better price arose. Traitor is too harsh of a word; call her opportunistic. If they look down on her now, well. Let that teach them to underestimate.

There will come a day when Grace will rule - not as a right hand, not as the shadow behind the throne - but as her own. This was a right she was born into, and one that she will claim. Her time with the Capulets was merely a step towards this goal, for how better to know your enemy than to have been amidst them? Now, one step forward, she aims her sights higher, looking to rise beyond that which has been set for her. She starts slow. First step: usurp her captain - a thing she sees as inevitable, with his penchant for drink and her particular brand of determination. She’ll do the grunt work, get her hands dirty like the rest - she will continue to do so even as captain, as advisor, as underboss, as boss herself. Henry is but a minor bump, easily smoothed over, easily moved beyond. She knows there is more for her in the Montagues than simply obeying him, and she will take her future with both hands.

FAMILY: What blood really stands between the sisters? How far is she willing to go - what acts against her own kin can she truly justify?

However much she claims indifference towards her sisters, they are her foils, in some ways. The blood shared between them is a regretful thing, nothing that compels her towards compassion, least of all love - still, Grace is reluctantly connected to them in name and in action. In some ways, the three sisters together make one whole person - Grace’s ruthlessness tempered by Catherine’s compassion; Regina’s apathy filled by Grace’s overconfidence; Catherine’s timidity balanced by Regina’s ability to get shit done. They compliment each other and highlight the others’ flaws in equal measure. Each is a product of the other and their shared home, however much they may want to distance themselves from it.

I would love to see Grade engaging with Regina and Catherine, as each draws out a different side of her. Regina inspires a jealousy in Grace that she is loathe to name - they inhabited in the same spaces, took to the life of the mob in equal footing, yet somehow Regina has pulled ahead of Grace, received recognition even without recognition - it infuriates her. Regina is a machine, dispassionate where Grace is cunning, engaged, though they both get the same results. Grace wants to be noticed, to be known, but there is a seductive quality to Regina’s invisibility, her strange innate ability to act just beyond everyone’s view. They are so similar - it seems like they are the same but Grace got oversaturated while Regina got drained. I can almost imagine them as children, Grace acting twice as large and loud to make up for her sister’s quiet nature, a feedback loop that kept them going on divergent paths to where they are now.

Catherine, on the other hand, seems like Grace’s polar opposite, yet they too are so similar. They operate on their own personal moral codes, though the ends their aim for are differing. Grace acts selfishly, Catherine selflessly - both aggressive in their approach, adamant in their own righteousness. Grace wanted a companion once she found Regina too quiet, saw her fire echoed in Catherine, but where she herself grew bottle sick on her parent’s love, Catherine drew it wholeheartedly into herself. I would love to draw out where their codes of personal honor clash, especially as it relates to Grace’s abdication to the Montagues - Catherine’s engagement with the Capulets rests on her sense of familial honor, but what is that worth now that her sister has (to many - never to Grace) dragged her name through the mud? How far does familial love stretch, for both of them?

If it came down to it, would Grace balk at enacting violence against her sisters? Would she be able to watch them die? Could she kill them herself, if it was asked of her? She talks a big game of disconnect, but I think that there is something about both of her sisters that tugs on a long buried part of her self-dedication, one that would make her question just what the means to an end entailed.

BLAME: Shouldering glory is easy, comfortable - what will happen when she has to take on the mantle of blame?

While external interpretations of honor mean almost nothing to Grace, she absolutely must stay well respected for her ability to get results. What would happen if she majorly messed up a job, or let herself be compromised, or something of the sort? If she causes unintended ruin that does not further her own goals? She doesn’t care about anyone’s trust (is there anyone that merits having hers?), but having fallen out of whatever trust is associated with getting results would, I think, really rattle her. Having to prove herself again, and again, and again, because of a stupid mistake, or consideration for an action ceased just a moment too soon - it would infuriate her. Would it turn her to a self-distrusting, indecisive figure (which she’s seen all too clearly in Henry)? Likely not, but it certainly would heighten her scrupulous calculation for her actions. She still acts on instinct, but with an extra second or two of hesitation that wasn’t there before, moments that could serve as the killing blow to all that she’s worked for.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Yes! Grace has totally made some enemies and I’d honestly be surprised if nobody tried to hurt her.

IN DEPTH

In-Character Para Sample:

When one wants a job done, one comes to Grace Daly. Her hands are dirty, drenched in years of sin she will never - needs never - absolve. She looked death in the face years ago and smiled, sharp, welcoming the inevitable as violence settled itself around her shoulders like a cloak. A weight that to some seems unbearable, crushing them down, is to her an extension of herself, something always meant to compliment whatever goodness was passed to her from her parents. Like civet balances the sweetness of perfume, so blood fortified Grace’s bright resolve.

She cannot complain about her work for the Montagues - being the muscle is fun, in a sickening way, acting enforcer of the laws of the streets. Even as she rose above simple soldier, Grace was not averse to dipping her hands back into the muck. If you need something done, do it yourself.

Disturbances in the ranks, a supplier stepping too far over the line - who better to quash it than the turncoat herself? Her reputation precedes her, in many ways, and more often than not she can beat out the kinks without much trouble.

[ For every few jobs done right, there is one that goes wrong. No, nothing is every truly wrong, irredeemably broken, just more difficult, the wrong sort of spectre arriving before her to the scene. ]

The man before her had spat at her - traitor, puttana crudele, perché dovrei ascoltarti? - so confident in her degradation that he presumed a rank above that simply was not there. What choice did Grace have but to put him in his place, then? This was why she had been sent to him, after all - one too many missteps, just enough hubris to be considered insubordination. A shipping contact, a nobody, someone that never should have registered beyond the receipt of goods on time. He fancied himself something more, and in doing so outstepped his utility. When an ox can no longer pull the plough, carry what is required of it, the farmer does not coddle it in its useless state. Why then should anything else be expected for such a pawn as this? When something no longer works, it is gotten rid of.

Put down.

She spares him no moment for negotiation - what little regard she could have had was dissipated from the start with the smoke from the bridges his words burnt. She does not draw it out. He does not deserve her time, though there is no want for effort. Just as he did not respect her status, he does not expect such savagery from so small a person, let alone a fallen woman, too blinded by his overconfidence to see that she is the knife up the sleeve that slides, smooth, between your ribs. Her first blow changes his tune, but she is better than him in all ways and makes it clear.

Broken, bloodied, he lies crumpled at her feet, a swift dispatching of rightful vengeance turned his words from barbs to pleas, begging for one last chance, empty promises of a return to clean ranks and subordination. To her, these mean nothing. Perhaps words of supplication may work on a lesser man, but this was how Grace Daly gained her name. Ruthless, frigid, no words cracked her polished exterior. Her hands were stained, bloody, and she did not bother to clean them.

One final kick in the ribs. He turns his face to her, hands rising to beg, and something in her eyes stills him. Her patience is wearing thin. His judgement has been meted out, to be executed at her hand. This - suddenly, terribly - the man knows.

She smiles as his frantic murmurs turn to prayer, the last plea of a dying man.Desperately calling to a god that would not hear, spilling the name of the one present. Ave Maria, gratia plena -

Her smile was a slow, twisted thing, sharp and cruel and tight, measured like the raising of a gun - gratia plena - like the pulling of a trigger.

- Gratia -

In the sudden silence she stands, angel of death come to collect. They will get their absolution, she thinks, turning away. But who said this god was kind?

Extras:

Character tag

Aesthetics: sunsets like a bruise, the glow of a cigarette cherry in a dark alley, meticulously organized desks, chrome, red lipstick, steel-toed boots, blood oranges and ruby red grapefruits, stilettos (the dagger and the shoes), silk slips and leather overlay, amber, teeth bloody from a split lip, lily of the valley perfume, to-do lists, silver jewelry, fingernails clipped short.

*I’d also like to request here a FC change to either Katie McGrath or Crystal Reed - I know they have more resources than Valeriia (though her face is very striking!) & also I think they both (Katie especially) look more like the actresses that are faces for Regina and Catherine… I’m happy to chat about this, or have y'all pick between the two for who you’d like to see most on the dash, whichever is best!

#accepted #accepted: goneril

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atamascolily · 4 years

Text

Lily reads Star Wars: Red Harvest, part six

In which EVERYTHING IS ON FIRE (and no, I do not exaggerate). Eat your heart out--oh, wait, sorry, eat someone else’s heart out. My bad.

(If you’re just joining me, check out the “Red Harvest” tag on my blog for previous posts)

We left off with Darth Scabrous waiting for Zo in the library. There's the obligatory villain monologue with some much-needed backstory.

“This library,” he said, “is the oldest part of the academy, older even than the tower itself. It was constructed over a thousand years ago by a Sith Lord named Darth Drear. He founded the academy, back when the planet itself was young. The ancient writings tell about how he used his first students as laborers. For hundreds of years, the Masters at the academy believed that a good many of those students died down in these very chambers, using the Force to move hundreds of tons of snow and ice and dig out these corridors and chambers to house Drear’s vast collection of … specimens. It was thought that Drear worked the students until they died from exhaustion.”

Blah blah blah Sith holocron blah blah blah eternal life. The usual stuff.

“Before he died, Darth Drear wrote of the final stage of the process—the step that he himself was never able to achieve. He dispatched his sentries to a nearby planet to abduct a Jedi and bring him to the secret temple underneath the library. After ingesting the elixir, in the final hours before his body gave in completely, under exactly the right circumstances and conditions, Drear planned to use a ceremonial Sith sword to cut open the Jedi’s chest while he was still alive, and eat his heart. Only then, with that final infusion of midi-cholorians still warm from the Jedi’s blood, would the decay process be held back—granting the Sith Lord his ultimate immortality.”

I TOLD YOU THEY WENT THERE.

The plant!zombies show up again - turns out they weren't really dead! They carry Zo down to the Secret Sith Basement at Scabrous's command, where the sacrifice is to take place. But don’t worry, not!Qui-gon is in hot pursuit! The tree librarian grabs not!Qui-Gon and dangles him in the air. I am LIVING for this. “No need for your weapon here,” the voice said. “Not in this place of learning. We are both learned beings, are we not? Enlightened and informed by the written word. No need for the encumbrances of physical violence.” It uttered another bulky, dusty chuckle. “Look upon me, if you like. Seek my face.”

There's a bunch of book avalanches. not!Qui-Gon goes into the tree!Librarian's head at his own urging and sees his memories

It was the librarian’s name, Trace realized, his patronymic, and somehow he knew that on his home planet it meant “lover of knowledge,” a perfect choice for—

HOW DID HE END UP ON A SITH PLANET AS THE SITH LIBRARIAN IF HE WASN'T ACTUALLY EVIL?? Sadly, we don't get answers.

Also, more relevant to the plot, not!Qui-Gon sees the secret Sith basement being built and gets caught up on all the backstory that Scabrous already revealed. Then everything catches on fire and not!Qui-Gon uses the Force to retrieve his lightsaber and create an air bubble to ward off the flames.

He looked at the lightsaber, laboring to evacuate every other thought from his mind. At the Jedi Temple, they had taught that it was never a matter of manipulating the object, but of eliminating the space that separated you from it. Yet at this moment, the object in question had never felt so far away....

The timing of what happened next was critical. Deactivating the bubble, he opened his hand, and the lightsaber flew into it. Its handle was almost too hot to hold, but the solidity of it had never felt better in his life.

I like this attention to detail in my Star Wars.

Not!Qui-gon gets pulled down to the basement via plant zombies for the final showdown as the library burns around him.Good-bye, Tree Librarian -- you may have been evil at the end, or perhaps this whole time, but you were fucking rad.

The mechanic is still alive and in hiding. He gets lured out by Kindra's pleading, only to reveal it was a trap by the zombies and she's a prisoner. The zombies rip her to pieces but the mechanic gets away. I’m so mad because even though I knew it was a trap, and I knew she was going to die, I hoped she got a more badass ending. Sigh.

Meanwhile, the bounty hunter and the newly liberated HK droid discover the zombies are hiding INSIDE the Tauntauns, a la Aliens and it's gross, and now we have zombie tauntauns, too. Turns out the HK droid hates the Sith too! But the bounty hunter got sprayed with tauntaun spit so now he's infected. Good thing droids can't get this... right?

Scabrous tries to kill Zo but not!Qui-gon makes a dramatic entrance and stops him. Not!Qui-gon gets murdered while Zo watches in horror and... I guess he really has more in common with Qui-Gon than I initially thought!

Scabrous transforms into his final form, but the orchid wakes up just in time, and Zo tells it to grow while she starts going to town on the Scabrous and slaughters him with his own sword. It doesn't take, so she switches to her brother's lightsaber, which does better, since it actually cauterizes.

She climbs out of the pit after Scabrous is dead, only to find the rest of the zombie horde waiting for her. The bounty hunter and droid rescue her, but they're attacked by the academy's perimeter cannons, so everthing gets worse fast. The droid jumps out and turns to the lasers on the tower, destroying everything - including the orchid if it's still alive? I'm a little fuzzy on the details here. Fortunately, the mechanic is flying the plane and he's okay.

Zo goes into the trophy room, only to find that the bounty hunter is now a zombie, but he locks himself in a cage before he turns and tells Zo to send him out the airlock, which she does--along with the entire grisly contents of the room, and a last zombie stowaway. FINAL GIRL VICTORY.

Zo returns to Jedi Greenhouse Planet, traumatized but alive. Turns out the guy who we thought was dead in the bounty hunter attack at the beginning of the book is actually alive, so that's good. There's a new orchid waiting for her:

You were with my seed-brother, the orchid said, arching toward her. Is that true?

Yes, I was, she told it, and thought about the voice of the first orchid, the one that she still heard in her mind. I still am, in a way. He saved my life.

Really?

Bennis smiled again, the indulgent smile of a proud parent, and gave the orchid a small pat.

D'awwww. Wait, so the original orchid isn’t really dead? She can still hear him even though it’s gone and they’re separated? Did I miss something in the tumult of the finale?? Or is Zo being metaphorical here?

Also, I’m so curious how the Jedi just... got another orchid so quickly. In our world, orchids can be clonally propagated in HUGE batches, so the AgriCorps could potentially be churning these things out at a massive rate. This raises WAY more world-building questions that this book is NOT going to answer, and it frustrates me, but I doubt the author knows much about actual orchids, so... *shrugs*

But cuteness aside, Zo decides she'd rather study on the Jedi Temple at Coruscant (the mechanic will take her) because she has too much PTSD. Also, this means that if anybody else tries to kidnap the new orchid, they won’t get Zo! I don’t know why the Jedi are even raising these orchids, given that they’re in demand on the Sith black market. Didn’t Zo explain they were the critical ingredient for an awful zombie plague?? DID NOBODY LEARN FROM THIS EXPERIENCE??

This is supposed to be a happy/hopeful ending, and it kinda is, but Zo apparently doesn’t know / the author forgot that the Jedi Temple was destroyed when Corsucant got sacked eight years earlier (as Trace tells us in his introductory scene)... which means she's walking into ANOTHER haunted temple nightmare and doesn't realize it yet. We'll call it.. Red Harvest II: Coruscant Nights, or maybe just Blue Harvest. How about that??

Frode would be waiting for her with the ship, ready to take her back to Coruscant, and whatever might be waiting for her there. The mechanic would be good traveling company, she sensed—there was a low-key air about him that bespoke dozens of untold stories, events that had made up his life and taken him to the unlikely destination of Odacer-Faustin. She felt herself already beginning to trust him.

Wow, I was not expecting this dude to survive, but okay. Also, he got tagged in the beginning as kinda greedy (scuttling the engines of the other bounty hunters to sell) and kinda lazy/stupid/opportunistic/desperate (for ending up as the mechanic for Sith Hogwarts in the first place). But okay, whatever, I guess.

And the moral:

The future was scary, but you couldn’t avoid it, anymore than you could outrun the past.

OR A MASSIVE ZOMBIE HORDE, AM I RIGHT??

Wow, that was a trip.

I feel like this was better than I had any right to expect from the premise, but still felt like a B-grade horror movie. I like the tantalizing hints of what world-building we do get, and I think this novel is excellent fodder for future horror/Halloween fics. Otherwise, I’d skip this unless you are a “must read everything in Legends” purist, enjoy Sith shit, enjoy watching Sith die in horrific ways, and/or a diehard plant nerd like me.

RANDOM TRIVIA: Wookiepeedia says the first draft had a character named "Middish Sunblade, modeled after Holden Caulfield, but Sunblade was removed from the rewrite because he was whiny and nobody could stand him," which is just too true and too funny for words. Also, an actually-in-character Holden Caulfield expy would last approximately 30 seconds at Sith Hogwarts before being stabbed... I’m just saying.

#star wars #red harvest #space orchids #space botany #lily liveblogs

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japanessie · 5 years

Note

Hi Shelly! Hope you're doing well! Thank you so much for this blog, it is so very appreciated because as I discovered MFS through OOR, I was nearly discouraged from the band by all thr comments and the lies. Thank god I decided to learn more and came across your blog. Now I wanted to ask you about yout thoughts about yesterday's Coldrain show in Paris, specifically about what Masato said when he was asked about a collaboration with My First Story. And he was like noooo, if it's One Ok Rock yes.

Hello 😊

Thank you for writing to me and thank you so much for reading. Always happy to hear from a fellow fan 🤗

【If something has never been said or discussed with the other party, isn’t it wise to just answer “No"?】

Honestly, I don’t see anything weird or sinister with Masato’s answer. He was being professional. At the very least, a collab already happened between OOR and Coldrain. They probably talked about more future possibility during their hanging out time together. Masato could only answer on behalf of Coldrain that they’re not doing anything with MFS and he also was not in the position to answer on behalf of MFS either. Hence, “No" is the right answer here, isn’t it?

−−−−−−−−−−−−−−

Now let’s see things from Masato’s point of view and not our angle as ordinary fans. Artists do collabs mainly for TWO reasons. One is the fun factor and the other is for what it can bring to the table (either creatively or even business benefit).

1. The “fun factor" ~ Coldrain and OOR are peers and real life buddies

The two bands started not too far apart and were in the same scene before OOR became exponentially bigger. They are “brothers". The “When I get married you’re my best man, bro,“ and “Bro, you’re in town? Let’s go have a drink!” kind of friendship. They meet up when they can and hang out. Did you see Masato celebrating Taka’s birthday in Hong Kong 😁?

For two groups of people to work together voluntarily, isn’t it imperative that they should also be able to gel together well?

Though they are also friends with MFS, they don’t really have that kind of friendship with each other as bandmen. Hiro in particular, besides being Taka’s lil bro, was more like a mere fanboy of Coldrain in the early days. Certainly not a peer because Hiro was just a rookie bandboy at the time.

OOR’s Skyfall certainly falls into the “fun" category. They did it as friends. The main songwriter was Mah from SiM. They put it together with John Feldman whom OOR was working with at the time. Roping in Ken (Crossfaith) and Masato, it was obvious they did it for the sheer enjoyment as J-Rock peers and real life buddies 😊.

Between OOR and MFS, it’s a no brainer that Coldrain would pick OOR. They already have the working chemistry with OOR. They’re closer and they know each other better which are important factors if you want to work together.

2. Would it bring something to the table musically?

There’s a reason why artists tend to collab with those as far outside their genres or styles as they can. You want to create something new. You want to bounce ideas from each other which you probably wouldn’t think of within your own group. You want that freshness but most of all, the challenge. So you can learn or at least appreciate each other.

Coldrain fans might remember the time when Alexandros invited Masato to feature in one of their songs?

youtube

Now THIS is a good creative collab 😍! Both sides stepped out of their comfort zones and ended up producing something you wouldn’t normally get from each of them.

Honestly, I can’t envision a Coldrain/MFS fusion to even give us anything new musically 🤔. The most it can achieve is them looking cute together 😂.

3. It’s pretty pointless from a business angle

You do collab to expose yourself to the other party’s fanbase. Coldrain and MFS pretty much share the same crowds. In other words, the OOR crowds 😑. Their fanbase won’t expand that way. MFS knew this and had already stepped away from touring with similar artists since 2016. The closest MFS got to “revisiting" those crowds was when they invited The BONEZ. I think that’s more because The BONEZ bassist T$UYO$HI, formerly of Pay Money To My Pain, also works professionally alongside MFS’ Sho and Nob as sessionist musicians.

Just from this factor alone, the Coldrain x MFS collab is already unlikely. What’s the point of Coldrain doing that with MFS when they already got the same exposure and even more impact with OOR?

4. Coldrain & MFS’ paths don’t really cross

Where and how 🤔?

Coldrain has already been in and out of Japan for years doing overseas tours and performing alongside non-Japanese artists, even before OOR did. MFS, on the other hand, insists on not touring overseas till after doing Tokyo Dome in 2021. At most they do one-off shows like Taiwan and China.

How about Japan? Well, MFS also is not focusing on bands from the OOR crowds like Coldrain to tour with nowadays. Apart from the occasional music festivals, Coldrain & MFS actually walk on two different roads.

5. A collab with MFS at this point will make Coldrain look like an “opportunist"

Masato and Taka are “bros". Yes, they had worked together. Yes, Coldrain had been invited to be on OOR Tour too. Now imagine if they suddenly announce working with MFS. It will look like they’re trying to cash in on the Moriuchi brothers’ popularity. Yikes! 🙊

Back in 2013 or 2014, it might not look bad at all but this is 2019 and MFS already surpassed Coldrain in terms of sales and marketability. Coldrain tagging along with MFS after working closely with OOR will only imprint an image of an opportunist.

“Oh, so you are doing both brothers, huh?“

6. Japanese artists sometimes refer to “touring together” as collab

This is something I’ve been observing quite some time. It seems like the word “collab" isn’t limited to working on a song together to them. Forget doing a song, there is not even any indication nor inclination of Coldrain getting invited to be on MFS Tour and neither is MFS getting invited to be on Coldrain Tour. No. They are each focused on their own marketing strategy to strengthen their fanbase.

−−−−−−−−−−−−−−

There is no bad blood, don’t worry

I know some people like to talk garbage about “so-and-so-hating-so-and-so" and whatnot. In case someone tries to do so, please feast your eyes on these photos.

An old photo of Hiro with his natural black hair and Coldrain bassist RxYxO 😊.

Hiro fanboying at the back …. LOL. Told ya he’s a Coldrain fan 😉

If you can find any video of Coldrain’s performance at Japan Jam Beach 2015, you will see that Hiro actually stayed throughout Coldrain’s set 😊. How cute!

Also, I’m positive that Coldrain got invited to do VAMPS Halloween Party 2017 after HYDE opened the door to MFS before that in 2015. Indirectly, MFS does make a good impact on the highly respected senior JRocker which have benefitted bands like Coldrain too 😍. Rottengraffity was invited in 2017 too. Nowadays, HYDE has also worked with Pablo (Pay Money To My Pain) and is regularly seen catching up with OOR here and there 😊

So, there. It’s all good! See? 😉

Oh my God *gasp* 🙊, I ended up answering this long …. as usual LOL 😂

#reply #my first story #coldrain #one ok rock #maifasu #マイファス

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ruffsficstuffplace · 6 years

Text

And The AWRD Goes To... (Part 9)

A sleek, modern airship cut through the skies of Mistral, the smooth hull, the sharp angles, and the bright, silvery exterior unmistakably declaring it of Atlesian make. Inside the VIP cabin, a man who seemed to be the antithesis of everything his transport was held out a battered silver flask of alcohol to the woman across him.

“You need a drink?” Qrow slurred.

“No, and I’d really appreciate it if you don’t offer again,” Winter replied coolly.

“Come on, Ice Queen: you look even more wound-up and tense than usual,” Qrow said, gently shaking the container. “Take a page out of my and your mom’s book: stray off the straight and narrow for a little while—hell, I doubt anyone will have a problem with it, given what you’re going through.”

Winter narrowed her eyes. “As I said earlier, Qrow: no, and please, stop offering.”

“What, afraid it’s going to be like Vacuo all over again?”

“Yes,” Winter hissed, “I am absolutely terrified and already feeling supremely disgusted with myself all over again at even the hint that we could go through that shit again.”

“Have a little trust in your self-control, Ice Queen,” Qrow said. “We know you don’t fall-off the wagon nearly as easily as I do.”

Winter glared at him, then sighed. “Is this REALLY your idea of making me feel better?”

“Yes. Do you really think I’d be doing this if I were capable of using literally any other method?”

“Fair point,” Winter said as she reached out to take Qrow’s flask.

Suddenly, their airship suddenly ducked, the flask flying out of Qrow’s hand and spilling all over the floor.

“Sorry about that, folks: sudden flock of birds out of nowhere, had to dodge,” their pilot said over the inter-comm.

Winter and Qrow both looked at the flask on the floor, its contents rapidly spilling out and getting absorbed by the nice carpet. “Well, that sure is an omen if I ever saw one,” Winter said as she looked back at Qrow.

“Meh, at least we still got the minibar,” Qrow said as he reached out of his seat to one side, opened the state-of-the-art refrigerator their jet came equipped with. He’d just picked out and opened the glass top of a bottle of whiskey, when the whole ship shifted again, causing Qrow and the bottle to smash against the wall.

“Damn it, another one! What is with today…?”

“And that is why you make sure to wear seatbelts,” Winter hummed as Qrow brushed the broken glass off his hand.

“No, that’s why you tell the bastards that built these jets to build the minibars closer to the seats,” Qrow said as he hauled himself back on his seat, examined his hands.

“You alright, Qrow?” Winter asked.

“As good as I can be, I guess,” Qrow muttered, as he wiped his hand on his pants, leaned back in his seat.

Winter eyed him pointedly, he put his seat-belt on. “Happy?” he asked.

“Yes. Just because your semblance is misfortune, doesn’t mean you have to keep setting yourself up for it.”

Qrow sighed. “Winter, with my luck, this jet’ll probably crash just before we get to Haven, and our seatbelts will get stuck and keep us from escaping the burning wreck it’s become before the engine explodes. Or it falls down a cliff. Or a horde of opportunistic scrappers start putting blowtorches and power-saws to it.”

“Well it’s a good thing my family has a reputation for getting out of terrible situations as much as they seem to keep getting in them, isn’t it?” Winter replied, smiling.

Qrow chuckled, and smiled back. “Yeah. Though I’d call it more a ‘curse,’ really.”

“Tch. ‘It’s all how you choose to look at it.’”

“Nick again?”

“Grandma, actually. She was talking about dust deposits so volatile and fragile they couldn’t be safely mined, so they just blew them up to open the way to the sturdier, much more valuable crystals that were hidden under several layers of solid, nearly impenetrable rock.”

“Coming in for a landing in five. Hope those birds don’t come back for a second pass...”

Winter pressed a button near hear set. “Roger that.”

“You sure you’re ready for this?” Qrow asked, his eyes softening.

“We’re hunters, Qrow,” Winter said sadly. “When we don’t get the luxury of waiting till we’re ‘ready.’”

“True that,” Qrow hummed.

The ship managed to land without further incident, one of the few other human soldiers that were with them knocked on the door, escorted them out of the VIP cabin and to the line of troops disembarking first.

As the air outside rushed in and replaced the interior’s, Winter sucked in a deep breath, and sighed happily. “Haah… already feels like I’m back home,” she said as she and Qrow were about to head down the ramp.

“Well, don’t get comfortable yet, Ice Queen,” Qrow whispered discretely. “Looks like they brought out the Red Queen to meet us.”

“You say that like that’s a bad thing.”

“That’s because it is.”

“For you, at least,” Winter said, before they both put on their most professional faces, and straightened their postures.

Outside, Diana, Ruby, and Freya did the same, the third’s fluffy arctic fox tail and ears stock straight and alert as she spoke. “Cavendish, Rose, please welcome the veterans who you will be coordinating with and assisting for the foreseeable future--”

Ruby gasped, her eyes widening. “UNCLE QROW!” she cried as she suddenly disappeared in a flash of rose petals. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” she asked as she reappeared hanging off Qrow’s arm.

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” Qrow said flatly.

Winter stopped, stunned, her eyes widening, before they darted back and forth between Ruby and Qrow. “Wait… you mean to say this asshole is your uncle?!”

“Winter!” Freya snapped. “He has a name, you know!”

“Sorry,” Winter said to Freya. “You mean to say this asshole Qrow is your uncle?!”

“Better,” Freya hummed.

“Yep!” Ruby said, just before she slipped and fell off Qrow’s arm. “Well, technically, he’s not my uncle-uncle, because he’s actually Yang’s mom’s brother and she and dad divorced a long-time ago, so that makes him just Yang’s uncle, but Yang and I are totally like full-sisters so I call him my uncle, too, anyway!”

“Yeah,” Qrow said. “Like I said: my family situation’s kind of a cluster-fuck.”

Winter stared, her face growing in ever growing horror, before she shook her head, and looked at Qrow. “Oh, dust, how did someone like you ever be allowed near children...?”

“When I’m the only qualified sniper-scythe instructor and/or huntsman around for miles,” Qrow said. “And hey, she turned out just fine, didn’t she?”

“Yes, but there’s such a thing as thriving in spite of an abusive or incompetent family, not because of it.”

“Ouch.” Qrow said flatly. “That really hurts, you know?”

“Agh!” Freya cried as she stepped up to them, barely coming up past either of their waists, her animal ears flattened and her tail wagging violently. “Will you two STOP your bickering for five fucking minutes? We have some actually important business to discuss, and more importantly, you’re setting terrible examples for the children!”

Winter flinched and hung her head in shame, Qrow smiled nervously. “Heh, you say that like I’m ever a good example in the first place...”

The chilly morning turned ice cold as Freya glared at Qrow, who started rapidly shrinking before everyone’s eyes.

“Sorry,” he whispered.

“Can we all proceed to business now?” Freya snapped.

Winter and Qrow both nodded.

“Good! As I was saying… Cavendish, Rose, please welcome the veterans who you will be coordinating with and assisting for the foreseeable future: Qrow Branwen, and my granddaughter, Winter Schnee.”

Ruby returned to Diana’s side and smiled and waved. “Hi Uncle Qrow, hi Ms. Schnee! Or is it Mrs.?”

“Just ‘Ms.’”

“Okay! Hi, Ms. Schnee!”

Diana regained her composure, and bowed. “Welcome to Haven! It’s quite an honour and a pleasant surprise to be working with veterans of the field much like yourselves; I look forward to your guidance as we sort out these recent events, especially because of how exceptional and chaotic they were.”

“Spare yourself the effort of the formalities and pleasantries from here on out, Cavendish: our work will be anything but glamorous,” Freya said as she started heading back to the buildings, rapidly speeding up the path, the bottom of her lab coat constantly flapping about. “Walk with me, please!”

Diana blinked, before she hurriedly joined the others in following Freya, feeling sweat start to form on her brow for how fast she had to move just to keep up.

“My apologies for the sparsity of details in the report that was sent to you two,” Freya said as she walked, eyes straight ahead, people and crowds breaking for her like she was a massive ship making her way through the ocean. “In-between the chaos of yesterday’s initiation, the disastrous aftermath, and preparations the first day of the new school year for all our many other students here at Haven, no one could quite find the time to organize and collate all of the data we had, short of sending you a giant cluster-fuck of everything we had, aerial footage, eyewitness accounts, and seismic data, and all.”

“You could have just sent us the slush pile anyway,” Qrow said. “It’s not like we didn’t just jet straight from Atlas to here.”

Freya’s ears twitched noticeably. “My professional standards aside, it would have taken much more time to clarify and correct any sort of misinformation or incorrect conclusions you had, and conversely easier and more efficient to just tell you everything we now know for sure, along with any events that had occurred in the meanwhile.

“Anything in particular you’d like me to inform you of first?” she said as she turned sharply to the side, headed to the R&D building.

“Yes, what happened to the initiates in batch 7?” Winter asked. “Excluding Rose, Cavendish, my sister and Kagari, of course.”

“Sans Manbavaran, Headmaster Lionheart has graciously allowed them entrance into our school, for mostly acting as professional hunstmen and huntresses should in the face of yesterday’s crises,” Freya said as she went up the stairs.

“And where’s the creepy girl now?” Qrow asked.

“Detained on-campus, for the moment,” Freya said as she stepped through the double doors. “The peacekeepers have been raring to have her transferred into their custody, but myself and a few professors have successfully appealed to Headmaster Lionheart and the Council themselves to let her enroll in Haven still.”

“… Seriously?” Qrow asked. “You’re letting her stay after pulling off a stunt like that? Seems like you’re just asking for trouble.”

“Obviously, we will be putting her under incredibly strict probation and restrictions, for everyone’s safety,” Freya said as she headed down one corridor. “But, when a teenager manages to successfully and discretely manufacture, recreate, and use a formula that once took Mantle’s best and brightest, an unlimited budget, and the most cutting edge facilities at the time, you’d be careless to just let all that potential and brilliance waste away in jail.

“Besides,” Freya said as she climbed up a step-ladder in front of her office, put her eye to a retina scanner, “it’d be hypocritical if we didn’t, seeing as we still keep you around, yes?”

Winter sniggered, Qrow scowled. “Sorry,” she said.

Ding! Click.

The scanner glowed green, and the door to Freya’s office opened. “Forgive me that I don’t have enough seats for all of you, I don’t usually have this many visitors at once,” she said as she stepped inside, grabbed a stick super-glued to the lightswitch and pushed it upwards.

Having been there before, Winter and Qrow just stepped in and made their way to Freya’s desk at the far-end of the room, before standing at the sides of it. Ruby and Diana, however, couldn’t help but slow down, and take a look at their new surroundings, especially since they couldn’t figure out just how they were supposed to get to Freya’s desk.

Haven professors’ offices were normally roomy and comfortable, a place you could entertain guests in or even use in lieu of the guest rooms for long meetings, discussions, and research, but Freya’s was borderline claustrophobic. Dividers, shelves, and racks filled and sectioned off the generous floor space, all the numerous devices, books, and assorted items wedged into them top-to-bottom giving the impression of a storeroom that acted as a dump for everything that needed to be shoved out of sight, but not completely disposed of just yet. The effect was only amplified by the abundance of ladders all around, some of them tiny with just three steps, others stretching all the way up to the ceiling, with a bridge at the top connecting it to its half on the other side.

Diana and Ruby looked at each other uneasily, before they started maneuvering their way through the miniature labyrinth, holding onto each other’s hands, guiding themselves by the sounds of Freya, Qrow, and Winter’s voices.

“What about the other batches of initiates?” Winter asked.

“They’re fine, in the sense that they were far away enough from the incident to either have been unaffected or even totally unaware of it, or given enough time to wisely steer clear of the chaos,” Freya replied. “The Celestial Hills are a VERY big place. Soon as word started to break about what happened, we found ourselves with a different sort crisis on our hands, but that’s getting off subject...”

“And what about the Shiny Rod?” Qrow asked.

Ruby and Diana couldn’t see Freya, but they could feel her scowl, her ears twitch in annoyance once more. “The artifact has been successfully recovered, and is currently here on campus. Before you ask: Kagari has it.”

“You’re letting Akko keep it…?” Winter asked. “I mean, I know she’s a giant fan of Shiny Chariot and all, but...”

“We didn’t really have a choice in the matter. Any attempts to take the artifact away from her, and put store it somewhere more secure, have been met with failure, sabotaged by forces we don’t yet understand. The artifact seems to be rather...” she trailed off.

“Clingy?” Ruby called out.

“Yes! ‘Clingy!’ Thank you, Rose.”

“Define ‘clingy.’” Qrow said.

“Cavendish, Rose? If you please?” Freya called out.

“I attempted to take the artifact from Akko and take it to the vault for her,” Diana replied as she and Ruby finally rounded a corner and made it to Freya’s desk. “As soon as I tried to go down some stairs, I mysteriously tripped, and in my attempts to regain my balance, I ended up dropping the artifact at the top of the steps, where Akko could have easily picked it up again.”

“I tried to borrow it from her some time after that, so I could go study it at the Forge, but as soon I mentioned that, it yelled at me to give it back to her,” Ruby said as she and Diana took the only two seats in front of Freya.

Winter paused. “… I’m sorry, did you say the artifact ‘yelled at you’…?”

Ruby shrugged. “It wasn’t like it started screaming and everyone could hear it. It was just kind of like, you know, this feeling running up my arm, and then it was like there was this yelling in my head, like ‘Give me back to Akko! Give me back to Akko RIGHT NOW!’

“It was awful. Really interesting, but awful!”

“Huh...” Qrow said. “So you’re saying that wherever she is, that’s where we’ll find ‘the artifact,’ and it’s pretty intent on staying that way?”

Freya nodded. “Precisely.”.

“And where is she right now?” Winter asked.

There was a sudden, awkward silence.

Winter’s face fell. “… Ah. I see… I suppose I should have realized that, sorry.”

“You want me to go check for you?” Qrow asked. “Council only said they needed someone to personally confirm it’s here, never specified which of us should do it.”

Winter sucked in a breath, and let it go. “No, no thank you, Qrow,” she said as she shook her head. “I was meaning to visit while we’re still here, anyway. Besides, mission from the Council themselves or not, I doubt they’ll let you in while you’re drunk.”

Qrow snorted softly. “Good point.”

“Do you want us to come with you instead?” Ruby asked.

“No, no, I’ll be fine on my own...” Winter replied. “I’m sure you have classes to get back to, I don’t want to be a bother.”

“We’re actually exempted for the moment,” Diana replied. “The professors thought it would be prudent to, as otherwise we’d be disturbing the lessons for all the inquiries from curious souls.”

“It’s kinda scary actually, how badly they want to know...” Ruby said, shifting in her seat uncomfortably.

Qrow reached out and put his hand on Ruby’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Ruby: me and Winter will try and make sure there’ll be an official report soon, so everyone will leave you and your friends in peace.”

“And if those answers happen to be the kind best undisclosed...?” Diana asked.

“Then we’ll start making it clear to everyone that they really don’t need to know.” Winter said calmly.

The rest of the debriefing continued, some interjections from Ruby and Diana to fill in gaps or clarify their report about their series of misadventures, what happened afterwards, before the two of them were dismissed, and Freya, Winter, and Qrow lowered their voices as they started discussing more sensitive matters.

Crash!

All of them jumped, Qrow and Winter putting their hands on their weapons, Freya pulling out her submachine gun from her desk, a dust canister from under her seat.

“Woops! Sorry, Dr. Schnee!” Ruby called out from somewhere in the maze

“It’s alright, Rose, it was an accident!” Freya called out as she slowly put her gun down on her desk, before she cast a surly look at Qrow.

“Hey, it’s not like I wanted that to happen...” he muttered.

Freya sighed. “I know. Which honestly just makes this situation even shittier than it already is, because now we’ve got you and four Schnees in close proximity to each other…”

Note: How do you guys like Qrow and Winter’s interactions?

#rwby #little witch academia #au #and the awrd goes to #fanfic #dianakko #white rose

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doodleimprovement · 7 years

Photo

I know what you’re thinking: “Wow Nina, this is late as hell”

Yeah, it is. But I wanted to take time to collect my thoughts about the late Chester Bennington. I had to really think about how this man effected my life, and me, personally.

This is extremely rambly under the readmore but i felt as if i needed to post this

TDLR: Linkin Park left a huge impact on me and i mourn the loss of such a great and talented musician

I mean, sure. I was sad when David Bowie died, when Prince died, when Whitney Houston died. But while I enjoyed their music, they never really spoke to me the way they spoke to so may other people. But Linkin Park? Chester Bennington? Like millions of others, he had a profound effect on me. And coming to terms with the fact that I was in fact full on mourning him as opposed to just being sad was the first step towards really thinking about how I feel about it.

Now, like most fans I never got to meet him. I actually never got to see Linkin Park in concert (which I am now seriously regretting). Most of my experience with the band stretched back to when I was in middle school, and following them loosely through the years.

In all honestly, if you’d asked me I never would list them as one of my favorite bands despite owning an album and digging a lot of their singles, probably because of the “cringe factor” (a phase I’m glad I’m over, by the way). But now? They’re in my top ten. It’s kinda similar to how I discovered my favorite color is red. I thought it was purple for the longest time before realizing that I just plain preferred red. But that’s getting off topic

Middle school for me- like for many kids- was a time of great change. I was going through puberty just a touch earlier than my peers, I was finally coming into my own, forming an identity, and starting to genuinely clash with my father for the first time. My emotions were confusing and scattered and some of them I’d never really felt before. I spent a lot of my early middle school years being basically ignored by my peers (not even outright bullied. They just kinda ignored me.) and being left all on my own. I know I’m not alone in that feeling. A lot of kids felt like me at that age. But then, I discovered Linkin Park.

If you asked me what my first Linkin Park song is I couldn’t tell you, but it was probably numb. What I can tell you is that Numb was a fucking game changer for so, so many. Myself included. It was a song that spoke to me on an almost profound level. Yes, that feeling that I had when my father yelled at me, was disappointed in me, it was mental exhaustion, it was.. “numbness”. I had a name for it! A song that almost perfectly described how I felt. Like it had reached into my brain and made a song out of my emotions. But it didn’t stop there.

With every subsequent song i felt listened to, validated, like I wasn’t alone. And during a period where i truly did feel it, it kinda felt like a life saver, though not literally. But the reassurance was nice.

But, then things changed

I stopped listening for a time, hearing people joke about Linkin Park in the same breath they made fun of other bands I liked, such as Nickleback, Avril Levine, Smashmouth. I felt shamed and just… stopped. High school came, my life just relaxed.

………Then February 2010 happened, and I found myself in a place that, frankly, I never want to be again. It was dark, it was sad, it was frustrating and exhausting. But, music was there. Linkin Park was there.

I won’t say they did anything hyperbolic like cure my depressive state or make the sting of grief go away, but I won’t deny that they helped. Like with so many other people… they helped

And now, he’s dead. And i’m realizing just how much I’ve missed as a fan. Entire albums, interviews, videos, twitter hastags, just…. everything.

I feel almost like an opportunist, waiting until the damn man is gone and the future of the band is unclear for me to get back into it.

But thats beside the point, and off topic…

Overall I just feel an overwhelming sense of loss and sorrow.

And so, i’ll address a few people here who will never read this, but I want to get this out anyway

The band itself, Linkin Park

You all knew him, cared for him, he was your family and friend. I can only imagine how hard this must be for you all. Just know that your fans love you guys too, and they will support you, whatever you guys decide to do next. I know I will

To Chester Bennington’s Family,

I can only imagine your pain. Well, I can’t just imagine, since i have felt that pain myself. Support each other, get the help you need, and I wish you all the best. The road to being “okay” is painful, long, and often feels like it goes nowhere, but you will get there.

And Finally, to the man who *definitely* won’t read this

Chester,

While I don’t agree or support what you did. There is always a better way, I imagine that you probably were just tired of it. Years and years of struggling with the aftermath of abuse and addiction and depression. It must have just been… exhausting.

But… I hope that you’ve found your peace

“And the sun will set for you”, you once sung. I can’t help but believe that it was a you, talking to yourself.

The sun has indeed set for you… but your legacy? It still shines bright. In the tearing eyes of every fan whose found salvation in feeling understood, found catharsis in screaming lyrics at the top of their lungs, and from being pulled from the brink by your singing, your songs.

The sun isn’t setting on what you’ve left behind any time soon.

#antonia speaks #antonia rambles #linkin park #chester bennington #rip chester bennington #this is #sad #and kinda lame #sorry

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sxypigeon · 7 years

Text

The Wedding (chapter 14)

Book 5 Absolution

A/N: A reappearance of the plot after an adorable chapter of fluff! Mako gets a new assignment, a new character makes an a debut, someone gets assassinated, and the girls begin their vacation. Get your canon korrasami while it’s hot!

Chapter 1, 13

Tahno’s trombone bellowed enthusiastically as the dance floor began to attract a new wave of party-goers with a lively tune. Shouts of excitement were lost in the music as the rest of the band joined in. Across the room, Korra could be seen practically dragging her laughing girlfriend into the mass of happy people.

“How are you holding up?”

Mako tore his eyes from his exes playfully fighting for the lead on the dance floor to his boss. “Better everyday,” he said before sipping his drink - Asami seemed to have won the fight as she twirled the younger woman before pulling her back into her arms.

“Good enough to get back on the beat?”

Hell, yes. “As long as you don’t expect me to take out another twenty-five story mech singlehandedly. Why?”

Lin snagged another drink from one of the passing twins. “I’ve gotten word there’s trouble brewing in the refugee camps. The various gangs are trying to make inroads with the displaced citizens, particularly the youth.”

Opportunistic bastards. “Sounds like we need to remind them why the police are around.”

“More than that,” she said, eyes scouring the scene for anything out of the ordinary - aside from Meelo’s and Wu’s impromptu dance-off. “We need to beat them at their own game. If we can give them an alternative to the Triads and the Agni Kais, we might be able to stop the next generation of gang bangers and thugs.”

“And you need me for that?” Mako asked in confusion.

“You and your brother.”

“Bolin? He’s not a cop,” he laughed, momentarily wondering if his boss had had too much to drink already.

“I’ve been at this for a lot longer than you,” she said with a glare. “I’ve watched this cycle happen more than a few times. Future Industries’ outreach programs have helped, but if we want to keep up with this problem we need to be among the people and continue to build bridges in the community.”

“Okay, but what do you need me - and Bolin apparently - to do?”

Lin took a long drink. “I need you two to spend as much time in the camps as possible and get a feel for what their problems and concerns are and let them know that we’re listening and trying to meet their needs.”

“And Bolin?”

“People love Bolin. I don’t know why - he was a pain in my ass the whole time Opal brought him with to rescue my sister and her family. If he can’t win over the people, no one can. I need you to be the level-headed voice of reason. I expect you to the voice of the department since I’ll be stuck here for the foreseeable future protecting the president.”

A bubble of pride began to swell in Mako’s chest. Lin obviously loathed delegating a task so important, but she did and to him. I won’t screw this up. You can count on me. “When do we head out?”

She was about to reply when she jumped forward in alarm.

“Talking about work at a wedding? Why am I not surprised?” Kya said with an arched eyebrow as she stepped from behind the chief. “Don’t you ever take a break, Lin?”

“Not when the people I’m tasked to protect are in danger,” she stated tightly.

“That’s a shame,” the waterbender cooed as she sauntered away toward the drink table.

Lin frowned after her for a moment before she remembered what she was saying. “The day after tomorrow. I was going to brief Bolin tonight, but he’s disappeared with my niece and I don’t care to know where they are at the moment. I trust you’ll inform him if you see him?”

“Of course.”

“Good.” She continued to watch Kya from across the courtyard. “I also trust that you’ll forget what you may or may not have just seen.”

“I have no idea what you’re talk about,” he said somewhat honestly. Wait, was Kya flirting with-

“Enjoy the rest of your evening, detective,” Lin said before slamming back the rest of her drink and following Kya’s path to the drink table.

“You too, chief,” he muttered in surprise before spotting Wu strutting up to him. Go get her.

“Are you sure you have enough supplies packed?” Tenzin asked the girls as Korra explained what they wanted to do.

“Yes, I had Asami double check,” she said with an eyeroll.

“Be careful,” he said as he hugged her. “And have a good time.”

As long as it goes smoother than my first trip into the spirit world, Korra thought as she pulled away. “I’m always careful. It’s the rest of the world that isn’t.”

“Of course,” he said with a smile as they watched Pema and Asami embrace. “I’ll send Jinora if anything of importance happens while you’re gone - though if you’ll only be gone a week-”

“With all that’s happened this week, I wouldn’t be surprised if I saw her before the night was over,” Korra laughed tiredly.

“We’ll do our best to handle things on our own until you return,” Tenzin promised with a smile. He and his wife watched them depart hand-in-hand as Tonraq and Senna joined them.

“Off on another adventure,” Pema mused happily.

“I suppose we’ll have to stay a bit longer if we want to see them when they get back,” Senna said somewhat sadly.

“You’re both welcome to stay as long as you want,” Tenzin said. “If anyone needs a break, it’s those two. I just hope it will be enough.”

“If how they look at each other is any indication, I’m sure they’ll have a very good time,” Tonraq chuckled.

Senna smacked his arm. “Behave.”

“I’m just saying they seem like they’re good for each other . . . and very obviously want to have some time alone,” he said with a grin. “Korra has never been good at hiding her feelings.”

“Something she gets from you, no doubt,” Pema laughed.

“At least someone is having a good time,” a young woman muttered to herself as she spied fireworks erupting over Yue Bay. She sighed tiredly as she hosted a large container of water onto her shoulder. “Probably UR soldiers celebrating the end of the war. I don’t suppose they could send any of that good cheer our way.”

The walk back to her tent was mostly uneventful with the exception of a few kids darting into her path and an elderly man attempting to flirt with her. Life in the refugee camp wasn’t perfect, but it beat being blown up by a pinkish-purple super weapon, she supposed. They say there isn’t much left since the battle - I wonder if the shop is still standing.

“I’m back,” she called tiredly as she entered the small living space.

“Jeong, did you have any trouble?” her mother asked as she set aside the pair of trousers she was repairing by lantern light.

She set down her load and rolled her neck tiredly. “No, the Triple Threats weren’t out, but Old man Hoon did say I looked particularly radiant tonight.”

“Of course he did,” the older woman muttered with a relieved smile. “Are you hungry?”

“Depends on what there is,” she said as she collapsed onto her cot. Around her, her younger brother and sister slept while her father hemmed a coat, trying to maintain the family business even without having the shop.

“Hotteok?”

Jeong perked up immediately. “That’s not what they were offering at the ration station.”

“Of course not. Jin and I decided to pool our rations together and make a treat to keep the neighborhood in good spirits. It’s cold, but you could heat it up over the lantern,” her mother said as she presented her daughter with a small bundle of the honey and nut-filled pancakes.

“I missed your cooking so much,” she admitted as she hurried across the tent to sit next to the lantern and her father. “Flameo Noodles seven days straight is six days too many.”

“I think you mean seven,” her father chuckled.

“How did your meeting with the kids go today?” her mother asked anxiously as she joined them.

“About as well as I could have hoped.” She took a bite and sighed happily. “Some of the younger ones seemed to be open to forming a neighborhood watch, but a lot of the older ones have already been talking to the Triad. I’m not sure how much good any of this will do,” she finished quietly.

“Trying is better than doing nothing,” he said softly. “And who knows how long we’ll be stuck here. Better to be over prepared than under.”

“I guess. I just wish they’d leave us alone. It’s hard to convince them to voluntarily do anything when the Triad is flashing wads of cash around.” She finished her treat and wrapped up the remaining for her younger siblings. “I’m going to do one more walk around before bed.”

“Be careful, you’ve had a long day already,” the older woman said.

“I always am.” The fall night air was just a bit too warm to be considered crisp, but was still refreshing. Jeong followed her usual path along the rows of tents, watching for any sign of trouble. Not that I could do a thing about it if I found any, she thought as her hand settled on the short dagger she kept hidden under the clothes - a dagger she didn’t know how to use.

A flash of pink caught the corner of her eye as she stared out toward the bay. What the hell was that?

Former Grand Secretariat Gun exhaled heavily as he stared out across the vast ocean. Varrik’s wedding had been a pleasant enough affair, but it did nothing to quell the anxiety in his chest. Two attacks on Republic City in seven days was terribly troubling and did not bode well for peace or Wu’s possible ascension to the throne (especially since the prince seemed to be completely uninterested in the prospect).

Who will lead the the Earth Kingdom if not the prince? He is the last blood relative of King Kuei. Surely he doesn’t honestly think the states can rule themselves? He leaned heavily on the railing of the ship and tried to clear his mind. Now was not the time to worry of such things - tonight was to be a celebration, a break from the non-stop diplomacy. Perhaps I didn’t have enough wine, he thought tiredly.

The death of the Earth Queen had been a sort of blessing in disguise for the aged politician. Though he was barred from returning to the capital, life had become exponentially easier without the unyielding woman’s constant demands. Long forgotten things like pride and self worth began to slowly re-emerge from the depths of his soul. He was a person, he realized after a month of exile, and he wasn’t about let the next king trample over him like the queen had - or that’s what he told himself at least.

Another glass of wine and sleep seem to be in order. He turned slowly and caught sight of a strange pink light in the sky. What is-

Former Grand Secretariat Gun’s body jerked backwards over the railing and fell into the calm sea.

“Are you absolutely sure you want to go straight to the spirit world?” Korra asked as Asami navigated through the mess of vines toward the portal.

The engineer sent her a smirk before focusing on the road again. “Yes,” she said simply. She brought the car to stop as the road ahead became unpassable. “Why?”

The avatar shrugged and fiddled with a clasp on her bag. “It’s just that we finally have time to ourselves and . . . um, I guess I sort of thought maybe . . .”

Asami felt her grin grow as Korra trailed off in embarrassment. “You thought what?” she muttered as she moved to straddle her waist.

“That - that . . . spirits,” she muttered quietly. “That you’d want to go back to your apartment.”

“Oh, I do,” she whispered against her lips before tasting them. They enjoyed several minutes wrapped in each other’s arms before Asami pulled away. “There’s a problem with going back to my apartment though.”

“What?” Korra asked dreamily.

“I’m not sure I’d be able to let you leave my bed long enough to make it to the portal, let alone actually do any exploring.”

A moment passed as the younger woman processed what was said before she began to laugh quietly. “Really?”

“Really.” Asami smirked as she moved back to her side of the car and let out a long breath. “I do really want to see the spirit world.”

“And I really do want to show it to you,” Korra said with a sappy smile. “So we spend a few days exploring and then we head to your apartment?”

“Something like that.” After a moment to let their hearts slow, they exited the car and shouldered their packs, walking silently toward the yellow glow ahead.

A/N: I apologize profusely for the delay and place most of the blame on OW Year of the Rooster - that’s not entirely fair, but it seems like a good excuse. Still brainstorming Overwatch crap, but no actual progress sadly (Who’s this Genji fool allegedly buying the doctor sub par chocolates?).

Super excited about the LoK comic - the preview gave me the kick in the pants I needed to finally finish this chapter and reminded me that I set a deadline to finish this fic by the comic’s release date. I’m not sure if I’m going to, but that’s the plan for now.

Thanks for reading, reviewing, following, and liking!

Chapter 15 Protect and Serve

#korrasami #korra #asami #fanfiction #Book 5 Absolution #mako #Lin Beifong

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leadingtone · 7 years

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I would like to write a few dull words about the election and inauguration of the 45th President of the United States which will happen this Friday, the 20th of January—exactly one week earlier would have been more apropos, one feels.

If you’ve no interest in reading them, I certainly do not blame you. We are all exhausted, and it’s only midweek.

_____

This calamity that it now falls to us to witness and to resist is the result of a highly effective appeal to magical thinking. Magical thinking is defined as the misattribution of cause and effect according to whimsy rather than to logic, generally compelled by superstition, sentiment, or some mix of the two.

An example of this would be the belief that socioeconomic uncertainty and instability in one’s life are the result of the election of a highly educated and eloquent black U.S. President, instead of the fallout from an oligarchic, military-industrial, hyper-capitalist machinery that, struggling to make ends meet, has as a matter of course increased the rate at which it consumes its own spare parts.

The corollary of such a belief, one might expect, is that the election of a crass, loud, and inexperienced but opportunistic billionaire landlord of German extraction ought to fix things up real nice—instead of ensuring the expansion and further fortification of the oligarchy which, having never exactly accepted this rather gaudy and gauche victor, will nonetheless gladly suffer to be refereed by him, considering the alternatives that were only narrowly displaced last summer. (I speak in particular of the Senator from Vermont, whose quite modest and sensible aspirations toward equality and accountability could scarcely be tolerated even by his own party banner.)

Yes, it was magical thinking that won this election, brilliantly harnessed by a pretty hapless egomaniac and his extremely intelligent and capable friends.

To Make America Great Again was, just as it had so successfully been in numerous instances prior, the perfectly hollow, chameleonic, and moronic clarion call.

To some it meant the miraculous resurrection of crumbling factories. (Behold, I shew you a mystery: In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trump: for the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed).

For others, to Make America Great Again is to watch in smug self-satisfaction as the wheels of the bus go round and round, round and round in reverse over the colorfully banded wrists—or gold-banded ring fingers—of queer and transgender citizens, in fact backing that bitch up as far as the steps of Foster Auditorium in June of 1963, when Governor George Wallace shrilly reminded blacks of their proper place, in patriotic defiance of the Supreme Court and of the will of most of the heathen nation, for that matter.

The driver on the bus goes, “Move on back.”

For all his shortcomings and his predictable lapses of idealism—I believe the man really did try, at least for a while—still President Obama and his family did provide a thirsty nation with a quiet and powerful symbol. The past eight years have seen, in some measure, the American Dream of the minority made manifest: an African-American scholar with an Arabic middle name ran the Oval Office, right where the nation put him.

The fabric of Wallace’s heavenly order started to sag a little over the heads of those for whom it had long provided the only meaningful existential drapery, like the peeling, deformed roof liner of an ‘85 Cadillac parked for too long somewheres down in Louisiana.

It is no wonder that the citizenship, the religion, and the ideological allegiances of our 44th President were called into question by hysterical magical thinkers everywhere; no mystery that his administration faced an oppositional legislature that would rather burn down the house than let the help sleep in the massa suite.

_____

Please understand: the President-Elect does not give a gilded Russian rat’s ass what color you are, whether or not you want to marry a man or a woman, or whether or not you are a man, a woman, or something else entirely that you may happen to find more beautiful and expressive and true to yourself.

It is pretty much all good with him. In fact, he needs you for bait and tackle. That’s about the full of extent of his concern with the gays and the blacks and whoever is friends with them.

More to the point, your presence in the society is welcomed and required by all the plump sucklings who will look on, tails a’twitchin’, as their new Boss Hogg does his dance on the steps of the Capitol on Friday. The anticipation will be unbearably adorable, I’m sure, as the piggies await their face time with the swollen, distended teats of the supine State.

They care only about revenues. Optimal market conditions.

They don’t begrudge anyone who wants such a thing as an advanced degree in gender studies, little as they may understand it. It is not that they hope to see gay teens closeted or disowned; they do not exactly hunger for young black or Latino families to have to strain to so much as visualize a better future for themselves; it is not their desire, one wouldn’t precisely say, to create and perpetuate war, or to dramatically accelerate the destruction of the environment beyond the merely terrifying and into the limply, hopelessly irredeemable.

They might in fact find it rather sad that some people count themselves fortunate to be able to survive by choosing between food and medication from month to month, while others cannot seem to subsist on ample rations of thoughts and prayers.

But those are simply the costs of doing business. The model—which is fully board-approved and actually is going fucking awesome at this point—looks like this:

First, you and your values will be painted as deviant, degenerate, and destructive in order that the appropriate persons might stand upon your bent back and declare this terrain to be the moral high ground. Internal studies and the assurances of multiple consultants have proven this to be the surest way to win an election, as it capitalizes on the basest and most reptilian aspects of human psychology.

Then you and, if necessary, your children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren will pay for your right to subsist with your labor, your money, your sweat, your personal freedom and sense of self-worth, and perhaps even your blood.

Commerce deregulation and moral panic are jolly good bedfellows!

‘Tis revenue, my boy, and nothing more!

Dollars and good sense, dear fellow. Units sold, and profits projected.

Such thinking is not magical in the slightest—not even a little bit, not even enough to be kind of charming.

_____

Cessante ratione legis, cessat ipsa lex. That’s about the only truth I hold to be self-evident anymore, so I’m afraid I have scant little to offer in the way of hope or inspiration.

If you are repulsed, and angry, and frightened, you are not alone. If in looking at certain people you no longer see them as you did before November, well, I understand how that feels.

Be on the lookout for those who may need your help, for whom borrowing just a smidgen of your courage and your basic human kindness may make a difference you can’t fathom.

Pay attention to each other, and pay attention to what people aren’t talking about on Facebook.

_____

We have all become pawns, every one of us, however actively or passively.

Perhaps they took advantage of a small fissure in your family, worming into it and then writhing and wriggling so as to transform the home into an ideological battleground, just as they have with mine and many others I know.

Or maybe they drew a dotted line through your tightly-knit circle of friends, through your school, or across your church. There are about a thousand different ways that can happen.

Maybe you spend a lot more money and live a lot less life than you used to, and call it growing up, and plan on the same for your kids. In the age of the sassy meme and the decree-by-tweet, pretty much anything is possible. Click to emote. Type to express. What time is it? ... Time to get up.

If they gave you the world and then snatched it back—then this is me hugging you, and reminding you that there are things, baby doll, that can never be taken from you.

I really do have some faith in what gleams within people. On a good day, I extend that munificent confidence even to myself. I have watched the embers die too many times for want of a hardy poke, sure.

But I have also seen ‘em blaze. Carpe noctem.

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thisdaynews · 4 years

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The 2019 Presidential Campaign Dropouts, Ranked

New Post has been published on https://thebiafrastar.com/the-2019-presidential-campaign-dropouts-ranked/

The 2019 Presidential Campaign Dropouts, Ranked

Ten Democratic candidates both announced and terminated their presidential bids in 2019. Who lost it best? From worst to first:

10. Beto O’Rourke

After the 2018 midterm elections, Beto O’Rourke became the most popular loser of a Senate race since Abraham Lincoln in 1858. Some warned him not to believe his own hype, but he barreled into the presidential race, very much on his own terms.

The quirks that seemed endearing when he was running for the Senate suddenly looked sophomoric for a potential commander-in-chief: Blogging about road trips. Jumping on tables. Livestreaming dental work.

His pre-announcement declaration to Vanity Fair—“Man, I’m just born to be in it”—was spectacularly ill-timed. As Democrats swelled with excitement over their historically diverse field, O’Rourke was no longer considered a woke hero, but just another entitled white male. He would soon be boxed out by Pete Buttigieg, who became the field’s youngest, freshest face.

O’Rourke ended his doomed run as one of 2019’s biggest political car crashes, grasping for provocative positions that resembled a conservative caricature of a Democrat. He pledged to revoke the tax-exempt status of religious institutions that oppose same-sex marriage, raising First Amendment concerns. “Hell, yes, we’re going to take your AR-15,” said O’Rourke, making it easy for the National Rifle Association to claim Democrats want to confiscate the weapons of gun owners.

Any chance O’Rourke could again run competitively in Texas, an increasingly purple but still culturally conservative state, seems to be gone. By running for president, O’Rourke incinerated his future in electoral politics.

9. Bill de Blasio

Bill de Blasio’s four-month fizzle of a presidential campaign was the final humiliation in a years-long quest to anoint himself as a national leader of the progressive movement. His hometown constituents have not welcomed him back with open arms. According to polling by the Sienna Research Institute, de Blasio’s favorable rating among city voters dropped 11 points over the course of his presidential run, landing at an abysmal 33 percent in September. Since he dropped out, that number has ticked up only two points.

To add insult to injury, New York City’s Department of Investigation is looking into the taxpayer cost of de Blasio’s use of city police officers for security during his time on the presidential campaign trail, which may have totaled over $1 million. Those four months would have been better spent filling potholes.

8. Tim Ryan

If Rep. Tulsi Gabbard had dropped out by now, she would place very low on this list. Her bizarre campaign so sullied her standing back in Hawaii’s second congressional district that she attracted a strong primary challenger, prompting her to declare that she wouldn’t even try to run for re-election.

At least Rep. Tim Ryan hasn’t already lost his seat representing Ohio’s 13th. But the odds have increased that he could. Unlike in recent elections, he now has a credible Republican challenger: former state legislator Christina Hagan. After a forgettable, slightly odd presidential campaign (that “yoga vote” never showed up), Ryan has nearly depleted his campaign bank account. As of the end of the third quarter, he had only $41,050 on hand.

He has time to replenish his funds, and his blue-collar district still has a strong Democratic lean (Hillary Clinton beat Donald Trump by 7 points in it, though Barack Obama beat Mitt Romney by 27). But all Ryan’s presidential bid did was make him easier to beat.

7. Seth Moulton

Rep. Seth Moulton’s campaign was so pathetic he never got a turn on the debate stage before dropping out in the summer. But perhaps that was also his saving grace. Not enough people knew he was running for him to suffer serious embarrassment. Still, he squandered goodwill by opposing Nancy Pelosi as speaker of the House after the 2018 midterms, and he didn’t regain it by running an impotent presidential campaign.

6. Kirsten Gillibrand

As soon as Sen. Kirsten Gillibrand entered the race, she stepped onto the set with MSNBC’s Rachel Maddow, who proceeded to inform her audience of Gillibrand’s ideological “transformation” from a rural upstate House member who leaned conservative on guns and immigration to a vocally feminist progressive. Maddow lectured the candidate that she would “have to give explanations … about why you changed your mind.” Maddow injected the idea that Gillibrand was an opportunist into the race, and it stuck.

Plus, Gillibrand could never shake complaints from Al Franken supporters that she pressured him into resigning before he could defend himself from groping allegations. The voters who didn’t sympathize with Franken didn’t rush to elevate Gillibrand either.

With a bruised national profile and a blue state address, she is unlikely to appear on anyone’s VP shortlist, and she doesn’t have an obvious path to a cabinet post.

5. Steve Bullock

Gov. Steve Bullock failed to exploit his unique status as the only red-state governor of the Democratic primary field. Still, it was a quiet failure that did not ruin his stature back home.

The Montana governor is term-limited and cannot run for re-election. And he has steadfastly refused to entertain jumping into the 2020 Senate race against incumbent Republican Steve Daines. But Democratic Party leaders, recognizing that he remains the most popular Democrat in Montana, are still pursuing him and hoping he will reconsider. And if the Democratic presidential nominee is not a white male, no one should be surprised if Bullock gets vetted for the vice-presidential slot on the ticket.

4. Eric Swalwell

The 39-year-old congressman concluded, after just three months on the presidential campaign trail, that he would not be 2020’s millennial candidate. In Swalwell’s lone debate, his demand that Joe Biden “pass the torch” was flicked away by the frontrunner. So he astutely decided to go back home and run to keep his congressional seat.

That freed up Swalwell, as a member of the House’s Intelligence and Judiciary committees, to immerse himself in the impeachment inquiry, and maintain a steady stream of related TV appearances. He has repeatedly driven Trump to rage on Twitter by regularly appearing on Fox News and articulating the case for impeachment.

Swalwell can’t take credit for Trump’s impeachment, but his brief presidential run introduced him to cable-TV viewers, allowing him to play a prominent role as one of the nightly drama’s talking heads.

3. John Hickenlooper

The undisciplined former Colorado governor had one of the more hapless presidential bids of the year. He mused at a CNN town hall, “How come we’re not asking more often the women, ‘Would you be willing to put a man on the ticket?’” and came across as dismissive (though he insisted he meant only that we shouldn’t assume a man would be the presidential nominee). He also shared an uncomfortable anecdote about the time he took his mother to see the pornographic movie “Deep Throat.”

After repeated denials that he would run for the Senate in 2020, Hickenlooper swallowed his pride and switched races in August. Now he’s the overwhelming favorite to win the Democratic primary in Colorado, and in an October poll, he leads Republican incumbent Cory Gardner by 11 points.

2. Jay Inslee

If there’s one presidential dropout whose campaign was all upside, it’s Washington Gov. Jay Inslee, who ran as a climate-change prophet. Inslee turned himself into a respected expert who can bestow green credibility on anyone he endorses. At the same time, his support at home is rock solid, and he’s expected to coast into a third gubernatorial term next year. And if a Democratic is in the White House in 2021, don’t be surprised if Inslee is tapped to run the EPA or the Energy Department.

1. Kamala Harris

Harris’s 2019 was rough. She undercut her persona as a steely interrogator with a series of inconsistent debate performances and wobbly stances on issues. Yet at the same time, Kamala Harris became a national figure in 2019, worthy of a killer “Saturday Night Live” impression by Maya Rudolph. By bowing out of the presidential race before the voting started, Harris avoided the painful spectacle of a potentially humiliating loss in Iowa, and she limited the number of enemies she made in the primary field.

As one of the few women of color who have won statewide elections, she will likely be on the short list of running mates for the eventual presidential nominee, especially if the nominee is a white man. She could also be a candidate for attorney general in a Democratic administration. And of course, at a relatively young 55 with few electoral threats to worry about at home in California, she can choose to remain where she is in the Senate, accumulate seniority and become a legislative maestro.

At the beginning of the year, Kamala Harris was the winner of the rollout primary. She ends the year as the winner of the presidential dropout primary.

#Dropouts #Foreign #Politics #Ranked

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olaluwe · 5 years

Link

Seun Onigbinde [photo credit] Daily Post

In less than four months or thereabout into the second term of the Buhari administration, nemesis in a way has caught up with two of his proven critics in a manner, arguably, never before seen in the political history of the country.

I say this, reasons being that, I’ve been around for some time now and I don’t think I’ve heard or seen similar scenario ever played out in Nigeria where politically active personalities would be barred from joining, in whatever capacity, a government of which they once hold critical opinions.

I might be wrong as I don’t have a monopoly of knowledge. As such anybody with a superior experience is free to correct me.

And the executor of the judgment on the two was none other than the Buhari Media Organization and by extension his die-hard fans.

The undoing of the two, like I hinted above, was after all the while of throwing invectives at the person of President Buhari and his government they suddenly make a U-turn by accepting an offer to serve in the same government.

The first casualty of the Buhari Media Organization’s intolerable stance for anybody who looked double-faced a personality was Festus Adedayo.

Festus is a brilliant writer and critic who has not spared the Buhari administration with the vitriol of criticisms ceaselessly flowing from his pen.

He has a well-referenced stockpile of unkind words for the president and his men in his locker-room as an opinionated writer.

It is fair enough, you might say. After all, being a Nigerian and a writer, he is such a critical stakeholder in the country’s democratic project that’s duty-bound to breathe his perceptions on the state of the nation.

He is also eminently qualified to hold the government accountable as far as governance is concerned.

But more often than not, his written pieces are borne out of bad faith, personal aggrandizement or a calculated but hidden lure of lucre through self-promotion unto the government consciousness by way of launching scathing attacks on it which all played out not too long afterward.

All seem to be going well for him as an independent critic until he veered off the track in a manner of speaking by accepting the appointment as the chief media aide to the current Senate President Ahmed Lawan.

The Buhari Media Organization, as well as his supporters, would have none of it. And their response was tidal enough to cause a significant shift in official quarters.

Adedayo was not only severely criticized by the group for accepting an appointment from a government he sees nothing good in, his innocent benefactor; Ahmed Lawan was likewise hounded through a frenzied social media campaign into terminating the said appointment.

That settled the score with critic Festus whose only rebuttal was his vehemence resolve to continue criticizing the government where and when it appears it’s not doing well as it concerns good governance no matter whose Ox is gored.

I personally wish him well at such a laudable endeavor from which I also advise that he should never deviate.

But if feelers from his antecedence are anything to go by, that’s left to be seen because I’ve it on good authority that he was once a media aide to one of the governors in the south-south region of the country.

This makes it a forgone conclusion that he would always be on the look-out for similar openings by whatever means suitable including demonizing his targets.

This time around the victim, literally speaking, is Seun Onigbinde.

Before his appointment gone awry as the Technical Adviser to the Minister of State for Budget and National Planning, Clem Agba, he was the co-founder of a certain IT company named BudgIT which specializes in fiscal transparency.

Like Festus, Seun has been a long-standing caustic denigrator of the government of the day, and indeed of the president.

He had at some points in the past described the president in the lowliest of language imaginable. Summarily, the president to him is 'incompetent, dictatorial and perpetuating illegalities' in one of his rabid jibes.

And those men and women of goodwill and genuine interest of the country at heart which includes my humble self who support the president he had also uncharitably characterized as 'ethnic jingoists'.

It is a thing of interest that long before now the route of criticizing a government of the day at every opportunity has been traveled by many with clearly the singular motive of getting noticed and followed by an appointment.

And many indeed were later appointed into the same government they had harangued at every turn even needlessly for the reason of not appreciating its limitations as a bunch of elective and appointive persons seeking the good of the country in their various capacities.

What usually happened next is they were not only quieted but would go on to singing a new song of praise of the government in which a while ago they see nothing good to write home about. Isn’t that hypocritical? Yes, it is. The reality that had stared us in the face-up until now is that they always get away with it.

With the few examples so far seen, it seems that is not working with this government because its supporters are strict, conscious and are well-armed to take on individuals who might want to access the government on the back of being self-entitled critics of its programs and policies.

And I think it is a good one. People, by whatever names they go – critic, opponents, name it should not be allowed to eat their cake and still have it. You cannot describe something or someone in the most odious terms and still want to co-travel with it. It shows in practical terms a total lack of honour, decency, morality, and integrity.

If the critics truly believed in the ideas and ideologies they are espousing which indeed most of the time are at variance with the government one should expect that they find an alternative home in the wide skies of our political climate to push them rather than seeking to sneak themselves into the same government at nightfall thinking people will just look the other way.

To me, it is nothing short of an act of moral instability or bankruptcy if you like which has long been condoned in the political landscape of the country.

It is even quite different from when politicians switched allegiance from one political party to the other no matter how ridiculous the stated reasons are.

In their case, they constitute themselves into arm-chair critics and are from their cozy inner-rooms slashing at the heart, body and soul of a government only to emerge as beneficiaries of such dirty antics while the real party men get soiled from head to toe in the murky trenches of Nigerian electioneering campaign.

Without mincing word, Seun Onigbinde is a social and intellectual scoundrel who seeks to profit by a calculated subterfuge. He is a horrible wretch hoping he would not be uncovered.

And his types should be restrained or resisted if you like by every means possible from having their ways in our society just as the Buhari Media Organization has done.

It is not about clamping down on the rights of Nigerians to keep an open mind and freely expressing their views and opinions on issues of national importance like some people are saying.

It is about the critics themselves not condescending into the domain of imbalanced and hysterical commentaries and analyses of national developmental issues for selfish gains which is what the likes of Seun and Festus has been doing when they have the platform to constructively engage the government.

Instead, all they spend their day doing was shading the government without proffering solutions. And they still have the effrontery to step forward to accept an appointment from the same government.

Whereas if they have shame, they would never have even secretly desire to serve in a government they both had at one time or the other called illegality among other unprintable words while deliberately overlooking the fact that it is a democratically elected government we are talking about here.

And for going as far as deleting his Twitter account so that his ridiculous and denigrating posts against the President Buhari administration would not be recalled, Seun has shown himself to be a tendentious opportunist - a scam artist to the core.

And that's mostly regrettable because it is coming from a young Nigerian whom we all have been vigorously campaigning for to be given a chance in a leadership position in the country.

I think more searchlight should be beamed on him lest we have another Obiwanne on our hand pretty soon.

Now if we think the political class is the worst set of people in the country, I think more than ever before, we should begin to have a serious rethink.

I believe like the Buhari Media Organization said that there are countless supporters of the President who have more powerful backgrounds and records, who are better qualified, and who would offer better professional and intellectual support to the attainment of the President’s ideas and goals, which they believe in – which Seun, from his posturing, has said he does not.

More so, I also think it is high time conscious efforts should always be made by public office holders to recruit only people whose political positions aligned with theirs into appointments to avert a similar occurrence in the future.

This is because we have had enough of people of imbalanced and unstable morality trying to reap roses where they had sowed thorns.

It is the most unimaginable evil. And it should never be allowed to stand.

I pledge my availability and support to fight the scourge of moral instability wherever it rears its ugly head because it is not good for the progress of this country.

And for those who think he (Seun) shouldn't have resigned from the post, and that he should have come prepared for the criticisms that was bound to follow his appointment knowing fully well his own antecedent as a critic of the government, they are not only being dishonest with themselves they are equally promoting the cause of travesty of decency, honour, integrity and above all moral stability.

Finally, I for one strongly believe there should be a clear demarcation of political ideologies in operation in Nigeria; instead of the current ideological fluidity in the system which is leading us to where.

No wonder Nigerian politicians’ cross-carpet at will from one political party to the other simply for a lack of political ideology. What we have today is more of politics of interest, of jobbers, of butchers and not politics of pan-national development driven by ideologies.

#IFTTT #Blogger

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coruscorp-blog · 6 years

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DEAR, MS. ( SATOMI INOUE )

We are pleased to have you back for another year as an UPPER SECOND YEAR STUDENT at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. We sincerely hope your classmates in SLYTHERIN treat you well.

ACT I: you were meant for greater things.

so your mother tells you in a strangled voice, the nights she can remember your name. they come few and far between by the time you turn seven, her mind too often trapped in a labyrinth of her own design. trapped inside fractured memories, clinging onto thoughts that slip too often in between her fingers—some days she doesn’t even know who she is, much less her only daughter.

your father is to blame for the mess her mind is. you watch him through the crack in your bedroom door, striding into the house once every year to reinforce the spell that robs your mother of her memories. obliviate. you whisper the world to yourself in your bed at night, rolling the unfamiliar syllables around your tongue. obliviate; to forget. what is he forcing her to forget? him? you? everything?

it isn’t till later that you uncover the answer: magic.

ACT II: your father enrolls you in mahoutokoro’s day school at eight; he believes you need some understanding of who and what you are. the answer has eluded your grasp for years, dancing just beyond reach. at mahoutokoro, you learn about witches and wizards, about the world hiding just underneath your mundane life. but the one thing you don’t learn is why your father erases your mother’s memories every year, or why your mother looks glassy eyed at you as if you are a stranger when you try to recount your day to her.

you grow up in a garden of neglect. your small home in outside kyoto feels large and lonely. your mother stays inside, a former beauty caged and wasting away in a comfortable prison. when she can no longer perform even the simplest of tasks, your father sends a nurse to take care of her, a stern-faced woman with no sympathy for children like you.

ignored, forgotten, in the way, you learn to take care of yourself when you’re at home—cooking, cleaning, doing laundry, things you’re probably too young to be burdened with, but you have no choice but to be independent. you know the only person who cares about you is yourself.

sometimes you think about your mother’s hands cupping your face, the fierce conviction in her eyes as she says, you were meant for greater things than this. i should have given you better.

you wonder what she meant.

ACT III: by eleven you begin boarding at mahoutokoro year round. your father pays for your expenses and keeps track of your grades, but is otherwise silent and uninvolved in your life. you know this isn’t a normal family structure; you see friends with loving parents, being doted on, being spoiled, and you look at your own life: no letters, no care packages, no presents, just a cold and lonely house to return to for the summers.

it burns in you, the hatred, the jealousy, the anger—your mother said you were meant for greater things than this, but you can see your future self consigned to the shadows: always ignored, forgotten, and in the way. you refuse to let that be your fate. you don’t know if your mother is right, or whether her words were simply a delusion of her own mind, but—you will fulfill her prophecy. you’re tired of living without a presence.

at mahoutokoro, you flourish. it’s a hard climb, and falls here are punishing, but you work twice as hard as anyone else to make sure people know your name. always near the top of your class, always involved in a million different clubs and extracurriculars. you are smart, you are engaged, you are beautiful like your mother once was. you are not kind and no one assumes as such. after all, they recognize your ambition, your game, and even if they do not love you, they give you the respect you deserve.

it should be exhausting, maybe, but the result outweighs the trouble is causes you to get here. you clawed your way to the top, unrelenting and unflinching, so that people would remember your name. you did this so that no one would forget who you are. you forced yourself into existence and made your presence known, and god, if that isn’t the most exhilarating feeling in your life—

you can’t go back.

ACT IV: you piece together the truth slowly over the years. this kind of knowledge is true power, the secrets people try to hide, the dirty parts of their past they work hard to bury. but when you finally look at the full picture, you realize that so much of it was not hidden well after all. all it took was observation, dedication, and a few carefully arranged bribes, some skillful maneuvering of your chess pieces.

the story is about your father: the scion of an old and powerful pureblood family, he was poised for a promising career within the minister of magic’s office when he met your mother. beautiful and smart, her only failing was her muggle blood, but he couldn’t resist her. their affair lasted over a year before you happened, an unwelcome surprise binding your father to your mother in a way he could not afford to be. panicking, he erased her memories of him, of magic, of everything between them, and moved on—

but charms are tricky, and memory trickled back into your mother as the years passed. not content to live, as she had at the time, like a struggling single mother, she tracked down your father and demanded payment—for you, yes, and for her silence. the affair was minor compared to what she was prepared to reveal to the muggle media. balking under her threats, he obliviated her once more. except this time the spell wasn’t as clean as before.

the easiest way to clean up a mess is to hide it. your father set your mother up in a house and checked on her every so often to make sure she was quiet. every time her memories returned and she began to pose a threat, he would obliviate them. when your mother couldn’t take care of you any longer, he stepped in to make arrangements, either out of obligation, misguided pity, or an urge to contain his mess in every way possible. you don’t know and you don’t want to guess.

the truth is: you’re a manifestation of his mistakes, and your mother is a victim of his arrogance and hubris, his ambition. the man the people of japan call the future minister for magic is a monster behind his carefully crafted, family friendly persona, and you are perhaps the only person who knows.

but you’re sixteen years old: hurt, angry, afraid, and think you’re smarter than you are. you play your cards too early, writing to your father and asking to meet him just once. when he arrives at your home over the summer, you lay out the facts along with the evidence you’ve collected to back your story up. the shock on his face quickly gives away to a cold, grudging acknowledgement, but your triumph at your perceived victory is short lived. liabilities are removed, dear child, he tells you, not sounding nearly as scared or worried as you wanted him to.

the next day, your father arranges your transfer to hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry. you scarcely have room to protest—he is your guardian and the source of all your funds. without him, you are nothing, and he knows this. defiance is not an option; you have to comply. so you pack up your things, say farewell to your mother, and take a portkey to a different continent while cursing yourself for being so stupid.

a liability to his perfect reputation, now removed.

ACT V: at hogwarts, for the first time in your life, you don’t feel clever.

english is clumsy on your tongue. you can’t express yourself the way you want to. the academics are easier; the standards of mahoutokoro were much higher, in your opinion. but grades mean little in this new country, this new school culture. you never wanted to come here, ripped away from your old life and everything that gave you even a sliver of happiness. here you are in the shadows again, a strange foreign girl without a voice. ignored, forgotten, in the way.

you learn. you adapt. a snake sheds its skin twice a year; you can do it once. this is the house they put you in, after all.

the language is hardest to grasp, so you work on that first: fix your accent and minimize your japanese qualities. you study, you learn the names of everyone in your house. you join a club, you attend the parties, you smile until your cheeks hurt. you speak up, you flirt, you shake hands, you kiss metaphorical babies. you force people to learn your name, to acknowledge you as a person to watch, as a force to be reckoned: sá-tó-mí, say it right.

managing a social life is like running a political campaign, you think, and you’re good at it—but you hate politicians, and even equating yourself to one makes your skin crawl. you’re not as fake, as cold, or as ruthless. or maybe you are and these traits are hereditary—you just haven’t discovered how far you can sink. sometimes your capacity for things alarms you.

once you tame hogwarts, you begin to look ahead. you’re an opportunist, turning a punishment into an opportunity for growth. but just because you’ve adapted doesn’t mean you’ve forgiven. here you find your capacity for something: revenge. you can safely say you hate your father and the control he has over your life even now. you want to break free, but you want him to suffer too. you want him to feel powerless and afraid, and when you have him on his knees, you want to bleed him dry.

secrets are your greatest weapon, so—

you plan.

FINALE: on your eighteenth birthday, your father calls you back to japan. instead of answering his summons, you write to him and ask for money.

a set amount transferred to your gringotts bank account on your birthday every year, you inform him, along with a promise to never contact you for anything else. and he’s to pay for your mother’s stay in the long term care ward at the magical hospital in kyoto. he’ll do this or you’ll hang his dirty laundry out to dry for the entire fucking nation to see. not a new play, but you've learned from your past mistakes. you send him a copy of the expose you’ve spent months—no, years—putting together, one crime after another, what could be a truly horrific stain on his minister for magic campaign.

call it extortion or blackmail or the act of an avenging erinye—you’re simply tired and fed up of your father exerting control over your life. you want to cut him loose. you’re tired of everything he’s done to you and your mother, and you’re tired, simply, of japan, of seeing his face and hearing his name wherever you go.

but underneath the exhaustion is a savage kind of glee. you don’t know if justice matters as much as much as the thought of him trembling—in outrage? in fear? both? you want him to know you can destroy his life at your whim.

(maybe there’s something to be said about family resemblances). he writes back, agreeing to your terms.

the last contact you have with him is a message scribbled on a hotel napkin and delivered via post owl. do not think you’re safe for a second, father dearest. if you stop paying or try to interfere with my life again, i will fuck you up. xoxo, your loving daughter

freedom should taste like something sweet, but yours is laced with some bitterness. you don’t really have a home or a family—maybe you never did to begin with. in that way, not much has changed, but you don’t really need it to.

you decide to continue to attend hogwarts, though you ignore the career advisor’s suggestions about a future with the ministry. instead, you dream about become a reporter, with a large byline under your name. travelling, exposing dirty secrets, becoming a household name while pretending to be an avenger of justice—you wouldn’t mind taking down powerful and corrupt men, you think. people could stand to be humbled every now and then.

you don’t know if that’ll be enough for you in the long run, but right now, it’s the option you chose, and that is powerful and significant in itself. you know you’ll make the best of it—you always do.

your mother was right. you were meant for greater things than a life caged in the shadows.

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