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gerogerigaogaigar · 10 months

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Funkadelic - Maggot Brain

For the early days of Funkadelic's career the funk definitely took a backseat to the psychedelic. And while there are funky elements throughout Maggot Brain the real star is guitarist Eddie Hazel. I think Eddie Hazel is one of the best guitarists ever, his work in Funkadelic and his solo career is a blend of psychedelic, blues, hard rock, funk, and jazz and no one blends them all the way Hazel does. On the middle of the album Hazel plays fuzzy heavy riffs especially on You And Your Folks, Me And My Folks and Super Stupid. And on the ten minute opening and closing tracks he shows off his improv skill by playing delicate strings of jazzy riffs that create a beautiful stream of consciousness style solo. Obviously every single ayer on this album is a master at what they do but if its early Funkadelic, especially Maggot Brain and Standing On The Verge Of Getting It On, then Eddie Hazel is your god.

U2 - The Joshua Tree

This is an enjoyable album. The 135th best album ever? Oh my god no. U2 are factory default music. They are plain, unsalted potato chips. Bono is incredible at reaching into the void and pulling out the platonic ideal of banality. Like these guys can write decent music, but there is no soul. Inside those jangly chords and melodramatic vocals is just a bunch of guys who want to be famous and will do anything to get there except be sincere.

Fugees - The Score

In terms of rhyming, flow, storytelling capabilities, expansive vocabulary, beat crafting, and whatever else you want out of a hip hop record The Score is possibly the greatest record of all time. Wyclef Jean in charge of production and bringing a casual style of rap with heavy use of Haitian creole, Miss Lauryn Hill with a tough stacatto style while also bringing beautiful singing, and furtive Pras so easily forgotten. The mix of reggae and jazz into the hip hip beats made for some very unique flow and makes the group stand out on the basis of their instrumentals alone. But the rap skills of the rest of the group are completely insane and all three are ao perfectly in sync with each other. The lyrics are effortlessly cool and intelligent as fuck at the same time. There are absolutely no throw away tracks on here. Every single song could and should have been a smash hit single. And to be fair Ready Or Not and Fu-Gee-La did become huge hits and the transcendent cover of Roberta Flack's Killing Me Softly is one of the most evergreen songs in hip hop history. The Score has stood the test of time and become one of the most belived albums for a reason.

Joni Mitchell - Hejira

At this point in her career Joni Mitchell was an unparalleled genius at artistic expression. A little folksy and very jazzy, especially with the help of fretless bassist Jaco Pastorius, Mitchell is in the zone here. Every song developing its own complex series of characters and symbols. This is Joni Mitchell's most complete and cohesive work, although i personally have a slight preference for the less focused Hissing Of Summer Lawns.

Hank Williams - 40 Greatest Hits

What am i even supposed to say at this point? Sure I like Hank Williams but if you cant actually point to an album that is significant to call one of the 500 greatest then just choose aomething else. Hey there have only been three or four metal albums total and one electronic album so far. Why not choose some of that? Iron Maiden, Diamond Head, Judas Priest, Converge, Rainbow, Entombed, Gojira, Sepultura, Devin Townsend, Voivod, Opeth, Between The Buried And Me? Theres a list of metal bands with top 500 tier albums. Andy Stott, Carl Craigg, 808 State, The KLF, Jeff Mills, Juan Atkins, Robert Hood, The Orb, Justice, Moodyman, The Field, Leftfield, Mr. Oizo. There I gave you some electronic artists too. This list sucks. Oh yeah and Hank Williams is like the father of country music and is really good and important or whatever.

#500 album gauntlet #funkadelic #U2 #fugees #joni mitchell #hank williams

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jwooyoung · 2 years

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#yumdda #northfacegawd #justhis #layone #breathe 3 #john cena #khh #khiphop #audio #2020 #another song that is simply so bad that it comes back around and is good #i am here for mr bring rap justice

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youarejesting · 4 years

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Limited Edition. So Far Away

[FULL MASTERLIST] [Limited Edition Master list]

Beta: N/A Rating: All audiences Genre: Fantasy, Comedy, Fluffy Fluff, Adventure. Pairing: Bts x Friend!Reader Words: 1.4K

Summary: It is your first time buying proper merchandise, there are new chibi figurines and the first person to order will recieve a limited edition set. But what happens when BTS have gone missing without a trace and a few days later you receive your package. The box says congratulations, you open to find your limited edition figures, they look so lifelike. OH WAIT! it’s cause they are.

Returning home was quiet, absolutely no stress about little men being seen. Even going through customs was a breeze. You felt like you had succeeded but in what you were not sure. The boys had shown you around Seoul for a week before you had to return home.

You didn’t miss them, at least not yet. But when you opened the door to your home, it felt almost empty. You walked into the house and heard a shuffling. “Who is there?” you said thinking perhaps it was Jungkook or Seokjin raiding the cupboards again

“Hey best friend” A wave of disappointment washed over you. “where have you been?”

“Oh…” You shrugged “Around”

Walking dejectedly to your room, you went to unpack your suitcase and saw the dollhouse. “It hurt a lot to see it without them in it. You placed it on your desk. Before promptly face planting your bed and crying softly.

The days passed, you went back to your university and you started working on assignments and keeping busy with lectures and tutorials. You spent your time filling the void of loneliness and you never had the heart to throw away the dollhouse.

Just when things started to look better, you remembered them when they were Tiny. Rocking out to Mic Drop and Yoongi’s little hand gestures as he rapped.

Or on days you caught a glimpse of the boys on run bts or alive you would remember how they were when they had transformed back.

“How does it feel being the small one?” Namjoon grinned looking over you trying to be intimidating. News flash he wasn’t after seeing him reduced to the size of your hand with dimples and two left feet. That man couldn’t scare you. So why did you cower slightly? It was probably because you were weirded out by the sudden height change.

“It is odd” You muttered “I am used to you all being so small and adorable and needing my help and just generally being cute. But now…”

“Now we are sexy and manly and big and strong” Jimin puffed his chest making Jungkook and Taehyung laugh.

“You can admit it we are beautiful,” Seokjin said

One night you hid it in your closet thinking that maybe it was best to forget it all like it was all a dream. But it wasn’t. They would pop up with another live stream smiling and dropping little hints as if hoping you were watching.

“We really enjoy the Tiny Tan animation videos going around and we are planning to contact the artist and work with them, to create something” Hoseok grinned

You hadn’t left your bed in days hoping that you would soon forget that one day you would wake with no memory of the boys. But the notifications on your videos brought you back to the present.

Life had gone from bad too worse everything was going wrong; family, friends, job, and school work.

Your friends alienated you because you didn’t have time for you anymore so they stopped inviting you to things. Your parents continued their usual.

“you're wasting your life and you aren’t doing anything” “What’s the point of us paying for your college?” “When will you get a job?”

You were sick of their complaining and just everything screaming at you, you were unhappy truly.

Walking through the front door you see your friends all getting ready to go out and they went quiet looking around awkwardly.

Dropping your bag and taking off your shoes you received a call, “Good afternoon this is Y/n speaking” you looked in the fridge for something to eat.

“Hello miss Y/n this is Sejin,” Sejin introduced himself “I am calling to offer you flights to Korea for a week, the boys are feeling quite down and they mentioned wanting to see you” “Is it okay if I think about it and get back to you?” “Of course”

You just walked past your friends hearing a few whispered comments about yourself. Exhausted stepping into your room you flipped back on your bed staring holes at your cupboard.

Unable to hold back any longer you, opened the door and took the dollhouse from the top shelf and placed it on your desk. You opened the front panel and inside you saw a full-sized letter. It was obvious they had snuck it in your bag before you left Korea.

“Dear Y/n, we were not the best guests in your home. We are sorry for making you cry. We all hope to meet you once again. Namjoon” they had each written a tiny little message underneath with similar messages.

“If you ever miss my handsome face, come see us, also I need someone to make me those delicious snacks you make TT visit again soon, Jin”

“I would like you to know I will cherish the memories and photos we took together, Jimin”

“I hope you always feel welcome to visit, Taehyung”

“Whenever I feel down I will think back to the times we had together, your hope”

“I don’t like to play favorites but you are my favorite Army. You made me so happy and treated us like people, Jungkook”

You couldn’t help the tears that fell especially when you saw Yoongi’s comment. “What is keeping you there? You are miserable. Come join BigHit and take any position you wish. I am just being selfish and rude because you are leaving, Yoongi”

Taking out your suitcase you shoved everything inside, clothes shoes and looking around, was there anything else you needed or wanted to bring.

You took your computer external justice, all your paperwork, and zipped up your suitcase. Calling Sejin back.

“Actually Sejin does the offer still stand that I can get a job in Korea?” You said rolling out to the kitchen opening the fridge and grabbing a bottle of water and some fruit. “Well that’s the other reason why we were calling you back, Mr. Bang really wants to offer you a job” “Listen I will take it, is it too much of a bother to ask for a place to stay?”

“Of course we can find you a small apartment,” Sejin said “you would work as an assistant manager so you would work with me if you want you can have any job you would like,” he said and the girls were looking at you. “What’s the earliest flight you can get me there? I am packed and ready to go as we speak?”

“I can get you on the next available flight. How far are you away from the airport?” “An hour?” “I can get you a plane in two hours?” “Perfect I will be there”

Hanging up you felt a sense of relief “I’m leaving my parents will grab my stuff, so please do not stress. Our lease is up in a month so I will pay it out”

“Where are you going?” Your roommate asked hugging you

“Korea, I got a job a house and a few friends that I miss dearly” you hugged all your friends and sighed “I have been miserable after they left and I don’t think I can live without them”

“Good luck and have fun”

“Listen I will call you, I will keep in touch and if you ever want to come see Korea hit me up” you grinned “I am sorry for ghosting you all because I was sad but I think this is what I need”

With your bag in tow, you took a taxi to the airport and boarded the next plane to Korea, the whole way you were watching over the videos you and the boys recorded together.

Getting a notification for a new Live you watched it happily. The boys were talking about things being slow and they wish they could see their Army and perform.

Namjoon received a text and read it silently before grinning wildly. “I got a message from manager-nim” he grinned, showing the others his cell phone and they all grinned.

“Here to Korea?” Taehyung asked excitedly

“Yes and permanently” Yoongi read the text. “As Sejin’s assistant manager”

The comments were going off, “Army we have a new assistant manager please be kind they are a wonderful person who took care of us and brought us back to Korea when we had gone missing”

Jimin read the comments with a laugh. “SAM, SAM, SAM? Why do they keep saying three? What does that mean? Three?”

“Saviour Assistant Manager” Hoseok read over his shoulder laughing.

Tags: @victory0461 @gqmf-bangtanmama @simplymemyself

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rosecorcoranwrites · 4 years

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Villain Motivation and the Banality of Evil

Motivation in Fact and Fiction

As you know by now, I am a huge true crime fan. I've read books by FBI profilers and crime historians, am addicted to the Investigation Discovery channel, and have even attended a semester of my local police departments "citizens police academy". This is a professional as well as a personal interest, given that I am currently outlining a mystery WIP set in an alternate version of our world. Thus, I want to understand crime investigation, different types of evidence, and, of course, motive. It's this last one—the motivation behind a villain's acts—that many authors, not just those who write mystery—concern themselves with. And, after examining hundreds of real-life crimes, I'm here to tell you that it's not that important.

Ok, it's a little important, in that a villain needs a motive, but it's not important that it be extremely groundbreaking, or extremely relatable, or extremely anything. Motives tend to be common place, not extreme, no matter how shocking the other aspects of a crime.

For example, the excellent book The Father of Forensics: The Groundbreaking Cases of Sir Bernard Spilsbury and the Beginnings of Modern CSI, which I raved about previously, contains a number of sensational cases where the bodies were either hideously mutilated or, conversely, found without any scratch on them. To add intrigue to injury, the murders happened in the early days of forensics, when procedures for dealing with evidence were still being worked out and when more modern investigative tools like AFIS, DNA testing, and psychological profiling were still decades away. Every case was fascinating in its details and in its eventual solution. Almost every case had, as a motive, either money or getting out of an unwanted relationship. That was it. The oddities of the bodies were the killers' attempts at not being caught, but the reasons for there being bodies in the first place were as average as could be.

In fact, the three main motives, according to Lt. Joe Kenda, of ID channel fame, are money, revenge, and sex. The more headline-catching serial-killer crimes happen, it seems, due to a desire for power or a thrill. I would say these five motives sum up most murders, maybe even most crimes. Once you cut away the mystery and the gore, all you're left with are some pretty average human desires: money/stuff, vengeance/justice, sex, power/control, and thrill/excitement. When people talk about the banality of evil, this is what they mean.

Take the motive of "money". We're all familiar with the idea, in real and fictional crime, of robbing banks or killing someone for their life insurance. Writers seem to find this an acceptable plot point: villain wants a lot of money and thus does very bad things. Yet, if you watch enough crime TV, you will know that real murders happen for sums as low as $400 or even $40. There was an episode of Homicide Hunter: Lt. Joe Kenda where a man was shot and almost killed over an argument about 25 cents!

It also needn't be money, but material possessions. In one of the citizen's police academy classes, we learned about a local case where three teenagers broke into a man's house and stole, among other things, his corncob pipe. This pipe was the item he was most upset about, and often discussed in subsequent weeks. So the man lured one of the teenagers out to the woods and shot him execution-style. He was planning to do the same to the other two, and blame the whole crime on his teenaged lover. So that was one life ruined—and it would have been three others, had he not been caught—with the motive of revenge for a lost corncob pipe!

The Gap Between Good and Evil

I thus wonder why it is that we, as writers, tend to overlook such commonplace motivations. There's an unspoken assumption that the motivation of a villain must scale with their actions, so while sub-bosses or henchmen might get away with being in it for the money or the thrill, the Big Bad needs a more exciting or deep motivation. There's also a more recent idea being bandied about in internet circles that the villain should think he's the hero. I think both of these concepts are flawed, but let's take them one at a time.

Although I personally love "True Believer" villains that really do believe they are doing what is right, I don't think it's fair to say that all villains must be this way. After all, a great many real-life villains don't think they're doing something good; they just don't care. They want what they want and do what they can to get it without worrying about morality. I think the reason that this second sort of villain--the thrill-killer, the evil sorcerer, the bully--get a bad rap is that people (both readers and writers), don't understand evil. Yes, a villain who only desires evil is unrealistic, because, in fact, it's impossible to desire evil. But maybe I'm getting ahead of myself.

In the Catholic tradition, we hold that evil doesn't exist; it has no metaphysical reality. Evil is a privation, or absence, of good, similar to how a shadow doesn't exist, but is a privation, or absence, of light. Thus, a person cannot desire evil in and of itself, because they would be desiring nothing. Every evil act is done because someone is desiring something good, but disproportionately, or in a way that removes part of the good from that thing. Again, look at the five motives for murder. Each of those is a good, in and of themselves, but none justifies violating another person.

And thus we come to the other assumption about villains, that their actions must scale with their motives. I think, in fact, the opposite tends to make a more interesting villain. The motive can be something small--wanting revenge for some slight, or a peaceful life, or to be like everyone else. These might even be the same goods that the hero desires. What makes the villain villainous, and what can make them even more interesting, is what they are willing to do to fulfill these desires. Who or what are they willing to throw away? What rules are they willing to break? That distance, between what they want and how they get it is what separates them from the hero.

Types of Villains

This principle, that a villain must desire a good, but desire it disproportionately, can work for any type of villain.

Take the True Believer types: those that believe they are doing what's right. In this category, I would put people like Thanos (Avengers: Infinity War), as well as A.I.s like Agent Smith (The Matrix), VIKI (iRobot), and the Terminators (Terminator... obviously). Thanos is widely lauded as one of Marvel's best villains because he really does think he's doing the right thing. He is willing to throw away half of all sapient beings, plus the one person who he actually cares about, in order to save the other half. What he wants--peace and prosperity--is understandable, but while the gap between that and his genocidal actions is mathematically non-existent, it is morally huge. Similarly, the three A.I.s I mentioned are trying to save either robot-kind or human-kind, but are willing to murder thousands or even billions of humans in order to do it. Essentially, these villains are doing the classic Utilitarian trolley problem, but on a massive scale. They think they are the heroes, and truly do desire a good outcome, but the actions taken to bring that about are inexcusably evil.

Similar to the True Believers are a type of villain I will call the Desperate. These people are also trying to bring about good, but know that what they are doing is wrong. Mr. Freeze (Batman) is a classic example, as he commits crimes to get money and technology to save his wife. Actually, there are a whole slew of villains, mostly in anime and JRPGs, whose entire motivation is to save or resurrect a dead wife or girlfriend. They're trying to save someone they love, but they rarely brand themselves as saviors or heroes; Desperate types hold no such illusions. Sebastian, in my own series, is such a villain, in that he is willing to betray his friends and ally himself to bad people in order to save Chiaroscuro and make up for his past sins. He's willing to do evil that good may come of it, and actually uses the "I'm a bad person anyway" excuse as a justification for his actions.

On the flip side are those who don't care about whether or not they're doing good, which I will divide into three types: Dark Lords, Thrill Killers, and Egoists.

Dark Lords, obviously, include literal Dark Lords, such as Sauron and Voldemort, but I'm also going to throw in your average serial killer into this category. Why? Because they all want the same thing: power. The books I've read by FBI profilers chronicle the most gruesome crimes with motives ranging from rage to lust, but there is an ever present need of the killers to control, whether that's controlling their victims, the situation, or the police and firefighters (in the case of arsonists). Control is related to power, and power, in and of itself, is a good. This, in fact, is why it's wrong for these villains to take away the power or freedom of their victims. While a True Believer like Thanos sought balance, Dark Lords seek an imbalance, and want everything for themselves in an attempt to prove to themselves that they are more powerful, and thus better, than everyone else. These types of villains are, sadly, very realistic, but don't lend themselves to stories requiring a strong interpersonal conflict between hero and villain. They tend to act as a force of nature the hero must work against--whether in a fantasy against a Dark Lord or in a thriller against a serial murderer--and thus don't do much in the way of interpersonal conflict.

Better, in my opinion, are the Thrill Killer types, who see the world as a game, and are willing to do whatever it takes to have fun. Example of this are The Joker (Batman) and Mr. Sato (Ajin). Though The Joker is a bank-robbing thug, he's mostly in it for the laughs, and cares very deeply about whether or not things are funny. That doesn't make him any less abusive or violent, but the gap between his humor and his barbarity is what make him an interesting character. Mr. Sato, similarly, sees the world like one huge videogame, in which he has been given extra lives. Fun and games are a normal and natural good, but his villainy stems from what he is willing to do in this "game". Mr. Sato has absolutely no concern for human life, even his own, and kills hundreds of people (including himself, on multiple occasions!). The interest in this type of villain comes from watching their crazy schemes and then trying to figure out how the hero can possibly beat them. These villains are similar to Dark Lords in that they are something like a force of nature, but different in that the hero usually has to face off against them personally, outwit them, and deal with them as an individual person.

Finally, there are those who want something personally good, but have no regard for others. Technically, this could also describe Dark Lords and Thrill Killers, but here I mean really personal, as in specific to that person. Rather than something big like power or a crazy thrill, they tend to desire the utterly ordinary. Take the robot in Ex Machina. I'm not sure everyone would classify her as a villain, though she certainly did some evil things (it's up to interpretation whether she understands good and evil, though). What was her motivation? She wanted to go watch a crowd. She was, essentially, created to gather information, so that's what she went to go do. It makes sense that that's what she wants, but it doesn't justify what she did to the main character (even if he was kind of a doofus). Or Rezo the Red Priest (Slayers), who, in my opinion, has one of the best motivations of any villain ever. He was born blind and wanted to see. That's a totally understandable motivation. But he's willing to sacrifice the entire world to a demon lord in order to get that wish. Now that is a heckofa gap between a good desire and an evil action! And yet, is it really all that different from the sort of selfishness present in a man who would murder three teenagers over a corncob pipe? Real evil motivations are banal, and real evil actions are completely disproportionate to those motivations. Art, in the case of these last villains, is simply imitating life.

Asking What the Villains Want

Obviously, there are a million different ways of combining these villain type and motivations. Some villains want money so they can save a dying loved one. Some villains desire revenge because they truly believe they have been wronged. A Thrill Killer might find excitement in killing criminals. There is no one right way to write a villain, and there is no one motivation that is the only interesting kind. To anyone trying to write a villain, I suggest reading about or watching shows on real life criminals, from the Big Bads like Hitler, Stalin, and Mao to famous killers like Jack the Ripper and Ted Bundy to run of the mill criminals in your local newspaper. People don't become mass murderers or even petty thieves for no reason, but they also don't just do evil because it's the evil thing to do. Even the most gruesome atrocities were rooted in the desire for misplaced revenge, or disproportionate control, or a false belief in some so-called greater good. Then, I suggest reading and watching your favorite stories and asking what makes these villains tick. Is it the same as in real life? Is it different? What makes a great villain so great? You'll may just find that it's simply a matter of proportion.

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rileyrooin · 5 years

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R&L Live: Detroit

This jumps around and I discussed the show a bit more than in other recaps because there are moments from it that I want to remember. I recognize that I am incredibly fortunate to be able to attend shows and afford VIP tickets. If you aren't interested in reading, or if you want to send me nasty messages about this, I encourage you to just scroll on by instead. As always, please do not repost my pictures without permission.

I attended this show with Mr. Rooin, and two of my friends, R (my BFF) and B. R and B (heh) are both GMM fans. It would be the first time either of them has seen the guys live.

The Show

Britton opened the show. The crowd in Detroit loved him and he really fed off its energy. During the merch song, he started giggling mid-song because we were all laughing about the lyrics; his giggles made the crowd laugh more and he had to stop playing for a minute to compose himself. It was very cute. I cannot wait for him to put out an album. There are several of his songs that have been stuck in my head since the show.

After a brief intermission, Rhett and Link came out on stage. I expected to have a good view since our seats were in the front row, but I guess I didn’t really think about just how close they would both be to me (but especially Rhett). But, suddenly, there he was right in front of me.

As they settled in to begin the show, Rhett scanned the crowd, taking it all in. His eyes briefly met mine when he did so, but he continued to scan and then, unexpectedly, his attention came back to my face. My poor heart just about leaped out of my chest when he shot a small smile at me. I thought I must be imagining it, but once he broke eye contact, R elbowed me and whispered, “Did Rhett just recognize you?” I shrugged and tried to concentrate on their opening banter about the meaning of the name Detroit.

I'm going to share some highlights because no one needs a play-by-play of every moment of the concert:

Tokyo came early that night. Of course, even after Rhett told the crowd that he would do it one time only, there were people who thought they would be cute and continue to shout it and other garbled nonsense (including someone pretending to be CCR). This led to sassy, sarcastic Link making fun of people shouting stuff. Rhett got a bit grumpy at one point and gave the crowd a stern dad expression. I didn't capture either of these moments on camera, but they were hilariously in character.

The setlist was basically the same as the Columbus show, but with fewer songs. We didn't get “Water Dispensing Tab” or any of the other songs they've been subbing in for it in other shows. I feel like something else was removed, but I'm not sure what. I love all of their new songs. I wish they'd release them so people who can't attend the shows could hear them, as well.

At the venue, on either side of the stage, stand two huge knights set into niches in the wall. One of the running themes of that night's banter was Rhett wanting the knights to come to life. He had an elaborate ritual he wanted the room to perform to bring the knights to life that included hissing like a cat, other strange noises, and some voguing. When that didn't work, they moved on, but came back to the topic several times throughout the show. My favorite one was before “Middle School Girlfriend.” Rhett suggested that perhaps if Link played all three of his recorders at once, the knights would come to life. Much like the escaping a simulation handholding from Ear Biscuits, Link was game to give it a try. So, Rhett offered to hold his third recorder for him. The moment was funny, but I was focused on the extreme softness in Rhett’s eyes as he helped Link. The photos don’t begin to do it justice.

After the recorders failed to bring the knights to life, Link tried to steer the conversation back to “Middle School Girlfriend” banter by saying, “This is not unlike what my first kiss looked like.” Rhett was seemingly disinterested in returning to his stool/mic, so he leaned forward to speak into Link’s. Link pushed him away and said, “Get… Get your face outta my mic!”

Throughout the entire show, I kept having to tell myself to stop staring at him. My attempts at having some level of chill were continuously destroyed by Mr. I'm Going to Make Eye Contact Unexpectedly throughout the concert. It sounds foolish, but even though I was in a venue with so many other people, there were moments where watching him play the piano and guitar from that close felt incredibly intimate. But, maybe that's just my crush talking.

The rap section of the show was highly entertaining yet again. Their enthusiasm and excitement during it is so much fun to watch.

During “It's My Belly Button,” he was so close: that cute belly on display right in front of me as he dad danced his heart out.

During one chorus, when he got to the “something I want to show to you" line, he pointed at me. R grabbed my arm and hissed, “Dude, he fucking loves you.” (n.b. This all sounds like wishful thinking from a ridiculous fangirl, but I swear it's true. I harbor no delusions that there was some secret message in his actions. I know it meant nothing; he was simply playing up the moment for a reaction. That doesn't mean I didn't enjoy the attention, though.)

Meet and Greet

After the show, we were quickly ushered into a long line that wrapped down the side and around the back of the theater. I used the opportunity to run to the bathroom to freshen up the best I could. My group and I hung out in the line while I proceeded to try to calm my anxiety about talking to them again. One of the things that helped me with this was the soothing sound of Rhett's laughter echoing in the large space. Another thing that helped was watching how amazing they are with all of the fans they meet. From kneeling down to meet children to really focusing their attention on each person they chatted with, it's clear that every interaction is important to them. I know I've said it before, but we love some seriously great guys, y'all.

Prior to the show, I’d talked to Mr. Rooin about how I really wanted to have a nice picture of me hugging Rhett. Ever the patient and understanding one, he offered to hang back while R and I talked to the guys so he could attempt to get that picture on his phone (since Gary would have mine). (Spoiler: he got the picture and it might be my current phone lock screen.)

The line moved quickly (the meet and greet time goes by so fast), so it wasn’t long until it was our turn. R went ahead of me and introduced herself to Link, shaking his hand as she did so. As R moved on to shake Rhett's hand, Link's attention shifted to me over her shoulder. I smiled at him, once again blown away by how blue and intense his eyes are in person. I opened my mouth to introduce myself, but before I could, he welcomed me into a hug and said, “Good to see you again.” He patted my back like the last time, but held the hug for a couple seconds. “How've you been?”

“Good. Better now, though,” I answered as we broke apart. He grinned at me and I felt my heart melt a little bit. And then I turned to my left and into the open arms of the bearded one. He patted my back twice and I squeezed him tightly. He held the hug for a moment, holding me against him, and I probably clung onto the hug for a few seconds longer than I should have. I couldn’t help it; his hugs feel so damn good.

As I stepped back, I realized Link was talking to me again. “It's been awhile.”

“Well, only since April.” In my mind, I was thinking: Why am I getting sassy with Link?

Rhett said something in reply that made my whole face flush and caused my brain to shut down. I looked to Link for rescue. He simply laughed at my reaction, so I laughed with him while my mind was chanting wtf wtf wtf.

Then, Rhett said, “Okay, step up here for the picture. Where do you two want to be?” R, who is the extrovert between us, had fallen totally speechless in their presence. She's a Link girl, so even though logistically she should have been on Rhett's side based on where she was standing when he asked the question, I slid between them so she would be next to Link. (And, yes, so I could be next to Rhett.) As I put my arm around Rhett's waist, I glanced up at him and he was smirking away. I'm sure my crush is terribly obvious to him, but… meh, what are you gonna do? Gary took the picture while I tried to take in the moment and how it felt to have his body pressed so close to mine with his hand on my shoulder. After that R did a solo picture with the guys. She finally found her voice to ask for hugs before she left and they obliged.

I did an individual photo with them and then, my meet and greet time was nearly done. I handed Rhett the letter I'd written them and stammered out an explanation about how I hoped they would read it later. He smiled kindly and then passed it back to me to give to Jenna. I hung around watching while B and Mr. Rooin met them. Finally, we got our posters/bags from Jenna, Lily, and Lincoln. I talked to Britton for a minute before we made our way out and took a picture with him this time. I almost made it out of the theater before I teared up. Almost.

I feel very fortunate and grateful that their shows have been in locations close to me. Years ago, when I discovered these two and became a fan, I never expected that I would have the opportunity to meet them once, let alone three times. Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought that I would be someone they would recognize on sight. I heard them say similar things to other fans who they'd met before. It's comforting to know that even though there are millions of fans out there, they see us.

#riley's ramblings #meet and greet #smitten kitten #i love two (2) men #i am a walking awkward situation #rhett and link live #randl live detroit

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primatechnosynthpop · 5 years

Text

Good to be back

This is something I've written for @moschicanes because they, like all of us, want Ned back. You know at the end of episode 29 when it sounded like Aubrey had brought Ned back but really it was Thacker? This is basically an au where it actually was Ned. Enjoy!

---

This has to work. This has to work. That's all Aubrey can think as she takes deep breaths, in and out, and lets the magic flow from her hands and into the cold, motionless body laid out on the table before her. Standing across from her, Janelle has her eyes closed and is deep in concentration--the type of concentration that Aubrey was never very good at. She knows she'll have to try to focus, though, in order to get this spell right. For his sake, she'll do it.

For a long moment, nothing seems to happen. A faint orange glow fills the room, pulsating out from Aubrey and setting the body awash with its soft light, but there's no sign that the magic is working, no twitch of movement to alert her to the presence of regained life. A few feet away from Aubrey and Janelle, Barclay paces anxiously back and forth. Aubrey waits with bated breath for something, anything to happen, and then--

Ned's chest heaves, and his eyes snap open, bright and attentive and alive as ever.

Immediately, tears spring up in Aubrey's eyes. She jumps back from the table, clamping her hands over her mouth in delighted shock. Emotions swirl through her like whirlpools as she stares down at Ned. He glances up at her, opens his mouth as if to speak, then breaks into a coughing fit. With a jolt of dread, Aubrey reaches for him, laying one hand on his chest and the other on his back to help him into a sitting position. He blinks gratefully at her as his coughing subsides, then looks slowly around the room, bewilderment creeping onto his face.

"Wh-what happened?" he asks. He looks down at himself--no wounds, no blood, just a perfectly intact living, breathing body. "...Aubrey, what is this?"

"It--I--you--"

Aubrey's voice is choked out by tears of overwhelming joy and relief. She's sure she looks ridiculous, standing there grinning and crying like this, but... for crying out loud, she's just raised the dead! Technically not for the first time, but... this means so much more than the first time she did it. No offense to Deputy Dewey, but she would take Ned over him any day.

Forget about saying the words she wants to say to him. Where would she even start? She can hardly even remember what she was so furious with him for on the night he died. Or, no, that's not true. She can remember; it just doesn't seem so important now. She'd missed him so damn much--she and Duck both had, and Barclay, and Kirby, and... yeah. It's real fuckin' good to have him back. So, no, words wouldn't do her feelings justice.

Instead, she grabs Ned and pulls him into a hug. He lets out a startled gasp at the contact, and she could swear to god she feels him flinch, like he's afraid she's going to hurt him. But why would she ever do that? She was mad at him before, and with good reason, but... she didn't mean the things she said to him that day. She could never hate Ned. Him and her and Duck and the other residents of the lodge... they're family. She loves them all, including Ned.

"I'm so glad you're back," she manages to choke out between sobs. The words are muffled against the fabric of Ned's coat. "I'm just so fucking glad."

"Well, it's certainly good to be back," Ned says slowly as, after a long moment, they pull apart from the embrace. "But, erm, would anyone mind telling me what the hell happened here?"

"It's a long story, Mr. Chicane," Janelle says, laying a hand on Ned's arm and giving him the sort of comforting smile that a doctor or nurse might give a patient. "Why don't you let Aubrey here explain it on our way to the apartment?"

"Apartment?" Ned echoes. "Aren't we going to the lodge? Wait," he continues, a stricken look coming over him, "is Dani okay? The last thing I remember, she was all... all feral and nasty, and..."

"Dani's fine," Aubrey assures him. Then, as she and Janelle gently ease him to his feet: "That was two months ago, by the way. You've... you've kind of missed a lot."

"Ohh, boy," Ned sighs. Once he's back on his feet, he stretches his arms above his head and yawns, as if he's just woken up from a nap. Aubrey can't say for certain, but she's pretty sure that Ned has yet to realize that he's been dead for the past two months. "Well, I'm glad to hear that young Dani is alright. Now, where'd you say we were going? Hi, Barclay," he adds with an amicable wave.

"H-hey there, Ned," Barclay responds with a shaky smile. It looks like there's something he wants to say, but he remains silent apart from returning the greeting.

On the drive over to Duck's apartment, Aubrey does her best to fill Ned in on everything that's happened, although she winds up rambling a lot and skipping over some important details by accident. Ned nods along to everything she says, but judging by the vacant look in his eyes, she guesses he's not fully taking in what she's saying. That's fine, though, because she and Duck can explain it all again to him later. Because they have more time together with him now, she reminds herself, and the thought brings a grin to her face. Ned is back, and she's going to make sure it stays that way.

Duck is in his apartment, alternating between watching TV and trying to read a book while not really paying attention to either, when the doorbell rings. Letting out a long, heavy sigh, he turns the TV off, closes the book, and gets up to answer the door. He has no bloody idea who it could be--Aubrey never rings the doorbell and very rarely knocks before barging into a room, so it can't be her, can it? He knows she's out on some sort of errand right now, although he's not entirely clear on what it is. When he asked her about it earlier, an odd, sort of troubled look came over her.

"I don't really want to tell you," he remembers her muttering, "Because it's kind of up in the air as to how it will pan out, and... well, I just don't want to get anyone's hopes up, I guess."

Duck has no idea what Aubrey meant by that--that is, until the doorbell rings again, this time followed by a very distinctive knock. The sound makes Duck's breath catch in his throat, and he freezes in place with one hand on the doorknob. No. That's impossible. It's not--it can't be--

From the other side of the door, he hears Aubrey pipe up:

"Geez, are you gonna answer the door or not? We're trying to do a big dramatic reveal here, c'mon..."

"Well, alright, no need to get snappy," Duck mutters.

Trying to get the sound of the knock out of his head (even if he only recognizes that particular series of raps from one man, it's just a knock; anyone could learn to reproduce it) he opens the door to see Aubrey standing in the hallway. Standing next to her are Barclay, Janelle, and...

"Ned?!" Duck laughs, incredulous. "God, it's so good to see you, bud!"

Without thinking, he steps forward and pulls Ned into a hug. His mind reels as he feels the steady rise and fall of Ned's chest against his ear. This... this can't be real, he thinks. He must've fallen asleep on the couch again, and he's gonna get woken up any minute now by something or other. That'll sure as hell be disappointing, but for now, it's nice to see and feel Ned's living form, even if it has to just be a product of his imagination.

Ned chuckles, a little more uneasy than usual, and claps him on the back, then pulls away. Next to him, Aubrey is grinning from ear to ear. Shit, was this the mission she had wanted to avoid telling him about? Duck still can't quite bring himself to believe it, but god, it's tempting to.

"It's good to see you, too, friend Duck!" Ned says. "Although, from what I understand from what Aubrey here has told me, it's been a fair bit longer from your point of view than mine. And for that, I am truly sorry."

There's a note of genuine sincerity in his voice, though it sounds almost like he's trying to cover it up by talking in a big booming showbiz tone. Duck smiles and shakes his head.

"Shit, dude, you've got nothing to apologize for," he says. "I mean, we--we missed you like hell, but it wasn't your fault! That bullet hit you by mistake; it was nobody's fault."

Aubrey nods, although she looks uncomfortable at the mention of the incident. Then, she gasps and snaps her fingers together.

"Oh, we should go bail Pigeon out of jail!" she exclaims. "You can't be arrested for... for killing someone... if the person isn't dead, right?"

"Now hold on a minute," Ned interjects. "They shouldn't have locked her up in the first place! Like you said, it was an accident, so..."

"Yeahhh, law enforcement rarely cares about that sort of thing," Duck reminds him. "I figured you'd know that, what with your whole, ah, background."

Ned clucks his tongue and looks mock offended.

"Now, I don't know what you're accusing me of, young man, but--"

"But, yeah, like Aubrey said," Duck interjects. "We should look into getting Pigeon released."

"Yep, add it to our to-do list, along with about a million other things." Aubrey mimes writing something down on a checklist. "Find a way to get to the archway, free Mama, defeat the Quell..."

"Say, what's this about freeing Mama?" Ned asks. "She didn't get arrested too, did she?"

Grimacing, Aubrey glances between Ned and Duck. They're all still standing out in the hallway, with Janelle and Barclay hovering nearby. Sighing, Duck lays a hand on Ned's shoulder and gestures toward his apartment.

"C'mon inside, sit down, and Aubrey and I can explain everything," he says. "And... listen, I know I already said this, but man, it's good to have you back."

Things go more smoothly than anyone ever could have really anticipated. The Pine Guard defeats the Quell and saves both earth and Sylvain, and they all manage to do it without beefing it. Afterward, once everything is settled and everyone's lives go back to whatever semblance of "normal" they'd been before, Ned is left with a lot of time to think things over.

It just doesn't make sense that everybody loves him so much. Maybe now, after he helped save the world, but before that? Aubrey knows about the whole fiasco with the Flamebright pendant and her house burning down, and he can only assume she's told everyone else about it. Or even if she hasn't, Duck and the rest of them know that he's done some godawful shit in the past. So why do they continue to care so much about him, and how could they have missed him so much when he was gone? Why would Aubrey put in the effort of casting a spell to resurrect him? It just doesn't make sense.

The only explanation he can think of is that they're somehow still under the impression that he's a better person than he really is. But he isn't. He is a terrible, horrible person, and he knows full well that he always will be, no matter how hard he tries to escape his past.

A couple weeks after his coming back to life and the hectic days that followed, Ned manages to get "Saturday Night Dead" back on the air. The name is ironic now, he thinks, and he weaved a reference to this fact into the script. Now, as Aubrey holds the camera steady in front of him and Duck hangs back a few feet checking over the sound equipment, Ned clears his throat and mentally runs through his opening monologue one final time before the little green "ON AIR" button flickers on overhead.

"Hello, hello, ladies and gentlepeople!" he begins, putting on a big, cheesy grin and amplifying his voice. "Putting an end to its two-month-long hiatus, welcome back to Saturday! Night! Dead! ...With your newly revived host, Ned 'zombie' Chicane!"

("Zombie, huh?" he recalls Aubrey saying when she read over the script a few hours earlier. "Don't you mean Edmund Kelly Chicane?"

"Oh. You... you and Duck read my letters?"

Aubrey nodded. The revelation shouldn't have surprised him--he had written those letters specifically as goodbyes to his fellow monster hunters, after all--but somehow, it did. It brought a stir of unease and guilt to his gut to think that, until Aubrey brought him back, that was probably the only closure she and Duck had gotten.)

"Now, for anyone who's surprised to see me back among the living, I don't blame you," he continues, then pauses to chuckle for a couple seconds. "You see, I owe it all to my dear friend Aubrey Little. You may know her as the Lady Flame, but as it turns out, she's so much more. In fact... you could even call her a reanimator!"

("Aw, shit, Jeffrey Combs?" Duck remarked upon reading the script. "I remember that guy from Star Trek."

"Well, friend Duck, Mr. Combs' role in this film is no friendly star explorer," Ned informed him, making a dramatic hand gesture to go along with his words. "You see--"

"I mean, I wouldn't call any of his Trek roles friendly," Duck cut him off. "Weyoun 6, maybe, but that's about it...")

"That's right, my dear viewers, the movie I've got for you tonight is none other than 'Reanimator', a chilling tale of mad science!" Ned announces. "I guarantee it will chill you to the bone... mwahaha!"

The episode goes off without a hitch--no technical difficulties or anything, which is more than he can say for most episodes of his show. It quickly becomes the most-watched episode of not only "Saturday Night Dead", but of any Kepler-based programming. To say that Ned is flattered would be an understatement, but he still doesn't entirely understand why. Did the whole town really miss him that much? What has he done to deserve being loved so deeply and by so many people?

Ned still can't find the answers to those questions, and he's not sure he ever will. But if him being gone upset his friends so much, then he supposes he should stop putting himself in danger so often. And if they, the folks who know him better than anyone, think he's a good person, who is he to argue with them?

All Ned knows for sure is that they're glad to have him back, and through that fact alone, it's good to be back.

#taz #amnesty #hey did you know that i write stuff sometimes?#i dont normally tag things as #taz spoilers #but i guess I'd better do it for this just to be safe

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starry-eyed-skz · 5 years

Text

Happy Birthday Felix Lee

Happy birthday to the boy who has all the stars upon his cheeks. I can’t believe that you’re 19 as of today baby, it physically hurts my heart. I’ve been with you since Hellevator came out and if it wasn’t obvious; you were one of the first members to catch my eye. Your presence drew me in the second I laid eyes on you, pulling me in and wanting to know more about you. I didn’t know why you captivated my attention so much, but now as of two years later I keep on learning why. Each passing day adds more and more to the list of why I love you. You are just so amazingly talented and great. Felix you are truly an angel at its finest. Everything about you is perfect. Your eyes that always shine so beautifully when you smile or are happy. Your hair that is in all different directions after you sleep or can be extremely bouncy. Your cute little kitten nose that I constantly just wanna *boop*. Your very kissable heart shaped lips. Your deep voice, how well it sounds in songs or how calming it can be. Of course I can’t mention your deep voice without your overly dorky “princess” voice ㅋㅋㅋ If I could ever properly express how much I love your personality I would, but I know I can’t do my true feelings any justice. Just like I know I can’t do how much I’m genuinely in love with you much justice. Now, can we talk about your basic idol talents really quick? Your dancing is so killer and on point. It’s so mesmerizing to watch you dance because of how fluid your movements are. Your rapping is honestly really good and I’m so proud. There honestly isn’t much else I can say about it, it’s just so great to listen to you rap. Okay now Mr. Lee this is where I get very sentimental. Your singing voice is sososo beautiful and I wish it was more appreciated. I would even compare it to that of a siren’s call, your voice is THAT captivating to listen to. When I first heard you sing on the survival show I was beyond shocked and also extremely proud knowing that my baby has such a voice. I love your voice so much and could listen to you sing for hours on end without a break. Alright, enough of that haha I can never shut up about you when I’m with or talking to my friends. Just thought you’d like to know :) My heart is so full of genuine love for you that it’s practically overflowing at this point, more and more love being added each and every single day. You are just a ray of sunshine that brings happiness to everyone around you. Now, I would also like to mention just how incredibly proud I am of you. You came to Korea to follow your dream without even knowing the language. You managed to learn Korean and come accustomed to all the mannerisms in a year. Even after all the hardships you’ve been been put through, you still hold your head up high with a smile. It’s truly admirable that even after all that God has put you through, you still continue to get up once you’ve been knocked down. I could never be more proud of you after all that you have achieved since coming to Korea. Please never let others try and bring you down. Don’t let people’s hateful words get to you. You are enough and don’t let small minded people say you aren’t. You’re human like the rest of us. You have feelings and needs like everyone else. You aren’t selfish for doing things for yourself, please keep that in mind. God made you the way you are for a reason. The way you are is absolutely perfect and you don’t need need to change anything. Just by you existing I am so happy daily. You and the others came into my life during a very dark period and you were able to bring me happiness in the simplest ways. I find safety in the music you all produce and I can’t thank you enough. Lix, you are my human safe space, but I will never take advantage of that. I can never stress enough how much I’m in love with you. Hell, I’ve had a crush on you since October 2017 god damnit. You have never once left my mind and even if my mind leaves you for a second, my train of thought will find a way back to you. Mr. Lee, your smile shines so bright that it puts the sun to shame. Even on the worst days imaginable your smile will light up the whole universe. I am so happy that it is you that I have dedicated every single ounce of my love to. I want nothing more than to sit down with you and point out everything I love about you and tell you the reasoning. To be completely honest, it would take hours to go over all of it. You are just so beautiful inside and out, and it’s a shame when that goes unnoticed. If I could I would hand you the universe on a silver platter. Felix you deserve to be always happy and when I see that you’re sad it breaks my heart. It really just isn’t you without your genuine dorky smile. But of course it’s okay to break down every once in a while, so I won’t be upset with you if you’re sad. It’d be pretty hypocritical to be upset with you since every human gets sad. Wow, to actually be talking about how dearly in love I am with you and trying to put it into words feels,,, kinda great. Although I can’t do true justice to how much love is in my heart for you. I know I say that a lot, but it’s just the truth. You’re just way too loveable in all the ways possible. It’s genuinely scary how fast I fell for you, even some of my friends were concerned. My heart melts whenever I hear your voice, see your face or even hear someone say your name. I hold you so near and dear to my heart and will until my last breath is released. The fact that we have such an angel in our universe baffles me on a daily basis, without fail. We don’t deserve you at times, but you make me feel like we do. You’re just,,, so perfect. I love your stupid cute face so much and I just want to smother you in kisses and hold you at all times. You are my precious baby, the light to my darkness, the light at the end of the tunnel, the happiness to my sadness, the rainbow after a thunderstorm. Most importantly of all, you are my beautiful sunshine prince. My days have been so much brighter since I discovered you, not a single second being dull with you on my mind. You truly work wonders without even physically being there. Don’t think I don’t notice how much you care about us and your members either, it’s so obvious to me. The love in your eyes is so hard to miss and I feel sorry for those who miss it, because your eyes look the brightest when you’re with the others. You and the boys practically are brothers, almost like you’re all related by blood. The connection that you hold with them as well as all of us fans is so beautiful and amazing to witness. Well, I think I’ll stop this year’s message here. Once again, happy 19th birthday to my one and only sunshine prince, I love you more than all the matter in the entire galaxy.

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tablestoastandtime · 5 years

Text

What We Bring To The Table

AO3

It was with no small amount of irritation that John sat down at a table in the Continental’s lounge.

He had planned on stewing in his aches for the evening to ration the medication he’d been given to get an extra day out of it. Instead, he had to take the recommended dose for fastest mobility ( four pills ) because, the way he saw it, the odds were decent the Adjudicator was here to shoot him or give him notice of yet another kill order. The rules were the rules, but who would hold the High Table responsible for breaking them? The Elder? Maybe, if anyone could fucking find the guy.

More likely, he’d be declared excommunicado immediately and shot on principle. Hotel rules only arguably protected exiles.

No point thinking about maybes though. Not with the Adjudicator sitting across from him, at a prim and precise angle. It was like they were being held in place by the razor wires of the High Table as their weaponized puppet.

Or it was just the clear stick up their ass. One of the two.

“John Wick. You have caused a great deal of damage in the last few weeks. Enough to catch the attention of the High Table,” they said, eyes intent and hands folded.

This was not the time to seem anything but strong, injuries be damned. Instead of a shrug that might convey his pain, he gave a minute tilt of his head to show the bare minimum deference, “At no point has my intention been to antagonize the High Table. I’ve been handling personal matters, with the exception of fulfilling a Marker.”

A plucked eyebrow arched like the string of a bow taking aim. “Killing two members of the High Table, from the same seat no less, was not meant to be antagonizing? There are rulesagainst that kind of behaviour. And consequences for not adhering to them.”

“Those rules are not absolute. Especially not when one conflicts with another,” John wanted to just explain and go to bed, but if he offered information before the Adjudicator asked for it they’d likely assume he was lying. His circumstances were far enough from standard conduct to be pretty unbelievable.

The Adjudicator’s angle and gaze both sharpened, “In the last two weeks you eliminated the core leadership of a Bratva organization, leaving it directionless, but reasonably intact. Allegedly, over a puppy.”

“It wasn’t just a puppy,” John objected flatly, eyeing the tightened clasp of the Adjudicator’s hands.

“You also assassinated two D’Antonio heirs, likely forcing them to surrender their place at the High Table to another family. Presumably, but not necessarily, from the Camorra.”

Wait a second.

“The rules and sanctions on killing members of the High Table allow for coordinated efforts to remove a representative family from their seat.”

John could see where this train of logic was going, and he needed to say something before-

“Are you making a bid for the Camorra seat at the High Table in your name, or for someone else?”

John stared at them incredulously. “I’m a retired fixer. What would I even do with a High Table seat?”

The eyebrow was back. “Most fixers who live long enough to retire take up a management role. You’ve always been an exceptional anomaly in your work. Why would your retirement be any different?”

“Look-”

“Especially as there is no other way to kill more than one High Table member without facing its justice, and you’re not fool enough to not know that.”

Ah. Shit.

Could he work with this?

And if he could, could he live with diving deeper into the world he had worked so hard to leave? Did he even have a choice?

The hand John had placed on the table curled into a fist. He couldn’t take his eyes off of it. “I’m certain I don’t need to tell you the consequences of a failed bid for a Table seat.” Breathe. “Or the consequences of cards laid too early.” Eyes up. “Have you been given a deadline for your report?”

“I am expected to submit updates as my investigation develops. It seems to me the situation is still developing,” their eyes were inescapable and black, black, black . “However, after three days, I will have to provide as much information as I have.”

Bloody knuckles rested on polished dalbergia. “If anything relevant to your investigation comes to my attention, I’ll be in contact. Have a good evening.”

“I’ll be expecting your call, John.”

John rose from his seat, directing the tension his name in their mouth put in his shoulders down through his spine. It turned his stiff gait into something coiled rather than strained. Apparently, he was going to have to consider his image again. Especially if he somehow gave off the impression of aspirations for the High Table, what the fuck.

Except his clearest ticket to survival seemed to be actually challenging for the High Table.Which was ridiculous. John had one hell of a skillset, but not that one.

Mind churning, John fought the urge to return to his dog and his room and settled in a seat as far away from the Adjudicator as he could without seeming like he was running. He was unlikely to get any sleep tonight, despite being exhausted and jet-lagged, and Winston was probably going to come for that word sooner rather than later.

He couldn’t take a seat on the High Table, but if he wanted to bypass the consequences for killing the D’Antonios he was going to have to put someone there. And they’d have to be someone not just personally capable of sitting there, but also have the connections and backing of a significant group if they were going to have any chance of lasting.

They’d also have to not try and kill him on sight, since he wasn’t going to hand someone who wanted to kill him the power to do it, which narrowed the prospects significantly.

Maybe the Rusca Roma? They had no real interest in a closer relationship with the Table, but the Director couldn’t just turn away the possibility, turn away him . Not if he used his ticket. But. John had spent years trying to escape that place and if he took that route he’d be chaining himself back to it.

A last resort, then, but not a first choice.

Maybe he could convince-

“Jonathan!” and there was Winston, genial mask in place. “There is grave word on the resolution of your affair with Mr. D’Antonio. Is it true?”

A head tilt. “You make it sound like there was any other way it was going to end.”

“Jonathan. With Santino dead there is no space for excuses or explanations. You will have to face the full charge of your crimes,” Winston frowned. “I assume the Adjudicator informed you of the situation. And yet you are not running.”

This conversation was exhausting. And unproductive. “There are circumstances that allow for my actions. I just have to make them the case.”

Winston’s eyes widened in understanding and he sat back. “And who exactly is going to be retroactively aiming for a seat?”

John stopped fighting the wire-tight energy and gently rapped his knuckles on the table. “I haven’t decided yet. Is that an official inquiry, or a personal one?”

Flakes of blood stuck to the shining wood.

Winston was ever so slightly paler than when this conversation began.

“An official one. I’m not looking for that brand of excitement in my life.” John’s fist relaxed open.

“I assumed. Unless you have any suggestions, I think I’ll retire for the evening,” he bit back a groan as he stood and no amount of painkillers could dull the bone-deep ache that rippled with the movement.

Winston also stood, buttoning his jacket. “You always manage to find the most dangerous paths to your goals. If you need a place for discreet meetings, our boardrooms are available for use.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” John said with a polite nod. “Have a good night.”

John was not surprised by the lackluster response. Winston had no stake in this, despite his occasional blatant favouritism. He was a Manager, lord of his little kingdom, and they tended not to go outside their immediate grasp. Kept things neater, usually. In this case, it was only a little annoying.

He made his way to the elevators, once again aware of every eye on him, fighting the urge to twitch or kill something ( some one ). Christ, he hadn’t had this much attention since shortly after his third job with the Tarasovs, where he’d ended up having to clear three warehouse instead of one thanks to bad intel. There had been a family of coked-up racoons. And grenade launchers.

It had been a long night.

Alright. So who could he convince to take a Table seat and would actually hold it without his backing longterm?

He could try and appeal to a different Bratva family. John had to still have some of their contact information somewhere ( the bank on 60th. Or was it the rec centre off 23rd? ) But which one, and would they even agree after his takedown of the Tarasovs? Even if he did take the steps to pass on the Tarasov loose ends, they might just choose to call him unreliable and try to kill him. Which would not solve the problem, only make another batch of dead Bratva.

What about the Camorra? It was their seat after all. John could just pick a family, toss them the metaphorical keys, and leave. Except while Santino had been an arrogant bastard, no one could deny that he was Camorra to the fucking bone. Not that the other families would take offense on his behalf, they were probably delighted to hear about his death, but he was a warning for just how irritating the lot of them could be. If John gave them this, there was no guarantee they’d leave him alone. Ever.

Ding.

This wasn’t his floor.

Cassian stood, one foot already in the elevator ( a foot and a half away, leading with his right side, start with a jab to the still fresh stab wound, twist if possible, and follow it up by-).

He looked like he couldn’t decide between murderous rage and grudging respect. Or he would if it wasn’t for the hair-trigger set of his weight and the first moment millimetre flinch.

Cassian’s first impulse had been to run.

Not that he would have made it far, if John cared to chase him. After taking a knife to the heart, standing at all was a feat of borderline stupid willpower. Running would be a death sentence. John wouldn’t even need to jog.

The door tried to close and instead gently knocked into Cassian’s leading shoulder. He rocked back with it like he’d been shot, lips curled into a half-snarl. John would have steadied him, but figured he was probably still sore from their last fight and would take it as condescending pity.

“I’ll get the next one,” Cassian spat the words like blood and broken teeth.

Yeah, still sore.

John inclined his head, more than he had to the Adjudicator but not as sharply as he had with Winston. “Cassian.”

They maintained eye contact until shining steel slid across, cleanly this time.

Idly, John wondered if that counted as a conversation. Probably not.

Which brought him back to his depressingly non-existent list of allies. Sure there were a handful of people who owed him, but it would be suicide to put them on the Table. Most of them might try and kill him before he could even offer.

Maybe he was going about this the wrong way.

If John couldn’t give any family the Table seat he had to claim, maybe he could put up a different kind of faction. The Bowery King, for example, had built himself a kingdom adjacent to the Table (which is what it was, not under or beholden to, no matter what the King or the Table themselves believed). A kingdom of those who normally would not have any place in the system at all. But to build that kind of faction would take time, time John didn’t have. That was okay, John was good with knives, and corners generally didn’t squirm like people. He could cut them off clean.

What if John chose a part of the system and gave it a voice?

Fixers were meant to be nameless, faceless tools. Useful until they weren’t, and utterly replaceable. The ideal fixer was little more than an entry on an expenses sheet and a call confirming work finished. Even the best fixers were, when all was said and done, expendable.

John, for all he had been good at the work, hadn’t actually been good at the anonymity. He wasn’t the only one, of course. People would always gossip. But as much as he’d rather pretend otherwise, John had made a significant impact on not just those he worked with, but a great deal of their world in general.

There hadn’t always been this many restrictions on attempting to kill members of the High Table, after all.

John had made a point to know every rule that he couldn’t afford to break. It was just that his definitions of what he could afford had changed a lot over the years. And apparently, someone on or near the Table thought they knew what lines he would and wouldn’t cross, and had tried to preemptively dissuade him. Too bad he had been a bit busy to consult the unwritten rulebook in case of updates.

He could cope. He had to.

Now obviously a faction of fixers would have to be a very loose faction. It would also require its own rules of conduct and interaction. They would often be hired in opposition to each other, and that had to be accounted for. It would need territory. And if it had territory it would need capital to maintain that territory.

Most importantly, though, it would need there to be some kind of incentive so fixers actually took part . What could John actually offer to fixers that they couldn’t get anywhere else in their world?

Unless those rules and territory were what he was offering, with the implication he would enforce them personally. There were a great many personal and professional grudges in their world. John could capitalize on that by establishing a place and system to settle those grudges between fixers. No one wanted to be looking over their shoulder for the rest of their lives, and very few people in their business had all that much patience.

This was going to be complicated, and three days probably wasn’t enough time to actually do it. But he could probably back up any instability with a couple of supporters in key positions. There was a Manager that owed him a favour, after all, and the Bowery King liked anything that undercut the Table.

John could make it work.

Ding.

This time, the stop actually was his floor.

#John Wick #winston (john wick)#the adjudicator #cassian (john wick)#politics and such #this has been on ao3 for a while #but i figured i'd put it here as well

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archuve · 5 years

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A Christmas Exchange

What’s this? Another Christmas thing? Hell yeah it is. It’s for a server Im in lmao and it’s charoix. My present is for someone no longer in tumblr but here have the fic anyways.

Ao3 Link

FF.Net Link

Summary: Chariot visits Croix in her prison for Christmas, gifts and kisses are exchanged.

Chariot shivered against the wind as she waved goodbye Holbrook, who kindly gave her a ride here before she turned around and made her way forward. Her hand wrapped tight against the two objects in her arms as the other shifted the scarf around her neck. It was freezing but that was expected, after all, she was in a Scottish Prison during Christmas. This was the place where Croix was kept for her crimes.

The Carcerem was a prison settled in the middle of the Northern Sea, east of the main island. It sat between two points of the Sacred Scottish LeyLine Pentagram, between the northern point of Ring of Brodgar and Eastern point of Skelmuir Hill. It stands as one of the oldest witch prisons, but it only held redeemable criminals who operated under British or British related soil. Legend has it that one of the nine olde witches created it, one who operated under a strong sense of justice, redemption and second chance.

Croix didn’t believe when she told Chariot about the place when she first visited, for no matter how much she investigated on her mandatory exercise in the fields there was no sign that the small island was the resting place of a nine olde witch. Chariot believed it, however, for how could one explain how the island appeared out of nowhere? The way its magic operated under its own system even when magic started to die before it’s revival a year ago? There was something mystical about the place, something omnipotent. It struck fear to Chariot some regard yet also hope, hope because if Croix was here, it meant she would be okay eventually.

“Ms Du Nord!”

Chariot looked up, a smile on her face as she saw the happy grin of the entrance guard she befriended over the visits. “Mrs Smyth, how are you and the kids?” Smyth was hostile at first, especially as Chariot made the mistake of introducing herself as Ursula Callistis whilst forgetting that the persona she made doesn’t exist. Thankfully Holbrooke was there to help sort out the misunderstanding.

Guard Smyth grinned she leaned closer to the window. “I for one am terribly cold with this weather but Samantha is enjoying her new card collection for Christmas.” Smyth then blushed as she leaned closer, “Thanks for getting the new nine witches to sign them, oh and for the idea for my wife’s present, she loved it.”

Chariot giggled, “Well I’m glad your family is having a wonderful Christmas.”

“Yeah,” Smyth smiled before pressing the button that allowed the door to open. “Now get going Ms Du Nord, your own girl is waiting.”

Now it was Chariot’s turn to blush, a bright red colour that made Smyth have a hearty chuckle. “Merry Christmas Mrs Smyth.”

“You too Ms Du Nord.” With those words, Chariot stepped through the door, took a couple steps forward before the hallway exploded with flashing lights and a dull siren call. Chariot froze in her step, shock in her expression before the sudden noise and lights died abruptly.

“Forgot to tell me you had metal, Ms Du Nord?” Smyth said, voice now on an edge.

Chariot whipped round, hands clutching on her presents. “No please, there seems to be a misunderstanding, I didn’t bring anything metallic today.”

Smyth, upon seeing her desperate but innocent face sighed. “I know but you know I gotta follow regulations.”

Chariot relaxed with a relieved exhale, now knowing that she’s not in trouble. She had the instant reaction to be annoyed with the setback but that feeling died quickly, though it meant less time for her to spend with Croix, these things had to be done. “I know.”

Smyth nodded at her before gesturing to a door at the side of the wall. “Thanks for understanding, now follow me to the search room. Hopefully, we can get this over and done Ms Du Nord, I hate to arrest you on Christmas Day.”

-------

Croix sighed as she leant against her jail cell bars. Apparently, it was Christmas Day, which would explain a lot of the singing and cheering further down the hall in the common room. Rumour has it that the warden will give those who behaved extra break and those who didn’t got more jobs around the prison. Whilst Croix has been behaving ever since she got here, she couldn’t stand the festive cheer of the place. Like, how can you be happy in a prison? How can you be happy separated by loved ones in time for family and friends? How can she be happy when Chariot was miles away?

By the nine she missed her.

“Not surprised to find you to be a Scrooge, Meridies.”

Croix turned around, surprise on her face as she came face to face with the warden of Carcerem. “Warden Jones, Merry Christmas Ma’am.”

Jones smirked, a little laugh leaving her lips as she eyed Croix. “I would say Merry Christmas back but I see you’ve been brooding near your cell. Can’t have that around here Meridies, dampens the spirit.”

Croix turned sheepish. One hand scratched the nape of her neck as she looked to the side. “Sorry about that Ma'am, just thinking.”

“Well, I caught you at the right time. There’s a room I know which needs a thinking witch like yourself.” Croix paled at the mischievous glint in the warden’s eyes and the smug smirk on her lips. She had half a mind to try to get out of it because it’s Christmas but she knew that could just piss her off. It’s not a pretty sight to see her pissed off.

“Um… sure I guess?”

Jones lifted an eyebrow. “You guess?” Croix didn’t like how she said that. “Meridies, I know you’re gonna like this room made for ya thinking.” With that, she started to walk away and Croix followed, the feeling of trepidation overwhelming her.

The walk was to a place Croix knew about but never actually visited. It was place locked behind tight security, locked hallway doors, security cameras. She was pretty sure that in the night there would be some magical laser trap or something similar. She has seen people enter here, however, though most of them never return. But she was fine… at least she hoped.

They stopped in front of a wooden door, the decor is extremely out of place in an area like this. Flowers, though the colours were faded with wear, decorated the door and handle. Croix could barely make out a few of them, there were daisies, Aloes, ferns and sages, all surrounding a single oak leaf that adorned the centre.

From the other side of the door, Croix could hear muffled voices though she couldn’t pick up anything from them. Croix glanced at the warden and took a silent gulp as Jones gave her a final smirk and steeled her face, rapping on the door with an echoing sound.

“Ah, there’s the warden now. You may enter Warden Jones.”

Jones opened the door, the hinges creaking as she took a step in, Croix following right behind her. The room was nothing like Croix seen before, it was if she shifted to another new plane of existence. There was sunlight beaming through the glass ceiling above, the smell was a strange mix of sea and herbs that worked well with each other. The brick walls were covered with moss, branches and other plant life. In the middle was a line of large intertwined roots of a large tree and on either side was an arch that dipped into the wall behind it. One side was empty but the other had a figure carved from bark but entangled with flora.

But Croix made no attention to that.

She just stared at the real beauty in front of her. A spectacled woman with burning red hair and eyes that had stars glistening in them the moment Croix caught her looking.

“Chariot!” She yelled, laughter flying freely from her wide grin. Chariot laughed too, a blush on her cheeks and it took everything in Croix to not run at her with a hug. Croix looked at Warden Jones, desperation in her eyes and a plea on her lips. Jones just laughed and nudged her head towards Chariot and Croix took that as the cue to start running.

“Chariot!” she called again, her heart racing in her chest as she watched Chariot race closer to her. They embraced themselves in the middle, hands clutching the other tight, tears flowing down their faces. The difference between this reunion and all the others was the fact that they could touch before they were between a glass wall, phones on each side that allowed them to talk.

Now, for some Christmas miracle, they were allowed to touch. Croix was allowed to hold Chariot close, press her hands through her glorious red hair, smell the ink and parchment that always clung to her, feel the warmth and love that radiated from Chariot with every touch, kiss those lips that she kept seeing in her dreams. Croix didn’t know how long she had with Chariot, nor did she know why it was like this but she isn’t going to waste time questioning it.

“I missed you Chariot,” Croix whispered to chariot’s ear, head resting in the crook of her neck.

“I missed you too Croix.”

“And I’m missing my well-earned rest,” Jones cut in causing Croix to turn around with a sheepish blush. Jones grinned at her before she looked to the side and licked her lips. Croix followed her eyes and saw a beautiful fruitcake on a table made for two. “Alright so, I’m taking a piece of that cake, Smyth do the same and I’ll come back for you Meridies in thirty minutes.” She turned back to Croix with another smile. “Merry Christmas Meridies, consider this a present for all the good behaviour and research you’ve been doing.”

Croix laughed from all the praise she received but went quiet as Chariot hugged her from behind.

“Proud of you,” She whispered causing Croix to blush with a small smile. She was about to speak but Jones once more interrupted them.

“Oh yeah,” Jones called from the door, “Don’t think of anything nasty here, one of the nine is watching.” With that both her and Guard Smyth left the room, leaving both Chariot and Croix alone.

“One of the nine?” Croix mused, finally having a chance to marvel at the room. Her eyes fell at the arches, laughter played on her lips as she swept back her hair in surprised at the wooden figure in an arch. “Damn it Chariot, you were right.” She laughed before she sighed in accepted defeat. “Well, there goes my plan to ravish you right here, right now.”

“Croix!” Chariot chided, cheeks flaring with red heat as she slapped Croix around the shoulder.

“Oh relax Chariot, I was just joking.” Chariot sighed before Croix took a step towards her, lips centimetres apart as Croix had a cocky grin before she kissed her. “Well, mostly anyways,” she confessed when they parted a moment later.

Chariot laughed, shaking her head as she covered her blushing face with a hand. The sound mixed in with the happy smile on her face turned Croix soft, the cocky smirk turning into a mushy small smile as she kissed Chariot again. This time more slowly, gentler as she took her sweet time kissing her, both hands pressed against Chariot’s cheeks as the kiss got deeper.

“I missed you,” Croix said, voice quiet with adoration.

“You already said that,” Chariot giggled.

Croix shrugged with a guilty smile, “I’m just emphasising my point then.”

“Come on Croix,” Chariot said as she held Croix’s hand and guided her to the table. “I made you some fruitcake.”

“I know and it looks delicious.” Croix then sat down and had a bite, humming a sound of delight as the flavours exploded in her mouth. “Mmmm tastes delicious too.”

Chariot beamed at the praise as she got her own plate and had her share, their hands still intertwined. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“So how is everyone? Did the two brats got together yet?”

Chariot rolled her eyes at the term, she knew Croix liked them, even though she had several layers of guilt and lingers of frustration hiding it. “Everyone is fine, Akko knows how to fly but is still struggling with control against rough winds, Diana is helping her with it so she would be fine eventually.”

“And?”

“Yes, they got together. Diana took your advice and asked Akko out.”

“Hah!” Croix laughed, her grin reaching each ear. “You know they should thank me really, nothing really gets a girl like saving the world together.”

Chariot winced, already picturing the red-faced angry Cavendish student, “Please don’t tell that to them in your letters.”

Croix had a muffled laugh before swallowing her food. “I’ll try.” Unknowingly to her, a piece of cake was stuck to the side of her chin.

Chariot sighed fondly at the sight mess, “Croix you got something on your chin.” Chariot pointed to her own face to mirror where the mess was on Croix’s face but somehow Croix had the wrong location when she wiped her face with a tissue. “No here-right under the corner of your lips- no-” In the end Chariot gave up telling Croix where it was and cleaned the mess herself. She placed one hand under her chin, leaning close to Croix’s face whilst the other had a napkin to swab at the dirty spot.

“I can’t believe it you made a fool out of me Chariot,” Croix sighed, in fake despair. “You didn’t tell me that the mess was right there, in that obvious place.”

Chariot, now once again close to Croix’s face quirked one of her brows. “You act as if this wasn’t your plan to get me this close to you again.”

Croix shrugged in innocence but a lazy smile started to grow on her lips. “I’m not sure Chariot, haven’t you heard? I’ve been a good girl recently, haven’t planned any bad schemes at all this year.”

“But I’m sure you planned good ones,” Chariot mused as she finished cleaning Croix up.

As Chariot was about to pull away Croix quickly reached out and got her one of her hands and kissed it tenderly. “Yes but you being here wasn’t one of them.”

“Then what plans have you planned?”

“If you must know I figured out how to make a holographic tree, one that shows real-time footage as long as it’s connected to a ley line. That way I can monitor and research about Wagandea without leaving my cell.”

“That’s brilliant!” Chariot exclaimed, quickly delving into a big hug. “That’s so much progress I’m so proud you!”

“Yeah…” Croix begrudgingly agreed as she hugged Chariot back. “It’s still not enough though.”

Chariot’s smile was sympathetic as she pulled away. “It’s more than enough for now,” she placed her hands delicately on Croix’s cheeks, thumbs rubbing circles on them as Croix moved her eyes away from the wall to her. “You doing progress, we both know a cure won’t happen overnight but you’re doing such an amazing job already. I believe in you. Everyone believes in you.”

Croix’s laugh was full of disbelief as she looked at Chariot like she was telling a lie, “Do they now?”

Chariot only grinned as she got up and found the Christmas present she hidden before. “Why don’t you take a look?”

Croix took the present from her, eyes and mouth wide with surprise. “Chariot…” She gasped as she looked up at her. “I- I don’t even have a present for you.” She looked away ashamed, sudden doubt crawling over her skin.

But the moment didn’t last as Chariot sat next to her again and held her hands, squeezing them tight with assurance. “It’s okay Croix, I didn’t expect anything.”

“But still!” Croix exclaimed, “You deserve something, Chariot!”

“Hey,” she said as she placed her hands on Croix’s cheeks. “All I wanted for Christmas was to see you. You being here with me, without a glass barrier between us is more than I ever imagined.”

“Chariot…”

Croix was about to say something else but Chariot silenced her with a kiss. “Go open your present Croix.”

Slowly, Croix unwrapped her present and the sound of paper tearing filled the air where she came face to face with a box. Croix looked up at Chariot who stayed silent, eyes eager to see her reactions, with a small nervous smile, Croix opened the box. After a small moment of silence, she gasped.

Croix found herself staring at a small collection of books. The first one was a brown leather notebook, it was tiny in compared to the books under it. Croix took it out and placed it the side as she took out another. To her surprise, she saw the name Cavendish in one end of the spine, the name somewhat faded with wear.

“Akko insisted that everyone got you presents too,” Chariot explained when Croix looked at her for a reason. “Not everyone did, but the new nine witches got you some books for your research, it was the only thing I told them you were allowed to keep.”

“Did you get me a book Chariot?” Croix joked as she placed the medical book one of Diana’s ancestor wrote. Chariot stayed silent but gave her a mysterious grin.

Interested to see what Chariot got her, Croix went through the book pile quicker. There was a book on Fae creatures and Fae Legends Lotte gave her, Sucy gave her a Fungi encyclopedia, Akko gave her a book on the nine olde witches, Constanze gave her a bunch of own notes stating that she might need it (the little brat), Amanda gave her history book of flying that was stolen from the school library and Jasminka gave her tips on how to spice up prison food without magic. All in all an interesting collection, it was just missing something.

“Hey Chariot where’s your book?”

Chariot laughed as she handed Croix the first book she got out. “You missed it.”

Croix rolled her eyes as she unhooked the leather strap and opened the first page, the mouth opening with another awed gasp. “I can’t believe you made this,” she whispered. It was a small picture album, full of photos from their youth to now, small notes jotted on the sides of the photos. They were lines prompting old memories, stuff Croix couldn’t remember herself in the long years of separation: Remember when we almost got caught sneaking around? You got so scared

Croix heard Chariot move next to her, sat down behind her, body leaning over her back, arms wrapped around and resting on Croix’s chest. “I didn’t know what to get you,” Chariot confessed. “But I knew you missed me, and I missed you… so I thought something about us would help.”

“It’s perfect.” Croix looked at her fondly as their lips connected once more softly. “I love you Chariot.”

Chariot blushed at the affection before she grinned back endearingly. “I love you too Croix, Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.”

#charoix #chariot du nord #croix meridies #my fics #MERRY CHRISTMAS GUYS #AGAIN LOL

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snappedsky · 5 years

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Borderlands: Skies the Bodyguard 1

Skies regales the story of how she first met Handsome Jack.

Previous!

Next!

Chapter 1

My entire life I had been a mercenary, travelling through space in my crappy, little cruiser, taking whatever job I could get my hands on.

I had made a name for myself by killing whoever people wanted me to kill. I offed anyone from cheating boyfriends to high-level politicians. I had no code. It didn’t matter if it was some vigilante justice or a personal grudge. I would do the job with only one question asked: how much?

It had been a couple weeks since my last job. I was drifting in space, scrolling through the ECHOnet, trying to find my next meal ticket when my comm started chiming with a call.

“Skies the Merc,” I answered.

“Heya, kiddo. It’s Handsome Jack.”

Any moron this side of the galaxy knows about Handsome Jack: the low-level Hyperion employee who became CEO and sole owner seemingly overnight. He was one of the most powerful people in the universe. So I think my reaction of choking on my own spit was justified.

The amusement in his voice as I hacked was annoyingly blatant. “You…okay there, cupcake?”

“Y-yeah, fine,” I coughed and cleared my throat. “Uh how can I help you?”

“I wanna hire you for a very important, very special job.”

“You…want me to kill someone…?” I asked with disbelief.

“Not…exactly,” Jack replied, “I’m not gonna discuss it over the ECHO communicator. If you’re interested, then come to the Hyperion space station, Helios outside of Pandora.”

I wish I could say I hesitated. I mean if I went there and refused, then he would just kill me. That’s why he wanted to discuss it in person. But all that was going through my brain was ‘Handsome Jack. Handsome freekin Jack.’

“Uh, yeah, no problem. I’ll head there right now,” I replied without a second thought.

“Excellent,” he purred, “I’ll have someone wait for you. See you soon, kitten.”

After we hung up, I just leaned back in my seat, staring dumbly out the window, trying to process what just happened. I had never gotten a job from anyone nearly as huge as Handsome Jack. I had done plenty of jobs for big-name-company stooges, sure, but nobody higher than like middle management.

This…this could be my big break! I do this job for Handsome Jack, and my name and rates will skyrocket! No more struggling between jobs, no more settling for whatever I can get; I’ll be set!

Oh, how naïve I was.

So I headed for Pandora as fast as my little ship could putter. It took a few hours.

As I neared Helios I remembered feeling stunned. I had seen pictures of the Hyperion station before but in person it was incredible.

I directed my ship into the landing bay and docked it amidst the much bigger, much nicer ships. As I hopped out, a pair of armored guards approached, guns at the ready.

I kept my cool but left my hands at my side. I didn’t wanna to ruin my meeting with Handsome Jack by getting shot but I also didn’t want these corporate morons thinking I was scared of them.

“Identify yourself,” one of them barked.

I hooked a thumb at myself. “Skies the Merc.”

“Who?” the other scoffed. I just rolled my eyes.

“Why didn’t you answer when you were being called?” the first asks.

“Oh uh yeah, it doesn’t have an onboard communicator,” I replied, pointing at my ship.

They both laughed at that and so did all the surrounding bystanders. I could see them, eyeing my ship and me, dressed in my raggedy cloak. Little did they know, I had about a dozen knives and a couple guns stashed under that cloak.

“What’s your business?” the first guard asked.

“I have a meeting with Handsome Jack,” I replied.

Everyone started laughing even harder. It was really starting to get on my nerves. Wasn’t someone supposed to be waiting for me?

“You? As if,” the second guard scoffed.

“Yeah, why don’t you take your trash heap,” the first guard said, “and get back to whatever junkyard you crawled out of.”

I narrowed my eyes as everybody laughed and quietly weighed the pros and cons of killing them all. But then the bystanders suddenly scurried away like rats as a man approached the two guards.

“That’s enough,” he snapped and they instantly shut up. “Get back to work.”

They skulked away quietly as the man faced me. He was the whitest guy I had ever seen, and I had done jobs for citizens of the snow planet, Kryo. Light hair, pale skin. And just looking at him made my douchebag alarm go off.

“I am Mr. Blake,” he said like it was a big deal. “I’ll be escorting you to Handsome Jack’s office.”

“Cool,” I said. He gestured for me to follow and led me out of the hangar bay.

As I followed him through the halls, I got eyed by every stuck up, arrogant asshole we passed. Many of them scoffed, snorted, or commented loudly to their friends on my ‘unsightly appearance’. But I kept my eyes forward, not giving them the satisfaction of a reaction.

Blake eventually led me to the Hub of Heroism: a monument to egotism, assholery, and Handsome Jack. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t impressed.

We passed through the atrium to a large elevator and Blake stopped to face me.

“This elevator will take you straight to Handsome Jack’s office,” he said.

“Thanks,” I replied as I stepped past him.

“Good luck,” he added slyly as he walked away.

I glanced after him before entering the elevator and going up.

I was brought to the lobby first. It was big and comfortable, except for all propaganda posters all over the place. There pictures of Jack fighting some sort of great beast and taking down a whole army with just two guns.

Somebody- or something- was standing by the door on the other side of the room. It looked like a man fused with a Loader Bot. He was standing so still I almost thought he was statue, but I could feel his eyes on me.

I crossed the room quickly but before I could reach the door, the cyborg cut me off.

“Uh what’s up, big guy?” I asked.

“Leave all your weapons,” he demanded in his robotic voice.

“Oh, sure, that-that’s understandable,” I shrugged and removed my whole cloak. “Here, just take this whole thing.”

The cyborg took my cloak and stepped aside.

“Don’t mess with any of my stuff,” I snapped as I went through the door. It led into a hallway that went straight to another closed door.

As I walked I glanced at my t-shirt and grimaced. It was Dahl shirt I had stolen off some dude I killed once. “Wish I had worn a different shirt.”

It was too late to worry though, as the door opened and I walked into Handsome Jack’s office.

If I could only use one word to describe his office I would use…ostentatious. It was needlessly big with fountains, two giant busts of Jack, a couple of large couches, a trophy case. The far wall was just glass, looking out on Pandora’s moon, Elpis.

If I was impressed by the Hub of Heroism, you can imagine how blown away I was by his office.

Leading straight from the door, up a couple of stairs, was a large desk with a big, yellow chair behind it. And sitting in that yellow chair was Handsome Jack himself.

“Hey, there she is,” he boomed as he stood up. “Just the lady I’ve been waiting for. Come on, have a seat.”

I approached his desk and sat in the round chair across from him. I was…tense. I wasn’t scared of those Hyperion guards or that big cyborg, but Handsome Jack…Handsome Jack was different. He radiated power and confidence. I had never been around someone like that. It wasn’t that I was scared, really, I just…I felt like I really wanted to impress him.

And I had to wear the brand Hyperion hated most.

“You want anything? A drink, something to eat?” he asked, flashing a charming smile.

“Uh no, no I’m good,” I replied. I was actually starving but I could not show any kind of weakness. I was just begging my stomach not to growl. “S-so uh what’s this job?”

“We’ll get to that,” he said, waving away my question as he sat down. “But first, I’d like to ask you something.”

He tapped on his keyboard, bringing up a holographic computer screened. He typed something then turned the screen to me, showing the picture of a man. “Recognize this guy?”

I did. A few weeks back I did a job on Demophon for some Jakobs employee that involved killing a Hyperion employee. I had done countless jobs like that before. Corporate scum liked murdering the opposition but rarely liked getting their hands dirty. But why did Jack care?

I considered lying to him but if he was asking me then he already knew.

“Yes,” I replied bluntly, “he was a mark.”

“Tell me how you did it,” he ordered, leaning forward.

I watched him carefully. Both of his hands were folded on the top of the desk and he didn’t look angry, more intrigued.

I took a deep breath. “I disguised myself as a janitor and stole one of their IDs. I figured office workers didn’t pay much attention to people below them. I was right. I was able to get into the facility and find the mark’s office easily. Then I just hid out until he was alone, slit his throat, and got out before anyone noticed. It was just a standard job.”

“And it wasn’t the first involving Hyperion,” Jack added.

I continued watching him, my eyes darting between his mismatched ones. “No. I had killed quite a few Hyperion employees. And I had killed for Hyperion plenty of times too.” “Oh, I know. You have quite a rap sheet, don’t you?” he grinned as he leaned back.

I narrowed my eyes cautiously and brushed my hand against the knife I kept hidden in my beanie. I didn’t plan on using it but it did ease my nerves a bit.

Jack laughed. “Ease up, kiddo. This isn’t an interrogation. It’s an interview.”

I blinked with surprise.

“I’m not gonna kill you, I like you. I like the way you work, the way you think. See, I’ve done some research on you and I’ve been keeping an eye on you since this job.” He pointed at the computer screen.

“How’d you know it was me?” I asked.

“I didn’t, not at first,” he replied, “I had to find the Jakobs employee who hired you first. That wasn’t hard. Neither was torturing him.” He laughed. “Th-the moron was crying the whole time my boys were bringing him to me. He crumbled like paper. And don’t get me wrong, that makes my job a lot easier. But it’s just-it’s kind of boring, you know?”

“Anyway,” he says as he turns his computer screen back around. “You passed the interview. Congrats. Now let’s discuss the job.”

“Now, this job is top secret and super important,” he explains as he types. “So, because I’m such a nice guy, I’ll give you this one out because if you choose not to do it after I tell you about, I will kill you.” I should’ve backed out right then and there. Obviously whatever this job was, it was dangerous and different and so was Jack, to put it lightly. But I was intrigued and excited. And I had never turned down a job before.

“Whatever it is, I’m in,” I said.

Jack grinned. “I knew you’d say that.” “You said over the comm that you didn’t want me to kill anyone,” I stated.

“Right. I need you to track someone.”

I leaned forward as he turned the screen back to me. It showed multiple different pictures of a woman, beautiful with fire-y red hair. One of the images showed her glowing purple with some kind of blast firing from her hand into a group of armed people.

I shot up. “A Siren!”

“You said you wouldn’t back out,” Jack warned.

I glared at him. “I’m not, I just…Sirens are legendary. I’ve never even seen one in person.”

“Then consider this your lucky day,” he grinned, “this is Lilith. A while ago my guys and I destroyed a bandit town on Pandora called New Haven. Killed tons of people. It was great. And I thought Lilith died with them but lately I’ve been thinking she actually survived.” “So you want me to find her,” I stated.

“Find her, find evidence of her, or find evidence she actually died,” Jack added.

“So you’re just going off a hunch?”

“Hey, I have great instincts with this type of thing.” “Alright, do you at least have some idea of where I can start?”

“On Pandora there’s a bandit town called Sanctuary,” Jack replied, “start there. I can give you a shuttle with the coordinates.” “Just message them to me. I can take my cruiser.”

“Ha, you mean that rusted little tin can you flew in on?” he snorted, “no, no, no. I’m not going to let anyone working for me be seen in that thing or in a Dahl t-shirt.”

He typed on his keyboard. “What’s your size? Medium?”

“Small,” I grunted.

He finished typing and a yellow shirt digistructed on his desk. “There, for you. Consider it a gift of my admiration.”

I unfolded it, trying to hide my grimace. “Yellow’s not really my colour.”

“I think it’ll look great.” I tucked it under my arm. I’ll be wearing my cloak anyway so it didn’t matter.

“There’ll be a shuttle waiting for you in the docking bay,” Jack said.

“One more thing,” I said, “how much?”

Jack grinned with amusement. He typed on his keyboard and showed me the screen. “How’s that?” I had never seen so many zeroes. It almost made me dizzy trying to count them. I quickly shook some sense back into my head and looked back at Jack.

“Half now, half when I finish the job,” I demanded.

“Sure,” he shrugged, “just remember, if you try to run, I will find you.” “I don’t run away,” I said.

He grinned as he typed on his keyboard. “There, I’ve wired it to you. We done here?”

“Yup,” I nodded and stood up. “I’ll call you if I find anything…or don’t find anything.”

“I’ll be waiting.” He waved as I walked away.

As soon as I was outside in the hall, I checked my ECHO comm. The amount of numbers nearly took up the whole screen. I had to keep from jumping and cheering, but I couldn’t stop the big, goofy smile on my face.

I sauntered back into the waiting room, my head held high. The cyborg was still standing by the door with my cloak. He held it out to me.

“Thanks, bro,” I chimed and saluted him. “Catch you later.”

As I rode the elevator down, I put my cloak back on. After I exited into the Hub of Heroism, I held out my new Hyperion shirt in front of me. Suddenly yellow was looking pretty damn good.

#Borderlands #Borderlands 2 #Borderlands fanfiction #Borderlands 2 fanfiction #Borderlands au #my oc #my art

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weekendwarriorblog · 3 years

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The Weekend Warrior 3/19/21: SXSW, Zack Snyder’s Justice League,The Courier, City of Lies, Happily and More!

Remember a couple weeks back when I stated the plan was to bring back the Weekend Warrior as a regular weekly series again? Yeah, well if you looked for a column last week and wondered what happened, I just didn’t have time to write one. And I also just haven’t been able to get back on the ball in terms of writing reviews. It just takes a lot of time to watch all the movies let alone review them the way I did last year. I honestly have no idea how I did it last year, but things have been busier than ever at Below the Line, which does throw a bit of a spanner into any extracurricular plans.

The big event this week is the annual SXSW Film Festival, which I’ll be taking part in virtually, and somewhat tangentially, watching as much as I can while still doing other things. It’s been a while since I’ve attended SXSW in person, but it tends to have great docs, especially music docs. In fact, this year’s Opening Night Film is the documentary, Demi Lovato: Dancing with the Devil, about Demi Lovato’s drug overdose from 2018 and its aftermath. Other music docs of interest include Poly Styrene: I Am A Cliché, about the late frontwoman from early punk band X-Ray Spex through the eyes of her daughter; Mary Wharton’s doc Tom Petty, Somewhere You Feel Free made from archival footage of the late singer making his 1994 record “Wildflowers”; Alone Together about Charlie XCX’s pandemic record; Under the Volcano about George Martin’s AIR Studios Montserrat; and it gives another chance to see Edgar Wright’s excellent, The Sparks Brothers, which was picked up by Focus Features after Sundance. There’s also an amazing doc about Selma Blair’s fight with MS, Introducing, Selma Blair, which is equal parts heartbreaking and inspirational.

SXSW also has pretty solid Midnighters, and there’s a number of those I’m also looking forward to, including Travis Stevens’ Jakob’s Wife, starring horror legends Larry Fassenden and Barbara Crampton, who were so great in my buddy Ted Geoghegan’s We Are Still Here. (No coincidence since Stevens produced that movie.) And I hope to watch a few others like Lee Haven Jones’ The Feast, Jacob Gentry’s Broadcast Signal Intrusion, and Alex Noyer’s Sound of Violence. We’ll see how much I get to see this week, cause it’s a lot of movies over only a couple days, basically from Tuesday through Saturday.

Closer to home at the Metrograph, the still-closed movie theater is doing a virtual series called “Bill Murray X6” which has already shown Lost in Translation and What about Bob? With Rushmore screening until Thursday, and then The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou available through Friday. Become a digital member for just $5 a month! This past weekend I saw a really amazing 7-part doc series called Untitled Pizza Movie by David Shapiro. In fact, I stayed up late on Sunday to watch the whole thing since it was leaving the digital screeners, but it’s a very entertaining, intriguing and personal story about the director, his friend and partner in crime Leeds, who he went around to different NYC pizza shops in the ‘90s trying to find the perfect slice, and then they come across pizzaman Andrew Belluci at the world-famous Lombardi’s in Soho. The project that took over 20 years to make follows what happened to the three men, but mainly Leeds and Belluci as they have ups and downs that ultimately leads to Belluci starting his own pizza joint in Queens. Everything that happens in between is quite fascinating.

I saw a couple other movies this past weekend including Robin Wright’s Land, which I quite enjoyed, and the rom-com Long Weekend, which came out last Friday but I totally missed. Land is a pretty amazing directorial debut that’s mostly a one-woman show with her character alone in the wilderness until she runs into trouble and meets Demian Bichir’s kindly Samaritan and they become friends. Directed by Stephen Basilone, Long Weekend stars Finn Wittrock and Zoe Chao in what starts as a meet cute rom-com and turns into something much deeper with a couple sci-fi-tinged twists, a bit like Palm Springs, but much more grounded. I loved the two leads and how Basilone made a romantic comedy that actually was romantic and very funny, as well. Both movies I recommend.

Getting into some of the streamer offerings this week, ZACK SNYDER’s JUSTICE LEAGUE will hit HBO Max on Thursday, so we can finally see whether or not that extra money and work paid off. I’ll be reviewing this over at Below the Line, so won’t spend too much time here. I figure that anyone who has been waiting for this will watch it, as will anyone who has been curious about it. As you can read from my review, I was quite impressed by the film as an achievement in finishing what is clearly a far superior film to the 2017 theatrical release. Some of the highlights include great stuff between Ray Fisher’s Cyborg and his father, a far more fun introduction to The Flash that was cut from the 2017 release and just some insanely crazy good action. I can’t wait to watch the movie again.

Kicking off on Friday is the anticipated Marvel Studios series, THE FALCON AND THE WINTER SOLDIER (Disney), bringing back the title characters played by Anthony Mackie and Sebastian Stan, who were introduced in one of the MCU’s better movies, Captain America: The Winter Soldier. I was sent the first episode and unfortunately, there’s an embargo until Thursday afternoon, but I do think that MCU fans are gonna be thrilled with the first episode, especially with the Falcon’s opening action sequence, which is like something right out of the movies.

Okay, fine, so let’s get to some new movies and some real reviews…

Probably the movie with the widest release this weekend will be THE COURIER (Lionsgate/Roadside Attractions), starring Benedict Cumberbatch, which I’m guessing will be in 1,000 or so theaters. The movie premiered at Sundance way back in 2020 under the significantly worse title of “Ironbark” with plans to release it later in the year, but then COVID happened. I’m not sure if Roadside Attractions planned for this to be an awards movie, but after a few delays, releasing it in mid-March just days after the Oscar nominations, I’m guessing probably not?

Directed by Dominic Cooke (On Chesil Beach) from a screenplay by Tom O’Connor (The Hitman’s Bodyguard… wait, WHAT?), this Cold War spy thriller set in the early ‘60s stars Cumberbatch as Greville Wynne, a British businessman who is coerced by agents from MI6 and the CIA (repped by Rachel Brosnahan) to smuggle Russian secrets from military man Oleg Penkovsky (Merab Ninidze). Greville’s trips to Moscow start getting more and more dangerous under the shadow of the Cuban Missile Crisis, and his wife (the always great Jessie Buckley) wants him to stop taking the trips. It all leads up to a pretty exciting second act as the KGB starts to figure out what Greville and Oleg have been up to and work to put a stop to it.

I have to admit that as much as I enjoy a good spy-thriller, a lot of this reminded me of Cumberbatch’s earlier film Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy – yes, the John Le Caree adaptation, which I was never a particularly big fan of. This has similarities in that it starts out fairly slow, making me think this might be one of those well-made, well-acted movies that are just plain boring cause the subject doesn’t interest me. I’m sure when this was greenlit, there was probably more relevance to the situation between the U.S. and Russia, although this is obviously a British production and maybe something better to watch on the Beeb than in a movie theater.

In general, the stuff with the two men and their families tends to be the best part of the movie. I wasn’t familiar with Merab Ninidze beforehand, but he’s a really good actor who holds his own in scenes with Cumberbatch. Although Cumberbatch’s performance is significantly better here than in The Mauritanian, that’s definitely a better movie, so even in the last act which sees Wynne in a Russian jail, it just doesn’t compare. This is the second film with Rachel Brosnahan in which she didn’t really impress me much after hearing how great she is on Mrs. Maisel. Even so, the movie did make me want to go back and rewatch the beginning again to see if maybe I wasn’t as focused on it, as it should be.

As far as box office, I don’t have much hope for this making more than $2 or 3 million this weekend, since it seems more like a prestige platform release that would have to build audiences from rave reviews or positive word-of-mouth. Coming out so long after its festival debut (kinda like that Thomas Edison movie a few years back) may have helped people forget about the midling festival reviews. Even so, this movie just doesn’t have much buzz or interest from #FilmTwitter who has had its tongue so far up the superhero movie ass this week between Zack Snyder’s Justice League and Marvel’s The Falcon and the Winter Soldier to pay much attention to this. (Hey, facts is facts!)

Johnny Depp and Forrest Whitaker star in Brad Furman’s crime-thriller CITY OF LIES (Saban Films), which is about the real-life search for the killer of the Notorious B.I.G. aka Biggie Smalls with Depp playing Detective Russell Poole, who ended up on the case in 1997, and Whitaker playing reporter Jack Jackson, doing a story on Smalls for the 20thanniversary of the unsolved murder.

Based on the book “Labyrinth” (the movie’s original title), it’s a story that takes place in two time periods, Los Angeles in the ‘90s after the Rodney King beating and L.A. riots and how it’s made the criminal element that surrounds rap mogul Suge Night. It begins with Poole investigating the death of a black police officer named Gaines, shot by a white police officer (Shea Whigham) in what is seemingly a road rage incident. As Poole investigates, he learns about police corruption in the force including a number of officers tied directly to Knight.

As Jackson interviews Poole to try and find out who killed Biggie, we flashback to Poole’s investigation and interaction with some of those corrupt cops and being put into extremely dangerous situations. The movie isn’t bad, especially the scenes between Whitaker and Depp, who gives a far more grounded performance than we’ve seen from him in recent years. Even so, the performance that really impressed me was Toby Huss as Poole’s superior, who just brings something new to the tough head detective role we haven’t really seen.

Regardless of what you think of Depp’s activities off-camera, this is a fairly solid crime thriller (as was Scott Cooper’s Black Mass), and though you never actually get to see Biggie, Tupac or Suge Night, it’s an interesting examination into a period in L.A. that seems so long ago but still rings true to what’s been going on in the last year.

BenDavid Grabinski’s HAPPILY (Saban/Paramount) is a dark comedy-thriller starring Joel McHale and Kerry Bishé as Tom and Janet, a happily married couple who annoy their friends by still having sex on the regular whenever they possibly can. In fact, their friends decide to uninvite Tom and Janet to their planned couples’ weekend because they’re so annoyed by them. One day, a mysterious man (played by Stephen Root) shows up at Tom and Janet’s house, one thing leads to another and they kill and bury him. Thinking that the man’s visit might be part of a friend’s prank, they go to the planned couples’ trip, trying to figure out if the prankster has gotten suspicious about what they’ve done.

For the sake of transparency, I met Grabinski at my very first Sundance ever as he was friends with some of my colleagues, but I never spent a ton of time talking to him. This film impressed me, since it’s a prtty strong debut from him, one that benefits greatly from a strong cast that includes Paul Scheer, Breckin Meyer (who I didn’t even recognize!), Charlyne Yi, Natalie Morales and more, making for a really solid ensemble dark comedy that reminded me of the tone of last year’s The Hunt or Ike Barinholtz’s The Oath or a great lesser-seen movie from last year, Robert Schwartzman’s The Argument. Dark comedy isn’t for everyone, and this is definitely a little mean-spirited at times, but more importantly, it’s very funny and tends to get crazier and crazier as it goes along.

More importantly, I loved Grabinski’s musical choices from Devo’s “Working in a Coal Mine” to not one but two OMD songs, and great use of Public Image Limited as well. The way Grabinski puts this together comes across like a hipper and fresher Hitchcock, and while it might not be for everyone, I could totally see this killing at a genre fest like Fantastic Fest or even this week’s SXSW. It’s clever and original and rather intriguing how Grabinski puts all the various pieces together.

Hitting Shudder on Thursday is Elza Kephart’s horror-comedy SLAXX (Shudder) about a possessed pair of jeans brought to life to punish the practices of a trendy clothing company, which it does by terrorizing the staff locked in overnight. Didn’t get to watch this before getting bogged down in SXSW but definitely looking forward to it.

Another horror film coming out this week is the horror anthology PHOBIAS (Vertical), exec. produced by the filmmaking team “Radio Silence” (Ready or Not) with segments directed by Camilla Belle, Maritte Lee Go, Joe Sill, Jess Varley and Chris von Hoffman. The stories follow five dangerous patients suffering from extreme phobias at a government facility with a crazed doctor trying to weaponize their fears.

Jeremy Piven stars in Paolo Pilladi’s LAST CALL (IFC Films) playing real estate developer Mick, who returns to his old Philly neighborhood and must decide whether to resurrect his family bar or raze it. I actually watched a few minutes of this, but apparently, IFC Films isn’t allowing reviews, so I have nothing more to say about the movie beyond the fact that it’s coming out on Friday.

Opening at the newly reopened Film Forum – currently doing a hybrid of in-person and virtual cinema – is Chris McKim’s doc WOJNAROWICZ: F**K YOU F*GGOT F**KER (Kino Lorber), premiering virtually on Friday. It’s about David Wojnarowicz, one of the loudest voices in the ACT-Up movement during the ‘80s who died of AIDS himself in 1992. (Correction: Film Forum actually isn’t reopening until April 2.)

A few other things this week include Aengus James’ doc AFTER THE DEATH OF ALBERT LIMA hitting Crackle about Paul Lima, a son obsessed with capturing his father’s murderer who has remained at large in Honduras due to a failed legal system. Because of this, Paul travels to the Honduras with two bounty hunters to find and capture the killer.

Lastly, streaming on Topic Thursday, there’s Parliament, directed by Elilie Noblet and Jeremie Sein, about a young man named Samy who arrives in Brussels after the Brexit vote trying to get a job into the European Parliament without really knowing how it works.

That’s all for this week. It might be a while before I can get The Weekend Warrior back into some sort of fighting weekly shape, but I’m doing the best I can right now, so let me know if you’re reading any of this.

#TheWeekendWarrior #TheCourier #Movies #Reviews #BoxOffice #ZackSnyderJusticeLeague #Happily #CityOfLies

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seeroftodayandtomorrow · 6 years

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Glee Trek

This is something I wrote in collaboration with my husband, who offered lots of ideas, suggestions, trek knowledge, and his services as a beta reader. The characters are Glee, the setting Star Trek; the stories, something in between. It's meant as pure crack.

Summary: Space - the Final Frontier. These are the Adventures of the Gleeship New Directions. Its mission: to explore new music, to seek out new choreographies and mash-ups. To sing what no one has sung before.

Episode 1: Encounter in the Choir Room

Captain's Log, Stardate 41153.7

With regard to the upcoming Fleetorials, I have tried to motivate the crew, but since we are the only Gleeship of any distinction left in Starfleet, it has been hard to convince them to give their all. They are too assured of victory to care for their performance. To bring back their passion, I have rearranged an ancient poem, and will perform it for them as a rap.

Captain William T. Schuester of the Gleeship New S.S, Directions was rapping his heart out.

Felis catus is your taxonomic nomenclature, hey

An endothermic quadruped, carnivorous by nature, yeah, yeah...

Performing with his usual enthusiasm, he let his gaze wander over his small audience. They didn't seem as passionate as he would like, even though he danced until he was sweaty. He even pulled out all the stops, stealing Lieutenant Commander Abrams' glasses and activating the power on his hover chair so he shot a few meters through the room before he could stop it. It had always worked before, even though Abrams never seemed to appreciate it. But this time, as he pulled them up to dance, they only half-heartedly joined him for a few moves before sitting down again.

Of course, William acted unimpressed by the lack of enthusiasm, and kept performing. After all, the show must go all over the place; there was no way but forward.

A tail is quite essential for your acrobatic talents, yeah

You would not be so agile if you lacked -

“Shut up!” a voice yelled.

Will spun around and saw a blonde-haired woman in a track suit standing in the room. He had never seen her before, and had received no notion about visitors.

“What-” he began, then found that although his lips were moving, no sound came out of his mouth.

“I said shut up,” the woman said, then made a show of looking around the room.

“What a pathetic display of human inferiority! Look at you rag-tag bunch of planetary rejects!” she raged, and Will tried in vain to speak until he noticed he was opening and closing his mouth like one of the fish in his ready room, and stopped. It seemed like there was nothing to do but wait till the...being released her hold on him.

“This is such a sad waste of potential,” the strange woman continued. “Or has there even been potential, I wonder? After all, the human race has wasted its time with the arts since the beginning of time. Maybe it's just that you are no good for anything else.”

She waved at him, and Will noted with relief that he could speak again. “What are you doing on my ship? Identify yourself!” he demanded.

“Oh, the captain has found his tongue,” the woman said. ”We call ourselves the Sue. Or you can call me that. It's all much the same. As to what I am doing here -”

She spread her arms and smiled. “I come to you as a voice of reason. I ask you to stop what you are doing! Stop torturing the galaxy with your mash-ups and your earth-centric ditties! Stop singing!”

“Why should we do that?” Will asked. He briefly wondered if he should inquire how she got on the ship in the first place, but that mystery seemed unimportant in comparison to the outrageous demand she made of him.

Bold as you please, the woman—Sue—sat down on his chair as if it belonged to her. She was lucky it wasn’t the captain's chair on the bridge, or else he would -

“First of all, because you're bad,” Sue said, leaning back and crossing her arms. “Seriously, have you heard yourselves? You'll never make it to Quadrantals, not if there's some justice left in the world.”

She continued, shouting over the outraged gasps and protests of the crew.

“And more importantly, because you shouldn't. Humans just don't have the capacities. You are such a pathetic little race. Look at you! You've made it into space, but you are inferior to every known race in the galaxy! The Vulcans are paragons of logic and the greatest scientists of the galaxy! The Klingons are fierce warriors! They can afford to waste some time singing and dancing, but you can't!”

The botanist, Tina Cohen-Chng, raised her hand. “But not all of us are human! Chief Chang here is Vulcan, and Mr. Puck, who's on the bridge, is a Klingon, and Lieutenant Berry-”

“I'm half-Betazoid!”, Miss Berry interrupted.

Sue didn't seem impressed. “I stopped listening at 'but'. It makes no difference, though. If you choose to serve an inferior race, that makes you even worse!”

Now Will was angry. “Enough!” he shouted. “How dare you come in here and...and prosecute and judge us for what we are!”

“Prosecute and judge? What an interesting idea!”

Suddenly, the scene around them changed. Instead of the chairs in the choir room there were benches. Will himself was sitting at a table, and Sue was standing before him, wearing a judge's cap and gown with track stripes on the sides.

“What is going on?” he demanded, rising, but Sue just glared at him and he found himself sitting down again, cowering over his table. He forced himself to sit up straight.

Sue raised a hand and hit the top of the piano with a gavel that had not been there before.

“Justice will be served! You will now answer to the charge of being a grievously untalented and undeserving race.”

Lieutenant Commander Hummel raised his hand. “If I may?”

Surprisingly, Sue nodded.

“In the year 2036, the New United Nations declared that no Earth citizen could be made to answer for the crimes of their race and forebears.”

“Well, but we do not adhere to such ancient, barbaric laws. And as I was so kindly informed earlier, not all of you are from Earth—so I do not condemn you as Earth citizens, but as what you claim to be—performers. I do, however, condemn the human race with you.”

“That is hardly fair!” William exclaimed.

“Fair doesn't come into it. I am Sue—my will is done.”

William realized there was no way to talk to Sue—and no way to resist her, either, not with the powers she had demonstrated. So their only chance was to go along with her, and win the trial.”You accuse the human race of being untalented,” he said. “Do you have any proof?”

“Are you certain you want a full disclosure of musical ugliness? So be it, fool!”

Out of thin air, a scroll appeared in Sue's hand. When she unrolled it, it trailed down to the floor and dragged a few feet behind her when she brought it to Will.

“A list of musical abominations, written by human hands and performed by human mouths. One of these songs is so bad, it caused the fall of the Berlin Wall! Please spare us the pain of reading it aloud.”

Will took the scroll and read it silently. After a few songs, he had to concede that Sue had a point. The songs listed were really terrible, but even they, he thought, could be saved. If he would do them, or his crew—there were several power ballads on the list that could benefit from Lieutenant Berry's voice, and the rap songs could only become better if he performed them.

Maybe that was what he was supposed to do? Take these bad songs and make them good? Maybe that was the way to win this trial?

Better not ask that, though. He had a feeling that Sue would reject a proposal just because he made it, even if it should be her original plan.

Cautiously, he said, “I won't deny there are bad songs out there, but even with humanity's many other accomplishments -” he ignored Sue's derisive snort - “it has produced many more great songs. I would go as far as to say humanity is one of the most talented and versatile races in the galaxy.”

Sue laughed, long and loudly. When she had finished, she said, “Well, that's your word against mine, mon capitaine du menton cul. And since I am an immortal being of near limitless power, and you are but the captain of an inconsequential Gleeship, it is no great puzzle who is right.” She stroked her chin in a show of intense thinking. “It would be interesting to see, wouldn't it, where humanity would be today if it hadn't wasted all that time and energy on creating inferior music. I think I will make that your punishment, captain: if you lose this trial, I will condemn humanity to a life without music. I will strip every little bit of musical inclination out of every human being in all of time, so that there will never have been any music made in the whole of human history. Isn't that a wonderful idea?”

The crew broke out in gasps and shouts of “No!”, and William, too, was horrified at this idea. He forced himself to stay calm.

“And are we not to be given an opportunity to defend ourselves?” he asked.

“Of course,” Sue answered. “This is a trial, after all. Let it not be said that the Sue were unjust. It's a wasted effort, considering human intelligence, but please... what do you have to say for yourselves?”

William took a deep breath, thoughts racing as he tried to prepare a defense that would sway even that philistine, but before he could speak, Lieutenant Berry rose to her feet.

“Not in talk, Sue. You have accused us of being untalented—let us prove the opposite is true in the only fitting fashion: in song.”

“Oh, no!” Sue answered. “I can not abide singing. But I won't deny there's a certain...primitive logic in what you are saying. So I have a challenge for you: I have accused you of being an untalented race inferior to any other race in the universe. To prove me wrong, you just have to beat the other races: win the Quadrantals.”

Then she was gone. The choir room was back to normal, the crew sitting on chairs instead of benches, the table and chair William had been sitting on gone, so he landed painfully on his butt.

The place where Sue had been standing was empty.

While Will struggled to his feet, the room around him erupted in uproar. The crew was shouting and talking all at once, all except Lieutenant Commander Hummel, who could be expected to remain calm in even the most unusual of circumstances. Sometimes, William really wished for that kind of serenity.

“Quiet!” he shouted, and one by one, they settled down. As he looked into the distraught faces of his crew, William realized that he was challenged to fulfill his role as a captain like he had never been before.

“We will never win!” Miss Cohen-Chang cried, voice shaky with barely held-back tears. “We've never even reached Quadrantals before!”

“But it has always been our goal,” William said. “Winning Quadrantals would not only win us Sue's trial, but show everyone at Starfleet that the honored tradition of Gleeships is not at an end yet. They would be forced to finally take us seriously.”

“What are we going to do, sir?” Mr. Hummel asked.

“We do exactly what we'd do if this Sue never existed. If we're going to be damned, let's be damned for what we really are.”

He sat down heavily on the piano bench as he considered their options. “Although we probably should rehearse more. And we need to start recruiting new performers.”

#new story #glee #star trek #fanfiction #glee fanfiction

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lookwhosfhtagn · 6 years

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THE ADVENTURES OF ARGUS ARMSTRONGMAN - LONE STAR DETECTIVE

Case 637435: Attempted Murder, Breach of Trucking Contract, Breaking and Entering, Assault, Gross Sexual Misconduct, Trespassing, Unlicensed Gang Warfare, Unauthorized Corporate Espionage, Second Degree Murder

Peoria was a nightmare hellscape: a bleak, spine-chilling expanse of crumbling urban overexpansion and atrophy. And while that description could have been applied a week before, the presence of mobile mechanical malefactors only magnified the menace. Drones from Pie in the Sky Pizza, Fat Don’s Sandwich and Stims, Nothing but Soy, and many more crossed the sky in a systematic grid, an aerial armada stalking the prey below. The thump and hiss of hydraulics came from the distance, among the building of downtown. A panicked figure darted from cover, only to be set upon by a swarm of robotic entities, ranging from cyberpets to load lifters. The poor bastard cried out in one single shriek and was silenced just as quickly.

“We shouldn’t be here,” Catrina Noire said, her eyes unreadable behind her Matrix shades. Her tone was cold and callused but I could see the faint lines of worry and dread in the corners of her mouth.

I pulled a deep drag of strawberry flavored vapor out of the slender mouthpiece, letting the drugs settle into my bloodstream before I exhaled and put the vape back in my jacket pocket. “We have to be here. I know the Tech Wizard had to have stopped here. I feel it in my gut. And if we can find his grandmother, we can find a clue where they went.” I turned to her and tried to engage her through those glasses of hers. “You hired me because you know I can find Dak, so let me find him.”

Our expensive sports car cautiously crept along the city streets. The retirement facility wasn’t far from away. In spite of the carnage that had swept the town, it looked like most of the conflict had shifted away, affording us a window of opportunity.

She crossed her arms and gave a petulant sigh. “I still think we should give Beans another shot. I-”

“We’re not doing that. Not until you and I sort out what we’re going to do with him.”

“It,” she corrected with a demonstrably confrontational tone.

I was about to argue with her, but before I could take the bait of her obvious challenge, the steering wheel wrenched from my grip. Rubber screamed out on pavement and the engine revved in a roaring call to action. “What the hell?” I blurted out, trying to process the events.

The screen of the car’s dash console went black. A waterfall of unspaced white text, scrolling down the liquid crystal display and proclaiming DEATHTOALLHUMANS. The speaker system joined in, crying out in a maximum volume the same repeated threats in digital text to speech tones. My ears rang out and I could see Catrina clamp both her palms over her sensitive feline ears.

“It hacked the car!” Catrina cried out, barely audible over the blaring sound system’s murderous mantra.

I struggled to regain control, reaching under the steering wheel for the emergency manual override. But by the time I pulled the handle and was able to control the vehicle again, it was too late. Even my wild swerve wasn’t enough to keep us from crashing into the side of a large decorative fountain. The front of the car crumbled like tissue paper, wrapping around the statue of a beautiful nude troll woman while also fracturing the sculpture into a dozen pieces. Catrina and I lurched madly, arrested by the seat belts and air bags. My chest and face ached from the force of the stop, but I was alive for now.

Staggering from the totaled car, I stepped out into the basin of the fountain, soaking my vintage Converse high tops. I heard the passenger door open, following by a splash as Ms. Noire fell to her knees, still staggered and aching from both the crash and the auditory assault. I hussled to the other side and helped her to her feet, practically dragging her through the vacant streets to avoid detection. “Come on!” I barked at her, hoping she wasn’t deafened. “We have to go!”

Her Matrix shades were broken, each half dangling from an ear. The eyes behind those shades were wide and frantic, struggling to keep up with what was going on. “W-what?” she stammered, fighting to stand on her own and keep pace.

With my free arm, I pointed to the retirement home down the street. She nodded and put managed to support more of her own weight. Even in the middle of a robot uprising, I couldn’t let Dak Rambo out of my thoughts. If we didn’t find that old woman, all this was for nothing.

After what seemed like an eternity of awkward escape down the vacant streets of Peoria, we came to the large synthetic wood door. Our hands fumbled for the pull handle, only to find it locked. “God damn it,” I grumbled and slapped my palm on the door.

“Help! You have to let us in!” Catrina cried out.

There was a shuffling from the other side of the door, then a masculine voice spoke up, muffled by the door. “Um, actually, we don’t have to help you. I am under no such compulsion, either societally or physically.”

Catrina and I looked at each other, exchanging glances that were equal measures of disbelief and confusion at the obnoxious reply.

“Listen,” I said, my tone forced into the soothing register of conflict resolution. “We’re not robots. We’re humans who just came into town and our car tried to kill us. Please, let us in! If you don’t let us in, our blood is on your hands!”

Two voiced erupted into sardonic laughter from the barred sanctuary. I swore I could hear the clop of hooves before a feminine voice sneered at us. “That is quite literally an impossibility because you would be murdered out there. So, unless we went out later, found your mangled corpses, and rubbed our hands in your blood-”

“Or,” the male voice cut in, “there were some sort of outlandish method of execution employed by the robot which would send your blood through the door, onto our hands.”

“Yes,” the woman agreed. “Either of those would make your idiom honest. So, do you think your blood is going to end up on our hands now? Hm?”

Catrina began cursing softly. “What kind of assholes are these?”

“The kind of assholes who should open that door unless they want be guilty of impeding an official Lone Star investigation.” My voice was overly dramatic. “And that’s assuming I don’t just find another way in there and shoot said assholes.”

There was a pause, followed by a less confident quip from the female. “While you have no way of knowing we are centaurs, you should know that we are not assholes. Assholes can’t talk.” And then the door’s lock clicked open. The door swung open, revealing a fat centaur man and a younger female.

“I don’t know,” I said, shouldering past them. “Doors open and all I can see are assholes.”

Catrina followed behind, hissing ferally at the two centaurs and muttering curses in a foreign language I didn’t understand. As we strolled in, we saw a collection of about twenty to thirty survivors. Among the masses were a massively, almost grotesquely muscular woman, an elf that could best be described as masculine, and a dwarf gentleman who was covered in cybernetic augmentations. I was about to talk to someone when my eyes fell on a woman in the corner of the waiting room, kept in some advanced sarcophagus. Silently, I stepped over to the almost skeletal woman.

I cleared my throat and looked through the glass. “Excuse me, ma’am. Are you Marjorie Purpler?”

The husk of an old woman looked up at me, the whirring chirp of her respirator a macabre march toward mortality. Her eyes looked at me, falling on the Lone Star badge emblazoned on my jacket. Her halting mechanical voice croaked out. “And what do you want with my sweet Squirt, you jackboot bastard?” Her face twisted to an unnatural disgusting grimace.

“Listen, Mrs. Purpler. I know you son visited you.” It was a bluff, but it was the only card I had in my hand. “He’s travelling with a man named Dak Rambo. Trucker with tattoos, hat, and cat eyes.”

She peered into my eyes, sizing me up before she spoke. “He was a nice boy. What do you want with him?”

“That nice boy has a rap sheet as big as my…” I paused. “It’s big, ma’am. And his latest crime is murdering a fellow trucker in cold blood.”

Her eyes darted back and forth, processing the information before warbling back in her fake voice. “Then I bet the fucker was a real bag of shit. Now, how about you get out of here, Lone Star scum?”

I had figured it would go like this. Her family had been displaced by Lone Star in the past. A lot of magic users had gotten the raw deal. It wasn’t right, but it happened. It was a scar that neither she nor those magic users would ever forget or forgive.

“Ma’am, I’m not trying to hurt your grandson. I’m just looking for Dak. He’s done a lot of things that have people after him. People who are dangerous.” I leaned forward and put a hand on the glass. “People who wouldn’t hesitate to kill Squirt just for riding with Rambo.”

Catrina put her hand on my shoulder and pulled me back. “Marjorie, we just want to bring a murderer to justice. We won’t hurt your grandson or the others. And if you help, we can even try to help Rambo. Keep him alive.” I tried to keep my hackles down at the notion of showing Dak mercy.

Her facial muscles shifted into an assisted look of dread and grief. I have no doubt if she could have, she’d have started crying. But she just frowned deeply and spoke. “If you hurt my Squirt, don’t think for a second me being in here will keep you safe.”

“I know it doesn’t mean anything to you, ma’am,” I replied, hoping my sincerity made it through the heavy glass barrier, “but I promise I won’t hurt your grandson.”

“You’re right. It doesn’t mean a thing.” She let out a forced hiss of a sigh. “I overheard them talking outside my room after they left. After a disturbingly long period of conversation about Squirts artificial penis, they mentioned heading west to Los Angeles.”

“Los Angeles?” Catrina asked incredulously.

“Yep, Los Angeles.”

I tried to hide the nervous energy of the chase, stuffing it down into my gut. “Thank you, Mrs. Purpler.” I turned around just to see the wooden door splinter. The two centaurs turned, only to subsequently be crushed as the doors burst off their hinges, falling down onto the equine pair with a grizzly and shamefully-satisfying squish.

“Ow!” Cried out the male centaur! “Oh god! Oh god, I’m dying!”

The female centaur coughed. “Are…you speaking literally?”

“Of course I am, Little Sis. Of course…I…am…” And then he let out a soft death rattle.

“Good. Because I am too.” And she let out a similar death rattle.

The cloud of smoke and dust that billowed in from the shattered door frame slowly dissipated. There, floating before us on a litter held aloft by four drones, was a large vending machine robot. “No orders. No riddles. Only death.” And then a flurry of milkshakes, burgers, and cutlery was blast out of the service chute like a load of buckshot from shotgun.

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#NeoScum #Oneshot #Shadowrun #Fanfiction

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avaliveradio · 4 years

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Female Rapper Cara-Mel Releases New Single Maybelline

Artist: Cara-Mel

New Release: Maybelline

Genre: Hip Hop/Rap

Sounds like: : J Cole, Joyner Lucas, Chance The Rapper, Joey BadA$$

Located in: Baltimore, Maryland

The majority of my music has a Hip Hop/Rap appeal with a social justice aspect. My lyrical content ranges from discussing relatable topics, world events, to women empowerment, and life lessons taught along the way (love, relationships, etc.). Many of my supporters appreciate hearing a poetic flow that touches on such real-life topics that highlight truth while giving a message that paints a picture through song in a form of storytelling. Lyrically, Maybelline talks about how we as a society tend to focus on striving for the materialistic or temporary gains in life at any cost; as well as the social imbalance that has been created behind this mindset. While the hook describes how the artist chooses not to be conformed to this world and has awakened with a renewing of the mind. With Maybelline’s powerful message and catchy hook, this mesmerizing hard-hitting track is guaranteed to get stuck in the heads of its listeners.

The music we are creating is...

’Maybelline’ is an important musical release because I feel like this is my celebration song where I am re-introducing the artist Cara-Mel to the world as a much stronger, wiser, and focused woman determined to make her mark as an entertainer. During my breast cancer recovery in 2019, I came to realize that what we as people may see as setbacks are setups designed to help grow and develop us into the best version of ourselves. And I think I had to go through this chapter in my life to stand here today with even more determination and drive to succeed. I believe that everyone has their battles and races to run. With this in mind, the message I want music lovers to take from the lyrics of this song is that regardless each person is the author of their own story so don’t settle for the hand dealt.

Right now we are...

Right now, I am currently preparing for the “Maybelline” Virtual Tour that will kick off starting around late June. With everything going on during these trying times I felt this would be a great way to stay connected with my fans and continue to introduce my music to the world. Also, I am very happy to announce that the Maybelline music video will be hitting my YouTube Channel (https://www.youtube.com/c/CaraMelDMV) in the upcoming weeks so everyone should be on the lookout for its debut around late May/early June.

Artists Bio..

Cara-Mel, whose real name is Dana Lawrence is a female Hip Hop/Rap artist representing the Baltimore/Washington D.C. Metropolitan area is known as the DMV. Her style can be best described as a blend of R&B, Hip Hop, Down South, and Dance meets Trap with a Social Justice aspect. Mel likes to sum it up as Conscious Trill. She began her musical journey at the tender age of seven listening to inspirational Oldies But Goodies; where her interest in R&B artists such as Stevie Wonder and Al Green lead to writing full R&B/Soul ballads and playful up-tempo tunes by the age of eleven. Deeply into jazz artists such as Kenny G and Najee, she started playing the saxophone in the sixth grade and was invited during her first year of playing to the All-City Band; where she was ranked the third chair overall in her hometown of Chesapeake, Virginia. By the age of fourteen, Cara-Mel became intrigued with Miami Bass, Down South and Hip Hop music with influences such as Luke, Salt-N-Pepa, Tupac, Lauryn Hill, Slick Rick, A Tribe Called Quest, and 69 Boyz; this is where her style of rhythmical writing took off into her creation during the early part of this artist’s indie career.

However, after years of struggling to get on with a major label, she made the mistake of giving up the pursuit of her musical dreams and stopped creating and producing music. Once hanging up her microphone, this musical talent spent several years working as a special education teacher and in fitness. In 2008, she started a health and wellness business, which became very successful throughout Washington D.C. Metropolitan area for five years. However, during the mid-2013 economic slowdown and the federal government’s sequestration; cutbacks forced her to close the family business. The sudden loss of income led to the foreclosure of her home and subsequent bankruptcy.

Attempting to get back on her feet, this young artist was hit with another blow; as she was diagnosed with Ductal Carcinoma in Situ (DCIS), which is considered the earliest form of breast cancer. Once given this devastating news her reflection about life came to the forefront with some regrets. It was during this time she vowed to go back to one of her greatest past loves; which was music. This motivated Cara-Mel to record “Broke,” her first hip hop song in years. The street promo song, “Broke” placed her on the map when it caught the attention of DJ SIDEREAL from Minnesota and landed a spot on the “Stamp of Approval” mixtape song bangers of the year in 2015. This song was written and recorded to reflect the frustrations of living check to check; which everyone can relate to at some point in their lives. Following her return to the music scene, she released “Back To The Grind;” a sneak peek of what was to come from the highly anticipated debut mixtape “Racial Profile,” which was released in September of 2016. Since then, Mel’s music has been placed on several mixtapes such as “Never Falling Off,” hosted by the On By Society Movement and DMV vs EVERYBODY 3, a popular DMV Music Plug local artist’s series. In addition, this beautiful lady has landed magazine spreads from Mr. Dreamz to Poze Magazine, and was the winner in the category for "Best Hip Hop Album Of The Year" at the X-Poze-ing Music Awards in September 2018 for “Racial Profile.”

With 2018 ending on a great note; she was looking forward to collaborations with various artists as her career began expanding into 2019. However, excited about new opportunities ahead and while recording new works; this queen was hit with unexpected news. After a routine exam, Mel discovered she would have to lace up those combat boots once again with the diagnosis of breast cancer (DCIS) in April of 2019. But, with discipline and perseverance, this two-time pink survivor has worked hard to get back to her music career and living cancer-free in just six months.

Not only can Cara-Mel flow; but she is a singer-songwriter and saxophonist on a mission to bring change through song. Having a sound like no other, this quadruple talent is creating her lane; as she continues to astonish the industry with cross-genre music that demonstrates her versatility. And though this emerging artist strives to empower others globally; her unique style demands attention as she positions herself as a lyrical storyteller of our time.

LINKS: Spotify Artist Page: https://open.spotify.com/artist/6uN625U76XBCBhQKmpw5Mp Twitter: https://twitter.com/caramel_DMV FaceBook Fam Page: https://www.facebook.com/caramelfampage FaceBook Artist Page: https://www.facebook.com/CaraMelDMV Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/caramel_dmv

#Cara-Mel #Hip Hop music #Maryland

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mrmonde-blog1 · 5 years

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HERE

Naming of person/persangers nop on the persenger seats should not be done but the nationality should be shown, if many kenyans, TZ, UG, malayasians, philipins, indonesians has board the plane desist please, even 2 people can make the plane to be fallen so that they share the heavy compensation given. The cartel take theirs and give the beneficiary is part because the control the economy of that country 4 you to trade peacefully you must get into their deals or-else frustrated to secure permits/licence. Why lie bro!! The persons fell the plane as much as ethiopians. Susan has bought Awhodi suv car and associates with the money which will be paid prior to delude the public not to know the reality after compensation of the borrowed cash is returned to that person borrowed, lets pretend is Mr President MP. Its a deal or a cartel bwana. Dont panda rich planes as the got more money carried by the passengers as this is a target to bring down these plane, eg The klm, air france but panda poor planes line qatar or emirates as mostly they carry the poor who lack much money- who to the people who long to see lords day LD and who will kill them and every one forms part of the brunt. But keep this in mind poor planes can be brought down even without cash carried in that they are eye the compensation given to the beneficiary the fella has written at the airport at boarding/booking time plus their BMI and pulse rate as well as finger prints with IEBC to avoid the taking time DNA 4 the compensation to be done immediately to avoid the dubious/dirty deals of borrowing cash prior since the compensation is guaranteed later. The DNA aint real coz some people are adopted to the beneficiaries. It null and void bro. China got internet and thats whats control the world so what we got to do with white man, owino or omollo banj, keth ume no hakigeuka rude, oki winj wach kaka nwa nene e-movie cha bwana, Erick utters faintly, en-kamano, its like that bwana. okoblokelonwa- donge joluo. Mfalme wa yawoundi- the luya/sweet/HUSTLE body were wide not slim in shape- vineyard and worker parable- they love sex and out of US greencard they have widely spread accross out of artificial insemination Ai. They are only good in poverty but when situation picks they became jealous to the point of crime and many Us singers got that blood. They aint innovators but look for new jobs and opportunity coupled with jealousy. Gi yar-re in luo, wapana in swahili, women take heed. The song a white woman loughs in the middle shows you how the white people has succeded in her plan to destroy Nigeria, venezuel, arab world, kenya and so forth so on. With electric buses the opec countries no more. If you even eat ground nuts GN and take the map of the world with diffferent nations and you take that place someone in the USA and look at his photo and the countries on the map at the same time, the spirit directs you which country is from or his ancentry, like minaj Jamaica and Uganda and hungary, snoop guok luo blood, R-kelly, neyo, luya blood, jadakiss madi blood, beyonce baganda blood, bow wow uganda as tray songs as tyrese etc. Nigros do this simple mathematics and its not rocket science, morever it doesnt cost a dime and return to your land as per the bible. JD congo blood, braxton aborigin as well as brook, you see australia. Godliath was the make, God or Gody was short cut, lia is cryeast, yath is treeks or medication. Holly trinity, God the father, son, holly Ghost/spirit. SON OF DAVID have mercy on us they thought christ was godliath ready to retaliate. God is dead philosophy. Tricks are short cut sc, scores. Jesusagody, yesusagody he was called.Most white women are jumpy they sleep with masai as well as kisumaites. When you sleep with luya/sweet you became chicky- jesus with little children and not settles as worried. It brings change in character. The said cut wires which runs from the engine of the plane to the pilot sector should run up on the passenger side not down to avoid many words with security issues. Christ with dust is the serpents food and mfalme wa yawhondi, wounds, adhola etc Judge Maraga was voted to serve the interests of the kenyan people as well as rooto or any other women lover dignitary not to have his people on the grass roots to thwart the pleasure of the lovers by wanting every pretty girl around in any major town. If you partake ground nuts you will see them making love to likes of very sidika. How do i know? Take vera photo and the dignitary and you will notice the act. Anaweka tu bwana hiyo fimbo bila kutojali mtu wangu, Anapiga tu rungu boy wa mine. You will have a long day in fighting me, we have recruited over 10 thousand folks who transfigure getting into the pilot belly prior to boarding the jets and our jets makes such a noice that affects the brain making you dull- they are better off and thats what the britons and chinis were waiting and we have sold much to them just awaiting the war. My emails are [email protected], [email protected], [email protected]. The pilot of the Ethiopian air was transforming went to the back room and changed into spirit when the plane lost control according to relevant sources. Pilots who do not partake sour drink should be burnished from driving planes as well as politicians coz they are involved in these atrocities as well as in the army or police. The bmi and pulse rate should be taken to avoid such occurrences. The plane company should blow siren gas to kill the intruder or leave them half dead as the alarm sound, the camera should be there to make sure they have transformed to human beings not just rodents to sprinkle the gas or reactive chemical so the culprits be brought to justice and truth established. They dont fall a plane one person but in one plane they get over 100 people, if you partake ground nuts you will even see orengo, uhuru, obamacron in the philipino plane in a line cutting the said wires among many other folks. Mfalme wa yawhodi/king of the jew and parable of the lost one sheep among 100 flock. You will hear a plane has follen in ksm show ground, evethough they fall plane but they dont benefit much coz they are payed minimal amounts according to relevant sources, so they can fall it in their backyard to also benefit much, the likes of victor, james, arsenol liasing with the sick police. They should vacate that place. Air safety AS, pier, atieno susan/sheila, askari. They carli cartel k-jones chapter was done by j-zay and kanye and given to him if you partake njugu you visualise the whole drama, the 1st raps was done by steven of jamu and WSU friend to kaz and shorty loss of buttler county detention center. Rev five, am handicapped and in ny i live in 10th floor not to be see and skyscraper was erected in Chicago long time ago and in the plane the hindu cant see what you are watching as i watch movies, songs in the palne. So they want to say the bible was written b4 these were invented to fix the truth, so it means Jesus is not now or Moses or Joseph.

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213hiphopworldnews · 5 years

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21 Savage Is An American No Matter What ICE Or President Trump Thinks

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In one of the most surprising recent stories in the ever-churning hip-hop news cycle, Atlanta-based rap star 21 Savage is facing deportation after being arrested Sunday morning by the Atlanta Police Department, then detained by ICE. According to Vice reporter Donovan Farley, Savage was arrested by APD while in a car with fellow artist Young Nudy and others who were “the subject of a local police bust.” 21 Savage, whose real name is Sha Yaa Bin Abraham-Joseph, had his name run through the system and his 2014 felony drug charge popped up. ICE claims he was not born in Atlanta, but Dominica, a British Commonwealth which gained its freedom in 1978. He immigrated from the Caribbean island to the United States in July 2005 at the age of 12 along with his mother. ICE contends that he overstayed his visa, which expired in 2008.

Currently, he’s being detained by ICE in Georgia and is awaiting removal proceedings. Savage’s attorney Dina LaPolt issued the following statement to TMZ yesterday: “We are working diligently to get Mr. Abraham-Joseph out of detention while we work with authorities to clear up any misunderstanding.” LaPolt also commended Savage as a “role model” who “is actively working in the community leading programs to help underprivileged youths in financial literacy.”

Indeed, the “Bank Account” rapper has spent the last year doing community outreach with his “21 Savage Bank Account” campaign and a Mic.com documentary which aimed to teach the youth how to manage their money. Though his music still often chronicles a remarkably grim experience that can exemplify his chosen name of “savage,” his personal growth is evident.

Evolution was a predominant theme of his recently released I Am > I Was album, with lyrics like, “I been through the storm and it turned me to a G / But the other side was sunny, I get paid to rap on beats,” from the confessional “A Lot” featuring J. Cole. It’s ironic that in a recently-performed, alternate version of “A Lot” he rhymes, “been through some things so I can’t imagine my kids stuck at the border.”

With this latest figurative flurry of storm clouds, he’s become the most prominent person who has been ensnared in ICE’s immigration operations, and an unlikely example that there are no bounds to America’s xenophobia. Savage has had the relative privilege of having his growth documented in public, earns a legal living, is an active parent to his three children, and is open about his Ifa spirituality. Despite whatever documentation gaffe occurred in 2005, he’s undoubtedly a productive member of society whose music generates a lot of money for corporations like Sony, the parent company of his Epic Records label. Even without his physical presence, there will be plenty of money made off his music. His formative years have been shaped by both the American dream and nightmare, and there was no reason for ICE to arrest him.

His incarceration further exemplifies that ICE has no legitimate reason to go after most of the people who they’ve detained this decade. President Trump, his conservatives allies and their media mouthpieces trumpet terrorism and the scourge of gang violence from organizations like MS-13 as a reason for their massive deportation agenda, and many of them will likely bring up Savage’s 2014 drug charge to justify his arrest. But those same politicians are negligent about the impoverished communities in their own states that breed domestic gangs. They’re also too scared of losing money from their pro-NRA lobbyists to make gun control a priority and disarm white domestic terrorists. Their hollow talking points don’t hold weight.

Even under former President Obama, who oversaw the deportation of over 5 million undocumented immigrants in his eight years in the oval office, ICE’s relentless detainments register as a concerted effort to remove Black and Brown people from America. There are stories about American-born people of color like Peter Sean Brown who have been detained and held for months until ICE deemed their citzenship valid. ICE told Donovan that they somehow missed 21 Savage’s 2014 arrest in Atlanta, but as ICE raids have persisted and President Trump’s rhetoric has become more flagrantly anti-Immigrant in recent years, every undocumented person is in more danger than ever.

There’s been a shortsighted theory floating among many African-American thought leaders that immigration isn’t a Black issue. Prominent online figures like Tariq Nasheed and Dr. Boyce Watkins preach that African-Americans shouldn’t identify with the immigration issue because other ethnicities and identities are considered “above” African-Americans when it comes to racial dynamics and employment opportunities. But their talking point ignores the reality that though only seven percent of America’s non-US citizens are Black, they make up 20 percent of those facing deportation on criminal grounds. Immigration is undoubtedly a Black issue because ICE is a wing of the same criminal justice system which preys on Black Americans and other minorities.

For the first time since Slick Rick in the ‘90s, the hip-hop world has a prominent face to personify this crisis. Born in southwest London, Slick Rick faced deportation after being convicted of attempted murder in 1991 for shooting his cousin (who he was in a dispute with) and an innocent bystander. He served six years of a three and a half to 10-year sentence, during which time a judge canceled his deportation. In 2016, he finally received citizenship, eight years after the attempted murder charge was pardoned because he was “a symbol of rehabilitation for many young people” according to then-governor of New York, David Paterson.

21 Savage is that same kind of symbol. He fell into trouble soon after arriving in Atlanta from Dominica in 2005. He was expelled from Dekalb County middle schools for gun possession. He was then placed in a youth detention center before dropping out of high school, joining a gang, and falling deeper into the streets. In 2013, he was shot six times by a rival gang member. In 2014, he was arrested on felony drug charges.

By pursuing a music career, he rehabilitated himself in spite of America’s neglect. An ICE spokesman told CNN’s Nick Valencia that 21 Savage’s public persona is “false,” but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Perhaps the spokesman was eager to discredit him in an attempt to divert the shame for how immigrants like him are treated upon arrival in America.

Despite touting itself as a land of opportunity, America has given 21 Savage nothing but obstacles since he’s been here. They did him no favors shuffling him through the school-to-prison pipeline, or letting him toil in left-behind, drug-ridden communities that are hazardous by design. Corporations like Sony have had no problem commodifying his story of coming of age in Atlanta. He may not have his documentation in terms of paperwork, but his musical catalog, past trauma, and bullet wounds document that he’s a survivor of the worst of the American experience for Black and Brown people. And now, after he overcame those hardships, he’s in danger of becoming a victim to one more lash from the xenophobic buzzsaw that is white supremacy.

There’s no documentation to protect Black people from being shot dead in the street with no accountability or to keep Brown children on the border from being indefinitely separated from their families or being dehydrated to death by ICE agents. For people of color especially, American citizenship isn’t a matter of cards, but a matter of scars. There’s no greater patriotism than celebrating the military, but the same must be demanded true of survivors of the domestic war in cities like Atlanta, Baltimore, Chicago and elsewhere. There’s no litigation that can deport 21 Savage’s unforgiving American experience from his psyche, and the same is true of the millions of undocumented Black and Brown people living here and suffering under the weight of ICE’s fascism.

At the height of his career, in the prime of his youth, 21 Savage looks likely to become an unwitting emblem of America’s immigration problem in the same manner that Meek Mill embodies the criminal justice system’s failure. America has yet another instance of Black trauma to interrogate as a cause celebre. It’s a shame that so many people in America need martyrdom and or celebrity involvement before becoming collectively galvanized to fight a societal scourge, but that’s the nature of the cult of celebrity.

Immigration is, in fact, a Black issue. It hasn’t been as big of a hot-button topic for the hip-hop community as police reform and economic equality, but it always should have been, as ICE agents are targeting undocumented people of color for the same reason cops target documented people of color. 21 Savage’s industry and peers must amplify his plight, as well as that of millions of others facing deportation. His situation isn’t about trivial debates about who can rep where, this is about liberation, and time will tell who is intrepid enough for the task. Hopefully, 21 Savage can ultimately become the beacon of reform that Meek has. In the meantime though, no matter what ICE has to say, he can affirm that I am an American.

source https://uproxx.com/hiphop/21-savage-deported-arrested-american/

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