#it was so much less crowded in 2020 (ironically the very last place i ever went; literally on the BRINK of covid) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

neil-jortson · 4 years

Text

It’s only a matter of time

This is a hc about what I think would happen to the foxes in quarantine. I made this as a part of the gift exchange from @aftgexchange for the Tumblr user @wishbonetea . It was an awesome experience to do this exchange and I hope to do it again!

Summary: a collection of ideas about how the foxes lives would have to adapt during quarantine

word count: 2k

The foxes in quarantine: a bullet point fic

The year is 2020. Matt, Kevin, Andrew, and Neil are all professional exy players. Neil and Andrew fought hard and finally got put on the same team that past season.

Dan is an assistant coach for a college team in the same city that Matt plays in. Nicky lives in Germany with Erik and Aaron is just finishing up his residency in medical school. Allison is a major fashion designer who donates more money than she keeps. Renee works with the peace corp and is currently out of the country. Everything is good.

Dan and Matt are expecting their first child in less than two months and are trying to clean up the spare room to begin making a nursery for the baby.

On the tv in another room plays a news reporter talking about a virus on the horizon in China. They don’t think much of it and continue about their days.

Andrew and Neil lived a fairly domestic life, one they never thought they would live, with two cats and a nice set of kitchen knives. (They were a house warming present from Aaron: “it’s ironic” he would say when asked why he purchased the set.)

When Andrew and Neil heard about the novel virus, they simply changed their in-depth arguments about a zombie outbreak to arguments on what to do in the event the virus becomes a big deal. Little did they know some of their “predictions” would turn out to be correct.

Everyone went about their normal lives just keeping an eye on the news before things seemed to change at the drop of a hat. The country was shutting its borders and not allowing flights in from other countries. There was even talk of cities going into lockdown.

Renee was trying to catch a flight home with the rest of her crew. When she made it back into the states, she found she had nowhere to go. Allison invited her to stay at her apartment in NYC. She was not aware of how long they were going to be stuck there (not that Allison was against sharing an apartment with a beautiful girl like Renee).

It became more real to the rest of them as the Exy season was postponed until further notice.

Kevin didn’t know what to do with himself and Neil. Was. Devastated.

It was only a matter of days before they began to get antsy about not going to the court daily. Neil and Kevin had shared anxious words as they hadn’t heard what the Moriyamas would think about them not receiving the normal amount of money this season. Andrew tried to put their minds at ease, but with no words of communication from the crime syndicate, they were getting worried.

Dan and Matt were probably the most stressed of the bunch. The information they had gathered was that most of the Foxes were in good shape to handle the virus even if they were to get sick, but there wasn’t any data on how the virus would affect pregnant women. Dan feared for the health of the baby because of this uncertainty. She and Matt decided that they would follow the government regulations for quarantine and that when groceries needed to be picked up, Matt would be the one to go out and get them.

Wymack’s thoughts were focused on his foxes and how they would be affected by the pandemic. He thought of Matt and Dan bringing a baby into the world at an unlikely time. He thought of Andrew and Neil who never could commit to quitting smoking (even if Neil just liked the smell). He worried about Aaron working in a hospital. For Nicky's mental health while being stuck at home and away from people. He worried that Kevin would start drinking again without the regime of Exy to keep him on track. He was concerned about Renee and Allison living in one of the worst cities to be stuck in when a pandemic hits. He thought about every person he had had as a fox before them and after them. He spent most of his time checking up on the foxes and the other portion of his time reaching out to organizations to see what they needed. He volunteered when he could and spread the word when he couldn’t.

As the foxes settled into their lives stuck at home and thousands of miles apart from one another, things settled into a new normal.

Andrew and Neil lived in quiet harmony when the quarantine first began. Neil went running every morning in a park that was not very crowded and when he would come home he would head straight to the shower. Eventually, Andrew convinced him to buy a treadmill because he was worried about Neil getting sick. Although, the way that he phrased it, it would seem he didn’t care either way. (Neil saw right through him)

Life for them was simple but draining.

The longer the quarantine went on, the worse off Neil and Andrew became.

Andrew found himself talking more and more with Betsy as being stuck at home was leaving him alone with his thoughts more than he would like. He felt old emotions creeping to the forefront of his mind as he was stuck in a two-bedroom apartment with two cats and a man he “hated.”

Being stuck at home for Neil was his own personal hell. He paced around the apartment often and felt no true release from running on the treadmill. Neil felt the same way he did when his mom and he were snowed in at a safe house in the mountains. He walked to the corners of each room and took stock of the items in the home. He felt himself get more and more on edge as the days went by.

Dan and Matt were better off when it came to mental health. It also helped that they tried not to take out their worries on one another, they were a team. They enjoyed each other's company and would try to hang out on opposite sides of the house as much as possible. They knew when they started to push each other's buttons and would back off when they started going too far.

Matt knew that Dan felt bad about not being able to leave the house so he got a kiddy pool for her to sit in outside. It wasn’t much, but Dan enjoyed the fact that Matt was thinking of her when he went out shopping. They spent many afternoons sitting in the tiny pool that barely fit them and laughing at the different antics of their crazy neighbors that day.

Nicky got a hold of everyone's schedule and decided that they should do group facetime calls every week. It was really hard to find a good time because everyone lived in different time zones and Aaron had a rotating doctor’s schedule, but Nicky was able to find 45 minutes a week when everyone was awake and not at work.

Dan and Matt had finally found proper places to put all of the items that had been in the nursery and were just beginning to start the vacuum cleaner when they heard an alarm go off on Dan’s phone.

It was time for them to talk with their old team.

Everyone slowly joined the call and Nicky was just as enthusiastic in welcoming every person who joined.

Nicky was especially delighted when Kevin answered the call and the foxes came to find out his hair had grown out longer than he ever let it before. (He claimed it wasn’t professional to have longer hair but he looked better than ever with the length.)

When Allison joined the call, some of the foxes were surprised to see Renee sitting right beside her. Renne’s hair had grown out and Dan noticed that there was a distinct line from where she had been bleaching her hair

Dan asked, “Hey Renee, what are you going to do with your hair?”

Renee responded with “I’m really not sure yet, but I think I want to grow it out with my natural color”

Allison whispered something in Renee's ear and she blushed.

All of the foxes took notice of this and decided that maybe it was time to settle one of the few remaining bets from college.

Neil and Andrew were the last to join the call and they seemed pissed off. Right before they noticed they were a part of the call, they seemed to be arguing in Russian. They quickly noticed they were on camera and stopped arguing but they wouldn’t really look at one another.

Nicky asked them how they were doing which Neil responded with “We’re fine” and Andrew scoffed at the word.

Nicky knew better than to dig around in their personal business so he let it drop and began to ask Aaron and Katelynn how their dog was, was it still cute, can they show it on the camera?

They responded by turning the camera to let everyone see the sleeping puppy at the edge of their bed. This answered two of the questions because as everyone could see, the dog was still very cute. They told them about a run into the vet they had to make because “the little fiend” has a knack for eating things he’s not supposed to.

Dan and Matt told everyone how the pregnancy was going and told them the tale of woe trying to find the perfect crib for the baby’s room.

“When it arrived, we opened up the package and it was bright green! Who in their right mind is going to put their baby in a bright green crib? It’s ridiculous is what it is” complained Matt when Dan had finished telling them how long the package had taken to arrive.

While everyone was talking Andrew and Neil had seemed to calm down and Neil had placed his head on Andrew’s shoulder. Things weren’t always sunshine and daisies but they weren’t really mad at each other when they fought.

After everyone had caught up there was a lull in the conversation that Neil began to fill. He told them about the time they had to rescue King Fluffkins. They had gotten King recently just a few months prior to the quarantine coming into effect. This was the first time that the team had heard Neil say the words “King Fluffkins” out loud. It is needless to say that they laughed for a long while hearing Neil say the ridiculous name the team had given to their cat. When they calmed down they listened to Neil explain how King had gotten out of the window they kept partially open for smoking. Andrew had to hold on to Neil’s waist as Neil propelled himself out the window to get a hold of the cat at the edge of the window sill. King had dug her claws in and Neil almost fell out of the window. They got her inside but put a lock on the window to ensure she didn’t make her way out there again.

That story pushed their time to when they needed to say goodbye. Aaron’s shift started in under an hour and he needed to get to work. They all said their goodbyes and set up a time for the following week.

It helped everyone to talk amongst themselves and to hear what had been going on while they were at home. They were all worried about what was going on, but it seemed as though they were becoming more connected, even across the vast distance.

It was only a matter of time before this came to pass and Neil and Andrew would get to see Dan and Matt’s baby.

It was only a matter of time before the exy season started up once more and the Moriyamas demanded a larger cut from Neil’s salaries for the break he was on during the pandemic.

It was only a matter of time before Nicky could come and visit the twins for Christmas.

It was only a matter of time before all of the foxes felt their lives returning to a slightly new normal.

It was only a matter of time.

#the foxes in quarantine #it would turn their world upside down but these kids will be alright #aftg fic exchange #aftg #all for the game #tfc #the foxhole court #neil josten #andrew minyard #andriel #matt boyd #dan wilds #allison reynolds #renee walker #hints of renison #nicky hemmick #aaron minyard #kevin day #david wymack

158 notes · View notes

bladekindeyewear · 4 years

Text

HS^2 bloggin’ mainline 2020-09-15

This caught me laaaate at night gosh I’m tired but I’m gonna get it outta the way so it won’t stick in my craw! Already saw the first page, so it’s time for:

> CHAPTER 13. The Funeral

Church with chess symbols at the peaks and a Prospit/Derse or Hope/Rage split color theme on the stained glass windows.

JANE: Dearly beloved...

> (==>)

Trolls, humans, and papparazzi. Oh, hm, this church is RATHER carapacian isn’t it? Between the chess and the continuing Prospit-Derse themes, like how this corresponds to how they align in the incipisphere top-left to bottom-right if I recall:

(Minus the outlying orbs to the left and right for symmetry.)

That twisted pattern is interesting, and not quite a spirograph. Is that gonna be important later? If we’re going to get some sort of class chart later in the comic, it’d be easy for them to hint at the chart’s graphical structure subtly by dropping it places like here.

JANE: Ladies... JANE: Gentlemen... JANE: News outlets... JANE: And other valued members of the Human Nation State.

Technically true, but still odd to hear-- ...oh right, I forgot this was asshole dictator-wannabe Jane, too.

I read an interesting twitter thread recently about the intense psychological distinction between wanting to BE the best, and wanting to be TREATED like you’re the best. Epilogues/HS^2 Jane is kind of written as a case study on the pitfalls of leaning on the latter instead of the former.

> (==>)

They brought Yiffy WITH them-!? --Oh right. The hostage exchange was supposed to happen here wasn’t it.

Yiffy definitely looks like a Harley-Lalonde daughter in this shot.

JANE: Gamzee Makara, High Court Jester, exalted saint of the purple veil, has left us to traverse that grand, gay carnival in the sky, where, I am told by various members of the clownly cloth, he will spend the rest of history, honking in grand tribute to the Mirthful Messiah.

SINGULAR???

Weird. Is it because Alt!Callie “won” here?

Or is Jane just forgetting because she’s culturally used to monotheism (ironically) and is insensitive.

JANE: And my first memory of our Purple Prince, was his robust codpiece--

Wow.

> (==>)

JANE: --As he offered me his friendly support, along with the sacred blood of his brethren, the holy sacrament--

He STILL killed trolls??! (EDIT: No, a friend points out that she's talking about when she met him first in Act 6 and he tried selling bottles of troll blood to her. EDIT2: -which may be another inconsistency, since Vriska supposedly overwrote that post-retcon.)

> (==>)

It takes Jake a few seconds of puzzled eye contact before he catches exactly what it is Yiffany is tossing down. In his defense, he is distracted by his wife’s speech, which is doing the emotional equivalent of wringing him out like a wet towel, before using that towel to slap the sweaty buttocks of a large, odorous man. Even if he knows everything she’s saying is a load of horsefeathers, it does nothing for his composure to hear her heap praise on that smelly, homewrecking clown.

Bad things about Gamzee deserve to be said here, yes.

Jake wonders what she’ll say about him, at his own funeral.

Now those are some uncomfortable thoughts.

He narrows his eyes in Yiffany’s direction. She’s a lovely girl, really. He wishes he could have gotten to know her under better circumstances. He’d known she existed, of course--Jane had complained about her often enough--but they’d never had much chance to get acquainted. He rather believes her and Tavvy would have been fast friends.

Then again, perhaps it’s better that she never had much of a chance to get to know his family.

He lets go of the leash.

Yep, there’s a plan to set in motion that he’s probably already discussed with her privately. Gotta unite this four-kid team after all.

> (==>)

Wait, are you ATTACKING?!? --Of course you’re attacking. You would even if the plan was something different, wouldn’t you.

JANE: And I know that at times like these it is easy to want to give in. JANE: To throw in the towel, and turn our faces away from the light of democracy and moral fortitude that we, the citizens of the human kingdom, are blessed with from birth. JANE: God knows I’ve had my own faith tested in the last few weeks.

Jesus Christ, what has she turned the place into, a fucking theocracy?

She sounds like the leader of some screwed-up, fundamentalist country! Like the United States!

*rimshot*

JANE: As many of you know, I did not grow up with the same privileges that all of you enjoy.

Jesus.

JANE: I was born on proto-Earth, that half-finished dystopia mangled by the ravages of foolish leadership and endless war.

Jesus, she really IS a self-evident takedown of hypocritical entitled political figures. With the bonuses having Jasprose explicitly ADDRESS said entitlement to make things even clearer cut.

JANE: And as for Gamzee, well, his upbringing was even worse. JANE: He was born to a violent and uncaring home, a lonely child with few natural gifts.

...Some natural gifts and status.

> (==>)

She’s just, shaking with fury here isn’t she? And about to perform an impressive corpse-lob.

JANE: It would be simple to let this disgusting, vile, SHAMEFUL act of spiteful revenge turn us away from the blinding light of the sword of justice that hangs over us all--

This sentence seems suspicious so I’m quoting it to refer to later if I need to, but is probably just platitudes.

> (==>)

JANE: Poised

> (==>)

JANE: Trembling

Okay maybe the sword’s a dick, but what exactly is Yiffany doing?? I’m finding it difficult as usual to tell between some of these image transitions.

> (==>)

JANE: Ready to burst forth--

Bad PR to shock-collar a kid mid press junket. (Very dicks description.)

> (==>)

Click. (Did they swap the shock function with Jane’s necklace somehow, that’d be fun.)

JANE: I want to give up, at times. I understand your pain.

While shocking a kid? GREAT PR.

> (==>)

JANE: I sympathize with your pain.

Wow, those horrified audience members. She REALLY can’t even see herself anymore can she? Not even hear herself. And they’re making sure this is pointed out to EVERYONE watching. They described this as in large part a PR campaign to defeat her, didn’t they?

> (==>)

Great furious businesswoman-villain look, that art.

JANE: But when that pain! Becomes too hard! To endure! JANE: Remember poor, lifeless Gamzee! Who suffered pain far worse than any of us could ever fathom! JANE: THE PAIN OF BETRAYAL!

Click click click. This is a fun sequence.

> (==>)

DIRK: Dude, didn’t you lower the voltage on that shock collar? DIRK: Little Red isn’t looking so hot. JAKE: Yes of course i did but the damn doohickys got the kick of a donkey! JAKE: I couldnt remove it completely shed know i was the one who did it! DIRK: Well, if that supervillain cuntwaffle doesn’t stop, she’s going to kill her. Not really the best at hostage management, is she.

Decent plan. (And of course Dirk would pull out the word cunt.) When’s the cavalry coming?

> (==>)

JANE: But we cannot allow his memory to be in vain! JANE: For Gamzee Makara taught us that even the most loathsome degenerate can take their place in society. JANE: All they need is the right redemption arc - !

Trying to hammer home some of the Epilogue’s trolly-critical themes a little less bleakly, I take it.

I kind of like the violent vibration in ALL of these gifs in a row. It makes the scene seem small, slow, teeth-clenching but still full of steady action, emphasizing the importance of the relatively small events from panel to panel while giving them the sense with the animation of them being [i]drawn out[/i] and tortuous instead of just “occurring”. It feels that way to me, anyway.

> (==>)

If he got up alive here, that’d be hilarious. (Presumably he’s been treated and done-up like a normal funeral body, not “dormant” and undecaying like a dead god-tier.)

> (==>)

CORPSE PUNT w/ CLEATS

> (==>)

That face is just. I love that face.

> (==>)

SHE MAD

JANE: Young lady, I am just about at the end of my rope with you. JANE: Throw all the dog bowls you want at the walls of my warship. JANE: But don’t you dare act up in front of a JANE: Live JANE: Fucking JANE: Newsfeed! YIFFY: Grrrrrr

What did you expect to happen? Do you expect to shout her down from this, Jane?

JANE: After everything I’ve done for you--paying for your education, helping your parents cover up your existence from the world! JANE: Just imagine what Rose and Jade would say if they could see you now, even dissidents can have a little decorum! JANE: Get down from there at once! YIFFY: Grrrrrr

But this is GAMZEE. --I guess it’s seriously disrespectful to his followers, though. Still. If you wanted civility from her, a shock collar, leash, and food bowl wasn’t the way to go about it.

JANE: Don’t you threaten me, young lady. Not today! YIFFY: GRRRRRRRRR

What is your PLAN even, Jane? You’ve completely disregarded her.

JANE: There’s nowhere for you to go. My agents are swarming this church. Be reasonable, Yiffany. JANE: Ugh. JANE: Disgusting name. JANE: But that’s hardly your fault. You were always just a footnote. Your parents’ little prank. JANE: Honestly, that’s why I helped them all those years ago! I do love a good jape. JANE: But let’s be serious. JANE: You don’t matter. If you did, they would have come for you already.

Can all the press hear her being such an asshole?

Okay, stereotypically, their arrival should be the next couple panels:

> (==>)

Jake, do something useful like hoping harder.

> (==>)

And she knocks the remote away. Excellent.

And she does. Seemingly at the end of her tolerance for insults toward her name, social status, and heritage, Yiffy performs an impressive backflip off the podium and down onto the church floor. One that, if it hadn’t been happening amidst a sea of other newsworthy events, would surely have ended up on someone’s instagram story within thirty seconds. She gives Gamzee’s corpse one last parting kick: a hard, proper kick that proves those cleats aren’t just for fashion. Although they are certainly also for fashion.

Good, good.

He vanishes into the seething crowd, and we are confident that we will never have to deal with this asshole ever again.

God damnit.

> (==>)

Jake watches this from a safe distance, poised on the edge of intervening to pull Yiffy out of there. But in the end he doesn’t have to. Instead he watches in admiration as she tears the place to utter shreds. An echoing sympathy swells inside of him as she rends apart the funeral flowers and punts Gamzee into the shrieking congregation. Here is a girl who felt the cold, indecent hand of fate wrapping around her, and instead of submitting to it and slowly sublimating down into morasse of boiled doormat, she slapped it away from her with a lively oh, no thank you.

All at once, Jake feels immense affection for his granddaughter. He hopes the two of them can make up for lost time.

Lessons belatedly learned, but learned nonetheless.

> (==>)

JANE: Enough of this. JANE: Seize her!

Kind of Red Queen of you. (Are those stained glass windows in back of the frame about to burst?)

> (==>)

Yep.

The stained glass window shatters inward, obliterated to stardust. The war is knocking.

Even attacking a disgusting faith’s church is pretty bad form, though.

Tired and busy, seeya next upd8. <3

#Homestuck #hs2 #Homestuck Liveblog #upd8 #Homestuck^2 #spoiler #spoilers

16 notes · View notes

popwasabi · 3 years

Text

“The Other Guys” wants cops to go after the real criminals

Before director/writer Adam McKay pivoted into populist screed’s against capitalism and political corruption in films like “Vice” and “The Big Short” he was largely known as one of the many “dumb comedy” directors working in Hollywood.

In fact, with major productions such as “Anchorman,” “Talladega Nights,” and “Step Brothers” he could almost be billed as THE dumb comedy director or certainly THE Will Ferrell director at least.

(To a certain extent, THE John C. Reilly director too.)

Those movies are certainly divisive amongst some filmgoers, as you either fall into the “turn your brain off and laugh” category or the “this is pure nonsense” crowd. I’m somewhat in the middle on all of it but one McKay/Ferrell vehicle provided a bridge between the “dumb comedy” years and his more serious satires of American politics and that movie was 2010’s “The Other Guys.”

Billed as just another parody of buddy cop flicks, “The Other Guys” is a comedy that still holds up pretty well by today’s standards. Mark Wahlberg in many ways plays an unhinged caricature of every tough guy persona he has ever played in detective Hoitz and perhaps more brilliantly Ferrell, as detective Gamble, is allowed to be the straight man of the duo for change, finding humor in a more subdued performance. Together they form a kinetic duo that play hilariously well off each other in a film that is rarely dull from start to finish.

youtube

(Flawless logic here in the famous Tuna vs Lion debate)

“The Other Guys” takes some decent shots at the violent nature of cop culture from excessive police overreach in the film’s hilarious opening scene to cops’ shoot first ask questions later approach with detective Hoitz backstory involving shooting Dereck Jeter during game 7 of the World Series. In between more typical Ferrell comedy flare involving hot wives and ex-wives, hobo sexy orgies, and TLC references there’s a lot of pointed, tongue-in-cheek humor at the police that one can find great humor in.

It’s a descent satire of the cop movie and the culture around law enforcement on this alone but McKay’s real target isn’t the police so much as it is who the police aren’t going after.

youtube

(For the record, peacocks and cops, for that matter, don’t fly.)

2008 probably feels like eons ago to many of you at this point but it was the year I personally came of age. I had graduated high school, The Lakers were good again, “The Dark Knight” and “Iron Man” had just come out, I had hopes and dreams as I entered college at San Jose State and oh…the Great Recession had just started!

I’m not going to go into extreme detail here but our economy had it’s worse collapse since the Great Depression caused by the subprime mortgage crisis due to vast widespread failures in financial regulation, breakdowns in corporate governance, vast trading and over borrowing, housing bubbles bursting, and heads of businesses just vastly ill-equipped to handle their hubris in that moment.

Major businesses and banks were on the verge of collapsing and then at the last minute the US government passed a $700 billion, with a capital B, bailout to put them all back in the green.

Corporations like Bank of America, Citi Group, Morgan Stanley etc received between $10-$25 billion each for their struggles and were able to stay alive in the country’s ever worsening state. This was great, except 2.6 million average working-class people lost their jobs during this period, including my father.

By the way, a guy like Joseph Casano, an executive at AIG, got a $34 million bonus for helping lead companies such as his into the recession.

This is McKay’s real target in “The Other Guys.” The satirical cop humor is largely window dressing to draw audiences in to the theaters so that he can show all of them who the real criminals of this country are.

As the plot of the story starts to kick into full gear the more obvious culprits of a typical Hollywood cop movie are dismissed. Though Hoitz is convinced it’s more the usual cop movie style villains of “sex and drug traffickers” at first, Gamble slowly pieces together a plot of dastardly insider trading. What it ends up being is that the bad guy is really just a doofus hedge fund manager named David Ershon played comically by Steve Coogan who made one too many bad investments to bad people.

Ershon has put his people and the people he owes money to deeper into the red, not at all unlike the wealthy CEOs and bankers who messed up the country during the 2008 recession, and it has led him to take desperate action to get everyone’s money back. Ershon, of course, tries to get Hoitz and Gamble off his tale by bribing them in a variety of hilarious ways (one of the funnier sequences of the film) but eventually gets caught up with the SEC and those who prosecute white collar crime (who are unsurprisingly also in bed with the people he owes money to).

youtube

(Somehow, I don’t think this is far off from reality...)

Hoitz and Gamble continue on the case but find that taking on white collar crime is…complicated to say the least but most importantly ineffectual as detailed in this scene.

youtube

(Again, probably not far off from reality...)

The 2008 recession, wiped out millions of jobs, with rural parts of the country getting hit the hardest and in many ways still feeling the effects today. If you were a POC you were even more unlikely to not recover from the crash. Property values plummeted, student high education success rates dropped, opiod overdoses from “unemployment deaths” and many more awful things happened during this period of great economic distress.

And what happened to the folks largely responsible for causing this mess? They got a fat fucking payday and a dismissive finger wag largely by our own government.

“The Other Guys,” more or less, ends the same way. Despite putting away Ershon, the company he was swindling, who gambled their people’s money, was still bailed out by the US government. A real “happy ending” that is played as a dark, matter of fact, joke before the credits roll.

(Again, we laugh but how far off from reality is this really?...)

I graduated from college in 2013, tens of thousands in debt from student loans and trying to navigate a largely bereft job market where wages had largely not changed in as many years. In 2008 average rent cost about $850 a month, by 2013 it was $953, today in 2020 it’s $1,097. The average entry level salary (for a clerical/ office professional) between 2008 and 2018 went from $46,886 to $45,882 showing a decrease in value.

In 2008 the richest man in the world, Warren Buffet, was worth $64 billion. The richest man in 2020, Jeff Bezos, is worth $200 billion.

If the fact that Jeff Bezos is worth more than some countries on this planet doesn’t make you infuriated alone I don’t know what will.

Btw Buffet’s net worth increased as well to $79 billion himself, in case you think it’s “unfair” to compare him to Bezos.

Sometimes I think the reason people aren’t angrier about this worldwide is 1) a bunch of us think we are all one hard working day away from being filthy fucking rich ourselves, one of the many great lies of capitalism and 2) many of us don’t actually know just how big a BILLION dollars is, so here let me help you all out:

With COVID in 2020 we’re seeing it all happen again, just as it did in 2008. Record unemployment rates, small businesses closing, evictions skyrocketing because no one can pay rent and all we got for it was a $1,200 band-aid (assuming you did get yours). Meanwhile billionaire slugs like Bezos and Elon Musk saw their net worth rise sharply during this period, hell even the fucking Lakers got a $4.6 million dollar “small business” loan (though they did return it…only after getting caught…).

The highest sum of cash ever stolen from a bank was $18.1 million (equivalent to roughly $30.1 million now) in 1997. These are the people cops and other “loose cannons” in popular actions movies are usually running up against. If you think stealing $30.1 million is a lot of money worth sending the cops over then $700 billion of our own tax dollars given to people who ruined the lives of millions of Americans should make you fucking furious. The only real difference here is one was made legal by our own elected government.

Adam McKay’s “The Other Guys” may be on its surface just another “dumb comedy” that mostly satirizes cops, but its villains are very real and unfortunately as American as apple pie. Under capitalism our labor only continues to get devalued every year (even the skilled positions), while the richest 1% of the human race only get fatter with their wealth. Things are only getting more expensive and the working man is getting priced out of more and more daily luxuries and even essentials. This way of life is not sustainable, especially for our environment which these dragons continue to plunder, and eventually we will need to actually hold our overlords accountable for letting it get this far.

If we don’t, they will continue to steal every penny in our pocket and bleed us dry until the next disposable drone can fill our place. If law enforcement won’t take this on, sooner or later we might have to…

youtube

Remember, pimps don’t cry...

9 notes · View notes

tisthenightofthewitch · 5 years

Text

IN CONVERSATION WITH GHOST’S TOBIAS FORGE

JACK PARKER JUNE 13, 2019

Tobias Forge is a charming man. Seated in the bar of Amsterdam’s well hidden Hotel van de Vijsel, he’s just finishing a cup of coffee as rain batters the windows outside. It doesn’t faze him, though, focussing on his phone as I sit down at the small table. We’re here today to discuss Ghost‘s fourth studio album, Prequelle, which just celebrated its first birthday. Over the course of the last twelve months, former man of mystery Forge’s band Ghost have undergone one hell of an impressive campaign trail, taking on bigger stages than ever before with one of their most ambitious productions to date. Everything about Ghost is magistral, and so as they prepare to continue touring with Metallica, Forge tells Jack Parker all about his vision, the future and his personal ambitions.

Hey Tobias. You’re on the road with Metallica at the moment, how’s that going? Very, very cool. I mean, it’s cool from so many aspects because we’re playing in front of fifty, sixty thousand people every night, which is unbelievable. You could talk about being the rock dream, but it’s also very educational. When you look at where we are right now, basically being in the process of playing between the smaller clubs and bigger stadiums, it’s definitely very educational to go up against these huge crowds. It takes time, it takes training, and it takes practice to learn how to do this. Just the fact that you’re focussing your energy in so many different directions, with all these people in front of you. And if it’s big enough, there’ll also be a camera in front of you somewhere which you have to look into and communicate with. All these people in the back need to look at what you’re doing.

Of course. There’s a lot of things like that. But to be honest, you couldn’t ask for a more hospitable host. Hosts. Metallica have been so nice and supportive, you know? We’re treated fantastically; it’s a great summer with a lot of days off too!

Prequelle is now a year old, congratulations on that little milestone. How do you feel about that collection of music, looking back on it a year later?

I don’t think that much of the record. To use a very business-oriented term, I think more of the entire album cycle and where that record has gotten us as a band, and what we’re doing tour-wise. From that aspect it’s been phenomenal, really good. Because it’s wrapping now, I can definitely see the end of the cycle coming up. I can look back at it now and think to myself, “We’ve achieved exactly what we set out to achieve with the record”. The record was very honest and not a repetition of anything I’d done before, and that’s good. I like it! I don’t listen to the album, but that’s the same thing with all of my records. As soon as I’m done writing a record and we’ve started playing it live I already stop listening to it. I honestly can’t, because it makes me slightly nauseous.

So at what point do you start looking towards that next cycle in a more concrete manner? I usually start when I’m wrapping up the recording process for the previous album. There’s already things I leave a production with which I know I want to do differently or improve for the next time. I’m not trying to sound like a killjoy, but there are always things in a production which you eventually realise were not necessary. Like, “that was not good”, or, “we could have done that better”. It’s not necessarily simple stuff like doing a chorus differently, but more a case of, “Ah! I wish we’d spent two more days playing bass” or “I wish we would have tuned that tom or snare better“. I hear it all the time.

The little things, basically. Yeah! But you see, I’m a control freak and a perfectionist, and I really, really want to feel like I’ve done everything in my power to create as good a product as possible. Again, product.

A business term. Exactly, a dumb word. As good an album as possible, as good of a craft as I can. That’s why I walk from a production telling myself that I want to do certain things differently next time round. As far as writing goes, though, the cycle starts a lot more modest and at a lower frequency. I end up with a few things I’d left out of the current record, and then I add a lot of new things. And that’s everything, from small snippets of music that I might have recorded to things I have in my head, or notes. I have a lot of notes with titles and lyrics, conceptual things. Just ideas, really. Knowing now that we’re gonna wrap after this year, I’m gonna go into the studio in January 2020. By then, I will be deep in the process and ready to start working on album five. Touring life is very teenage in how we’re so free and that there’s a lot of late nights – you just can’t be sick! And you have to play, haha. When I make a record, I’m usually quite routine. I like routine, so it’s Monday through Friday from nine to five. You show up for work, drink a coffee and get going.

Business! Yeah, I want it to be like a normal job. When I start doing that, it usually falls into place quite quickly.

I see. Prequelle ends on Life Eternal, which is very much a grandiose and bombastic piece of music. How does this song feed into what you want to explore musically and conceptually during the next cycle? The next record is definitely conceptual.

They all are. Yeah, they are, but not in a King Diamond kind of way where there’s a storyline that starts with Character A and Character B getting rid of Character C. It’s not a rock opera in the classic sense, it’s more a general vibe. Not too dissimilar to what Metallica or Iron Maiden used to do on their albums; they do still, sometimes. Powerslave, for example, is an Egyptian sort of record, but there’s a lot of songs on it which have nothing to do with Egypt. I am conceptual more along those lines, than by trying to write my own Tommy. In this particular case I dare to say that the next album won’t start where Life Eternal leaves off. The record that I have in mind is very different. Being a Ghost album, it’ll obviously have something to do with Prequelle, but I’m not trying to write a Prequelle 2. It’ll be a completely different record.

You see, that’s what I like about Ghost. There’s a thread of similarity feeding through each record which gives off that whole “this is Ghost” vibe, and yet no two records are the same. As you said earlier, you’re a control freak and a perfectionist. On the record you play all of the guitar and bass lines yourself, but when you look towards that live show how do you go about finding musicians who match your vision? The band I have now are very good examples of exactly what I’m looking for. They execute what is already there, and they do it very well and do it successfully. They have also adopted the songs a little bit, and changed their physiques to play the songs as intuitively as possible. They’ve gotten into the roles so well that they deliver the lines believably. It sounds authentic, and that’s great. What’s needed is not only mindset and ability, but also time; it takes time. Practice makes perfect, a very worn out term! It takes a very long time for a band to warm to one another, so after little over a year of touring together you can now tell that they’ve gelled. That’s why I think we now have those moments where we listen to a clip and go, “Wow! It sounds really good now”. Everyone’s attentive to the details; they know the songs very well. They did their homework immensely well before we started touring, not just in learning the lines but also in feeling them. That’s two different things! In order to play Ghost music, it also helps if you have a bit of a similar musical background to me, and that you haven’t only played black metal before. It helps if you have been in a pop or rock band, you know? You don’t have to be schooled. Let’s say that we jammed Summer of 69 and you can play it so that it sounds like a rock song, that’s great. You need to be able to play rock and roll, and do it wholeheartedly. You shouldn’t be the kind of person who regards an AC/DC song as not technical enough for you to play good.

You just have to feel it. Yep! You see, I experienced this problem when I had my own metal band, Repugnant. I know how old and fucking backwards I sound by saying this, but the last time I was embracive of something contemporary was in the early 90s. That’s when I still liked records that came out! Before and after that I’d always been embracive of things which came before, like in the 60s, 70s and 80s. By the mid-90s, like 94/95, I started thinking that most death and black metal bands had completely shat themselves. I started excavating a lot of the death metal stuff that I liked in the mid-80s. If you’d have met me in 1995 then all of my favourite things would’ve been from a good ten years earlier. Celtic Frost, Destruction, Bathory, stuff like that! My problem in the late 90s, when I had bands playing that sort of music, was that a lot of people my age grew up listening to the later bands. I had to force them to listen to and not think of Possessed as a band who didn’t sound good enough, you know? Just because they liked “new”, well-sounding, later-90s shit. For most of my life I’ve been in bands trying to educate other people on what I want to do, just because it wasn’t in trend with what was going on at the time. I don’t even know how old you are?

I’m 22. 22, oh shit. It doesn’t matter! You see, the difference between people your age and people my age is that people nowadays have far broader and fresher music tastes. They’re way more educated in music, and they have different points of view which are accessible. Back in 1995, people my age and older chose their own records. You had to choose your own path in a different way!

There was obviously far less instant access to music in 1995. You’d have to trawl through record stores, and now we’ve got streaming. Yeah, and that has been a constant thing for me. Not a struggle, though! Nowadays it’s evened out because I play with people who are ten years younger than me, and I am ten years older. When I was 18 or 22 there were a lot of people who would just turn to you and say, “Oh, I’ve never heard of that band”. People whose first album was a Korn record. Not that I have anything against Korn, but for me that’s just alien. In 1995 I was already knee deep in trying to educate myself with the old school ways of death metal and Satan, so I fucking hated anything that was considered modern, or “nu-metal“. I couldn’t stand it! Anyone wearing shorts spoke of a life and style that was not me. Do you know what I’m saying?

Yeah, I understand. For me, it was very hard to find people I could play with. That’s because of all the musical shit that was going on back then, which is natural of course.

You’ve always been a very ambitious person, and it shows. But where do you want to take that ambition next? If we’re gonna be a bit more broad stroked in terms of life ambitions, then I think that Ghost will obviously always be my claim to fame. I don’t have any dreams of making it artistically in another way, like with Dave [Grohl] playing drums in one of the world’s biggest bands and then becoming the singer of an even fucking bigger band. I don’t have that ambition, but in the future I’d love to play in some different bands and do different things. It doesn’t have to be huge, though. One very basic ambition that I have in order to achieve the things I want to explore is to reach a point of no economical pressure. For me, that would be the luxury. That’s my vision of making it. If I can form a band with people that I like and I’m just gonna be the guitar player or drummer, then to be able to do things like go on tour would be great if I didn’t have to worry about the monetary side of things. That for me is a dream come true, especially now that I’ve spent a decade doing a band which is very money and career-driven. If I ever started a band now, then I’d know what I want to do better. Therefore I feel very excited about the possibility of playing in another band at some point in my life. Hmm, what else? I’m a very cinematically interested person, so I’m really into the idea of scriptwriting. I would definitely start my own production company either alone or with someone else, but only if I had the money, the means and the time. I wouldn’t say I’d produce films, because then people would think of big blockbuster stuff. That’s not what I’m talking about; I’m talking about being able to make short films or series with the sorts of ideas I have. Given the proper time and opportunity to cultivate that, and without having the economical pressure, that would also be a big ambition of mine.

youtube

AllThingsLoud.com

#Tobias Forge #Tobias Interview #Cardinal Copia #The Band Ghost #Ghost Band

106 notes · View notes

capo-cedes · 4 years

Text

Let The Festivities Begin.

INVOLVED: Mercedes D'onofrio, Nicholas D’onofrio, Al Mazomanie, Donna Mazomanie, Rebecca Mazomanie, Paul D’onofrio, Bernice D’onofrio, & Freddie D’angelo. TIME FRAME: Saturday, February 22nd, 2020. LOCATION: NY Venue; New York City, New York. NOTES: Mercedes and Nicholas host an Engagement Party.

As the limousine pulled up to the venue Mercedes grabbed her bag and she stepped out of the vehicle, standing up on her heels. She grabbed Freddie’s hand moving forward towards the entrance as she adjusted the fur coat, placing the hood of the coat over her head blocking the snowfall from messing up her pin curls. The venue was booming for such short notice, but she didn’t expect it not to be either, Al’s youngest daughter was getting married and to none other than Nicholas D’onofrio it was the place to be in NYC and not to mention an event you didn’t want to miss. She licked her red painted lips, pulling down her squint dress as she looked back for her husband waiting to enter with him. Weeks of eating and sleeping caused the dress to cling to her in places she hadn’t meant to emphasize before however, her husband loved it so she guessed everyone else, Rebecca especially, would have to just accept it and love it too.

Nicholas gazed thoughtfully at the majesty of the venue his wife had so dutifully picked out. Oops, his fiancée. He must remember that. No one knew they were already husband and wife. And tonight, was supposed to be their engagement party. Left to his own devices, less would have always been more. Only he hadn't married a less type of woman. So, he resigned himself to this night and all the others she had cooked up for them in the future. His cold green eyes warmed as they slid from the building to land on Red. He stepped from the car, rising up to tower over the woman even in heels. "You know," He said one last look at the entrance, awash in red roses, with petals leading up the walk. "We could always skip this charade and just tell everyone; we're married and that I have already knocked you up. It would save time." He said wrapping his arms around his wife from behind. "And money." He grinned, not actually caring one wit how much the woman spent.

Mercedes looked over her shoulder at her husband as he wrapped her up in his strong arms. She listened to his words and provided him with a kind smirk before she said “Al would kill me” to him gently. Her father liked the traditional standpoint to everything, how ironic. “We have to do it right, you know that” she told him with a smirk as she pulled away from him grabbing his hand and lacing their fingers. “Come on” she said pecking his lips, smudge proof red lipstick a godsend as she tugged him towards the entrance happily. “And please put on a happy face daddy, you’ve pretended with more for less” she said with a raised domineering brow. “Especially if you want pussy tonight” she added with a purr as she moved into the building happily. She dropped her hood finally and allowed Freddie to take her coat and purse as if on cue, revealing the gown fully and her well put together hair. She looked to her husband, well fiancé tonight, and smirked. Music was blaring and people were chattering. She guessed it was their time to shine.

Nicholas rubbed over Red's midsection where his child grew. Odd as the thought was, he'd kill the man who didn't follow traditions with his potential daughter. He grunted, "I know." And he did. Respect was everything, besides fear that is. And even now he had a healthy dose of both for the crime boss. Al slipped from his mind as Red kissed him, playfully. He shook his head. "The things I do for love" he recited as he allowed Red to pull him up the walkway. He bit his lip but couldn't hide his smile. "You deny me over a smile?" He asked coolly as they entered the warmth of the building. His head swiveled from side to side as he removed his jacket. He knew everyone that would be at this party, nevertheless, he surveyed the room memorizing every detail. You never knew when a quick getaway would be needed. Smoothing down the front of his hand-sewn, tailored tux, he checked the gun tucked in the small of his back. He was about to issue instructions to Freddie, when his eyes fell on Red. One step back, he marveled at every inch of the woman, literally in red tonight. Stepping up to her smoothly, he interlocked their fingers once more. His green eyes held her honey brown ones, burned with unbridled desire. He brought the back of her hand to his lips, kissing it softly. "Twenty-nine minutes." He told her as he led her forward. "Cause in thirty, that dress is coming off." His voice was deadly serious, as he smiled entering the hall.

“It’s hard to deny you over anything these days” Mercedes said as she moved to straighten his tie a bit in his tux. “You look handsome” she said pecking his lips again at his words she chuckled at him shaking her head as the double doors opened and revealed them to a multitude of people. “Shit” she mumbled under her breath, his happened to be a jab at Rebecca but it grew into so much more as she stepped forward with his fingers laced tightly as she looked around the large crowd booming with excitement for their arrival. Body to body, she moved through the crowd greeting a few people she thought she knew, some she actually desired to see there before Al wrapped her up his arms hugging her tightly to his chest, a cigar and glass of Scotch in one hand.

“You look stunning!” Al said to Mercedes “Nicky my boy” he greeted letting Mercedes go to hug the man something he would not have ever been caught dead doing. “I am so happy, you two have no idea what a happy man you make me” he told them both as he placed the cigar between his lips and wrapped his arms around them moving through the crowd. “Everybody who’s anybody is here” he said before he looked to Mercedes pecking her cheek. “Your mother has been talking about how happy she is to finally watch someone walk down the aisle all night!”

Mercedes allowed Al to wrap her up in his arms, eyes wide as she patted his back gently. As he pulled away, she fixed her dress and looked to Nicky with a bit of shock laced in her smile as he greeted her, husband who would soon be her husband, again? She walked with the man smirking as she looked around for her dear sister. She looked over to Nicholas as she chuckled to herself lightly, Al was drunk, drunk and hyped up on a family celebration. She was amused. “You two can’t possibly be more excited than Nicky and I” she retorted with a smirk at her father.

The doors to the hall swung open, revealing an event, unparalleled by any New York or the Mazomanie family had held in over a decade. He should have known the guest list would swell, this was after all, the event of the year. Nicholas itched between his shoulder blades; security was in place. He was sure of that. But it still wrangled him that he no longer had a trusted second in command to hold the soldier’s reins. He glanced back at Freddie, who for tonight had the command of all guards. Well, if something were to happen, he’d get Red and the baby out. Nicholas could live or die assured in that knowledge. The music was just barely audible over the murmur of the crowd. Richly dressed people laughed as waiters snaked through there number offering glasses of pale wine and finger foods to guests. Still, though, who the hell were all these people? Nicholas thought. More or less, tugged forward by his wife. He nodded graciously at person after person. He didn’t really see them though. Instead with each step he marked the Mazomanie family. Vittorio, Steven, Willie, Monica, he counted off. They were easy to find. Where the crowd seemed to swirl like a whirlpool, in the center you’d find a capo. Everyone and their seconds in command were present. Everyone but, Rebecca. The woman’s name alone churned his stomach. His mood lifted further as he identified New Jersey's Governor Phil Murphy, and New York's police Commissioner Dermot F. Shea in attendance. At least, for the moment, he could content himself that, no one in the five boroughs of New York, or the suburbs of New Jersey would be fool hearted enough to try anything tonight.

The smell of Gurkha His Majesty’s Reserve wafted towards Nicholas' nose. Only one man in New York smoked $750 cigars, Don Al Mazomanie. Nicholas let Red's hand slip from his own as the man greeted his daughter. Smiling as if the compliment on her beauty had anything to do with him. He added his own, “she's positively glowing,” he said, smirking evilly at Red. Nicholas’ heart thumped nervously in his chest, as the Don turned his affections on him. He clapped the man on his back, sharing the shocked expression painted on his wife’s face. Stiffly, he greeted his father-in-law, holding to formalities. “Don.” Out of the impromptu embrace, Al moved them through the crowd. Everyone instinctively opened out around them. Only refilling the gap after they’d passed. Nicholas pulled at his cuff links smiling, then idly touched the back of his neck. In a sea of people, he had the very unpleasant feeling that someone was watching them, coldly.

"Happy, happy couple…" Rebecca tsked. The stem of the wine glass cracked in her grasp. She watched the show tucked away in a corner of the room. She’d make an appearance, but only when she wanted to be seen. She shook the glass from her hand, and turned her palm up, blood draining across her porcelain white skin. Why was it the wrong person always had to bleed. She snatched a napkin from the table and dabbed the blood away as she once again found her father, lovingly escorting the happy couple to their place of honor. The stupid bitch had stayed. She wondered why? Or rather how Nicholas had managed to deceive her sister. No way would Tiny's pride have allowed her to stay with the man. So, there had to be deception involved. She could fix that. And Mercedes had given her the perfect venue to do so. She smirked. Already preparing her toast.

Mercedes tucked her lips away at Nicholas words, looking to her father as she tucked a curl back in place as he guided them towards her mother essentially. “Dad who are half of these people?” she asked him nervously. She knew her father would never put any of them in harms way but there were too many bodies to be able to wash your eyes over everyone and there was a mighty big price on her head rather her husband and father knew that or not. Might she also add, she couldn’t find her dear sister anywhere, but she knew Al wouldn’t let her out of not coming. “Where is Rebecca?” she asked him gently “I haven’t seen my sister in days” she played along.

Al looked to Mercedes and he pulled the cigar from his mouth, he tossed back his drink and sat it on a tray as he moved for their massive table in the center of the room. “Family!” he exclaimed happily as he looked around them before he said “my daughter is getting married” he told her hugging her close “this is a sight for anyone to see and quite evidently a gossip piece for others. Tiny, New York loves you, you know that” he reminded. He looked at Nicholas and said “isn’t that right Nicky? '' easily before he approached his wife finally having treaded through the crowd. “Your sister is, somewhere around here. Sure, to have a drink in her hand” he told her. “Never mind her” he waved off knowingly as he spun Mercedes around for his wife “look at her, pure perfection” he told her.

Donna looked at Mercedes as she approached, the woman was ‘glowing’, and she batted her lashes. Chuckling as Al spun the woman around, and she took her in “you look beautiful” she said looking to her husband and then Mercedes. She stood up and hugged the girl tightly to her pecking her cheek sweetly “you do look ravishing dear” she said grabbing her hands and looking her over. The friction caused by her husband in her household was never okay with her, but Al ran the show and she sat and looked pretty. That was her job as his wife. She looked over at Nicholas and said “hi” sweetly hugging the boy as well “you look handsome Nicky” she said using his pet name. “You two complement each other so well” she said through red painted lips.

Nicholas didn't doubt the Don's pronouncement of the family. But there were a few, big Whig heavy hitters in the room, that he was sure where there out of respect and for business. He licked his full lips, however, and said nothing. Al spun his fairy-tale for his daughter and Nicholas nodded along. She deserved this crowd. His wife was a queen. "Absolutely!" He agreed without hesitation. His ears perked up when Rebecca's name was tossed out. He wanted to find the woman, they needed to have a conversation. Underboss or not. Nicholas, stepped into Donna's grasp, hugging the woman appropriately before stepping away. "Thank you. And might I add you look lovely tonight Mrs. M."

Mercedes spun with her father slowly on her high heels and she hugged her mother lovingly, she happened to be the only person Red could say without a doubt tried to pour love into her. She happened to be the glue that kept them all together and Mercedes appreciated that. “Thank you” she said at her words she smiled looking over at Nicholas, she guessed they did complement each other very well. She looked around again however as her mother and Nicholas spoke, she was lurking somewhere in the middle of all of this she knew Rebecca too well to know that she was close by somewhere. Licking her lips, she looked at the photos of her and Nicholas that adorned the space. Massive professional portraits taken of them, one in particular she loved was of her hugging him from behind, his cheek was painted with prints from her red covered lips. She smiled at that before she looked back at the small group and said “daddy” cutely “Nicky and I have to go greet some other guest” she sung out.

Donna smirked at Nicholas kindly “thank you dear” she said patting his shoulder before she moved to seat herself once more. She looked to Mercedes knowingly and smirked at her before she looked at her husband “come, sit” she said grabbing his hand, he was a cup away from being under the table though she knew for him it was a huge celebration.

Al looked at Mercedes and he nodded “of course” he told her pecking her cheek again. “Go on you two” he said waving them off letting his wife guide him to his seat and he parked his butt in it resting his cigar aside and grabbing another drink.

Nicholas smiled, stepping easily up behind the matriarch, he held her chair as she resumed her seat. Surrounded by Mercedes' family, he wondered for the first time, where his mother and brothers were. He looked around the room trying to pick them out in the crowd with no luck. Moving to take Mercedes hand. "She's right. If you see my mother, would you please point her in our direction." He said, respectfully to Al and Donna.

Mercedes smirked as her husband and she held his hand as they moved from her father. “He’s half past drunk” she said to him as she looked back at Al “not to mention I don’t know a good portion of these people and I don’t like that” she told Nicholas as she looked around them again. “I sent out invites, I didn’t expect him to make this into this big thing Nicky I am sorry” she said having stopped them in the middle of the floor and she looked at his face expectantly. He hated this shit she knew that already and she didn’t know how long his good boy act would last. “We won’t stay long” she told him.

Nicholas waded out into the sea of people, most of his concentration on finding his mother among the crowd. He heard Red but wasn't really paying her complete attention. "Al will do as he likes." He concluded, knowing full well, how the man operated. Once they stopped, Nicholas looked down at his wife, his face a mixture of wonder and astonishment. He brought his hand up to her face and kissed her softly. Something he realized he'd never done in such an open place, in front of these people. "It's fine, Red." He said gently. "We'll stay as long as you like. Or until I can't stand the sight of that dress on you any longer." He grinned, hand moving dangerously low on her waist. "Let’s see if we can find my mother."

Paul needed an in. Four years older than Nicholas, he'd been a soldier longer then his brother had been a part of the family. Yet, he stood lower. A fact that bothered him more than his other two brothers. He'd have sold Nicholas into slavery like Joseph from the bible. Shit, even if he succeeded the story would have ended up the same. With Nicholas exactly where he was now. Even though he had to admit with Nicholas, basically taking over their father's place, their power had grown. And now this marriage was pure genius. He would have married the older sister personally, but Nicholas had to have a reason for picking Mercedes over Underboss Rebecca. He found Rebecca easily near the back of the room. Maybe the woman just didn't like his brother. He knew she was a ball buster. But so was Tiny. He thought, rubbing his chin. He found Nicholas in the crowd easily, Red always stood out, and tonight she was the only woman in a full-length red gown. He moved towards the pair, quickly. It was time to make his move. "Nicky baby. This is quite some party. Tiny. I can't believe you got this man to settle down." It was known among the family that no one was to ever speak of Sara. As far as Nicholas was concerned, Mercedes was his first and only wife.

As Nicholas kissed her among the waves of human bodies, she kissed him back sweetly closing her eyes for a time before she looked up at him. Nodding her head, she agreed with what he said, again he was playing along, and she could respect that. At the mention of his mother she nodded her head at him and said “right” as she grabbed his hand again. Mercedes looked at Nicholas brother and she smiled as he greeted them both. “Nice to see you Paul” she replied easily to him and she chuckled at his remark resting her hand on Nicholas chest cutely “well you know what they say about true love” she replied nestled to her husband’s side. “We were just wondering where all of you were” she said easily as she pushed a curl back gently.

Nicholas turned as his brother, made his appearance. His arm went around Red's waist, holding her tight against him, for no other reason than he liked the feel of her tucked there. "I was beginning to think you all weren't here. Where's mom?" He asked in a tone more business than a party.

"I most certainly do not." Paul said, shaking his head in fear. "And I hope I never have to. I'll leave that kind of thing for people like you and Nicky here." Paul threw his head over his shoulder. "This way. I'll take you to her." He said, placing himself in front of Nicholas and Mercedes he made his way through the crowd, "Andrea's here with her new boyfriend. I have a good feeling about this one, Nicky. She really wants you to meet him." He said, idly as he led the way. "Mama!" He called, stepping aside, "I brought your baby boy and his fiancée."

Bernice turned away from her conversation with her daughter, piercing emerald eyes, taking in her youngest son and his new ... Fiancée. She wasn't sure about this union. She'd known Tiny since she was a girl in pigtails, but she heard stories about the woman she'd become and wasn't yet convinced she knew how to be a wife to Nicholas. Mercedes was a Capo and despite all this love shit. Two bosses together weren’t a good idea. If things went sour, it would be her baby's life on the line, not Mercedes. "I see you've learned the meaning of fashionably late." She moved and hugged her son. "I'll have to decide if I like this new Nicholas." She said releasing him to hug Mercedes. "My dear, you are a vision." She hesitated and touched the woman's face. Staring into her eyes intently, she licked her lips knowingly. "Baby, give mother a moment alone with your fiancée." She said, pulling Mercedes away from the group of men. The older woman crooked a finger at her own personal guard, instructing them to stay vigilant.

Nicholas laughed, drawing his mother from the floor into his hug. "You always said I was too serious. I'm trying to loosen up." He said, releasing the shorter woman. He looked to his mother curiously, but nodded, kissing the back of Red's hand as she was led away. He turned, all business back to Paul. "Have you seen the Underboss. I need to have a word with her." He whispered, intently to Paul, as they moved over to his sister.

Paul nodded, quick as a flash, "You want me to take you to her? She has been hiding out in the back most of the night."

Nicholas kissed Andrea on the cheek, as his cold green eyes looked over her new boyfriend. "Yeah," He said to Paul with a quick nod. He ignored Andrea's friend’s outstretched hand. "I'll be right back." He told the man, in a tone that said motherfucker you better be here when I return.

Mercedes snorted at Paul “aw, Paul” she cooed “a little love never hurt anyone” she joked as she patted her husband’s chest gently. At the mention of his mother, Red followed Nicholas hand and hand as she looked around them again, she still hadn’t spotted her damn sister, cursing her small stature and hers as well at this point. As they approached the woman Red looked to her with a bright smile on her face, she always wanted a large family, a tight knit one at that. And despite herself she wanted to be connected to everyone, essentially for their child’s sake if nothing more. As mother and son hugged, Red let his hand go, she’d never ever picture her coming before his mother and she wouldn’t try. Just as Nicholas respectfully couldn’t come before Al, right? As the woman approached her, looked to her with a bright smile “it is always a delight to stand before just unchanging beauty” she breathed “the years have been impeccable to you” she complimented. As the woman whisked her away from Nicholas, she looked back at him and then looked to his mother.

Bernice turned, finger covering her painted lips, staring Mercedes straight in the eyes. She sighed and lowered her finger. "May I speak frankly?" She asked the young woman, hand tapping against her thigh.

As promised Paul led Nicholas directly to Rebecca. He clapped the man proudly on the back. "Stay here. And make sure no one, not even Mercedes disturbs us." He said, before walking away from his brother. "Underboss...” He greeted once close to the woman. His word lacked even a slither of respect and he knew it.

Rebecca saw them come. A pack of wolves moving together across the floor. And here she thought she'd have to send for Nicholas. She heard the scorn in his tone and laughed. "Nicky, Nicky, Nicky..." She purred, sitting back in her seat. "I never thought you had it in you." She said clapping her hands together. There was no use for mincing words with the man, he was ever blunt as an anvil. "Did you come hoping to persuade me to keep our secrets?"

Mercedes licked her painted lip, though nothing was going to budge it from moving. She wondered where his mother was going with this but nonetheless, she nodded her head. “Of course,” she replied “I respect nothing more than the truth from people” she said to the older woman. Now, thanks to love she had shed a lot of her evil ways, he softened places of her that had been hardened over the years but at the end of the day. Everyone had to know Red, would be Red, she demanded respect, cherish honesty, and wise beyond her measures. She clasped her hands in front of her as she walked with the woman essentially parting the red sea as she did.

Bernice's perfect eyebrow rose, "Thank you." She said, liking the girl’s response. Her husband was a whole lot of unspeakable shit. But the one thing he always was with her was honest. Even when she hadn't wanted him to be. She took Mercedes by the arm and moved as if no one else was in the room. "Nicholas is my baby. Of all my son's he's the one, I thought wouldn't end up in this life. How wrong I was..." She shrugged, moving on. "Now that he is, I worry about him. I know I can't make his decisions for him. He is stubborn and headstrong. He got that from both me and his father." She laughed, fondly remembering her husband. With a sigh, she stopped to look at the woman seriously, "He needs gentleness and understanding when he's alone at home. He needs a wife... Are you that? Can a woman on your level walk the path of a leader and mob wife?"

Nicholas' fingers itched, he walked around the table and sat on the edge. "No..." He said simply, staring hard down at the woman. Noting the stained napkin on the table, "I came to ask why? Why? Did you feel the need to tell Mercedes anything?"

Rebecca felt the cold edge in Nicholas' voice, but she sat back straight refusing to be cowed. "My sweet sister... She deserved to know the truth. That her fiancé was a double dipping bastard that doesn't really love her. I know you Nicholas. I've tasted you. I know how you long and thirst for power. And soon she'll know it too. Make your offer and if I like it. I might not ruin this night too."

The smug bitch thought she knew him. He leaned close to her and whispered into her ear, "You can stop calling Michael. People don't tend to answer calls from the cemetery." She stiffened and Nicholas smiled. He pulled Rebecca up out of her seat, not rough, just a brother and sister talking. "I told Red the truth. I told her that you were pathetic, and that you used your position to slither into my bed. I told her I never wanted you." He found his wife and mother chatting together. "All these people are here for her. She's carrying my child and your own father loves her more. Why the fuck would I need you for anything?"

Nodding her head, she tried to follow the direction the woman was going in, never mind the fact that she much rather be sitting down considering the 6-inch heels she had on, but she made do. As she went on to explain her thoughts on Nicholas, Red nodded her head at the woman her hands still clasped in front of her as she followed along with her. As she described the man to a T, she nodded her head again at her looking over to her with a smirk. However, when she started to explain her son’s needs and that he ultimately needed a wife Mercedes chuckled at Bernice. What the hell did the woman think she was going to be to him? A doormat? A toy? A fucking trophy? Had she not known all this time that this was her damn show, hell this was her World and her son was just lucky enough to live among other people that graveled at her feet. No, no. Nicholas had been placed on a high pedestal, she would forsake Al for him. Tame yourself, Mercedes said in her head. Nicholas was her husband and she’d do anything for him, they were now equals in life. “I was raised to believe women can do it all Mrs. D’onofrio” she said with a pleasant smile on her face though she wanted nothing more than to slap the bitch before her. “Anyone who is unsure of that, and shares my gender, wouldn’t know the first thing to being a woman at all” she retorted. “I assure you mother D’onofrio, Nicholas is well taken care of. Unlike his last devotee, rest knowing I know my status and place… we happen to just complement each other in that way. The World is at our feet, we are just getting started” she breathed as she looked up, seeing her husband and Rebecca she narrowed her eyes somewhat before she looked back down at his mother. “You aren’t sure of me mother D’onofrio?” she asked the woman as she began to move once more, this time she had her arm resting gently around the woman’s waist, such a subtle gesture yet alarming for her men waiting and watching.

Bernice chuckled, "Women can't do it all my dear. That's foolishness and nonsense." She said eyes hard on the woman. "Sara wasn't a woman, dear. Oh, she was pretty and buxom the way my son prefers, but the day he married her I started plotting her death." She throughout casually, absolutely serious. "She was going to be a beautiful doormat at best. Allowing my son to spawn as many bastards as he could as long as he came home. My husband was a monster, but he was my monster. I asked if you can be a boss and still allow my son the room to be his own man. There is a difference. Very few women in this room can say with authority that their husbands don't cheat. Mine did. But what I can say is he only did so once." She said with a deadly grace. "I see that you love him. I simply worry that your strength will drown his passion. We women can't do it all, but we must know how to use what we have to lead our husband's subtly. Most of the time when done properly, they think it's all their idea."

A vast emptiness opened up in Rebecca’s soul. She blinked back hot tears unable to get out of Nicholas’s grip. "Let me go Nicholas or I swear..."

"You swear what?" Nicholas hissed, finding Al and Donna in the room. "Do you believe for a second that anyone in this room will shed a tear for your ass? Huh?" He said grabbing her hand in his, he squeezed. "That little stunt of yours was a true blessing. Al, Mercedes, everyone knows how vindictive and hateful you really are. Try to come for Mercedes' happiness again and trust me, Underboss or not, I won't hesitate, to reunite you with Michael myself" he said feeling the blood from her hand spilling into his. He grabbed her napkin and wiped away her blood before, moving away from her without a backwards look.

As the woman went on to speak her mind, she allowed her too, lord knows by now her tongue would be in her hand otherwise if she didn’t want her to. She looked at Freddie and she gave him a wink, he need not be concerned, her arm was removed from the woman and she tucked some hair behind her ear. Freddie stood down and instead he circled Nicholas and Rebecca as Mercedes had told him to, keeping a safe distance, Freddie knew despite her new outlook Red would never trust the two especially when together. Mercedes looked to Nicholas' mother and they found themselves somewhere near a drink station. She couldn’t drink however she did grab some water. Taking a sip Mercedes told her the best way she knew how “I can only hope your son can be my husband and still allow me to live my passion” she said cutely back to her. This wasn’t a man’s world she didn’t know what fucking decade the woman was in but in the world, she lived in women can conquer or be conquered. She bowed to Nicholas willingly, but now, he could be dead and on plenty occasions the laser was aimed right for his head. “Now that is something we can agree on how else could I have managed to make a man who likes to keep such a low profile buy into all of this” she said looking around before she gazed upon her, a crown could be placed at her head. Nicholas would do anything for her, his mother had no idea. She allowed him to think everything moved through him in that house, bullshit. “Nicholas is in great hands, drink, be merry” she said as she watched Freddie double back around. “Celebrate, your son, your baby boy” she mused “is marrying the only woman who loves him more than his mother” she said pecking the woman’s cheek as she moved to walk away from her patting her shoulder kindly as she did. The hag was a fucking clown, shit, her kid would have to deal with him and her alone, she would be damned if he or she followed behind a dumb bitch who didn’t think their mother could conquer the world by day and cook their father a warm meal by night. She was Mercedes-fucking-Francis, if she kept it up, she’d learn herself why her son nicknamed her Red. She cracked her neck agitatedly as she toed through the crowd “where the hell is Sam” she breathed to herself.

Another more powerful fool. That's who her son had chosen. Bernice let out a tired breath. "Next time tell your man to watch the dot on his own head. Before preparing to kill someone else. And for heaven's sake, get some subtle clues. I want to actually see my grandchild born. Seems like I've been waiting forever for Nicholas to grant me one." She said coolly, still trying to decide if she liked the woman it was too late, as it had been with Sara. The girl too had missed the point of their conversation. She almost felt a pang of regret. At least she could have simply killed Sara. "Father Johnson sends his best, dear." She added at the woman's back.

Rebecca's lip twitched as Nicholas moved away from her. She swallowed thickly, trying to unhear all the things he'd said to her. He thought he'd won. She'd show him, she'd show them all. "Shame to hear about Michael" she said, softly as Nicholas tried to leave. "You know he never said a word about you in bed. No matter how convincing I was. Did he tell you that before you killed him?" Rebecca's voice broke into a sob. "You killed your best friend for nothing. I owned Sara." She wiped the blood from her hand again, and pushed past Nicholas, almost running to the restroom.

Nicholas froze in his tracks. He bit down on the inside of his lip, until the sharp metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. He'd killed Michael for nothing. He felt sick. After Rebecca had run off, he spat the glob of blood from his mouth. Then walked up to Paul, almost in a daze. "I want you to come to the house first thing in the morning. I have a job for you." He said, lowering his head.

His mother caught her off guard and so she had to backtrack, walking up on the woman. Red had never been small; in height yes, weight wise no and because of who she was she also never had to use her weight as a bullying method but in this moment Mercedes used all of it to back Bernice up against a space in which they both could speak to each other on a more personal level. “What?” she asked her, a brow raised “what are you talking about Bernice?” she said, addressing her on a level that tossed out all kindness, the buttering up of the woman, and the care of what role she played in her life right now. “What red dot?” she said one eye squinting, whoever or whatever she was talking about had to be handled, there was nothing standing in the way of her protecting her husband. “Look Bernice” she said with a chuckle “stop talking in riddles you are starting to piss me off” she told her as her eyes glowed before her. “How do you know all of this?” she asked her, talking with her hands confused. No matter the fact that she was in her usual disguise there was still fire behind her eyes. “Don’t worry about a child, we have that covered” she told her, “we are just trying to play our roles in all of this. My father would not like that fact before we walk down the aisle. So, keep that between you and I” she said pointing between them. “I am less worried about him or her right now, let's switch back to Nicky and tell me whatever it is that you know” she said as she instinctively pushed Freddie away from her side, she could feel him breathing down her neck by now. She knew why he was there; he could smell her anguish from across a football field, it was his job. “Fly” she commanded him all bark and bite in her voice, she was agitated. “As a matter-of-fact you go get my hus-fiance and bring him to me please,” she said to Freddie before she looked back at his mother.

Bernice didn't move from her spot; she folded her arms in front of her and waited. She watched the girl, quizzical. Eyes shifting as she thought about her question for a moment. "The one aimed at the back of his head." Bernice said, pointing to Freddie. "I find it rather unnerving to be marked as a target by one of my children's intendeds. Especially in the middle of an engagement party." She said, putting air quotes around the words. "I mean I've heard of quick to anger. But seriously dear, what would have been your recourse for that action?" She said nonchalantly. "Maybe to have Nicholas kill half the room?" She pondered the thought while studying the woman. Try as she might she couldn’t decide if that was a good or bad thing. "You misunderstood. The question had nothing to do with Nicholas and everything to do with you. And you, my dear, are exactly the person I knew you to be. Congratulations on both counts." She said, eyes going to her stomach. "Make sure you take plenty of vitamins and get lots of rest."

Nicholas squeezed his brother's shoulder once more, "Let's..." He trailed off as Freddie approached that wild look of worry, he always got where his wife was concerned. Quickly Nicholas scanned the room for Mercedes finding her corned with what looked like his mother. Confused. Nicholas didn't wait for Freddie, he cut his own path through the crowd. He approached the women, slipped in behind Red wrapping his arms around her from behind. "Are you okay?" He whispered in her ear, panic clear in his voice.

Mercedes turned her nose up at the woman as she continued to speak, her implication was preposterous, her love for Freddie was that of a sister and brother however if the man ever thought to move in a direction she didn’t ask him to she would deliver his body to his family herself. “Absurdity” she replied to her, her entire demeanor had changed now Bernice wasn’t talking to Mercedes anymore, she was talking to Red. Freddie was on high alert because of her it had nothing to do with Nicholas, she had screwed up and hadn’t stepped foot outside of their home since but here she was in the heart of the city with hundreds of moving bodies. “You are thinking too much you should leave that for someone with a large capacity to do so” she equipped. “No one here finds you a target… especially considering there’s nothing about you Bernice that would make me skittish” she roared silently, an evil grin dancing across her face slowly. Her smile fell however “you are challenging something you can’t overthrow… do you find that smart Bernice?” she asked her next. “That’s just the thing about people like you, even my father perhaps is blind to; the love we share. This isn’t a freak show put on display Bernice '' she said shaking her head at the woman as she moved her hand to her face gently, she caressed it. “This is passion, unyielding desire to be ever close that our hearts fuse as one” she spoke poetically as her grip tightened on the woman’s face. “It’s not puppy love or even the act of a gullible woman standing beside a nothing less man hoping one day he’d love her more than his stash of thin blonde toys” she said her chest rising and falling, her mouth fixed into a snarl. “This is inseparable” she said pronouncing every syllable in the word. “No one, and nothing. Is. And will ever. Come between me and my husband” she said, letting slip as she finally decided to remove the nails digging into the woman’s flesh as she dropped her hand. Nicholas walked up behind her wrapping his arm around her midsection and she didn’t answer his question, instead she pulled her eyes from his mother and said. “You are right as always my King” she coed sweetly to him. “We should have just told the world that we are already married and pregnant” she said as she pulled his arm from around her and she smiled up at him pecking his face. “The only thing is you said it would save time and money, and now I believe it would have only saved me a headache” she said looking back to his mother as she patted his chest before walking away. That was her cue to go she said to herself as she left them where they stood, she swapped a glance with Freddie and she finally dropped her shoulders and swallowed for the first time.

Everything the woman said was wind, literally blowing the breeze. No real queen needed to remind peasants who she was. Only crazed, careless ones did. She made no effort to move, or resist. That was pointless. Better to let people believe they understand you even if they don't. Bernice touched her face once the girl let go and raised an eyebrow.

The conversation was blurred and confusing to Nicholas. "We should have what?" He said as he absently rubbed Mercedes stomach. Leaning into her kiss, her frowned once he saw the welts that were rising quickly on his mother's cheeks. As Red walked away Nicholas grabbed his mother by her face. "What happened?" He questioned, cold as a winter's day.

Bernice swatted Nicholas' hand away from her face. "Nothing. Nothing." She said, lowering her eyes from her son's. "Well, when I hugged the girl, I realized that she was pregnant." She shrugged. "Father Johnson let slip weeks ago you to had gotten married. So, one and one equaled two."

Nicholas moved his hand and stood up to his full height. "The marks mother what the hell happened to your face. What else did you say to her? It had to be more than that!" He snapped, demanding a straight answer.

Bernice looked up at her son then. Matching eyes mirroring each other in intensity. She twisted her mouth, then finally sighed. "I asked if she'd let you be your own man." She said simply. "From that I got a lot of things from her that I don't understand." She said looking the way Tiny had fled. "I'd wish your sister had her strength... But then again, you know how I feel about..." She coughed tempering her words knowing Nicholas' love for the woman.

"Red's the perfect wife. Too perfect sometime." Nicholas said, shaking his head. "You had no cause to meddle. I know how to conduct my own affairs. I don't need a handler or a keeper. You have Andrea and Paul to keep in line. Not me. Or my wife. Nicholas wiped is hand over his face. "I honestly thought you two would get along."

"I'm a mother." Bernice snapped. "Name one who doesn't meddle from time to time. It's our right. I really never intended to upset her so. God knows I didn't expect a full-blown display of unholy power." She chuckled. Her face softened, there was an anguish in her son, that wasn't from this interaction. Something else was troubling him. "I never said, I didn't like her." Reaching out for his hand, she squeezed it gently. "I know my approval or wishes don't really matter to you. But for what it's worth, she is strong, domineering, beautiful, a leader and she loves you. I respect that and for now that's enough. You better go." She squeezed Nicholas' hand again, then moved away from him, gliding off as if the world was unchanged.

Nicholas massaged his forehead. Too much bullshit was happening all at once. Red, his mother, Rebecca... And Michael. He rubbed his eyes, "Paul." He called, feeling his eyes on him. "I'm about to leave. Don't forget I need you at the house first thing in the morning." He reminded the man. Wading through the crowd. He found Mercedes. "It's time to go." He said grabbing her hand and making his way towards the door.

#thread.#thread: let the festivities begin.#samcedes rp #thread: Nicolas D.

5 notes · View notes

donnnoir · 5 years

Text

Alien Invasions...

Alien Invasions…

Starting in 2020-2021, Non-Terran entities will set upon our world to claim what was promised to them by “Treaty”. It will be as an orchestrated “invasion” and “war”. Since the probability is that the population of the world is NOT going to go along with giving away portions of the Earth in pursuit of the agendas of the Ultra-Elite, principally those of the Blood Occultic Families. As per the terms of this “Treaty” these beings are to receive the “Pacific”; from the Aleutian Islands down to the equator including the coastlines anywhere from twenty to hundred miles inland. I suspect that that will just be the beginning of the process. Eventually these invaders will want to take possession of the entire world. This is why in the media we are being presented “trans-humanistic” thought and that it will require us leaving the Earth to survive. The realities associated with this is that it calls for a very small fraction of less than one percent that get to leave. And should this initial “invasion” fail there are others planned which are scripted very differently...

Anyone acquainted with UFO / Flying Saucer mythology and lore will be familiar with the allusion of a predecessor to NASA. It is commonly referenced when dealing with several presumed technological advancements or anomalies circa Roswell and before. Without going too far afield of the focus of this essay; it should be noted that “visitors” have interacted with the human race continuously for the majority of our time upon Earth. Much like from the old “Star Trek” series there are varying rules to the types of interactions, think “Prime Directive”. It needs to be recognized that Not all visitors are the same, nor of benevolent intent. Shocking as that may seem to some of the New Age crowd. Nor are they necessarily from Our Reality, Realm, or Dimension. Some of the entities we meet and interact with are not even representative of the beings we presume they are. Rather they are actually a bio-mechinoid entity that is piloted or driven by its host from a great distance away; as is the case with the classic “Greys” that populate UFO mythologies (previously addressed in another essay).

At the turn of the last century before our present, as the world industrialized and prepared for war. The majority of the world leaders and governments, or rather those of the industrial powers and the West had at least been visited by Non-Terran entities and felt like they had the initial footing to develop an ad hoc diplomatic envoy. At least that is what they were lead to believe. Soon enough the world was embroiled in WWI, and the horrors of war in an industrialized era were unleashed. Following the cessation of hostilities and the signing of an armistice. WWI had been a slug-fest with both sides slaughtering each other, never to gain the advantage. Human nature as it is did Not learn to beat their swords into plow-shears; instead we rushed headlong into finding better means of slaughter. The blame and thereby reparations for WWI fell on Germany. Strangely something called the League of Nations was formed in 1920. People were told it was for the purpose of preventing further conflicts, as if that has ever worked. Or at least that is what they would have us believe. I say The League of Nations’ actual and sole purpose they accomplished within the first twenty-four months and as it became increasingly irrelevant it subsequently disbanded.

We created this “International World Governing” body with its power to enter into a “treaty” with any foreign power (even of Non-Terran origins). As in this particular case the foreign power was a group of Non-Terran visitors. Principally represented by the “Greys”. The Bio-mechinoids whose drivers / pilots are from a lower harmonically resonating Realm / Dimension. These beings are possessed of a hive mind. Our ancestors in times past usually referred to them as “demons”. Admittedly though their warrior class has a highly ritualized sense of combat giving them an appearance of “honor” when engaged, in single combat. It is as close to the concept as these beings are capable.

The nations of the world sought accelerated access to the technologies these Non-Terrans had displayed during their interactions with said world leaders. For us the sons and daughters of Adam and Eve there is a loophole in the operations of the “Prime Directive” as it were. The visitors are barred from giving or offering to give us their technologies of their own volition. We, however may choose to barter our lives and birthright away. It is the sum of free agency, and election. We get to weave plenty of new rope, tie it off into a hangman’s noose, place it around our necks and jump off the roof. And so we did, entering into a treaty with these beings.

As a consequence of WWI, with Germany being unjustly burdened with the blame for WWI and the associated reparations; their National Pride was injured. With the rise of the National Socialist Party and their underlying Occultic beliefs and perspectives they readily pursued acquiring any advantage they could. Thus the NAZIs were more effective at manipulating access to this alien technology. Setting up a military base in antarctic and quite possibly the moon. The “urban myth” of which is the bases of the recent cult classic “Iron Sky”. A delightful case of Art imitating Life.

I have Not seen a copy of the actual “treaty”. I have been able to deduce some of the terms of the “treaty”, if that is what we can call it (since the general population of the world, whom it impacts the most were NOT a party to the process). For Americans and those of Western Culture and thought, we have a problem with issues where we lack representation; having fought wars over that principle. Nonetheless as to the “time period” prior to the terms and transfer of possession (the transfer of ownership to the new owners) is the standard 99 year time frame. Which means 2020–2021 promises to be a watershed year of fun. The terms oblige us to DE-Terra Form our world making it more habitable for the new owners. These new residents prefer a much higher background radiation than do humans. The biosphere must be degraded to accommodate them, otherwise the microbes of a health ecosystem could readily defend our world (think “War of the Worlds”) Additionally, We are suppose to DE-Tune the resonance of our world. The Earth rings with its own unique pitch and tone, that favors us, humans. It tends to make beings from other places ill, especially over time. If you understood these requirements of the “treaty”. You would understand why global powers have elected the courses of actions they have over the past nearly one hundred years. Why we as a species have always selected and done the worst possible when given choices. Worse yet why we have so obsessed with perpetuating and compounding our stupidity in some doomed attempt at trying to save our world.

These Demons are to receive for their participation – basically the entire Pacific. Most countries have written off their coastal populations; or as is the case in America we are seeding the coastal areas as sacrifice zones. Those that survive the initial wave and onslaught, will be a ready food source, labor pool and hosts for the invaders.

Understanding this also explains the unnecessary fifth column actions currently destabilizing Europe. And why the current administration is attempting to mitigate a similar situation here. Granted the administrations attitude and means generally needlessly aggravates the process. Not that Trump is the Great American Hero; he just represents a particular faction that is uncomfortable sacrificing America for this process. Because as amazing as it may seem there are elements that do NOT trust these Demonic “aliens” to hold to the terms as agreed. Some of this opposition within the ranks basically disagree with the treaty. They can NOT openly ferment their dissent, as it would violate their oaths and subject them to “treason” charges. So they hedge their bets, and wait for the inevitable.

“Crazy” and “Fantastic”, yeah I know. Do you and yours a favor and simply look to the night skies. Those are NOT satellites or sky-lab you see, they are an alien invasion force. Elements of the Sky Warden Force have been fighting them for close to a decade. If you have access to fourth generation night vision and some powerful optical binoculars or telescopes. Look to the night sky, know that the long black triangles are Our forces fighting these aliens and their crafts. Good Luck and G-dspeed to us all...

12 notes · View notes

lou-bonfightme · 4 years

Text

Catnapped 2: This Time, It’s Purrsonal || Part Six: If You Do a Bad Thing for a Good Reason, Is it Still Bad? || [Merou]

In which Merida and Toulouse infiltrate the Order Headquarters...[takes place: February 4, 2020]

@heart-of-dunbroch

[tw -- blood, gore, violence]

MERIDA: They arrived in London early in the morning, shifting back into their human forms in a railway park, dressing quickly in the same clothes they wore the day previous. It was icy, frost on the tracks and crunched on the ground under Merida’s boots. It bit at her fingers, and for the first half hour, Merida found this cold odd and her body’s reaction to it odd, so used to the fur and thick skin of the wolf’s body. This human vulnerability followed Merida as they started walking deeper into the city, when they arrived at the first tube station, when the tube took them underground and the forest was truly far away now, feelin’ like a dream of the wolf’s that ached in Merida, still. It didn’t like the jostle of the cars. The people. The smells-- so many smells, the city like a massive garbage heap to the wolf and to Merida too.

But then, she’d always hated London. Comin’ here those few times a year always put a bad taste in her mouth. It wasn’t just how crowded and dirty everything was, ‘course. It had been the tight braids in Merida’s hair that gave her a bloody headache before she ever arrived in the headquarters. And the corsets she’d have to wear and the damn hoop skirt and the make-up smeared on her face like she was a circus clown. London meant all those things to Merida. It meant plastic, metal, chemical-- Merida dipped into a vat of it.

This time would be quite different in multiple ways, rather obvious to mention. If she left with red on her lip this time, it’d not be from her mother’s lipstick.

One of those differences was that Merida couldn’t get into the Order the same way as well. Usually, they ended up at one of the homes of the Order members who lived in London, where they’d wash, change, and then enter through a secret passageway to the underground.

This time though, Merida kept an eye on the stops on the tube, and then grabbed Lou’s wrist when she saw the one marked in her Da’s journal.

“Here,” she instructed. They hopped off the tube and Merida looked around. Still early in the morning, there weren’t many people up still. Mostly drunks from last night and that would make this all much easier since it meant no questions. When she was certain no one was looking, she hopped down onto the tracks and she and Lou slipped into the gray shadows, like they were rats.

“Stay close!”

She broke into a quick jog, nearly a run. Merida had been up for hours at this point, but it didn’t feel like it. Her heart was keeping pace. The beast in her was alert, letting Merida use her eyes to cut through the dark. Her ears rang with the silence as they listened for the tell-tale signs of approaching cars, and her nostrils flared when she smelled the rats skittering along beside them, but she kept her focus, muttering quietly to herself until…

“Here.” Merida stopped short, panting. She bent down, feeling around the stone of the wall. A few of the blocks loosened. Merida grinned and looked at Lou--forgetting, temporarily, that they weren’t friends, that this wasn’t one of Merida’s private escapades. She was no mischeivous Order girl anymore. The rules she was breaking now, she broke as an enemy.

But for that first second, it didn’t feel like it at all. It felt like Merida was winnin’ again. I found it, Da. Got here all on me own. Think I’m worthy yet?

Merida wiggled the stone out, one, then another, stacking them on top of each other until there was a narrow tunnel, big enough for them to enter if they kneeled down. They’d crawl through here and then it’d expand, and there’d be a ladder down.

Merida told all of this to Lou now. “Soon as we get down that ladder, there will be a guard. I’m hopin’ it’ll be just one, this entrance isn’t used for anythin’ anymore. I’ll disarm him, you make sure the tunnel is clear, aye?”

TOULOUSE: They were wearing the same clothes they’d been wearing yesterday.

Never in Toulouse’s life.

(Alright, that wasn’t exactly true, considering when Lou’s depression laid down heavy on his shoulders and pushed him into the mattress, he often wore the same outfit for days at a time. However, this was in the privacy of his own home and was different.)

Never in Toulouse’s life.

Which, honestly, summed up the adventure down to the tunnel which they were now peering into. Never in Toulouse’s life had he gone on any sort of adventure. Certainly not of his own free will. Swynlake often attempted to force him to participate in adventures, but he never did much in those stupid dreams, except date ill-advised people. Which was less of an adventure and more of a very cruel prank of the town.

He had never in his life hopped onto a train track and gone down those long, dark tunnels. There was no thrill about it for him. He sneered as he stepped in a puddle of god-knows-what (not even his wolf could discern, the smells too overwhelming and all over the place.) This was breaking the law, something Lou tried not to do, as the son of a politician who made laws. Who had instilled in him the civic responsibility sense of being a decent human who followed the rules of society. He did not like the idea of Merida pulling rocks out of the wall and sent a glance towards the arched ceiling, half-worrying that the whole thing was going to collapse down on top of them now that part of its structure had been removed.

Lou did not smile at her as she grinned like a buffoon over her shoulder at him.

If anything, he looked like a wet cat. His arms were crossed over his chest and he was frowning deeply. Not so much at Merida herself but just—the everything of his current predicament.

“D’accord,” Lou responded to his instructions with a nod of his head. That was something he could do at least. He waited for Merida to begin making her way down the tunnel before sighing dramatically, dropping his arms from across his chest and carefully picking his way behind her. For a moment, he wished their telepathy extended into their human forms, so that he could say: I cannot believe you are making me crawl through a sewage pipe. Even though it was not a sewage pipe and was actually rather dry.

Instead, he stewed silently and was glad when there was a literal light at the end of the tunnel. He watched as Merida disappeared down the ladder, then waited a moment before following her over. He peaked out into the mostly empty hallway to get his bearings and was that—the flickering of candlelight?

Were there actual torches lit?

Sacre bleu, this Order was legitimately insane.

MERIDA: Merida ducked down and started their descent.

Her heart was calm, her movements swift and graceful-- a grace that had little to do with the wolf and everything to do with the woman, who had to learn how to make herself invisible, because that was the way of this world. It was ironic that this invisibility helped Merida in ways the Order would never have endorsed-- helped her sneak place to place, helped her swipe her father’s journals, helped her find places to hide and practice. So even now, in this world, she belonged only to the parts that were made for the likes of her. The tunnels they would be taking proved that. They hugged the edges of the headquarters, squeezed in between the wide, elaborately decorated, generously lit hallways that Lou and Merida would probably (if all went well) never see. These were paths that were meant to be hidden. These were paths for servants. These were paths for the women.

Merida felt nothing but a deep sense of satisfaction as she used those tunnels now, just as she had always used the Order’s ignorance. She dropped from the ladder with barely a sound and found not even a single guard here. She smirked. Of course not. Of course they would overestimate themselves. And underestimate her.

She would not do the same. As Lou went down one end of the hall, Merida tracked down the other, just enough to confirm that there were no guards. She turned around and jogged to meet him at the other end. Their eyes met. Lou looked bewildered, his nose scrunching. Perhaps at the smell. Perhaps at something else.

She’d laugh at that expression if they had time. But the quicker they did this, the better.

Merida motioned with her hand and they rounded the corner. She hurried down the hall with a hand on her belt, where her dagger rested. Their footsteps shuffled, the only sound until--

Merida reached back and smacked her hand on Lou’s chest.

Footsteps. Heavy. Wearing boots, Merida figured. She looked back at Lou, held a finger to her lips, then held up a hand in a motion that meant, Stay.

And then Merida darted around the corner.

SMASH! The clatter of metal rippled through the tunnels. A man yelped. His cry echoed too, but it was just one moment-- one moment and then it was silent again.

“C’mere, Bonfamille!” Merida called.

When Lou rounded, Merida was wiggling a helmet off the guard’s face. She tossed it to Lou. Her smile stretched over her face-- wolfish, brightening the blue flame of her eyes.

“How do ye feel about playin’ dress up?”

TOULOUSE: Toulouse was infinitely glad that there were no guards in the hallway. His stomach was tearing itself apart with nerves, though he did a very good job of ignoring them. He had quite a lot of practice at such things, having been presenting his art for criticism from very young. That foreboding feeling was a familiar companion, as a child he had felt it often; waiting for his father to come home, for the fighting to begin.

This was the same feeling—waiting for the fighting to begin.

When Merida grabbed his chest and pushed him back, Toulouse felt his heart beating in his entire body. It was a wild, loud thing. The wolf had a hold of it between his teeth. It felt like it was in Lou’s throat. What a pesky thing, that heart, his mortality. He wished the wolf would devour it. That heart of his made him a coward—made him afraid to die.

He flinched at the clamour of armor, the sound of fighting. It only took a second, but it felt like a lifetime. He didn’t move from his spot at the wall, wondering if it had been Merida, in the end who’d been bested by the guard. What would he do if that was the case? The wolf raised its head and Lou knew the answer: he would find Claude, even if he had to rip the throat out of every crazy bastard in this place.

Merida called his name and Lou gave a jerk before sucking in a breath and rounding the corner. He ran a hand through his greasy hair and scowled at her.

“Silver is not my colour. I am warm-toned,” he deadpanned—even though it was true. Toulouse never wore silver jewelry if he could help it. It washed him out. However, the helmet was not jewelry. And he also knew Merida wouldn’t take no for an answer. So, he took it from her delicately and scrunched his nose as he dressed.

“If you thought I was useless to you before, I certainly will be now,” he hissed at her once he finished, sighing harshly. The sound echoed through the helmet and rang in his sensitive wolf-ears. This was going to give him a headache. “What now?”

MERIDA: “Actually, you’re much more useful to me now, mate. Before you were a walking target. Least now if someone tries to stab ye, maybe they won’t poke all the way through.” Merida’s eyes glittered as she said this as if it were a joke.

And maybe it was a joke, though she meant every word. A Toulouse with a breast plate might not die as fast as a Toulouse without one.

She didn’t wait to see how her joke might land (she didn’t have to wait; she knew that this bloke had no sense of humour, having been inside his brain). Merida dragged the Order lackey around the corner instead, grabbing his dagger for good measure. She was back the next second, ushering Lou on.

“Stand on the outside of me, aye? Try to look like ye belong here.”

They twisted down the halls, moving fast. They were still mostly empty. It was almost too easy, thought Merida to herself, though she had a good idea as to where everyone was-- already feasting down in the main halls before the month’s baptisms. An Order full of drunk men with swords, a handful of who were probably shirking these very posts in order to nip the lamb and wet their fingers with wine. Still, twice Merida grabbed Lou and they hid again as a few Knights passed by.

They were getting close now. It was about to get harder. Breaking in had always been the relatively easy part.

Merida paused when the nursery was just up one more hallway. The halls were brighter here, clean and tiled. You could hear the voices of the women not only in the nursery, but in the dressing rooms. Laughter. Singing. Merida could close her eyes and remember herself here, stuck in a chair as her mother tried to tame her wild curls into something presentable. She could remember feeling too big for her own skin. How she’d hated it--

But those songs. That reminded Merida of her mother too, and her chest burned with a yearning that no one ever truly outgrew.

Merida just had to ignore it.

“Alright,” she hissed. “This...this is the hard part. Your cousin should be in the first room to the left. But as you can hear...not exactly alone. There will be other babies too.” She sighed and licked her bottom lip.

“You could play pretend and see how far you get. Tell them that Sorcha, perhaps, sent you to…” the lie trailed off and died in the air. Merida didn’t know how to finish it off. It’d be so obvious, wouldn’t it? What Knight would enter with his helmet down? Why would a Knight come to fetch a babe?

The alternative was Merida kicking the door down, grabbing the nearest lady, and hoping no one screamed.

Someone would scream.

TOULOUSE: Toulouse tried not to let Merida’s morose humor get underneath his armor (quite literally, ha.) He was not so much worried about stabbing as he was the wolf trying to burst out of its new metal cage. It had been restless before, but now, Lou’s hands shook, and he could not tell if it was his own nerves or the wolf just below his skin.

Taking a breath, he did as he was told, because there was no reason to argue. Lou may not trust Merida, but he did acknowledge that she had more experience than him in these criminal matters.

It was silent, but never still. Lou’s eyes darted, looking at every door like it was the mouth of a trap. His ears strained, putting his new senses to as much use as possible, listening for approaching soldiers. (And, honestly, the whole thing was so disorientingly medieval, Lou felt like he had walked into some sort of renaissance faire. (His tantine had loved Renaissance faires, she had found them so creative and quaint. She’d taken him to one once when he was a boy and bought him a sword, which his mother had promptly taken away from him.)

It was with those new ears of his that he heard the women before Merida even stopped them and he felt sick to his stomach again. His gaze slid to hers, though he kept getting distracted every time there was an uproar of laughter or delighted squeals—which was fairly often. It reminded Lou, strangely, of the summer plays. The same kind of frenetic energy sizzled through the air, everyone in preparation.

Pretend…

Well, Lou figured the alternative was Merida doing something—Merida-ish, which would hurt their cause more that Lou attempting to pass as an Order member for long enough to get his hands on his nephew (though, maybe he should give Merida playing pretend more credit, considering she’d lied to Belle for months without detection.) The thought made the wolf whine in his chest.

“I’ll do my best,” Lou said, straightening his shoulders somewhat. “Wish me luck.”

With that, he didn’t waste another moment, the wolf urging him forward. He just wanted to set sights on Claude.

When he entered the room, he blinked a bit. It was much brighter than the hallway. It was immediately clear that he stuck out. All the women were lovely and perfumed, their hair shining beneath the lights. They giggled in corners, doing their make-up, holding babes. There were a few children in the corner, playing with dolls in pretty white dresses. It was clear that he did not belong. Even if he was not a wolf, or an outsider. There was not a man among the entire group. As soon as his presence was noticed, a silence settled. The flurry of activity ended.

Lou hardly noticed any of this—

He had his sights set on Claude, who was sitting on the lap of a woman he didn’t know. He swallowed once. The baby was so close, only a few meters away. Lou could cross the room in two strides and be at his cousin’s side. He kept rooted to the spot by sheer force of will. Even the wolf realizing they were surrounded and had to tread lightly.

“Oi, what are you doing down here?” one of the women, older than most of the rest if he had to guess, snapped at him.

Lou jerked slightly, though the ill-fitting armor gave him away. He reached up and removed his helmet. It was probably a poor move, but he was sweating. He was nervous. But, Lou had been trained for things like this. He was not a warrior, but he had manners.

“Pardon me, my ladies,” he said, roughing up his accent to disguise the French. It was not so hard to sound British, he sounded more British than he would like already on the day to day, having now lived in this country longer than he had ever lived in France. He had to fight to keep his accent, but now, he let it go. If it meant getting Claude back, he’d let it all go.

“I was sent by Lady de Chateaupers,” he continued after a moment, taking his time, “to gather young Claude. His grandmother would like to introduce him to a few other of the lords and ladies.” The lie was as smooth as it could be. He remembered what that vile woman had said: he’s my only grandchild. It felt in character for her to want to brag.

The two oldest women looked at each other. One put her hands on her hips, unconvinced.

“Why send you?” she scoffed.

Toulouse blinked, it was a good question. “I, uh—all the women are busy, of course., in preparation, including Lady de Chateaupers I volunteered. I have many siblings, he’ll be in good hands with me.”

Give him back, the wolf growled.

“Who are ye?” snapped the other matron.

Cannard. Lou had thought to escape without giving a name. “Uhm, Lou.”

“Not your name, boy—your family.” Her eyes narrowed.

The only families that Lou was aware of who were part of the order were the de Chateaupers and— “DunBroch, ma’am,” he said, attempting to keep the annoyance out of his voice, surely Merida was getting a kick out of this. “Lou DunBroch.”

“I don’t recognize you,” the woman said bluntly.

“Well, you DunBrochs breed like there is no tomorrow, isn’t that right, Millie?” the woman with her hands on her hips looked over at a young woman.

Millie—the woman who just so happened to be holding Claude—stood up from where she was sitting and wandered a little closer.

Lou could feel his heart in his whole body.

“He does have the DunBroch hair…”

I most certainly do not, Lou wanted to sniff. Merida’s hair was a completely different shade of red than his own. Hers was richer, redder, deeper. His was copper, dark, and earthy.

Claude looked up at Lou, blinking his pretty blue eyes. He was close enough that he could smell him. That soft, sweet smell.

Family, keened the wolf in Lou’s chest.

Lou smiled and reached up to touch his air. “Aye,” he said—trying not to sound to Scottish, he knew he’d never get away with it, but perhaps he had picked up some colloquials growing up.

Millie moved a step closer, peering at him. “Who’s your da?”

Fuck.

A second passed. Then another.

Millie drew back.

Toulouse didn’t think then, the wolf took over in a flash. He reached forward and grabbed Claude by his chunky arm and ripped him out of Millie’s grip. A clamor started at once. The baby began to cry, making Lou’s heart squeeze—hoping he had not hurt him. Millie, to her credit, launched towards Lou, her fingers curled like claws. Lou tucked Claude to his chest with one hand and pushed Millie back with the other. His helmet clattered to the ground.

“Thief!” shouted one woman.

“Help!” cried another.

“Merida!” barked Lou as he started stumbling backwards out of the room.

The oldest woman, who had been hawk-eyed from the first moment, appeared next to him and tried to wrench Claude away again. A growl ripped from Lou’s chest, his eyes flashing, before he could think about it. The woman froze in her shock.

“Beast!” she cried as she recoiled.

“It’s the wolf!”

Someone screamed then, a proper, high-pitched wail, as if she was being pulled apart.

MERIDA: This was a bad idea.

But there were no good ideas here, were there? Sometimes, that’s just how it was. But sometimes, those bad ideas became the best stories. They became the legends that men told over and over as they sloshed their beer and laughed over each other. They became the songs that children learned. The songs that Merida carried with her in her heart, never to fade no matter how far she got from this world. It would still be the fabric she was sewn with. She clutched one dagger, tilted her head, her ears ringing with the voices of her sisters, her aunts, the women who had once raised her too. She hoped this bad idea would work a miracle worth a song. She did not want any of them hurt.

She was listening for something else too. She leaned around the wall, held her breath as the conversation meandered from woman to woman. She recognized each voice enough, but they were not the voice she was listening for.

Elinor. Mum. Are you there? Mum, don’t be there. Please, don’t be there...

And then things started to fall apart, that bad idea a wobbling tower waiting for one last shove, innit? The adrenaline piqued inside her. The wolf was awake, but far away. Merida flexed her fingers over her dagger.

Who’s your da?

Merida darted around the corner at this question and burst into the room by the time the woman had let out a cry.

“MERIDA!”

Merida’s eyes found her cousin’s face in the lamplight-- young, raven-haired Senga. Her bright blue eyes widened. First, there was a flicker of relief, relief triggered on instinct, because before Merida was a traitor, before she was a beast, she was one of them. Senga believed that Merida might save them all.

She remembered that look in her Da’s face right before he picked up his knife.

Merida didn’t wait for the moment to pass. She followed the plan. Their very, very, very bad plan. She grabbed her own cousin, petal-pretty Senga, and yanked her out of the room, knife tip pointed at Senga’s throat. She slammed the door shut and locked it (because yes-- these doors all have locks on the outside. To keep people in as much as to keep them out).

Senga trembled, already sobbing.

“You’ll be fine if ye just do exactly what we say,” Merida hissed. They stumbled, all of them, down the hall. Merida’s ears rang with the sound of the men stampeding down the hall. They were going to collide in the south wing and there was no avoidin’ that.

“I don’t want to be a werewolf!” Senga sobbed. “I don’t want to die! Puh-puh-puh-lease--!”

“Crivvens, no one’s turnin’ you! Shite, Lou, here they come, give her the damn baby!”

And sure enough, they ran into the wing at the same time as the patrol of guards.

Everyone stopped and stared at everyone else.

Merida yanked Senga against her chest, that knife’s edge still at her throat. Wails from the baby filled the air, wails from Senga too. “If ye move a step more, I’ll cut her throat!” Merida threatened.

A man flipped up his visor--”Merida.”

Uncle Domnhall. Well. It’d be strange not to run into a couple of family members wouldn’t it? Merida’s jaw clicked but she didn’t loosen her grip. The rest of the armored men stood stupid-still. She could guess there were all Knights, the lot of them-- the true Princes takin’ the night off for the baptism. Though they could be suitin’ up now, heading their way. The longer Merida waited here, the more she risked runnin’ in with skilled Princes just like Uncle Dom. Could she take Uncle Dom? Maybe. Maybe because of the wolf’s strength and speed. But not even Merida was sure about that.

Merida’s heels pressed back, sliding one, two, three steps. She dragged Senga with her. “I’ll leave her somewhere ye can find her.”

“Merida!” hissed Uncle Domhall again and he drew his sword.

Merida flicked the knife tip over Senga’s chin. Senga shrieked and blood pearled, shiny as rubies. Merida’s nostrils flared. Inside, the wolf’s teeth bared.

Uncle Domnhall’s eyes hardened and in that second, she saw that her threat had the opposite effect. He didn’t believe that she’ll do it-- slit her own cousin’s throat. She might be a monster to them all, but in that moment, Domnhall made a decision based on Merida’s humanity.

He flipped down his visor.

“Fuck.” Merida shoved Senga into the wall and dodged left to avoid Domnhall’s lunge. Senga shrieked.

An order ripped from Domnhall’s lips. “ATTACK.”

The knights surged.

The thing about combat was, it was so fast. There was no thinking. Sometimes you make the right choice and sometimes you make the wrong one, and if you make the wrong one, then that’s the end for you-- no do-overs. Later, Merida wouldn’t remember if it was her years of training after all, if it was her desire to live, or if it was the wolf that directed her dance. But it only took a few seconds:

Domnhall lunged again, swinging his sword. Merida feinted much faster than he was guessing and ducked under his arm as graceful as a ballerina. She thrust her dagger straight under his armpit, between the armor’s plates. Uncle Domnhall howled and Merida swung him into the wall. She grabbed him by the helmet and smashed him into the wall. One, two, three times.

When her uncle crumbled to the ground, Merida couldn’t stop to think about whether or not she’d smashed his skull into little pieces.

Instead, Merida picked up his sword and jumped into the fray.

TOULOUSE: For Lou, time had two speeds and only two speeds: mind-spinning fast and aching slow. He had lived like a scale, attempting to balance between the two for so long he did not remember what it was like not to, for so long that he had not even realized that it was not way most experienced the world. It was exhausting, the constant push and pull. When his mind was working slow, it was like trying to walk through waist deep mud. Every step required more energy than he felt possible of giving. Every word dripped from people’s lips—his lips—like the slow drip of honey. When his world moved fast, Lou felt like he was flying. He always liked these fast-paced ups more than he liked the molasses downs.

Now, the world spun fast, but it wasn’t Lou’s brain making it happen. At least, Lou was quite sure it wasn’t. Usually, when Lou was spinning, spinning, spinning—it was more like soaring. Like rising fast through the sky. Sure, the earth was getting closer, but the trajectory was smooth. It only blipped when he was confronted by someone telling him to stop, telling him he had messed up, that things were wrong. Then, everything accordioned on itself, creating a confusion of thoughts and feelings. He was still soaring, but through clouds that had him turned around: up from down, right from left all looked the same.

That was what the bowels of this Order Headquarters felt like. All the walls looked the same. Every stone. Everything was wrong, unfamiliar. It did not fit into Lou’s brain. Their feet stumbled and tripped together down the corridors. Claude wailed and wailed and clung to the blunt edge of the armour Lou was still wearing. Lou wanted to wish that he was not wearing the armor, so that he could hold Claude close and the babe could feel his warmth and smell his skin and know that he was safe, with family.

Lou did not have time to even think to wish these things. Everything happened so quickly. As the fighting erupted, Lou felt his brain snap into place like a rubber band. As the swords flashed, Lou realized that he was holding a baby and that he needed to do something. Spinning on his heel, he shoved Claude at the woman whimpering on the floor.

“If you run, I will find you,” he threatened, a growl rumbling from his throat.

The woman whimpered and hugged Claude close like a baby doll.

The next moment, Lou turned back to face the soldiers. Two were already on top of him, since his back had been turned. One with a spear that he thrust towards Lou. The same way he’d felt it when practicing with Merida, Lou felt the wolf snatch control, turning Lou’s torso at just the last moment so that the tip of the spear glanced off of the breastplate. However, the impact almost knocked the wind out of Lou, causing him to stumble as the other man’s sword swung. He felt the breeze of it graze over his head.

In the chaos, he tried to remember what Merida had told him. However, he could only remember one thing: Claude. It was an instinct more than a thought, a gut-punch, a rod that straightened Lou’s back and kept him pinned in place.

Reaching as he stumbled, Lou grabbed the spear the one man was holding and with the help of the wolf, snapped it into two. He now had a hold of the sharp end, which he swung in an arch towards the men with a snarl like a cornered animal (which he was). One of the men tripped backwards, perhaps more afraid of the noise than the clumsy brandishing of the spear, but Lou pressed his advantage, stepping forward again, thrusting with the spear towards the soldier.

This left him open to the other man, whose sword slashed again through the air, catching Lou in the exposed arm.

It happened in a blink. It happened in the screeching groan of mangling metal as the wolf burst forth from the man and landed agile on its feet, growling low and harsh as it positioned itself in front of the woman and babe, its tail thrashing. This time, when the braver knight parried forward with its sword, the wolf lunged too, dodging the blade and snapping at the man’s wrist. With a shout, the man stumbled backwards and the wolf, unlike the man, didn’t hesitate to bound forward, grabbing the solider by the shin, its teeth wrapped around the thin metal there, which contorted itself and cut into the man’s skin, the scent of blood filling the wolf’s nose.

MERIDA: They had to get out of here.

Merida’s brain and her body had separated. Her body was acting on a different channel than her mind. It was all instinct for her body, lunging into the thicket and cutting the back of the knees of one Knight, then smashing her body into another so they barreled together into the wall again. She flipped him over her shoulder and stomped her boot once into the bloke’s neck, making him gargle and wheeze. She caught the sword of another and used all the strength of the wolf to shove it off, so hard that the bloke’s weapon was tossed aside. She jumped and kicked him straight in the chest, then spun again and her swords collided with another again.

She did all this as if the fight had been choreographed and all she was doing was following those steps. One after the other, after the other. Slashing, dodging-- she was sword and body.

But while she did these things, her mind spun, not instructions exactly, but-- things she couldn’t ignore.

That they had to go.

That Lou was a wolf now, and he could kill them all, her family--

They were still her family--

That these boys, they crumpled easily because they were young, younger than her. This was not the Order’s best soldiers. She caught the flashing, familiar green eyes of Lionel Simons, who was barely 18. Had he turned 18 when she was gone? Had he failed his first hunt? Lionel Simons might become a werewolf hunter one day and face her, a silver bullet in his rifle, but for now, he was a teenager, screaming, forced into this life the way that Merida had been forced into hers.

These truths made Merida smash and cut, but never kill.

Merida didn’t believe that Lou, his wolf, would do the same.

“NO!” She bellowed it without thinking when Lou’s teeth crushed a boy’s leg. It might have been from her body this cry came from, not her mind.

A flash of her own attack passed through her memory though. The red-hot terror and the crunch of Akela’s teeth. It was the moment she’d died. It distracted her enough that Merida let Lionel Simons slash his sword, and she moved a hair too slow. The tip grazed her, cutting her shirt like butter and kissing her skin with brand new pain.

Merida’s body kicked in again and she swung Domnhall’s sword back at Lionel. Hard. They clashed, and Merida swung a second, third, fourth time, beating Lionel all the way back down the hall before he failed to block her. She crashed her sword into his shoulder plate, hard enough to bruise him and upset his balance. She raised her sword above her head and brought the hilt down onto Lionel’s helmet. He collapsed, whimpering, and let go of his sword--

He was a coward, exactly the kind of Knight she resented because she’d always been better.

He was also, still, just a boy.

“Leave!” she spat at him. “Run! All of you! Do you want to be turned? Do you want to die?” Merida swung her arm toward Lou’s wolf and Lionel, sobbing, scrambled and retreated.Several other boys followed him at once.

Merida spun around and sprinted back to Senga, cowering there, covering the head of little Claude.

“Give me the baby,” she demanded. She wrenched screaming Claude from Senga’s arm. “Run!”

Senga crawled to her feet and tripped her way down the hall.

She spun back to see Lou, and the boy he’d bitten. “We have to go,” she told the wolf.

TOULOUSE: The wolf’s instinct had grabbed a hold of Lou and thrust him into the very back of his own mind. It was almost as if the boy did not exist. There was just the wolf and its desire to protect its family.

The wolf’s ears could hear the sound of screaming, of crying, of Merida’s breath. The wolf’s nose smelt iron, iron, iron. It wanted to taste more of it, the pit in its belly yawning. Its head shook slightly, a growl still in its throat. It wanted to bite through all the mangled armor. It wanted to taste the iron of its enemies’ blood, not the iron of a steel plate.

The bloodlust distracted the wolf long enough for the boy’s partner to pick up the spear from where it lay discarded amongst the shredded metal the wolf had burst from. With a thrust, the spear pierced the wolf’s shoulder. The blood was forgotten in favor of the flash of blinding pain. Throwing its head back, the wolf howled.

For a second, in their conscious, the wolf and Lou tumbled about, disoriented as their shoulder throbbed. Lou’s heartbeat fast in his chest as blood dripped onto the floor. No longer just the boy’s but Lou’s as well. It was Lou who seized with fear, who remembered that sharp, blinding pain—though he had not felt such a thing in many years. Suddenly, he was twenty-one again, laying dying in a dark trailer.

The spear was yanked out of the flesh, causing another flash of pain. The wolf stumbled and half-collapsed as its leg gave out beneath it, the muscles torn. It regained its balance as it retreated, pursued by the other man, whose confidence grew with every stumbling step the wolf took. Once it stood sturdy again, it realized it was much too close to the woman who was holding the babe. Her scent, the babe’s scent wiping the smell of blood from its nostrils. Still snarling, the wolf lunged towards the man, snapping its jaws.

With a shout, the man’s cowardice fled and the man followed it down the hall. The wolf stood panting, its shoulder twitching in pain, blood dripping onto the floor. It took a moment to realize that most of the hall was now still. Most of the enemies gone. But not safe—not yet.

It was then Merida yanked Claude from the girl and his cry rend through the air. Swinging his head about, Lou growled harshly before he recognized Merida’s scent and blinked to see pack, not foe. The growl died in his throat and instead, the wolf looked down the hall towards where the woman was retreating, making sure no others were coming.

At Merida’s command, the wolf’s ears flicked and he looked back at her.

With a huff of breath, the creature padded towards the exit. It could smell the direction to go in. The dampness of the tunnel they’d crawled through on the way here. It looked back over its shoulder at Merida and let out a soft whine.

Let’s go then, that look communicated.

He waited until she was following and then he slipped down the corridor, the torchlight glinting off his golden fur and making the blood on his shoulder garishly bright against the ochre red of his fur.

#bdrpmerida #merlou #catnapped 2: this time it's purrsonal #part six #if you do a bad thing for a good reason is it still bad?#this is a long title but #i couldn't think of anything else okay cool #yay !!#it's done #tech it was done yesterday but i didn't post it for personal reasons

1 note · View note

thesinglesjukebox · 4 years

Video

youtube

YUNGBLUD FT. DAN REYNOLDS - ORIGINAL ME

[4.50]

Happy New Year! And like we always do at this time, we're welcoming 2020 with the BBC's Sound Of selection...

Thomas Inskeep: Everything about this shouldn't work, from the perspective of my ears: I dislike YUNGBLUD's emo-kid black lipsticked aesthetic, he dances around like he had too many Five Hour Energys, and for fucking fuck's sake this features guest vocals from Dan Reynolds of Imagine Dragons. But yet. The drums, big and stupid, grab me in spite of myself. YUNGBLUD's delivery has the right energy, in this instance, for this song. (Even though I could do without his fast talking-qua-rapping.) And the emo teen in me -- more than 30 years in the past but never really far away -- gets what he's singing ("I'm the original loser"). Funny when you expect to hate something and are proven wrong. [7]

Will Rivitz: Well, it's a mess, and at the very least anything that desanitizes Imagine Dragons' hospital-grade impersonality automatically scores points. I'm not convinced the duo ever truly meshes: I once saw someone describe the adequate but wooden "Kiss and Make Up" as less a true duet than an awkwardly-written fanfiction come to life, and that basically holds true for "Original Me," except the lyrics sound like they were also awkwardly written by the same fic writer instead of an experienced team of pop lyricists finishing their day's work. It doesn't help that at least a third of this song is fully inexplicable -- YUNGBLUD doing his best Kero Kero Bonito midway through the second verse, Dan Reynolds channeling DMX fronting a hardcore outfit on his ad-libs during YUNGBLUD's rap verse, Dan Reynolds doing ad-libs, YUNGBLUD rapping -- and it doesn't help that said inexplicable third mostly serves to mask that this song's message has been stale since grunge was cool. Still, I can't find it in me to hate it, partly because I would have been an immense YUNGBLUD stan if he'd been around ten years ago and this song, much like every virtually identical track from Linkin Park and Flyleaf, would still be hanging around my running playlists today, and partly because much is forgivable when a synth bass that could level cities undergirds it all. [5]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: This kind of owns in the way early Linkin Park does when it's just the two of them yelling over blown out power chords. But all of the trappings around them -- whether it's YUNGBLUD's weird double-time rap bit or the quiet parts, where the song loses all momentum -- serve as reminders of how tired and empty YUNGBLUD's schtick is, all sputtering attempts at edginess that trip themselves up at every pass. [2]

Katherine St Asaph: I went into this with more goodwill than it perhaps deserves, thanks to the past week of exhausting Discourse about Dan Reynolds's Imagine Dragons crowding rock radio and signaling apocalypse, by people who've forgotten the crap that's always crowded rock radio. When so primed to be liked, "Original Me" is surprisingly(?) likeable. It's a ginormous electro-emo juggernaut like last year's Illangelo/Jon Bellion collaboration complete with all the things the kids who liked that like: nu-metal yelps, a double-time rapped bit to prove original losers can be showoffs too, low-volume outro to vibe to. But somewhere along the track, you realize it reminds you of two things. One is a Sleigh Bells track toned down 200 percent more than necessary, compensated for by yarling 400 percent louder than desired. The other is "Thunder." [5]

Ian Mathers: I didn't previously think of (sigh) YUNGBLUD as being particularly stylistically related to Imagine Dragons, but putting the two side by side actually shows they're just the same very bland core with different scene signifiers pasted on top. It winds up showing two things at once: how surprisingly widespread and unsurprisingly pernicious Imagine Dragons' influence is, and how compared to some of their offspring they're almost listenable. [1]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: The structuring of the first verse is smart: YUNGBLUD sounds fine, but then Reynolds comes in with his ever-robust yelling to flesh out the anger. When YUNGBLUD comes back, everything snaps into place: the pair represent two generations of angst -- the whiny teen and the stone-hearted father. They play off each other, first as bald-faced one-upmanship, then as iron-sharpens-iron synchronicity. They babble about being losers; I'm just here for the choreographed roughhousing. [6]

Brad Shoup: Dan Reynolds has a great bark, I've always thought: like a dad falling back to the last line of authority. Punt the Dragons back a couple decades -- you're welcome -- and maybe they'd cross to pop from the same starting point as the Offspring. Here, though, he's just along for the "Ride". YUNGBLUD's tweaks to the template are modest, but still grating: talkbox buried in the mix, aggressive midrange shudder, the undramatic start-stopping included as a nod to his guest. When they're both hollering, it's fun. When they're trading verses on how life's not that bad, it's baffling. [5]

Alfred Soto: Using the lingua franca of metal to bark, "I'm the original LO-SER!" is as old as Jimmy Carter, and that these young people get some oomph from this approach speaks to its effectiveness. A few of us don't want us appropriating the language and approach of the powerful, though. [5]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

#YUNGBLUD #Dan Reynolds #pop #rock #music #music review #BBC's Sound Of

1 note · View note

gdwessel · 5 years

Text

Fighting Spirit Unleashed 2019 Night 1 - 9/27/2019; Rush, Dragon Lee Fired By CMLL, How This May Affect NJPW; Where Are Kawato & Oka?; Tonight’s NJPW on AXS: Double Header

The three night East Coast tour Fighting Spirit Unleashed began last night. There was a title match on that show, and we begin to say goodbye to Tiger Hattori.

Fighting Spirit Unleashed 2019 - 9/27/2019, Lowell Memorial Auditorium, Lowell, MA

Karl Fredericks d. Alex Coughlin (Elevated Half-Crab, 8:47)

Lance Archer [SZKG] d. Ren Narita (EBD Claw, 7:23)

Juice Robinson & Mikey Nicholls [CHAOS] d. TJP [FREE] & Clark Connors (NIcholls > Connors, Mikeybomb, 8:04)

Chase Owens & Jado [Bullet Club] d. Ricky Morton & Robert Gibson [FREE] (Owens > Morton, Package Driver, 9:10)

Tomohiro Ishii [CHAOS] & Amazing Red [FREE] d. Shingo Takagi & BUSHI [Los Ingobernables] (Ishii > BUSHI, Vertical Drop Brainbuster, 8:48)

Hirooki Goto, YOSHI-HASHI & Rocky Romero [CHAOS] d. Jay White, KENTA & Gedo [Bullet Club] (YOSHI-HASHI > Gedo, Butterfly Lock, 12:28)

IWGP Heavyweight Tag Team Championship: Tama Tonga & Tanga Loa [Bullet Club] © d. SHO & YOH [CHAOS] (Tonga > YOH, Gunstun, 16:43) - GOD succeed their 7th defense

Kazuchika Okada [CHAOS], Kota Ibushi & Hiroshi Tanahashi d. SANADA, EVIL & Tetsuya Naito [Los Ingobernables] (Tanahashi > Naito, Ground Cobra Twist, 20:26)

Naito doing the job here seems a bit shit but Naito doesn’t have a title match to look like a contender for coming up either. Guerrillas of Destiny continue to hang on to the titles and let’s face it will do so until WK14 where they will be beaten by the eventual World Tag League winners. The tag division is trash and GOD are the face of it now. The match may end up on NJPWWorld on tape delay eventually. Chase Owens pins his trainer Ricky Morton, and the Rock’n’Roll Express lose their NJPW debut match. His partner in the match, Jado is 51 years old today.

In the wee hours of the night, something rather major happened behind the scenes in CMLL.

Firstly, Rush defeated Matt Taven at Ring of Honor’s Death Before Dishonor PPV to become the first-ever Mexican ROH World Champion, with his brother Dragon Lee and father La Bestia del Ring (and son, above) in attendance. Rumors had been flying for weeks about Dragon Lee’s status in home promotion CMLL, stemming from Dragon Lee disobeying a directive from CMLL to not work Pro Wrestling Guerrilla’s Battle of Los Angeles last weekend (Barbaro Cavernario was also booked for BOLA, but did withdraw his participation under that same directive; the reason given, is CMLL is once again considering both Pentagon Jr./Penta el 0M and Rey Fenix as AAA wrestlers once more so they are forbidding wrestlers from working with them). From this, Dragon Lee was pulled from CMLL’s 86th Aniversario, which also ran last night.

Within the hour of Rush winning the ROH title, Rush posted a video on his Twitter announcing both he and La Bestia del Ring were now independent wrestlers, and indeed both KAOZ Lucha and The Crash have announced Rush as working there soon as El Toro Blanco, as CMLL own the Rush trademark. Not long after THAT, CMLL tweeted out that they have fired both Rush and Dragon Lee. Dragon Lee posted on Facebook he was devastated by this, and indeed this really seems to be retaliatory. There are reports he may be working ROH’s TV taping tonight. Dragon Lee was also CMLL’s Welterweight champion at the time of his release.

I will stop right here and say that friend of the show/blog TheCubsFan posted a podcast with Rob Viper late last night summarizing this situation and you should listen to it; it’s only 40 minutes, but packed with information.

But it should go without saying that both Rush and Dragon Lee were pretty integrated in their way with New Japan as well. Dragon Lee especially has been pretty popular in NJPW, and of course his story is very well tied in to that of Hiromu Takahashi, and indeed Hiromu tweeted at Dragon Lee this morning. There are reports he was due to be in the upcoming Super Junior Tag League, presumably paired with another CMLL wrestler. but who knows if that can or will happen now. It’s become very murky politically. NJPW could outright sign Dragon Lee (or whatever he calls himself now -- there are reports of Toro Rojo being a possibility) if all parties agree, but he could also go to WWE, or somewhere else.

It all kinda depends on how strong the relationship between NJPW and CMLL is at this point and whether NJPW values CMLL or Dragon Lee more. There have been signs of strain between NJPW and its partners, ROH and CMLL; the ROH relationship has been the more obviously strained, especially since G1 Supercard at MSG, where ROH’s contributions were, frankly, absolute shite. However, other than Fantasticamania (which is usually a great payday for the visiting luchadors) and appearances in Best of the Super Juniors and Super J-Cup, there doesn’t seem to be much going on with the CMLL relationship right now. The last couple of excursions ended suddenly and without notice, as when Sho Tanaka & Yohei Komatsu were Raijin & Fujin and then... weren’t (Hirai Kawato, I discuss below). Shota Umino and Ren Narita both are on excursion now, but neither went to CMLL, where before it was assured at least one would. Jushin Thunder Liger appeared at Arena Mexico this summer for a retirement show, but Liger is able to make his own bookings without NJPW’s involvement (which is how Liger was able to wrestle Tyler Breeze at the 2015 NXT Takeover in Brooklyn). Consider that around this time last year, Kazuchika Okada, Tetsuya Naito, EVIL & BUSHI all made appearances in Arena Mexico. This year, there were no NJPW wrestlers at the CMLL Grand Prix, where usually there is at least one or two, even if it were the likes of Michael Elgin, Satoshi Kojima, or even David Finlay. As NJPW broaden their global profile on their own, there seems to be a gradual withdrawal from their partners. As I said, which do NJPW value more, a continued partnership with CMLL, or Dragon Lee on their roster?

Then there’s the other elephant in the room: the status of Los Ingobernables. Straight up, CMLL own the trademark, and always have. There’s a CMLL trademark on LIJ shirts. The unit started in CMLL, between Rush, La Sombra and La Mascara. La Sombra is now Andrade Cien Almas in WWE, and the other two have been fired for various reasons. Los Ingobernables as a functional thing in CMLL is now dead, unless they want to do the typical lucha promotion business where they just shellac other wrestlers onto a popular gimmick after the original wrestler(s) behind said gimmick leave - indeed, it’s how Rush & Dragon Lee’s brother became the second Mistico. (His status is unknown, assumed not leaving, but who knows. If he does, Caristico can reassume the Mistico identity, which would make the Arena Mexico crowd happy.) There is a possibility that CMLL could keep Los Ingobernables alive with Terrible and some others, but I can guess how well that’s going to go over.

Los Ingobernables de Japon has to end, at some point. It’s just inevitable. Rush is still in ROH until at least 2020, so there is a possibility that Naito and the boys will reunite with Rush (although the last few times Rush and LIJ members were on the same ROH cards, they deliberately kept them apart, even at meet & greets). If the NJPW and CMLL relationship is starting to disintegrate, a very large part of NJPW’s current identity, and merch money, will be going away soon. Rush being shown the door by itself doesn’t mean LIJ is over just yet. It is not the first time the NJPW branch of a famous stable outlasted its home company. But this could be the harbinger of that unit coming to an end, until LIJ goes into its TEAM2000 phase.

Long story short, shit is wild, and complicated, and political, and who knows what ripples this pebble in the river will produce.

Above, I mentioned Hirai Kawato and his excursion in CMLL as Kawato San. I’ve been teasing a piece for weeks, and, well, here it is.

Hirai Kawato has not worked a match since 7/28/2019, a Sunday night show at Arena Mexico, teaming with Dark Magic & Misterioso Jr. in a losing effort v. Rey Cometa, Flyer & Dulce Gardenia. Prior to that, on 6/30/2019, Kawato had bested Audaz to win the CMLL World Super Lightweight title vacated by (ironically) Dragon Lee. Since then... nothing.

Apparently, according to TheCubsFan (him again), Kawato got seriously ill and had to go back to Japan for recovery. There’s been no official word about his status at all, including whether or not he will return to Mexico. It’s a real shame, as his excursion looked to finally be working, evidenced by getting a title, and it looked like they might begin an actual program with Audaz, but such is not to be right now. I hope he is recovering OK, no matter what happens next for him, as it sounded serious enough for him to go home.

Tomoyuki Oka is another one who’s been MIA. Last seen in RevPro UK under the gimmick of Dominator Great O-Kharn, Oka has not wrestled a match since his appearance as the only Japanese talent at the ill-fated New Beginning USA shows, beating Harlem Bravado on 2/2/2019 in Nashville. There is even less info about his whereabouts - his last tweet was on 3/4/2019, advertising the NBUSA shows on NJPWWorld. (FWIW, Kawato’s last tweet was on 7/26, and last Instagram post was on 7/3.)

I wish I had more, but I simply don’t; I don’t have sources or anything like that. But it’s a little disconcerting when not one but two Young Lions have gone missing in action whilst away. Makes you wonder what the future holds for Shooter and Ren.

(Whilst we’re here - David Finlay is still recovering from injury and surgery. He is still pretty active on social media.)

Ideally I should’ve posted this earlier but there were no posts and we’re here now. After taking last week off, NJPW on AXS returns tonight with a double header of episodes, all taking place from various Destruction shows from a couple of weeks ago. Advertised matches are:

9pm EDT / 8pm CDT - RevPro Undisputed British Heavyweight Championship: Hiroshi Tanahashi (c) v. Zack Sabre Jr., Destruction in Beppu, Oita Beppu B-Con Plaza, 9/15/2019 10pm EDT / 9pm CDT - Tokyo Dome IWGP Heavyweight Challenge Rights: Kota Ibushi v. KENTA, Destruction in Kagoshima, Kagoshima Arena, 9/16/2019

There will be other matches as these alone are not enough to fill an hour of TV each. It’s also preceded by an all-new WOW Women of Wrestling. Incidentally, it looks like AXS’s new owners Anthem are moving their own wrestling company, Impact, to Tuesdays later this month, so there is some assurance of them not actively messing with NJPW, at least, not yet.

Of course, you are spoiled for choice of watching NJPW tonight, as tonight’s FIghting Spirit Unleashed show from the Hammerstein Ballroom in NYC is live on NJPWWorld. Show starts at 7pm EDT. Once again we have a title match tonight, too, although... let’s face it, we know who’s winning this.

- 9/28/2019, Hammerstein Ballroom, New York City, NY (NJPWWorld)

Ren Narita v. TJP [FREE]

Karl Fredericks v. Lance Archer [SZKG]

Juice Robinson & Mikey Nicholls [CHAOS] v. Clark Connors & Alex Coughlin

Rocky Romero, SHO & YOH [CHAOS] v. Tama Tonga, Tanga Loa & Jado [Bullet Club]

Hiroshi Tanahashi, Ricky Morton [FREE] & Robert Gibson [FREE] v. Tetsuya Naito, Shingo Takagi & BUSHI [Los Ingobernables]

Hirooki Goto [CHAOS], Tomohiro Ishii [CHAOS] & Amazing Red [FREE] v. Jay White, Chase Owens & Gedo [Bullet Club]

Kazuchika Okada [CHAOS] & Kota Ibushi v. SANADA & EVIL [Los Ingobernables]

2 notes · View notes

kivablog3 · 6 years

Text

Sylvia’s Cooking

I just got my first Stonewall 50 email. At the bottom of the email in the small print it says Heritage of Pride™, which means it’s still run by the same guys as always, except under more scrutiny now, after getting the march on Channel 7 and with the whole world coming next year to physically or spiritually fit into that little pie-wedge space on Christopher Street where the Stonewall Inn bar is located. This World Pride thing isn’t just an advertising slogan they came up with at HoP, it’s a Thing, like Stonewall 50’s a Thing. My therapist, who’s very active in the community and probably gets lots of interesting emails from various Things, told me it happens at a different city’s Pride each year.

And next year, of course, they’re coming to New York, because it’ll be the 50th Anniversary of the night Sylvia Rivera and her friend Marsha P. Johnson (who I never met, and who may have thrown the first punch, there are scholarly debates on this point, but I am told that Sylvia firmly insisted that she was the first one who punched a cop, it’s like the debate over Lexington and Concord, they’re not sure exactly where the Revolution started but we know that they started it) threw out the first punches to start the legendary three-day riot, rather than just get in the police van like always, right in front of the Stonewall Inn. The night the drag queens finally began to fight back. It made a sound heard ‘round the world, and it’s still reverberating, and if anything really changed the course of history in that wretched year of 1969, that surely did.

It reached me in the front seat of our car when I was with my mom one Saturday, when for once my sister wasn’t with us. I used to like tagging along on her Saturday visits to her office, wherever that was. As we were about to drive away from the small airfield where she worked as a secretary to go to some thing where co-workers were already playing bad country music, I asked her what a homosexual was. It was a sunny day and there was no one else around for a mile in any direction. It was the Summer of 1969, of course, and I was eleven years old.

I can only suppose this is just after I’d heard of Stonewall in the news. It was the first time I’d ever brought up sex as a topic of discussion with my mother, and I did this with some trepidation. I sort of knew this wasn’t her favorite topic of conversation generally, sex, much less transgressive sex. The kind hippies had. Maybe some of them were homosexual, who knew? So I persisted in my line of inquiry. What I didn’t know was that she’d been waiting for some version of that question ever since she’d stopped dressing me in dresses, when I was two.

She put the transmission back in park, turned the engine off, sighed, and for once didn’t light a cigarette before we started what turned out to be a lengthy, meandering conversation, which wandered after a while into related and then tangential topics, and which ended with me correcting her on some minor misunderstandings as to how gonorrhea was transmitted, at which point things kind of ground to a halt and she started the car up.

The whole thing probably took an hour. She used to joke that she’d had the Talk with me, the generalized birds and bees talk, because we did touch on conventional sex and How Babies Are Made, but that I had ended up explaining some things to her, instead, which shouldn’t have surprised her. I did read a lot, after all. I probably already knew a couple of things about homosexuals, but I wanted an explanation of how they actually Did It, and as squirmy as that made me, I wheedled it out of her. I could’ve asked her more about how a male-female couple had sex, but that wasn’t what was on my mind. She wasn’t happy about it, and did her best to make it clear that it was all gross and disgusting. I think she made a face when she was explaining lesbians to me. I liked the sound of the word the first time I heard it, tbh: Lesbian. It sounded soft and fuzzy.

I remember wondering about the feasibility of anal sex, as she sketchily and hastily outlined it, which apparently was what men did together; but what women did together sounded really kind of fun and not nearly as difficult. She didn’t want to talk about that, though, and I do remember that it was around there that the discussion went off into the weeds, to things related and not. Eventually we ended up at syphilis and gonorrhea (aka “VD,” or venereal disease, where venereal=“vaginally transmitted,” rather than “of or having to do with the goddess or planet Venus” — clearly a term invented by men) and I explained some of the then-current science on transmission to her, i.e., you don’t catch it from dirty toilet seats in public restrooms. Not girls, not boys, it’s a myth, mom. They told us in science.

All that was fifty years ago, as of next June. The following June, in 1970, they had the first Christopher Street Liberation Day March, so 2020 is the fiftieth anniversary of the March. But next year is the Big One. It looks like this anniversary will be just as controlled and careful as the 25th anniversary in 1994 was huge and utterly chaotic and wonderfully random, with 200,000 marchers from around the world. We took over Central Park. We took over freakin’ Midtown. It rocked.

Well, not next time. No more of that anarcho-festive celebration stuff. Now you have to be part of a signed-up contingent to be part of the march, and those slots are limited. And no more hopping in-and-out from the sidewalk, apparently. They want everyone in a marching contingent to wear the same t-shirts, ffs. It has to be controlled, as well as going backwards (starting a few blocks north of Christopher, past the Stonewall the wrong way, and up Fifth Avenue, what the fuck?) I’m told some of the people in the Village are tired of the crowds and the noise. They can do what people do in Austin when SXSW comes along: leave town. Tiniest quantum violin playing.

Now that it’s a TV show, I guess it has to run on time and look good on camera. They’ll have a beautifully made-up drag queen doing commentary like last year, along with the usual probably-white cis-guy-&-cis-gal parade anchors. I don’t know where they find those. It’ll become another tradition soon, that trio as parade anchors, now that scientists have established that str8 people in statistically significant numbers will watch drag queens on television and thus advertising time can be sold for this event. It’ll be just like the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, or the Fourth of July, only with One of Us in the booth along with two of them.

“And you know, Mike, the rainbow flag has been a unifying symbol in the LGBT community since it was first designed in 1978, and did you know that originally it had eight stripes….” There will be carefully-timed performances in front of the Stonewall, and commercial breaks. Some of the stories people tell will break your heart, some will make it sing. Plus commercials, did I mention the commercials? You can record it and FF through them. I did. I stopped this year to watch Chelsea and Rusty talking about Sylvia, which is what makes me think of them all, along with the fact that Sylvia and Marsha deserve statues, and you get reminded of that every June. I’d love to have a statue of the two of them at the Stonewall National Monument, which technically is the little triangular pie-slice shaped park, the benches and the wrought-iron fencing, where you can sit next to the statues representing gay men and women from the 1980s. They should add Sylvia and Marsha.

The whole parade on TV represents some kind of weird queer communications breakthrough, I guess. And now that it’s on every year, I suppose it has to be faaaaaaabulouss! I guess we can record it and go, too. And watch. There were some forums recently at the Center, maybe just one, where people could come and complain about the corporatization of Pride, and the most-of-us not marching thing, and the reverse-route thing where it just kind of ends around 28th Street for no apparent reason, and ask for things they won’t get, but that part’s over and it’s time for Early Bird sign-up.

Whatever. Sylvia and Marsha are the mothers of us all, both trannies and everyone else that fits under this patched, unwieldy tent called “LGBTQ.” We argue, some of us incessantly, about which part of the tent is what, and whether this part is even really part of the same tent as that other part of the tent, but no one argues with the fact that Sylvia and Marsha put up the first tent poles. That may not be the most elegant metaphor, but I’m going with it. Never apologize for your art.

And it’s kind of okay, I think now, or at least I’m trying to convince myself it is, that I never realized “who” Sylvia was, even though at least two people said I should talk to her because I was “interested in politics.” Hm? Oh, ok. No one ever said why. Ffs.

But it felt sort of like I knew Sylvia, the way it feels like I know these professors and other people who my wife works with, after I hear her describe them a few times. She’s a union delegate as well as a math professor, so she knows a lot of people. By now I also know a lot about professors in general. And in the same way I realized after a while from talking to people around T-House, conversations in which she came up, often at vital junctures, that Sylvia was the Mom around the place: she made dinner, I knew that much, and she did a lot of other things to keep Transy* House, Chelsea and Rusty’s house, from burning down, falling over, and sinking during those raucous years around the end of the 20th century. She seemed quite nice when I was introduced across a crowded room downstairs, which actually happened twice I think. She smiled and said hi, I do remember that. She seemed nice.

That, in and of itself, was quite difficult for some people I was around back then — this was and still is New York, the Attitude Capital of the Western Hemisphere and, during Fashion Weeks, the Tribeca Film Festival, and the General Assembly, perhaps the world — but from my brief impression she seemed genuine, and older in a reassuring way when I was twenty years younger. She gave off these hippie-mama vibes, just by making dinner. In a house where a whole lot of chaos happened, and necessarily so given how many trans kids with no other home came through there — because Chelsea and Rusty never turned anyone away, not as far as I know — not to mention how much fun was had there on a regular basis, at least some of it destructive of property, she just looked to me, in a vortex of drama, like a pole of stability.

Maybe that’s shaped by how people talked about her. Everyone said how nice she was; but I wasn’t over there often enough to run into her when she was (a) there and (b) had a free moment, and didn’t know I should prioritize it anyway. And there were other people using up the oxygen in the room at any given time, including me. But it would have been awesome to truly know her.

I knew other people there, had my own reasons for being there. I lived with Kathleen and our two-year-old son in an apartment which was also on 16th Street, in Brooklyn, two blocks away. It was the Nineties, so it didn’t seem unusual to me that there was a house full of transfolx a short walk away, nor that my friend Jamie knew everyone there. Like, she knew everyone. She was the other pole of stability then, around the turn of the century. She doubtless knew Sylvia pretty well, and she probably told me enough to form an impression.

Now Chelsea and Rusty own a bookstore upstate, and T-House is long gone, replaced by the ineluctable tidal forces of gentrification, although there’s a queer history tour that stops at the site and tells a short version of The Story. I wish sometimes they could have a sort of T-House reunion, somewhere, somehow. I would very much like to find Jamie again, even if only online. And I do still wish I’d gotten to talk with Sylvia.

#HistoricalNearMisses

__________

Footnote: Everyone back then except Chelsea, more or less, called it that, but without the “s,” if you get what I mean. We don’t say it anymore, at least not when younger transfolx are around. People get really upset, and if it’s only been used to hurt you it’s a painful word, I get that. Yet it was our word then, and it didn’t hurt at all. It was a warm, friendly word. It was what we called each other, lovingly, and no one else had any reason to use it, and I miss it.

this article also appears at https://medium.com/@kivazo/sylvias-cooking-1b1b4f24e780

#trans #gender #transgender #transsexual #trans lesbian #LGBTQ #LGBT #Transy House #Sylvia Rivera #Gay Pride #Stonewall 50 #World Pride

4 notes · View notes

redsoapbox · 4 years

Text

MY ALBUMS OF 2019

Redsoapbox is five years old this weekend, during which time I have blogged over 150 reviews/interviews/opinion pieces. Many of these, together with my work for Wales Arts Review, New Sound Wales, Buzz magazine and From the Margins, make up the bulk of my debut collection Pop Hack. A revised and updated version, for the first time in print form, will be available by Christmas ( Watch out for updates on the blog). One of the annual features that I’ve most enjoyed compiling is my choice of Album of the Year and it’s that time of year once again folks. Before revealing this year’s shortlist (as has become the custom, the winner will be announced as the clock strikes twelve on New Year’s Eve!) here are the previous recipients of the award.

2015 - Trouble In Mind: Jodie Marie

2016 - You Can’t Go Back if There’s Nothing To Go Back To - Richmond Fontaine

2017 - Zero Moon - David Corley

2018 - Asking For Trouble - Dan Bettridge

So, it’s delicately poised at Wales 2 the Rest of the World 2. Here’s my 2019 shortlist -

Fontaines DC: Dogrel

‘Dublin in the rain is mine / a pregnant city with a catholic mind’. And so begins Dogrel, the irresistible debut from young tyros Fontaines DC. Frontman Grian Chatten, his rebel yell influenced by the cities rich literary tradition and the dramatic song staging of Shane MacGowan, throw’s a flurry of big punches early on in a successful attempt at shock and awe. “Big”, “Sha Sha Sha” and “Too Real” are all thundering tunes that rattle your cage. The first time you play this record, it’s possible to believe that you’re listening to an all-time great album unfold in real-time. Ultimately, though, Dogrel burns itself out before the close, but there’s no doubting it remains a powerful debut and a certain contender for album of the year.

youtube

The Delines: The Imperial

Hot on the heels of their critically acclaimed debut Colfax (2014), Willy Valutin and his country-soul combo issued a limited-edition bonus album Scenic Sessions (2015), the unexpected result of a summer recording session initially booked with the sole intention of cutting the group’s next single. The band had already set aside a dozen or so songs for their second album proper, which was scheduled for release in 2016, when fate took a hand. The band was halfway through recording their new album when singer Amy Boone was knocked down outside a convenience store in Austin and seriously injured. It suddenly looked as if Scenic Sessions, once intended as little more than a superior stop-gap, would become the final chapter in the Delines story.

One thing was sure, there was never any possibility of Vlautin drafting in a new singer. The Richmond Fontaine frontman had only formed The Delines in the first place as a vehicle for working with Boone, delighting in the qualities she brought to her interpretations of his downhearted ballads. With his alt-country outfit Richmond Fontaine officially disbanded, Vlautin concentrated on re-working his latest novel, counting down the days until his friend was ready to return to the studio. Thankfully, after nine surgeries, Boone was able to re-join the band and work re-started on The Imperial. It was, of course, well worth the wait - The Imperial is an impeccable collection of heart-breaking character studies, Boone’s well-worn, country-soul whisper vividly bringing to life the despondent tales of Vlautin’s three-time losers. “Cheer up, Charley”, “Holly the Hustle” and “Eddie & Polly” are stand-out vignettes, but there is no filler here. The Imperial is a solid gold comeback.

youtube

Armstrong - Under Blue Skies

I reviewed this sublime re-issue on TBM/Country Mile (with no less than 8 extra tracks!) for New Sound Wales. You can read it here - www.newsoundwales.com/cd-reviews/armstrong-under-blue-skies/

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ochnWdLJN3Q

Night Flight: Night Flight*

Night Flight’s debut album, notwithstanding a terrific review in PopMatters, seems to have gone somewhat under the radar, which is a deep disappointment given that it’s an outstanding piece of work. The band wisely used their two excellent pop/rock EPs Wanderlust (2017) and Carousel (2018) as a departure point for an elegant and emotional debut that is best heard with the lights turned down low and a whiskey chaser near to hand. Although sometimes compared to Elbow, Night Flight are more akin to a seventies soft-rock band. Their beautiful new single “Mexico” makes you believe that AOR can be king again in the 2020s.

* the loophole I’m using to include the album is that although it was available to stream in December 2018 it wasn’t released on CD until this January.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UuOk2Wgr_KM

Swimming Tapes: Morningside

I’m sorely tempted to just write see Night Flight above and save on the man-hours! In fact, London’s Swimming Tapes’ beautifully manicured dream-pop, particularly on tracks like “Passing Ships” and current single “Mirador”, positions the band somewhere between The Beach Boys and Real Estate in the great scheme of things. There are, however, comparisons to be made with Night Flight – the classic songwriting, rooted in pop’s pre-punk past, for one, the fine-grained musicianship, another. I saw them play a wonderful set at Swn in October (as I did Night Flight the year before) before a smallish crowd. The times will change, though, and the race is on to see which of these bands plays a stadium tour first.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OFSTJdkZMtw

Purple Mountains: Purple Mountains

Back in 2009, David Berman singer/songwriter with cult Americana outfit Silver Jews pulled the plug on his critically acclaimed band after twenty long years and six assured albums. Nothing very strange in that, you may think: Bands run their course, musical differences set in and people fall out. Except in Berman’s case, there was an altogether more unusual motivation for his walking away from the music business. Posting on the group’s message board, Berman “confessed” to the fact that he was the son of the union-busting lobbyist Rick Berman, a man dubbed by CBS’ 60 Minutes programme as “Dr. Evil”, due to a career spent representing the likes of big tobacco. The singer described his father as a ‘despicable man, a human molester and a scoundrel’, declaring that he’d previously thought that the band could provide ‘a refuge away from his world’. He jokingly promised to turn his hand to ‘screenwriting or muckraking’.

Except it was anything but a laughing matter though, as the opening track “That’s Just The Way That I Feel”, from Purple Mountains memoiristic debut makes painfully clear – ‘Course I’ve been humbled by the void / Much of my faith has been destroyed / I’ve been forced to watch my foes enjoy / Ceaseless feasts of schadenfreude’. Berman had long been battling depression and the album’s lead single “All My Happiness Is Gone” painted an even bleaker picture of Berman’s state of mind – ‘Lately, I make strangers wherever I go / Some of them were people I was once happy to know… I confess I’m barely hanging on’.

Tragically, David Berman was unable to hang on to life. He was found dead in his Brooklyn apartment this summer, three days before Purple Mountains were due to embark on a scheduled tour of North America. The medical examiner’s verdict: suicide.

Does it matter in the end that Berman’s last work and testimony represents a career-high, or that his music as a whole will survive until the time comes when our species is swept back into the sea? It’s worth calling attention, however, to Berman’s thoughts on his last communication with us - ‘Mine is not a cry for help, but an offer to provide a kind of it’.

youtube

Silent Forum - Everything Solved At Once

The long-awaited debut album from blog favourites Silent Forum is an absolute stormer. A full review can be read at https://www.walesartsreview.org/

You can also read my brand new interview with the band at

www.newsoundwales.com/interviews/silent-forum/

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1U92eAaNr04

Peter Bruntnell: King of Madrid

Peter Bruntnell has been around a long time with, depending on how you figure it, somewhere between 10 and 14 albums to his name. I can’t claim, though, to have ever heard a Bruntnell record (although there is a possibility of having chanced upon a track on an Uncut freebie down the years) until this year’s sublime “King of Madrid”. And even that was a fluke! As a Juror for the Welsh Music Prize (WMP), I get to listen to any albums released through the qualifying period by Welsh artists, and Bruntnell’s album appeared, along with eighty or so others, on the 2019 longlist. It didn’t take me more than a track or two to realise that I was listening to an album that might be the AOTY, never mind Welsh AOTY. The opening track, the soaring, six and a half-minute sweetener, “Broken Wing”, is a master class in songwriting and the album as a whole reveals a true craftsman working at his absolute peak.

You might be wondering, given the glowing recommendation above, why there was no sign of King of Madrid on the recently announced WMP shortlist. It turned out that Uncut magazine’s claim that Bruntnell was born in Wales, made when nominating his Nos Da Comrade (2016) as their Americana AOTM, was, sadly, incorrect. Bruntnell, as you might have guessed from that album’s title, had spent much of his life in Wales, but having been born in New Zealand and residing now in Devon, he was not eligible for the honour this time around. The silver lining for me, of course, was that an artist that I’d missed out on for many years was finally on my radar. Make sure he’s on yours!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jUi1oxhlr6U&list=RD_AXJlX0zPZs&index=2

The Murder Capital: When I Have Fears

The Guardian may describe Dublin’s finest as purveyors of art-punk (and there is certainly no denying the force of nature that is “More is Less” or Feeling Fades”) but for me, The Murder Capital’s atmospheric debut is a cast-iron case of Indie-Noir. When I Have Fears is hugely impacted by the suicide of a close friend (an official band statement confirms that every lyric on the album relates in one way or another to that terrible event) and singer/songwriter James McGovern should be saluted for somehow navigating his way through unbearable pain to deliver a singularly devastating record. What also impresses about When I Have Fears, is that it’s in no hurry to get from A to B – some tracks weigh in at nearly seven, slow-paced minutes. This doesn’t always work, but I applaud the grand ambition at play here. The album finishes big, too, with both “How The Streets Adore Me Now” and, particularly, “Love, Love, Love”, which wouldn’t be out of place on Joy Division’s Closer, being colossal tracks which signpost the band’s extraordinary potential.

youtube

Oblong: Hollalluog

Llanelli’s bilingual post-punk trio Oblong may well be the most underrated band in the U.K. Their debut album Brilliant…Gwd (2016) was fast and furious from start to finish, with one melodic masterpiece following another. Incredibly, they repeated the trick on Hollalluog (which translates as almighty) with storming tunes like “Giro Day” and “Light Sleeper”, both contenders for track of the year. And yet they still failed to secure themselves a slot on the shortlist for the 2019 Welsh Music Prize. If you do nothing else after reading this AOTY list, give this band a fair hearing, you won’t be disappointed.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lsLW0ZAgVVQ&t=114s

Amy Speace - Me And The Ghost Of Charlemagne

When you’re described by Folk Radio as ‘one of the great contemporary Americana singer-songwriters’ and when the much-admired Mary Gaulthier claims that your work has reached ‘a level of absolute mastery’ then you can’t just put out an album once a year for the sake of it - you have a certain reputation, a standard of excellence to maintain. Just as well then that Speace’s latest album more than lives up to the hype. Produced by Neilson Hubbard, featuring regular collaborators Kris Donegan and Will Kimbrough on guitars and Eamon McLoughlin on violin, Me And The Ghost Of Charlemagne is a beautifully crafted, tenderly sung record that, thanks to Speaces’ lyrical dexterity, always hits home. Stylistically, Speace has much in common with the legendary Mary Chapin Carpenter, especially in terms of song texture/structure and vocal tone, as can be heard on the wistful title track below. It’s an album rich with new material, but the cover of Ben Glover’s “Kindness”, rightly held back to the close, will not soon be forgotten.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NTECsSBawGM

Liz Brasher - Painted Image

North Carolina’s Liz Brasher is a marketing department's dream - a star in the making from the moment you see her. More important than how many units you can shift (someone fetch the smelling salts for the a&r reps) is, of course, the quality of the music itself. Brasher’s 2018 Outcast EP left no-one in doubt as to her potential, but the guitar-toting chanteuse has really delivered the goods on her debut album. Gospel, soul, country, pop and blues are all combined to memorable effect on Painted Image. A stellar career awaits.

youtube

0 notes