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helluvascribe · 5 years ago

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FHE Alastor Glimpses At Our World

Before long after Alastor had his rest, it wasn’t just Pentagram City that fell into his hands.

There were several other great cities in Hell, Thelema City and Levia City. In the former one, an indigo upside down cross glowed against the red sky, though the air was very polluted from nearby factories. Many of the residents of Thelema city had wings: dragons, hydras, bat demons, mosquito demons, among others. Still, there were plenty of animal-like demons, imps, and other sinners who lived there, too. The city was ruled by King Beezelbub, Lord of the Flies and a lower ruler. He had a black face, and many eyes that could see in every direction. Giant fly wings extended from his back, even as he wore a suit, top-hat and bow-tie. Once he heard of Lucifer’s defeat, he promptly surrendered after Alastor had burst into the palace with his army of shadow minions.

The city of Levia was different. It lay close to a burning ocean of fire, where large fish, ancient sharks and sea monsters lurked beneath violent waves. The demon denizens used boats to catch fish, sell them at outrageously high prices and consume them. In this city, a teal symbol glowed against the red sky, an infinity symbol with two crosses on top of another…Leviathan’s symbol.

Leviathan was another king, also lower than Lucifer but higher than Beezelbub. He had a wife, Abyzou and a prince son, Franz. This royal family had the appearance of sea monsters: sharp fangs, scaly skin of dark green, ocean blue, or black. He carried a pitchfork staff with an eel skeleton wrapped around it. Helsa, Seviathan and the rest of the Von Eldritch family were close associates with this family, rivals of the Magnes.

Leviathan and Alastor engaged in battle, but alas, Leviathan lost as well. The smart demons took refuge in Leviathan’s palace, which was partly submerged under the fiery sea. All the cities and provinces fell under the Radio Demon. Both royal families and cities perished.

It wasn’t long before Alastor was wearing a trophy necklace of several black Archangel heads. The holy harpoons and spears the Archangels were carrying were burned in a large pile, as they weren’t very effective against the angels.

Unknown by most, there were other lower Circles of Hell; the current one was the first uppermost one, closest to Heaven and Earth. The second circle was a windy desert, the third, a gloomy rain-filled filthy realm, the fourth one, a haven for gamblers and property wars, the fifth, a trade site via the River Styx, the sixth, a gothic land of death, the seventh, a land of weapons, the eighth, a world of mining and disease and finally, the icy ninth circle, closest to the Void. This was where Satan, Lucifer’s dark counterpart resided.

At least until Alastor either recruited him or destroyed him.

Sir Pentious’ hideout lay in ruins after the serpent lord’s defeat. His air ship lay in several charred pieces on the ground during their final battle. The remaining egg bois were running for their lives from hungry animated voodoo dolls with poison-tipped pins aiming toward the minions. Baxter’s labs were now covered with rocks, dirt and debris from the ground collapsing after more shadow demons and creatures burst free. The Hazbin Hotel, once grand in its haphazardly appearance was now in tatters from the Archangels and shadow spirits fighting earlier on. The stained glass windows with apples on it now lay in glass pieces of red and dark yellow. The circus tent that made up the roof was torn and no longer upright. The only thing recognizable was the lit up letters of “Hazbin” that were once on the roof.

Once the demons of Pentagram City were freed and turned on him thanks to Charlie, the crazed Radio Demon didn’t want to risk anymore chances, thus sending the spirits to finish them off. There were times when Alastor would miss the crazy times he had with Charlie, Niffty, Mimzy, Rosie, Husk and even Angel Dust. But love of power tilted to paranoia of losing his position. As he had found a way to defeat Lucifer, he had to make sure that the same thing didn’t happen to him.

Alastor had died once from dogs and a gunshot when he was human. Despite being powerful, he knew that Hell was filled with other kinds of dangers. He made sure he wouldn’t die again.

Fortunately for him, all the souls that the shadows had consumed seemed to make them more powerful. They were able to fight off several more invading Archangels, even in Heaven where the sunlight could be harmful to them. Provided they evade the angel’s spears and not get too close to God, they were fulfilling their greedy desires to wreak havoc throughout the realms. For now, he appeared to be back pulling the strings of his dark demonic army. While the shadows invaded Heaven, a horde of imps traveled to the human world to kill off more humans for Alastor and the shadows to feast on. Most humans didn’t seem to notice…they were all too frantic trying to save lives during the COVID 19 virus outbreak. One of the portals opened…showing the modern city of New Orleans. Alastor peeked through one of the portals and saw nurses wearing masks rushing patients into hospitals. A group of kids and their parents were crying against the wall, all wearing face masks. Teachers and parents were chatting though their cellphones and computer screens, boarding in their homes.

One sign made Alastor gasp out loud: it read “Mardi Gras parade and festival postponed until next year due to outbreak. Please wash your hands, wear a mask and stay home.”

“Unbelievable…” he breathed, tuffs twitching.

Jazz band were no longer playing in clubs and outside. The only music that was played came from the tiny screens of iPhones from videos. Nothing like the filling all-encompassing live music that made New Orleans so well-known in the United States. The whole city looked dead, devoid of vivid purple, green and yellow colors like in the past.

Alastor stood, shocked, but then remembered all the suffering people and grinned wider.

The world of humanity was coming to an end.

Perhaps he could add newcomer sinners to his army without worrying about powerful royal families. Stolas, the pervert owl demon would not be lonely now, especially with Blitzo to play with and thousands of people entering Hell.

Alastor nodded in approval at a sign reading “Please keep six feet apart from others around you.”

“I need to enforce that rule in Hell. If only Angel has listened.”

Alastor stepped back and the portal closed.

“This virus outbreak…what pandemonium…pure entertainment!” Alastor laughed with delight. “So many delusional protestors! Orphans, homeless folk, sick patients waiting for death to bring them home. Mortals dying right and left. Gullible humans don’t know what hits them until it’s far too late.” He never thought such an event could top the drama of the 1929 Stock Market Crash…but here it was.

The crisis briefly brought back memories of the Spanish Flu Pandemic in 1918. Back then, his mother had gotten gravely ill and passed away. At the same time, his father had molested him a second time and left him to fend for himself. He had spiraled into a period of depression, cutting, and fasting…he had snapped and later killed his father in the most painful ways possible. This was when his killing sprees began…during the Roaring Twenties.

How ironic that history has a way of repeating itself after a hundred years. Now, the 2020s age had begun. Alastor had, indeed, snapped once again, though he did not feel helpless nor sad this time.

A second life. A second chance. A second opportunity to make all his enemies perish for good.

Like the virus, Alastor was a nondiscriminatory bringer of death and destruction…

…and humanity was about to enter an even Greater Depression.

#alternateuniverse #fhealastor #hazbinhotel #covid19

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gameredlinden · 7 years ago

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Crossing Souls - For the greater good...trophy

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archiveddvrpg · 6 years ago

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In fair Verona, our tale begins with HALCYON SANTOS, who is THIRTY years old. She is often called HIPPOLYTA by the CAPULETS and works as their CAPTAIN. She uses SHE/HER pronouns.

As a child, many swore that she had been kissed by Aphrodite herself. Painters wished to render her likeness on every canvas, photographers vied for her face to be printed upon every newspaper and magazine, people fell at her feet like stars falling from the sky. The Santos knew that their child was BLESSED and they adored her for it as much as everyone else did. Under their unconditional love, she flourished and grew, becoming something fierce, wild, and empowered. She was a young GODDESS that had blessed the Santos household, the Santos name, and everyone knew it. But this did not rot her as it would have many other children; it did not cause the purity of her soul to decay into something decrepit and spoiled. Halcyon was not to turn from a ripe, prized fruit into something rotten. For there was something good inside of her that realized that, yes, she had been blessed by God – but with such a blessing came a cross to bear along with it. Her parents had lectured her many times about the responsibility of catering to those who worshiped her, how the Santos name always meant serving those who were less fortunate. The Santos, they had told her, were to be considered nothing less than saints – and saints always SACRIFICED. But for all their lectures and sermons, they never told her how painstaking her sacrifice would have to be. Though she loved her parents, adored them like any good child should, she cannot deny that they betrayed her. They put her on a pedestal, then shackled her to it. They made her a TROPHY then put her in a case – never to be touched, only distantly glorified and, in later years, forgotten. Perhaps it was her fault for falling in love when she should have known that her duty to her family came before all. But could a person blame her? Her first love was as fair as she, but more reckless and impassioned – an INFERNO incarnate with hair as fiery as a flame. They were to be married, but when the time came she discovered that her parents had paid her fiancee off. There was nothing left of her lover, save for a hastily scrawled note, an abandoned white dress, and the faint scent of Chanel perfume. But she was not given the luxury of lingering over her broken heart. Her parents had paid a heavy price to break it, but it wasn’t without PURPOSE – within the next month she was married off to a man with a pocket deeper than the pained look that seemed perpetually etched onto her features. In one moment she was a goddess, an idol, and in the next she was a SHADOW, a broken altar with lackluster offerings. Her marriage was a more severe death sentence than any other judge could have handed out. Oh, how she had begged and pleaded with those who used love as a dirty gauze, to cloak her festering wound; but to no avail. It was not that he was cruel, it was not that he was neglectful – it was merely the fact that their marriage carried no life. The shackles that had bound her to him were caused her to whither and waste away, they were causing her greatness to become nothing more than a MEMORY. No longer was she Halcyon Santos, whose future held no bounds – no, she was former Ms. Santos, became a trophy wife and a shut in. It was a tale that was destined to end as most exceedingly mundane ones do: with nothing to show, save for a picture of a woman whose talent was wasted and whose beauty became more of a BURDEN. It was not a satisfying LEGACY to Halcyon, perpetuating the story of a picturesque trophy wife. Thankfully, it did not turn out to be her legacy at all, for the gods clearly meant for her to be something greater. Her husband had angered the Capulets, foolishly believing that blackmail might be a means of making them bow to his will. She watched as they framed his car accident, patiently waiting for them to come to her – and when they did, Halcyon made them take her to Cosimo, who welcomed her with open arms. His instinctive trust in her proved to be reliable, for she has risen through their ranks like an ANGEL with newfound wings. Though she may be untested when it comes to matters of war, she knows that if she has fallen and risen once, she can do it again.

HUGO KIM: Comfort. She does not know why she does this, but the act of speaking one’s sins out loud is soothing, though the comfort that is offered is more fleeting than the notion of God himself. And yet, she clings to it. Her visits with her “spiritual director” are not often, maybe once or twice every other month. But the exchange that occurs between the two is savored, nonetheless. It is likely the Catholic tutelage that her parents forced her into, or perhaps it is the priest himself. Either way, she knows that the person she fears more than God is Cosimo and the Capulets. And they don’t take kindly to loose lips, no matter how beautiful they are.

EVERETT CRAVEN: Brother-in-arms. “Got your six.” It is their greeting and their goodbye, a phrase that holds a multiplicity of meanings in numerous situations. It was first used when they had underestimated a dealer that Cosimo had sent them to shut down – it turned out that the man did not take kindly to being deprived of his one source of income. He had hired some muscle to back him up, and the two of them had fought the dealer’s men off back to back. It had been Halcyon’s first assignment and Everett’s first assignment as a captain. From then on, the two of them have had a fond friendship, consisting of lightheartedness and friendly sparring. However, as much as she trusts his judgement, she wonders if it becomes clouded when concerning his brother. As an only child, she isn’t sure how sibling dynamics work, but she can’t help but fret that perhaps their dynamic is more Cain and Abel than anything else. But whenever she brings it up, all she gets is closed curtains. VIVIANNE SLOANE: Confidante. Everyone knows that the underboss is a direct pipeline of communication to the boss, which is perhaps what made it so easy for Halcyon to join the Capulets after she had persuaded Vivianne to give her a chance. Since the moment she had joined, she had been hard pressed to make sure that she did not disappoint. Halcyon tried to be more innovative, more tenacious, and more cunning than any of her peers – and it truly showed that she was more than just a pretty face. Eventually, Vivianne took mercy upon her and began to show her the ropes of the trade. The business and the blood were all taught to her, and she proved to be a quick study. Vivianne was the one who initially inspired Halcyon’s idea of infiltrating Verona’s law enforcement, and for that she is eternally gratefully, while Vivanne remains perpetually impressed. Since then, the two of them have have confided in one another, sharing the interesting and the mundane and everything in between – and, perhaps they also share a certain fondness for one another as well. THEODORA MOREAU & ORPHEUS AHULANI: Informants. They’re her eyes and ears, respectively. Halcyon noticed their usefulness after their first conversation. Orpheus, with his sly hands and perpetually inquisitive ears. Theodora, with their watchful eyes, as perceptive as an owl, and their coaxing smile. They both keep her up to date on the happenings of Verona, whether it be with the law enforcement, with potential clients, or the like. With their help, she has become a more efficient captain and has been able to stay ahead of the game. But as of late, she feels like they’ve been rather insufficient in their information exchange. She isn’t sure what’s making them hold onto their secrets a little tighter than usual, but she trusts that if they have a reason to be careful, then the stakes of the game have been raised.

Halcyon is portrayed by ADRIA ARJONA and was written by ROSEY. She is TEMPORARILY CLOSED FOR APPLICATIONS.

#old bio

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pwnyta · 8 years ago

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AIGHT So ya know how I said I made my own Omegaverse world but made it super convoluted? HERE IT IS. Theres gonna be lame doodles because im inarticulate. Also... of course its /Tony centered.... sorta. Id ship him with Jarvis and Friday myself but w/e

Tony is an Omega bounty hunter taking up his Betas fathers mantle... though since hes an Omega other bounty hunters dont work with him.... which is fine with him because theyre a blood thirsty lot anyways and he’d rather capture his criminal targets rather than kill them. But hes got one Alpha he wants dead for murdering his father and mother... ;;;)))(its Bucky obviously) He doesnt know what the guy looks like but hes an infamous creature that plenty of bounty hunters are gunning for. The talisman around Tonys neck keeps him protected (its the anchor item for his Wraiths Jarvis and Friday. Tony also has a lot of creative non-leathal weapons he uses during his hunts like liquid light that can stun light-sensetive Alphas.

WORLD ‘’SET UP’’!!!! VVVVVV

First of all its a world where Betas have the biggest population. Theyre basically regular humans(except any Beta can bare children... unless some health issue or someshit.). Alphas are monsters. LITERALLY. Like vamps/wolves/demons etc different breeds of Alphas but all of them are treated just as monsters. Omegas are crossbreeds of the two. Omegas inherit some traits from their Alpha parent-- pointy ears and teeth are very common, antenna, wings, weaker versions of their powers, etc.

Usual A/B/O shenanigans apply.

Alphas can only be born from an Alpha/Omega pair. Alpha children are their Alpha parents species. Omegas can only be born from an Alpha/Beta pair. Alpha/Alpha and Omega/Omega pairs cant produce young, Alphas cant bare children/Omegas cant sire a child. (Betas can do w/e. They dont need the other two which is why theyre so judgemental and why Alpha and Omega breeds are so low.)

Alpha(/Omega) Breeds:

Werewolf: ---Threat level: (depends on pack size, lower number packs tend to be more aggressive. Lone Wolves are often feral and scapegoats/targets for bounty hunters.) ---Rarity: ★✩✩✩✩ (very common) ---Powers: Quite a bit stronger and faster than a regular human(strength varies with moon cycle), telepathic pack communication, high endurance, regeneration ---Weaknesses: Silver, wolfsbane, strength variations during moon cycles, pack dependency. ----Defining features: Fur tipped ears, dog like teeth, fluffy tails. ----Characters: Steve, Bucky, Rumlow, Rhodey, Gamora, Drax, Yondu, Scott

Highly pack dependent to a point it effect their mental stability. They also mate for life. Loyalty is valued most in a pack and pack mates that betray the pack arent killed, theyre banished and usually go mad and then are killed.

Bucky was taken and being away from his pack turned him feral assassin for Hydra. (his pack mate Rumlow set him up and works for Hydra... Hydras still a thing... except theyre Betas mostly.)

Vampire: ---Threat level: ★★★✩✩ ---Rarity: ★✩✩✩✩ ---Powers: Wall climbing, super speed and agility, energy absorption+healing when drinking blood, greater strength than an average Beta but not quite as strong as a Wolf. A bite from a vampire causes a victim to obey their Vampire sire (but will not transform them) ---Weaknesses: Typical vampire bullshit. Whos allergic to garlic of all things? ASSHOLES. Thats who. ----Defining features: Small pointy ears, fangs, glowy red eyes. ----Characters: Natasha, Peter, Nebula

Vampires are seen as pests by Betas and sometimes even other Alpha types. They tend to stay in small packs for protection as theyre not as strong as most other Alphas.

Dragonblood: ---Threat level: ★★★★★ ---Rarity: ★★★★✩ ---Powers: High strength and endurance*, fire breath and immunity*, regeneration/semi-immortal (can be killed by outside sources but will never die of old age) *Dragons power is enhanced by the type of fire they possess- Red is most common, orange, white, then blue is the most rare. Dragons bare their throats as a sign of dominance (unlike other Alphas) to show off their flame color. ---Weaknesses: Fae magic and Dragon blood (another Dragons blood on a sword will poison it) ----Defining features: Horns, wings, glowing from the throat ----Characters: Quill=Blue, Ego=Orange, (O)Frigga=Blue, Heimdall=White

Dragons arent looked down on the way most Alphas are by Betas but theyre highly feared and are targeted as a good trophy by hunters.

Demon: ---Threat level: ★★★★★ ---Rarity: ★★★★★ ---Powers: Dark magic, flame resistance, enhanced strength and endurance, nigh invulnerability. ---Weaknesses: Spiritual belief. ----Defining features: Horns, wings, glowing eyes, whip like tails. ----Characters: TChalla, Thor, Odin, Peggy

Besides Wraith, Demons are most feared by Betas. Demons can grant any wish(besides true immortality) in exchange of a soul but selling a soul to a Demon will cause a mortals afterlife to become misery until theyre turned into a little imp creature that will do the bidding of their Demon sire.

Fae: ---Threat level: ★★✩✩✩ ---Rarity: ★★★★★ ---Powers: Nature related magic, super speed, nigh invulnerability, healing, empathy, beauty. ---Weaknesses: Iron, ash wood, salt. (theyre also kind of easy to bribe with sweets) ----Defining features: ----Characters: Maria, Mantis, Hope, (O)Tony

Fae are considered ‘good‘ Alphas and are highly romanticized but they have short tempers and can become pretty dangerous and spiteful when crossed.

Witch: ---Threat level: (depends on Witch) ---Rarity: ★★✩✩✩ ---Powers: Magic limited by their own creativity and skill level. ---Weaknesses: Fire, destroying their talisman or familiar, other witches, power addictions. ----Defining features: n/a ----Characters: Strange, Wanda, Obie, Pepper, (O)Meredith

Witches are pack minded Alphas and dont stray too far from their covens. Theyre the most hated Alpha type because they lack any noticeable Alpha features and can blend in with Beta communities if they choose. (though it often doesnt end well for them if theyre caught. *Tristan voice*BURN THE WITCH)

Wraith: ---Threat level: ★★★★★ ---Rarity: ✩✩✩✩✩ (Wraiths are everywhere in their own plane but rarely seen by mortal eyes) ---Powers: Typical ghost/poltergeist shenanigans, flight, intangibility, possession, telekinesis etc ---Weaknesses: Can only remain in the mortal realm by an anchor item, if the item is depowered the Wraith will be banished and if its destroyed the Wraith will be destroyed. ----Defining features: Translucent, corpse-y look??? ----Characters: Jarvis, Friday, Karen

Wraiths are one of the most feared Alphas due to their abilities and lack of weaknesses, most Wraith are more playful than malicious though. But they are possessive of what they consider theirs....

Jarvis and Friday are the Wraith Tony has anchored to his pendant. As a thank you for keeping their anchor safe they help him when he needs them (Possessing him will allow them to control his body and give them their strength and powers). Theyd look a little something like:

Troll: ---Threat level: ★★★✩✩ ---Rarity: ★✩✩✩✩ ---Powers: Super strength, endurance, stealth ---Weaknesses: Direct sunlight will turn them into stone until its night again, but if theyre broken before that theyll be killed. ----Defining features: 1-5 small horns, hairy, small tusks from their bottom jaw, long/round ears ----Characters: Bruce, Loki, Harley, Happy

Trolls are solitary creatures that usually avoid others at all costs, theyre only really dangerous when threatened or if theyre assholes(Loki)?

Harpy: ---Threat level: ★★★✩✩ ---Rarity: ★★★✩✩ ---Powers: Flight, sound manipulation, super speed ---Weaknesses: Theyre fragile birdy bones? ----Defining features: Feathery wings and feather tipped ears, yellow eyes, scales and talons on their hands ----Characters: Sam, Clint, (O)Brunhilde

Harpys are pack Alphas but generally stay with their own type. They very rarely get hunted theyre just too damn hard to catch(but that makes them a valuable trophy catch for hunters).

----

SO YEAH. All the typical A/B/O stuff can be applied... but now theres fun fantasy and horror elements!!!! YEAH! Thats the shit I like! Im sure ya didnt read this far....

#Avenge fanarts #Overly complicated monster AU.#Cuz Omegaverse got repetitive and I wanted to ruin it.#Monster Hunter Tony.

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your-dietician · 4 years ago

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NHL officiating in the playoffs has been nothing short of haphazard

New Post has been published on https://tattlepress.com/nhl/nhl-officiating-in-the-playoffs-has-been-nothing-short-of-haphazard/

NHL officiating in the playoffs has been nothing short of haphazard

You may be thinking of several more incidents left unmentioned. Maybe something from the Bruins’ playoff run?

Rage against the referees has been a part of hockey since the puck was a chunk of wood and the sticks were fashioned from saplings. There used to be a few cameras in the building, and now there’s a few hundred, and we can clearly see what the officials a few feet away miss, as the players skate by in a blur. Maybe we should accept that they’re going to miss some bad ones.

Judging by the numbers, nothing should change. On average, officials call more penalties in the playoffs than in the regular season. According to the NHL, playoff games in the last two seasons have averaged 8.33 penalty calls, compared with 7.05 during the regular season.

But that doesn’t sound right, does it? When the prize is greater, players battle harder, empty their tanks completely, finish checks more violently. Why aren’t there more penalties called?

NHL deputy commissioner Bill Daly, through a league spokesperson, told the Globe that players, not officials, determine the calls.

“Officials are directed and encouraged to call the same standard as in the regular season,” Daly said. “That’s always been the case, but it’s been an even greater point of emphasis in recent years. What changes in the playoffs is the way the game is played on the ice, and that changes how officiating is perceived.”

Not everyone buys that.

“It’s different from regular season to playoffs. The refs are letting a little bit more stuff go,” Vegas winger Jonathan Marchessault said, calling it “adversity that teams need to face in the playoffs. Good teams will find a way to go through it. Just have to battle through it. Find a way.”

More bluntly, NBC analyst Brian Boucher tweeted he was “tired of people crying about officiating. Deal with it!”

Sure … but … why? Do we want what amounts to a different rulebook for the postseason?

Does it make sense that Connor McDavid can go eight games over the last two playoffs without drawing a penalty, despite numerous clear-cut infractions against him? Analyst Rachel Doerrie said she watched every McDavid shift from the Oilers-Jets series and counted 30 non-calls. McDavid, as you’d expect from the league’s premier talent, had the most offensive-zone puck possession time of any player during the regular season, according to Sportlogiq. He earned 53 penalty calls in 120 games, ranking sixth in the NHL. Not one penalty call in the postseason?

Longtime NHL official Kerry Fraser, who retired in 2010, said the missed calls this year have been “troublesome,” pointing to a “regression” in the performance of veterans in stripes.

“This is painful to say, and to watch, because I know all these guys, and worked with some of them,” Fraser said on TSN 1050 in Toronto. “They’re good people. They don’t deserve the kind of work that they’re putting forth.

“That’s not fair. That’s not right. As a player, you would look at yourself first. But you would also look at the kind of direction you’re getting … you’ve got to look at the game plan.”

Paul Stewart, the longtime former NHL ref from Dorchester, noted in a phone conversation that officials don’t have regular pregame meetings during the season, but they do in the playoffs. That’s where all kinds of bugs can be put in their ears — like “No. 11 is cheating on faceoffs,” he said, conjuring an example that would perk the ears of Bruce Cassidy.

Though the league has denied it, “letting the players play” is a long-accepted practice. A few seasons ago (2017), the NHL told its men in stripes to focus on slashes to the hands. That’s how we get what happened in Game 4 of Vegas-Montreal: Joel Edmundson retaliated by cross-checking William Carrier into the boards (no call), Suzuki hooked Alec Martinez on the hands (penalty).

“This is an annual event,” Fraser said. “We have one set of rules in the regular season, and then a whole different standard in the playoffs.

“Yes, we like to let them play, but when you let the players decide the outcome of a game, which I never subscribed to, then you’re actually as a referee letting things go that could affect the outcome of the game.

“Draw the line. Players will play within it. They’re smart. But if you let the inmates run the prison, the warden might as well take his skates off and watch it on TV.”

Canada’s best

Canadiens an unlikely finalist, or are they?

Few expected to see the Canadiens in the Stanley Cup Final, but the Habs are four wins away from lifting their first Cup since 1993.Vaughn Ridley/Getty

This is as deep as the Canadiens have been in a generation. They have not been to the Stanley Cup Final since 1993, when they won the most recent Cup in their (and Canada’s) history.

And they got there on an overtime goal. The last time they went to the Final on an OT winner was … for the sake of anyone who remembers 1979, let’s not go there. Already too much discussion of penalties here.

But give the Habs their props. They took it to a Vegas team that rolled over the West Division, and now we have to question whether the West, not the North, was the weakest division in hockey. The Knights went a combined 33-6-1 against the Ducks, Coyotes, Kings, Sharks and Blues, two of which (Arizona and St. Louis) made the playoffs last year. They split with Colorado (4-4-0) and went 3-4-1 against surprising Minnesota.

Entering the postseason, the commonly held belief was that Colorado, Vegas and Tampa were the three best teams, and that an eventual Avalanche-Knights series would be a de-facto Cup Final. But the Avs flunked out, and the Habs shut down that raucous party in the scorching desert summer.

This, from a team that fired Claude Julien and finished 18th in the regular-season standings. Montreal was supposed to be blown out by Toronto in the first round. But after offing the Maple Leafs in seven (coming back from a 3-1 deficit) and sweeping the Jets, here they are.

Not enough offense? Young talent too unreliable? Carey Price is washed up? Oublie ça. Forget it.

A major key, to this eye: after Julien was fired in February, interim coach Dominique Ducharme — who last week gave way to assistant Luke Richardson because of a positive COVID-19 test — asked his team to play more passively in the neutral zone. Similar to the Islanders, the Canadiens play patient and reliable defense, work as a unit, and strike off turnovers. They don’t dominate the puck or own the offensive zone. It doesn’t matter. They had 14 different goal scorers, a dozen among the forwards.

Nick Suzuki is making plays all over the ice, showing why Julien liked to compare him with a Patrice Bergeron-in-training. Shutdown center Phillip Danault neutralized Mark Stone (0-0—0, seven shots) to a degree rarely seen, after having a similar effect on the Maple Leafs’ Auston Matthews. Brendan Gallagher, after missing the last six weeks of the regular season with a broken thumb, is back in his heart-and-soul role, irritating Vegas stalwart Alex Pietrangelo enough to draw consistent attention away from the play. Corey Perry is still an on-ice jerk, albeit one with some gas left in his tank.

Montreal leans heavily on four big defenders (Ben Chiarot, Shea Weber, Jeff Petry and Joel Edmundson), all of whom play 23-25 minutes a night. Jon Merrill (13) and Erik Gustafsson (sub-10) don’t see much action, the latter used mostly for power plays. Montreal is 11-0 this postseason when scoring twice. While Price has been stellar, he isn’t making a slew of spectacular stops. He’s seeing pucks.

It’s a team that blends age (Perry and Eric Staal, both 36; Weber, 35; Price, 33) with youth (Suzuki, 21; Jesperi Kotkaniemi and Cole Caufield, 20) and had enough grit to withstand whatever Vegas threw its way.

Caufield, the Habs’ version of Alex DeBrincat, scored four times in the series, including a Game 6 goal that showed his touch, acceleration, shot and verve. After Vegas netminder Robin Lehner shut him down on a Game 4 breakaway and cracked how five-hole or high glove were Caufield’s two moves, the rookie roasted him upstairs.

After sitting Caufield for the first two games against the Leafs (and Kotkaniemi for Game 1), Ducharme found one of the breakout stars of the playoffs. Game 6 was the ex-Wisconsinite’s 24th career game, his 14th in the playoffs. Caufield won the Hobey Baker some 10 weeks ago. He can still win the Calder Trophy next year.

If Tampa is next, Montreal won’t shrink. They enter the final having killed 30 consecutive power plays — a league-record 13 straight games without a PPG allowed — so why would the Lightning’s man-advantage scare them?

Abuse allegations

Ex-Blackhawks video coach accused of sexual assault

Think of the Chicago Blackhawks of the 2010s and what comes to mind? Probably the names of star players — Jonathan Toews, Patrick Kane, Duncan Keith — and the three Cups they won.

The legacy of that team might be shifting.

TSN recently uncovered stunning claims of sexual assault on the watch of the Blackhawks’ management. The Canadian outlet reported that two former Blackhawks reported to then-skills coach Paul Vincent in May 2010 that they had been abused by video coach Brad Aldrich, who went on to abuse others at subsequent career stops.

Vincent, of Beverly, told TSN recently his plea to Hawks management to take the allegations to Chicago police was rejected. He says he is willing to testify on behalf of the plaintiffs in court.

In May, two unnamed players filed lawsuits against the franchise, alleging the team covered up alleged abuses by Aldrich.

According to multiple reports, Aldrich was convicted of abusing a 17-year-old player in Houghton, Mich., in 2013. He resigned from his position as Miami University hockey operations months before, under suspicion of “unwanted touching of a male adult,” according to police records obtained by TSN.

A former Blackhawks marketing official told TSN that Alrdich would “routinely befriend young interns” and invite them to hang out at his Chicago apartment. The official said he was told to “steer clear” of Aldrich because he had “tried something” with a few players, and that “the entire training staff, a lot of people knew” about Aldrich’s behavior — it was “open secret,” the official said.

It is a situation the Blackhawks and the NHL must address. Neither entity has commented.

Raising awareness

Ex-Stars defenseman roller-blading for mental health

Former Stars defenseman Stephen Johns is roller-blading and road-tripping across the US to raise awareness for mental health.Ron Jenkins/Associated Press

Got big summer plans? Stephen Johns didn’t, until a couple weeks ago.

The former Dallas defenseman, who did not play last season because of post-concussion syndrome, retired June 13 and announced a new adventure: he’s roller-blading and road-tripping across the US to raise awareness for mental health.

Johns, from Wampum, Pa., reports he traveled from Pittsburgh to Wisconsin in his first week, logging roughly 40 miles a day. He’s on three wheels, with a helmet, elbow pads and wrist guards, and has a friend, Jeff Toates, driving alongside him, documenting the trip and carrying necessities. There has been lace bite and leg burn. In Chicago, the former Notre Dame standout skated to Lake Michigan and did a front flip into the water.

The genesis of the trip was Johns’s battle with depression, which sank him during a 2018-19 season in which he suffered a head injury during training camp in Boise, Idaho. He did not play the entire season. After 22 months away from the game, he returned to play 17 games in 2020, earning a finalist nod for the Masterton Trophy.

Johns recently wrote on Instagram that he was “tired of letting depression destroy my life,” and wanted to provide the same kind of inspiration to those facing their own battles.

“What I miss most about the game of hockey is providing inspiration,” he wrote. “If I can inspire one person to climb out of their hole, then that’s a successful trip.”

Loose pucks

Former Flyers coach Dave Hakstol is taking over the expansion Seattle Kraken ahead of their first season.Ken Lambert/Associated Press

Swerve in Seattle: Dave Hakstol, who coached the Flyers (and made a pair of first-round exits) from 2015-19 and was a Maple Leafs assistant the last two years, is the expansion Kraken’s first head coach. Hakstol did good work with Toronto’s defense (in two years, 26th to seventh in goals against). Bruce Cassidy and Mike Sullivan, among many others, would tell you that all you need is a second chance … Gerard Gallant, the Rangers’ replacement for David Quinn, wants to coach the “hardest-working team in the league,” which is a thing often said during introductory press conferences. Will GM Chris Drury add a few gritty types to fill out the roster? Are the Rangers a playoff team next season? We say yes, and no … Expecting some team to overpay for Vegas’ Alec Martinez, the defense-first, top-four defender with two Stanley Cup rings from Los Angeles. Same feeling about Tampa’s David Savard and Blake Coleman, and whichever UFAs the Islanders don’t re-sign on their fourth line … The Sedin twins are back in Vancouver, Canucks GM Jim Benning hiring them as special advisers to learn the management side. “We care about this team,” Henrik said, noting that he and brother Daniel have a lot to learn. Any fresh ideas on how to sign RFAs Elias Pettersson and Quinn Hughes, with $15 million in cap space and a roster that currently includes 15 skaters? … The NWHL’s Toronto Six made a splashy move, hiring Hockey Hall of Famer Angela James as an assistant coach … Who’s going to be a more interesting TV analyst: Wayne Gretzky on Turner or Mark Messier on ESPN? Not expecting spicy takes from either … RIP to René Robert, a member of the Sabres’ famed French Connection line, who died at 72. Robert gave Buffalo its first win in a Stanley Cup Final game by finishing Game 3 against the Flyers in 1975 with an OT strike in a foggy Buffalo Auditorium … Podcast recommendation: Bernie Corbett’s “Games People Play,” featuring lengthy interviews with a range of sports figures (including the Globe’s Bob Ryan and John Powers). Hockey subjects include Keith Tkachuk, Theo Fleury, Bryan Trottier and Eddie Johnston … Draft trivia: forward Cole Sillinger, a first-round prospect, is the son of well-traveled Mike Sillinger, who made an NHL-record 12 stops during his 18-year career. Cole was born during his father’s two-year stay in Columbus … The aluminum bottles and cans were likely empty — why would anyone waste a drop? — when Islanders fans celebrated a Game 6 win by giving the Nassau Coliseum sheet a silver shower. Throwing objects is normally a protest, not a celebration, but that’s life at the old barn in Uniondale. “That building coming into overtime was smelling like cigarettes,” mused winning goal-scorer Anthony Beauvillier. “Now it smells like beers.”

Matt Porter can be reached at [email protected]. Follow him on Twitter: @mattyports.

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hauntedtacotreetrash · 4 years ago

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(via January I, 1893)

January 1, 1893 — The Fight of FaithEvery one who shall be found with the wedding garment on, will have come out of great tribulation. The mighty surges of temptation will beat upon all the followers of Christ; and unless they are riveted to the eternal Rock, they will be borne away. Do not think you can safely drift with the current; you must stem the tide, or you will surely become a helpless prey to Satan’s power. You are not safe in placing your feet on the ground of the enemy, but should direct your path in the way cast up for the ransomed of the Lord to walk in. Even in the path of holiness you will be tried; your faith, your love, your patience, your constancy, will be tested. By diligent searching of the Scriptures, by earnest prayer for divine help, prepare the soul to resist temptation. The Lord will hear the sincere prayer of the contrite soul, and will lift up a standard for you against the enemy.Jesus left his home in heaven, and came to this dark world to reach to the very depths of human woe, that He might save those who are ready to perish. He laid aside his glory in the heavenly courts above, clothed his divinity with humanity, and for our sakes He became poor, that we through his poverty might be rich. He came to the earth that was all seared and marred with sin; “and being found in fashion as a man, He humbled Himself, and became obedient unto death, even the death of the cross.” He submitted to insult and mockery, that He might leave us a perfect example. When we are inclined to magnify our trials, to think we are having a hard time, we should look away from self to Jesus, who is the author and finisher of our faith, “who for the joy that was set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is set down at the right hand of the throne of God.” All this He endured that He might bring many sons and daughters to God, to present them before the universe as trophies of his victory.Will man take hold of this divine power which has been placed within his reach, and with determination and perseverance resist Satan, as Christ has given example in his conflict with the foe in the wilderness of temptation? God cannot save man against his will from the power of Satan’s artifices. Man must work with his human power, aided by the divine power of Christ, to resist and to conquer at any cost to himself. In short, man must overcome as Christ overcame. Christ was a perfect overcomer; and we must be perfect, wanting nothing, without spot or blemish.In order to be overcomers, we must heed the injunction of the apostle: “Let this mind be in you which was also in Christ Jesus.” He is the Pattern that we, as his disciples, must follow. We cannot cherish selfishness in our hearts, and follow the example of Christ, who died to make an atonement for us. We cannot extol our own merits, and follow his example; for He made Himself of no reputation, and took upon Himself the form of a servant. We cannot harbour pride, and follow Christ, since He humbled Himself until there was no lower place to which He could descend. Be astonished, O heavens, and be amazed, O earth, that sinful man should make such returns to his Lord in formality and pride, in efforts to lift up and glorify himself, when Christ came and humbled Himself in our behalf even to the death of the cross.Christ came to teach us how to live. He has invited us to learn of Him to be meek and lowly of heart, that we may find rest unto our souls. We have no excuse for not imitating his life and working his works. Those who profess his name, and do not practice his precepts, are weighed in the balances of heaven, and found wanting. But those who reflect his image will have a place in the mansions which He has gone to prepare.The redemption that Christ achieved for man was at infinite cost to Himself. The victory we gain over our own evil hearts and over the temptations of Satan will cost us strong effort, constant watchfulness, and persevering prayer; but, gaining the victory through the all-powerful name of Jesus, we become heirs of God and joint-heirs with Christ. This could not be the case if Christ alone did all the overcoming. We must be victors on our own account. Then we shall not only reap the reward of eternal life, but shall increase our happiness on earth by the consciousness of duty performed, and by the greater respect and love that we shall win from those about us.He who is a child of God should henceforth look upon himself as a part of the cross of Christ, a link in the chain let down to save the world, one with Christ in his plan of mercy, going forth with Him to seek and to save the lost. The Christian is ever to realize that he is bought with a price, to stand under the blood-stained banner of Prince Immanuel, to fight the good fight of faith, and lay hold on eternal life. He is to reveal Christ to the world. The self-denial, the self-sacrifice, the sympathy, the love that were manifested in the life of Christ are to reappear in the life of his followers. In order to do this, we must put on the whole armour of God; “for we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.” If we do not overcome, we lose the crown; and if we lose the crown, we lose everything. Eternal loss or eternal gain will be ours. If we gain the crown, we gain all things; we become heirs of God, and joint-heirs with Christ.Christ is coming in a little while. He has been our brother in suffering; and if we overcome through his grace, we shall see Him as He is. We shall suffer here but a few days longer, and then enter into an eternity of happiness; for there is sweet rest in the kingdom of God. For those who fight the good fight of faith, there is reserved a crown of glory, a palm of victory, an inheritance incorruptible, undefiled, and that fadeth not away. Let the determination of every soul be, “I must run the race; I must overcome

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marcusmettalus · 8 years ago

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Flames and Sorcery.

ask-magnus-the-red

Their discourse was suddenly interrupted by a loud horn over the vox. Magnus looked up despite knowing this would not help him hear the speaker. The rest of his envoy looked around at one another, wondering what the unexpected noise signaled. It did not take them long to find out. They were ushered to the bridge of the ship with all haste, though no questions were answered at that time. It was clear from the hive of activity that there was a lot going on. They were informed that this was not a drill and Magnus once more found his curiosity piqued.

The set of Surt’s face painted a greater picture than any words could.

They hustled onto the bridge, still unaware of what was truly happening. The mention of Cadia burning sent a shot of foreboding though him, behind him, he felt Ahriman experience the same. Both of them shuddered.

“Is there anything we can do to assist?” Magnus asked. They were allies now and if they needed help, the Thousand Sons would provide it. The view from the screen was that of the vile place he had the dubious pleasure to call home. He snorted, hating it for what it was and yet unable to leave it alone, like picking at an old scab, he knew messing with it would lead to pain but he could not let it lie.

Inside his mind, he felt a niggling scratch. Nothing like a headache, not even a discomfort but it was there none the less. It tickled more than anything but Magnus was certainly aware of it. He did not know what it was and that was troublesome. Not a great deal went on inside his mind without him knowing about it. He pushed it to the side, resolving to explore that a little later on. Whatever it was, it was bound to be nothing good.

Watching, feeling completely powerless, orders were barked across the vox. It appeared as though the ship was about to fire.

“What’s going on?” Hathor asked, finally voicing what had been on all their minds. It was clear that something monumental was going to happen. Magnus folded his arms over his broad chest and watched, waiting for an explanation.

Woden enters the bridge, with two terminators in tow, who appearing to be carrying an anvil, and straining at that simple task. The terminators are almost the same size as Woden, and are growling and grunting as they heave over the engine block sized anvil to the dais. With a final grunt, they are able to set the massive block of metal into the recess of the dais before moving to guard the entrances to the bridge.

The anvil is covered in runes, carved deep into the ashen metal, and is also decorated in amber woad of curious designs. Surtr takes his spot in front of the anvil before holding a hand to his chief librarian.

“Woden, may I bear your hammer? Your sign of office, and your charge.” It seems to be some manner of ceremony, as the dark haired skald holds up the hammer in his hands and offers it to his king, kneeling to his king’s left. Surtr takes the obsidian headed hammer reverently before resting it ontop of the anvil.

“Lord Magnus, we do not know how much time we may have to remain secret, and given we have destroyed numerous Inquisitorial forces on our way here, I fear that if we tarry anymore,, our advance would be halted before it even began. We are firing Nidhogg, and opening the way forward. I ask that you get your fleet to join up with our own and keep a safe distance. As for how you may help,, cross your fingers and hope the Nine are with us.” Surtr sighs heavily, closing his eyes and crosses an arm over his chest, the trophies and ornaments jostling softly across his ornate armor.

The other members on the bridge pause in their activities to either do the same action as Surtr or clasp their hands tightly, muttering a few words of prayer to their Gods, or the Omnissiah. The once chaotic heavy commotion, is replaced now with an eerie silence, only interrupted by little beeps and whirs from the computers. Surtr breaks the silence,, with song. A deep haunting song that grips something deep in Magnus’ soul, and that of his entourage, reaching into something ancient, something primal.

At first Magnus and his children don’t recognize the words, but you all soon catch on; it is an ancient terran dialect, one barely used now. Something used once upon a time during the Great Crusade.

“There comes Lopt, the treacherous. Lusting for revenge, He leads the legions of the dead, towards the Aesir's realm. They march in full battle dress, with faces grim and pale. Tattered banners and bloody flags. Rusty spears and blades.” Surtr’s voice fills the bridge, booming and haunting, gripping the haft of the obsidian hammer tightly in both hands, but in an at-ease stance. The Anvil is reacting to the singing, the runes beginning to glow dimly along with the amber woad.

“Cries ring out, loud and harsh, from cracked and broken horns. Long forgotten battle cries, in strange and foreign tongues. Spear and sword clash rhythmically, against the broken shields they beat. They bring their hate and anarchy, onto Vigrid's battlefield.” Woden joins in on the song, as do others on board the bridge. You feel again, a psychic background noise swelling up, coming off in waves and steadily building in strength and intensity. Hathor and Ahriman are suddenly getting pinged and hailed by their ship captains, on how the Rubricae are suddenly stirring, and that the behemoth of a ship Nidhogg’s vanes are deploying, great wings and claws folding out.

“There comes Lopt, the treacherous. He stands against the Gods, His army grim and ravenous, lusting for Their blood!” Surtr bellows, and the psychic noise suddenly doubles and comes off in huge waves. In the warp, you hear tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands of voices joining in unison in this song. The armada is singing as one, their latent psychic power coming in crashing waves, the primal tug getting ever stronger. Deep below everyone’s feet, the great weapon stirs, arcs of electricity and psychic energies coiling and shooting across the divide of the cannon. Behind the armada, a great beam of amber light shoots from the stern of Nidhogg, straight at the system’s star, cracking into it’s roiling surface, and begins to eat.

#woden blackstorm #Magnus the Red #surtr muspelson #SPACE WOLVES!?!#rp #[fix it AU]#the ritual begins!#thousand sons #Guardians of Asgård

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ibroughtthisonmyselfpixels · 8 years ago

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Part 2: The Cross-generational Perspective

In which the influence of Cupid Hawthorne can be felt as early as junior-year history

Warning: contains a scene of murder (of a young person) more explicit than in the previous part, focused on in great detail - specifically, strangulation - and murder as a whole is discussed throughout. There’s also minor homophobia / historical gay denial from a forum poster, transphobia disguised as “it’s just a joke bruh” rhetoric, very mild NSFW implications in one paragraph, and a requisite Cuphead reference since Vidcund would have killed me if I didn’t work King Dice into this somehow.

Castor didn't start collecting trophies deliberately until the third kill. By then, they were more at ease with the monumental task they'd set themselves, and more certain of what He would expect of them. Besides, the higher the body count, the harder it is to tell the victims apart without a souvenir or five. A broken button here, a tie there... Every little helps.

The first and second are both embodied by the same thing – though the need for reminiscence there is more out of desire than duty.

Automatically, they reach for a side drawer on the desk, an old shawl wrapped in a plastic bag wrapped in their hand in seconds. It's how Moms used to store the old photo album at home (may still do, actually; they need to pay them a visit next weekend). But, if anything, the history book inside is even more precious and handled with greater care, each page the wing of a gossamer moth. To desecrate His face would be nothing short of sacrilege.

Their finger runs along His pale jaw, and they pretend the deep-set eyes widen slightly at the sight of them.

Soon, Cupid. I'm nearly there.

The eyes that will first see that face on the page belong not to the nonbinary person they will become, but a teenage girl who happens to carry the name and the penis she had at birth. Her identity is just one of the many things Castor has picked up over time, like pierced ears, the zits that turn her rounded face into a game of connect-the-dots, and a keen interest in aspects of academia that most of her peers refuse to touch.

That last one especially. She didn't get into AP History through luck alone, after all. And it's paid off – she's learned more about the 1920s and 30s in the month or so they've been covering it than anything she gleaned from comparing the differences between World Wars I and II. To a Sim who drinks knowledge like it's water, such a thing is invaluable.

No matter how grisly that knowledge is.

“--looking at the rise of gangsters, mobs, and other such criminals, and how that relates to what we've already studied,” says Mr Piper, breaking through her thoughts. Ah, today's one such 'grisly day', then. “It's no secret that Roaring Heights, even today, has something of a fearsome reputation; when we made our list of qualities a few weeks ago, 'bad crowd' was a term that came up a lot, as I'm sure you remember. The existence of these criminal syndicates was and still is a large factor in those bad crowds, both proverbial and literal.”

“Like the Hook?” shouts a voice (as best as he can with it cracking) from the back of the room. “Is the Hook a syndicate?”

“No, Elliot. And I thought we agreed we wouldn't bring that urban legend up in class again.”

Elliot groans, but he does stay quiet after, thank god. It's not even from the right decade... Weren't it still Sunshine Cove back then?

“I'm more referring to actual families with lengthy histories of illegal activity: the Reeves, the Dandys, and so on. But we're going to focus exclusively on the Hawthorne family today, since they are particularly notorious. Who here knows which crimes the Hawthornes are the most tightly associated with?”

Hands rise sporadically around the room. Sam Nguyen's was up right away, but she was born there, so she's known about everything in this module so far.

Tallying the results in his head, the teacher stops when he sees her own hand still down. “Castor, I'm surprised you don't know,” he remarks.

“I've heard 'em mentioned in passing, Sir; I've just never had a chance to look into it.”

He seems to accept that: “Okay then. Glenn? Any ideas?”

“Extortion tactics, Sir? That's what most mobs do.”

“No it ain't! Haven't you seen CSI? Mobs are about murder. Culling the good guys, making them sleep with the fishes, capiche?” Orchid slips into an attempt at an Italian accent towards the end, one that doesn't jive well with the usual Hollow twang in the slightest.

“Uh, they probably wouldn't talk like that if they're--”

“Don't they blackmail people too?”

“That's the same thing, Clover!”

“Not really; extortion's more about getting what you want, blackmail's about them getting what they don't--”

A sharp tap on the desk with a spare whiteboard duster brings the class to silence and order... very temporarily, since it's broken by the sound of Steve's text-to-speech system. (God, she's just imagined that with a bad Italian accent too...) “Does it depend on which member of the family you're looking at, Sir?”

“That's right, Steve. And so are the other three of you, in that sense. Different generations of Hawthornes have those three aspects covered at different ratios. But while extortion and blackmail were reportedly the roots of the family business, it traces back to the 1910s, beyond the scope of the decades we are looking at this term. It's the second aspect – the murder –” Mr Piper lets the word hang in the room for a short second – “that cast the blackest mark on both them and the town as a whole from the years 1920 to 1930. If you can all turn to Page 74 in 'A Roaring Heights History' for me?”

Ever on the ball, Castor joins the others in retrieving their copy from the bottom of her quite hefty backpack. Damn lack of foresight. The air's thick with the sound of pages turning, numbers counted, 74, 74... ah-ha, there it is. Chapter title on the left, picture on the right, captioned: 'Cupid Hawthorne, feigning grief'. She glances at it by chance --

-- and the very foundations of the Earth shift beneath her.

He's so... striking. So real, despite the medium; like a firework given form. His jaw is practically a V, set in a scream, his lips curling back to show near-perfect teeth. Hair – no, she can hardly call it hair, it's a mane, swept wherever the wind takes it. His nostrils flare, highlighting a nose prominent enough to warrant sculptures, monuments. Eyebrows slant heavy in the fierce expression, and the eyes underneath...! There are a million and one stories within those eyes, greyscale though they are, every imagined fleck of those distant polaroid irises a new memory, of anger, of family, death, blood, anguish...

For a wild moment, for a wild lifetime, she imagines that it's her he is looking at, that his gaze is fixed upon her alone, that she's the reason for this burst of passion within such a soul. His voice, abstract, unheard, repeats within as the name lingers on his mouth, Castor, Castor.

When the world turns again and the echo fades, she's left adrift between peace and unrest.

Looking up to the classroom again is like stepping out of a cinema into a rainy day: brighter than hoped, darker than expected. To her surprise, only two minutes have passed since, given the clock's hands. She looks back at the people behind her. Sam, Steve, even Elliot... His face looks up at them all from the paper, captured and reflected from multiple angles.

And yet none of them seem to see him. If they look, it's briefly, before returning to the text underneath. There's a rarity in their books, and they're choosing to ignore it? Wait, Sam's looked up too – confused – was she, too, caught in the--?

“Uh, Castor?” she whispers. “You okay? You look pale. Need to see the nurse?”

“Uh-? Y-no, it's okay. I'll be fine.”

Castor quickly turns back to the front, to the task at hand – if such a thing even exists. There's words beyond the caption, and the teacher drones on, but they all seem strange now, nonsensical. An emotional dyslexia.

Is she really the only one to feel it? The only one to see Cupid Hawthorne, emblazoned in history, and have a reaction so...

visceral?

The haze the history lesson left behind shields her from the rest of the school day, for better or worse; she's unceremoniously home before she realizes it. Mom One is working tonight, so only her jade-green mother is there to greet her. Dinner's brief, a bowl of mac and cheese and a slice of sheet cake from the local baker's, and then it's time for homework. In theory, anyway.

In practice, the first word she types into Google, on reflex, is “Hawthorne”. She makes no attempt to stop it after that. She does have a week for most of these pieces, and a reputation of being prepared to uphold...

Result after result pours onto the screen, and with it information and revelation. First, that out of all the people in the room that morning, Orchid had been closest to the truth. Matters of money and influence are barely mentioned, with some of the forum users she digs up not even knowing that the criminal activity went that deep. All talk is of the War of the Hawthornes: the players, the game, and even a fraction of the cause.

Crimedivi So turns out they used to run bachelorette challenges in the old days too?? They weren't c**** popular like now, but there were apparently enough of them that RQ ran one, and Cupid meddled in it by killing everyone off!! I mean, wtf???? Even if you don't like your family that's just low you know??????

Castor assumes the asterixes are due to the forum's format, rather than self-imposed (especially when the same poster later refers to it as a series of 'a**a**inations').

Allystelle205 I've heard about that too! That's why no one knows who Rose Quartz ended up marrying in the end, I think: she had to protect his identity to make sure Cupid couldn't track them and kill them again... :O

xxxgogetterx “his”? wasn't she pansexual? there wouldve been women in there too dumba**

Allystelle205 Dude, gay people didn't exist in the 1930s! They would have been killed for--

She scrolls past that hot mess quickly until she finds a mod post warning them that her sexuality's neither up for debate, nor the actual point... she thinks. It doesn't have his name in it, so she doesn't get all the details.

movethatpawawayfromyoursim Anyway, back on topic...... @crimedivi it wouldn't have been the first time Cupid killed off his own family. Pretty much everyone else in it are dead because of him after all – three in that car crash, one got shot, one got strangled. I forget which is which. After that level of evil, killing her suitors to get to her really isn't that much of a stretch

Crimedivi ik ik but until then no one else had to get killed OUTSIDE off the family right?? and think about it, there's NEVER been a bc since where this has happened, people dying cus they wanna get married!!!! its just a new layer of bad somehow yknow??? kinda makes me wanna be sick!!

SpeckleP Especially since Rose Quartz was like reeeeaaaally mentally ill. There's records out there of her being in an asylum once upon a time in Bridgeport I think it was. They say schizophrenia but I think it was more that Cupid had such a hold over her that she broke herself so he couldn't hurt her anymore or something like that? Imagine getting out of there only to lose even more people to him and not knowing why...

Crimedivi now I really AM gonna be sick thanks SpeckleP!!!!!!

She looks at her hands, poised on the keyboard, then over to her open book. He's still there in print, facing away from the gossip about his motives and deeds that splits the screen. Castor slants him towards her again, giving him another long look, waiting for... she doesn't know what. Another change? How can there be change, when he has already infected her mind so thoroughly? How can there be anger, revulsion, at such a sight? And yet it's so easy for others to feel, firmly in the corner of the family scorned...

The book goes back down. Maybe there's something to what Sam said, after all. Maybe Castor is sick – just in a very different way to little Crimedivi.

This notion doesn't bother her as much as she thought it would.

The topic staggers on for another few posts (including a very pointed remark about the healthcare system from AtheistKatherine33) before stalling. Perhaps another website will bring her more insight.

Searching more specifically for “Cupid” this time, it's not long before she's inundated with a wall of neon text that looks like it's from the era of GeoCities, if not somehow earlier. But it doesn't take long for her to convert it into something resembling legibility. It's broken up by a picture – not a copy. This one's captioned “most recent known photo”, but he's less clear here, a calmer face in a crowd of dots and stripes, caught only by a red circle. His arm is linked with that of a black man to his right, in... is she imagining it? Or is it a protective sense? A partner of some kind? That'd be odd, given the era, and yet... they're standing so...

For the first time in months, Castor's chest feels a dismal flickering that she recognizes as dysphoria. She winces. Not now, not... Reading, more reading. She sinks into the paragraphs on paragraphs, feeling the flames of that shrink under a much greater fire.

1914-1918: Records show that Cupid H served in the Roaring Heights branch of the Allied forces during the events of the first World War. Debates are thick on the ground as to how many casualties can be attributed to him in this time ...

Winter-Spring, 1920: After a meeting with a rival syndicate, Oleander, Dogwood and Gillyflower H are killed in a car crash. It later transpires that the crash was due to sabotage of the vehicle in question; despite denying it at first, Cupid would later admit to being the culprit ...

Summer, 1920: Cupid strangles Blush H, then goes on to shoot Bow H in a duel to the death. These are the first murders that he is known to have committed directly, without the use of war as an excuse or a car crash as a buffer. Reports persist, though unsubstantiated, that Cupid was crying during these acts ...

1925: After five years of being in charge of the family business, Cupid H goes into an unexplained exile, leaving the company with no head and no direction ...

1930: A further five years of absence end with a secret reappearance in Raspberry Hearts. Cupid infiltrates the bachelor challenge of his sister Rose Quartz H, using Grey Tundora as a proxy to eliminate all competition. By the time only he and the person who will marry her remain, Cupid reveals himself to her, and--

“Cassie?”

“Mm?” She jolts herself back into the room in time to see a body in the doorway. “Yeah, Mom?”

“Are you okay? I've called up to you four times.”

Oh crap... first too little time has passed, now apparently far too much. “Sorry, I've just been doin' a spot of reading up. I'm fine.”

Mom Two doesn't budge. “I hope you did some of your homework before--”

“Oh, this is homework... sorta. Extracurricular – y- nothing you’d understand,” she reassures a little too quickly for her own mouth.

“What of, hon? Anything in particular?”

Yeesh, what is this, the Inquisition? I'm keepin' him waiting... “Just stuff, Mom. School stuff? That's what extracurricular means. And if I don't get back to it soon it'll be extra-extracurricular, so if y’all could... y’know...?”

The face in the door twists, disconcerted, confused. “Are you sure you're okay? You're not normally so ornery. If there's anything wrong, you know you can tell me and Laverne, don't you?” That look, backed with the sadness under her words, brings mollified shame to Castor's cheeks.

“No, nuffin's wrong. Sorry, didn't mean to shout; s'been a heck of a day, is all. I'm okay, though, honestly,” she adds before more worry can spawn from that. “Promise.”

This, at least, seems placating enough, since her parent smiles again. “Promise promise?”

“Yup. And if I'm wrong, sic Mom One on me in the morning.”

“I will. Anyway, I'm near about past going, so I'm heading to bed. Don't stay up too long now, will you?”

“I won't,” says Castor, already acutely aware of how much of a lie that could turn out to be. “Night, Momma.”

“G'night, little spark.”

And thus Mom Two finally departs, leaving her child to dive back into research, first online then back to off, under the watching eyes of a man briefly seen.

It's little surprise that she sleeps late, book tucked under the pillow; yet, inexplicably, she still jolts awake just before sunrise. She dreamt mostly of Cupid. She couldn't help it. A man so mysterious, powerful, and – judging by the hand pressed between her legs – experienced could invade the dreams of anyone if he desired it. (The fact that he would be several years her senior doesn't cross her mind, addled with mingling red and white splatter stains as it is.)

She spends so much time scrutinizing the parts of the chapter she missed over breakfast that she clean forgets to make up her usual teapot-ponytails. The excess hair weighs more than usual at her nape, a pleasantly strange sensation; few comment on it when she gets into school. At this point, they tend to let her more unconventional fashion choices slide.

Well... most of them do. As morning drags her kicking and screaming into the sticky, perpetual hours of lunch period, an exception first seeded years ago is set to prove the rule.

“Hey, Cassie. What's a gal like you doing in the boy's bathroom?”

Ignore him. Just ignore him. Focus on freshening up.

“Helloooo? I said, what's a gal like you doin--”

“That ain't gonna work, Lemonlips. I'm in too bad a mood.” Focus, focus. Sweep 'cross the eyelid, left to right...

Merlot barks out a laugh that morphs into a gravelly hack halfway through, courtesy of the cigarette aflame in his pale-green hand. “Shit, you're always in a bad mood now. What the hell happened to your sense of humor, babe?” he drawls, lingering on the final word as though it in itself is an insult.

Nothing, your sense of humor just switched into makin' me the butt of every joke when you worked out I was trans, her mind snarls, fingers curling around the eyeshadow brush. But there's no sense in voicing that. She's explained it to him before, even before their friendship dissolved, and he's never gotten it. Out of ignorance or malice, she still doesn't know.

Thank Christ he was in none of her classes today. After the morning she's had – distracted by a roaring beauty, sidelined by a surprise pop quiz in her worst subject, caught passing a note to Floss in Biology – more of Merlot than is necessary would turn her into the very being in the photo.

“I'm only saying that with you saying you're a girl all the time and wearing your hair like a girl and putting on that f-” he stalls, apparently thinking better of it – “makeup like a girl, you oughta be in the bathroom with the other girls. Sue me for making a good point every once in a while.”

A swift wave of red across the other eye. She loves this color; it puts more emphasis on the contrast within her pupils and less on the zit that’s somehow appeared in her eyebrow, what the hell? “Last week I was in the girl's bathroom, and you kicked up a stink about that too. Made out like I was a predator, remember?”

“Jesus Christ, I was only jok--”

“Yeah, well, it weren't funny. It were sick.” On to the next shade in her kit, a deeper hue this time, reminiscent of roses and blood... She wonders how often Cupid saw this color in his line of work. “Besides, everywhere else is full up today, so I'm stuck in here with you--”

“Riiight, right, gotcha,” says her fellow Berry dismissively. “Can't stand the thought of them being prettier than you.”

“It's not--”

“Don't lie, it's always been like that.” He stubs out his smoke on the wall, leaving one of many little marks on the linoleum. “Envy's your Achilles heel, babe, your deadly sin. That's why you broke it off with me, that's why you decided you were a girl – cus you knew you could never match up to what I've got to offer if you just stayed a boy like I asked.”

Her teeth grit together... is she being particularly touchy today, or he particularly aggravating? “Lemonlips, you know for a fact that's not true. I--”

“Bullshit it's not!”

Pain erupts in ear and vision both – “Gyah!” – he's much closer and louder than before, and the alarm's made her jab the brush through her closed lids and into the actual eyeball. “Sunnuva... ” Owww, she thinks as she pulls it out, sending an ugly smear along her right cheekbone, that's gonna sting somethin' awful.

“Sorry. Y-you okay?” she hears beyond the ringing. “Didn't... fuck your face up, did I?” There's a tremble in the tone, an off-key one. Did that actually...? Blinking the injured eye rapidly, she cracks open the other, casts it at him – Adam's apple quivering, but a smile in the mouth and the...

Laughing. The son of a bitch is still laughing.

The brush falls to the floor. Her hand reaches immediately, instead, for her standard trusty watch enclosed in a trouser pocket. By all rights she ought to have done this the second he saw her, but she had to give him a chance, didn't she? Like she does every single... ugh. She prays this time will be quick. Calm and quick.

“Uh, w- what are you doing?” the idiot says, still trying to stifle his guffaws.

“You know what I'm doing,” she replies, evenly. “What's important is what you're doin'. Doing.”

“Oh please, you think I'm gonna fall for that again? I'm getting wise to your tricks, Cas-”

But she is wiser. “No tricks, Merlot. Think about what you're doing. Think about what you're saying. Think about how you're breathing. Think about that breath, caught in your chest. Let it out for me.” The rhythm to her words is coming naturally, as is the subtle swing of the watch, a distraction to the other's eye. Even in their early days, he was drawn to this. “Let the breath in. Let the breath out. Focus on that. The breath in, the breath out. Focus on the breath. Focus on my voice, focus on the watch. Let us fade, let us stay, stay where you can see us. Focus on the breath and the voice and the watch.”

“Yyou're...” The protest is stoppered; he's already slurring.

“Focus on the voice and the watch. On the voice, the watch. The voice. Only the voice. Let the voice guide you. Let me do the work. Focus on the voice. Ignore how your eyes droop. Ignore how your tongue feels heavy. Ignore how your bones slouch. Focus on the voice telling you this. Focus all of your being on the voice. Ignore your tiring. Focus on the voice. Focus... and sleep.”

And he's slack against the wall, dropping to the floor in a well-executed trance state.

There. Now maybe he can shut up. Castor retrieves the brush from the ground, repacks her makeup kit, slips it and the watch into her bag. She's still got a while before class begins again. She can grab a snack from the cafeteria, she decides. Fix her eyeshadow elsewhere, add some blush. Read some more about...

She pauses in front of the door.

On any other day – on the same day, in any other world – this pause would be brief. She would shake it off, swing open and out into the school as herself. The satisfaction of seeing him down for the count would be enough, enough to quell everything, the haunting of her dream, the reminder of what was and what's to come. That would be the end of it.

On this day, she turns back.

A slow approach to her former friend. A discarding of the backpack. A lowering onto bended knees to see him up close. His yellow buzzcut is coarse, a shaved pattern disappearing. The insectine lines across his face are slack in slumber. Long eyelashes rest upon cheeks.

This much is true – he was pretty to her, once upon a time. But there is greater beauty than her own to compare him to, now.

He's not wearing his usual scarf; it's a warm sort of day, so it doesn't call for it, she supposes. The uniform looks incomplete without it, though. Too small for his body, too wide for his neck. His neck. Exposed, thin. The lump of a voicebox within is less clear, hidden by its stretching out, its length. She looks more carefully – there's a vein, or perhaps another birthmark of the skin, crawling to his chin.

It occurs to her, looking at it, how fragile a neck can be. There's only skin and blood protecting the windpipe, and not even that much of it. Anything could sever it, whatever the sharpness. A knife. A pen. A hand. Two hands.

Those of a criminal. Those of a hypnotist.

--three in that car crash, one got shot, one got strangled--

The bathroom at once seems much wider and taller than before, swamping them both. A dizzy Castor looks at her fingers again – red with makeup, green with potential.

Could I-? Could I...?

--the first murders that he is known to have committed directly--

She finds herself reaching out, softly, towards the breathing vessel. Two fingers, a thumb. A pulse underneath. He doesn't stir; the trance must be deep. So very...

He wouldn't even notice. He wouldn't wake. He'd never wake again, would he? No more of those thinly-veiled jokes. No more memories, tainted. No one hurt by him ever again.

And the ocean within her head would stop crashing at the shores of the skull.

--Cupid strangles Blush H--

Left hand joins right. Both fasten, like a collar, around the sleeping Merlot's throat.

Solid ridges form under her touch, columns of muscle. Tighter; the drumbeat rises, a steady rhythm. Tighter; she feels it when he subconsciously swallows. A circle smaller by degrees, the more she squeezes, her grip steadying with each of her own inhales and exhales. Calm and quick.

Calm and quick. Don't get carried away. Don't waste this. Could never waste this. Is she hearing herself, or him, or Him? Who's pretending to be her? Is this pretension? Too many questions. Too much air in the body of this waste of space, his arrogant being, his brother. Flush it out, flush it all out. Let oxygen drip away.

A quickening of the arteries – a fluttering, a stirring. Dammit. Merlot's coming out, he's aware, he's seeing the vice grip and the body attached to the grip and the eyes of red and green and blue that see him too. He tries to gulp in alarm, to shriek... it won't help. How can it help if he can't breathe to do it? He struggles underneath her, fails to back away, to press forward. His own limbs, ineffectual, reach up to grab hers, to pull her away from this most vital of tasks. A begging for mercy, when he offered her none. A chance to let go.

She presses harder.

He croaks, panics, claws at her haphazardly, barely scratching the surface, much less the spirit; they're limp before he knows it. He's kicking out now, but she isn't dislodged. He has no quarter in this battle, this war, this slaughter. Not anymore. Not now she can sense that nothing's passing through, nothing in, nothing out. Focus on the breath. Hah – focus on the lack of breath. Focus on the blood vessels bursting, tinting the whites of him. Focus on the single tear. Focus on the fear, the danger, the regret, rising, then falling, fading, fading away...

When her own trance lifts, her palms can no longer feel his heart.

Castor finds herself unable to move at first. Then, gradually, carefully, she peels away from him, shuffles back to get a better look at this: her destruction. The body is unchanged on the fundamental level; buzzcut, filled with lines, lashes thick. But it's only a shell. Merlot, as she knew him, as grew up with her, as turned on her, simply isn't there, a victim of his own cocoon.

...no, not of that. A victim of me, she thinks. Thinks again. Victim. Killed. Killed him. It's almost tuneful. I just killed him. I've literally just killed a man. Didn't even need a car to do it. Just hands.

Wonder if anyone heard me doing it. ...wait, what if they did? What if they find his body? This is going to get out eventually. Lots of things do in this school. What if it does and they find out I did it? What if they see my fingerprints? What would Moms think? What would Mr Piper think? Floss, Sam, wh- what would...

What would He think?

The bag's been dislodged, somehow, in the scuffle. She pulls it back to her, as though in a dream. An errant streak of pink is on the front cover; she can clean that up later. What's important is Page 74, and the Cupid within. The restrained rage. The black and white look that's...

changed. Everything that was within before has coalesced into one emotion. She doesn't have to guess to know it's for her, or to know what it is.

Pride.

The world is suddenly and startlingly hot and cold and wet. She crushes the book to her chest, His picture flat against her heart by coincidence or design. At the same time, there's a smell of ichor and bone and fog, wrapping around her legs. The walls rumble motionlessly.

Of two things, Castor is certain in this moment. First: that Death has come to take the carcass, the damning evidence, of Merlot Lemonlips away. Second: that she will love Cupid Hawthorne for the rest of her limited existence.

#sims 3 #ts3 #writing #castor erkens #death/#murder/#strangulation/#neck injury/#choking/#neck trauma/#homophobia/#transphobia/#they who cannot be escaped

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brisbanecollection-blog · 6 years ago

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'I’ll get on the ship': How Davo – 90 not out – did his pop proud

Accuracy was so important, because if I missed those sticks the ball rolled into the gully. Alan Davidson Three sticks from a gum tree were my stumps, and I peeled the leather off a six-stitcher to use the innards of it to practice my left-arm spin. I did that because the twining and cork fitted more easily into my small hand. Accuracy was so important, because if I missed those sticks the ball rolled into the gully. That was no good because apart from the long chase, Id have to also search for it in the scrub. As he approached his milestone, Davidson recalled the giants who influenced his career Harvey, Bradman, Benaud, Miller, Lindwall and co but on this day he emphasised the impact of his grandfather, Arthur "Paddy" Clifton. A pioneering timber-cutter, Clifton was also a prolific bush batsman with a highest score of 214, unconquered. Born in 1878, played against the likes of the 1902-05 Test batsman, Reg Duff.

Fetch that: Alan Davidson unleashes a cover drive.Credit:Fairfax Media While Davidson learnt to crack a whip by watching his grandfather whenever his bullock train, exhausted from hauling freshly hewn trunks of white mahogany and spotted gum, refused to budge along the bush track. However, the lessons he taught the boy about cricket were of even greater value. When I was eight, my grandfather showed me the photograph of the ship that took the 1938 Ashes team to England, said Davidson of the patriarch the cricket ground at Narara is named after. I remember saying, Ill do that one day, granddad; Ill get on the ship. And I did three times! But, when I batted hed growl: Youll never be any good until you play a straight bat. Davidsons first match against men was played 80 years ago. He was 10 when called upon to field because a Lisarow player failed to show up for the second-grade final against Narara. With one wicket remaining and Narara five runs away from victory, Davidson took a high catch that sealed the title: Men ran from everywhere to get it, he laughed. But I heard my father yell above the noise leave him hell catch it! Davidsons was a Spartan upbringing. While raised on the fresh produce that grew on his familys property and his mother cooked the rabbits he caught 10 different ways he remembers homes that were illuminated by kerosene lamps. Further proof no-one had money was that very few of the 40 kids he attended school with owned shoes.

Spoils of victory: Alan Davidson presents Steve Smith with the Frank Worrell Trophy after winning the series against the West Indies in 2016.Credit:AP His footwear came via an uncle who gifted him a pair of army boots he brought back from fighting the Japanese in Papua New Guinea. Davidson ran for miles along goat tracks in the hobnailed clodhoppers and credits them for developing the power that was needed to propel his legs on soul-destroying pitches across the globe. They weighed a tonne, he grimaced. But, when you think about it [Emil] Zatopek, who won three gold medals for [long distance] running at the [1952 Helsinki] Olympics, trained in similar boots and wore running shoes when he competed. I dont doubt thats why my leg strength was enormous and why I also developed size. I was only a tiny kid. I have a photo of me at high school and while Im standing Im only as tall as the blokes sitting on the chairs. In the 12 months after I turned 16-and-a-half, I shot up from five feet five to a shade under six feet that changed things for me. I stopped bowling spin the day my uncle Vern asked me to bowl a few quick ones at him in the nets. Hed played grade cricket in Sydney and I bowled three balls at him and got him out twice. In our next match, Vern handed me the new ball and I took four wickets. I was a fast bowler from that day on." His grandfather, however, had one final lesson to teach Davidson the very first time they ever crossed paths during the summer of 1946-47, when the strapping 18-year-old took 100 wickets at an average of six.

Full stretch: Alan Davidson sends one down.Credit:Fairfax Media He was a better cricketer than me, Davidson said while remembering the contest. I was 18; my grandfather was 67. He had a stiff elbow because of an accident as a younger man, but it didnt stop him. Despite all of the wickets Id taken before that match, I just couldnt bowl him out. He finished on 80 not out. Davidson would, however, do Paddy proud. His legend still resonates 56 years after dismissing Englands Alan Smith with the final delivery of his 44-Test career, because hes remembered for: Starring in the historic 1960 Tied Test against the West Indies. Davidson became the first player to complete the "double" 10 wickets and 100 runs in a Test when he took 11 wickets and belted 124 runs at the Gabba. Bowling Australia to victory on a batsman friendly SCG pitch in the third Test of the 1962-63 Ashes series with 4-54 and 5-25. Losing 11 kilos in sweltering heat during the second Test against India in 1959-60 against India. He took 5-31, scored 41 before bowling unchanged on a clay pitch to seize a career-best 7-93 from 57.3 (eight ball) overs. Securing the Ashes in 1961, when, after he and Graham McKenzie put on a 98-run last wicket partnership, Davidson dismissed Brian Statham with England 20 minutes away from victory. Being one of a select few Test bowlers with an average under 21 Boasting the lowest economy rate for any Test fast bowler with 180-plus wickets (1.97 per over)

Fond farewell: Alan Davidson and Neil Harvey, playing in their final Tests, lead Australia onto the SCG during the 1962-63 Ashes.Credit:Age archive Being dubbed "The Claw" for his ability to take seemingly impossible catches Thumping the ball so hard for Western Suburbs that the lawn bowlers next to Ashfields Pratten Park sheltered in the bar whenever "Davo" batted. Serving as president for Cricket NSW for 33 years (1970-2003) before becoming the organisations joint patron with former prime minister, John Howard. Bowling a maiden over in 2014 to former Test player Gavin Robertson who Davidson warmly describes as a "fine man who played cricket in the right spirit" at 84 years of age. Paddy Clifton did something similar at the same age in 1962 when he bowled for the Clifton XI that defeated Gosfords representative team. Incredibly, Davidson never fulfilled his goal of representing Combined Country. However, at 90, and still deeply in love with his wife Betty, he ought to be remembered in folklore as the little boy who moved a mountain to achieve greatness.

Team man: Alan Davidson, right, share a laugh with keeper Wally Grout in the SCG change rooms in 1961.Credit:Fairfax Media Daniel Lane is a sports reporter and video journalist with Fairfax Media. Most Viewed in Sport Loading https://www.brisbanetimes.com.au/sport/i-ll-get-on-the-ship-how-davo-90-not-out-did-his-pop-proud-20190614-p51xrt.html?ref=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_source=rss_feed

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we-were-legends · 6 years ago

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“Champion’s dawn”

Chapter 51 - “All I’m about to loose”

Previous chapter | Next chapter

Oropher refused to turn to come back to Doriath. That would mean he surrendered and finally admitted that Arvellon was gone.

Frost and ache, that creeped into Oropher's heart remained there and his spirit only freezed deeper the stronger he felt the failure that mercilessly choked him and throat that scorched with grief. Burning frost took more of his soul and once it will shatter he will be lost.

For a long time he and Taranir stood under the heavy rain with each passing moment exposing themselves to greater danger, because Oropher refused to move in any direction. Helplessness covered him with heavy thread and he didn't want to turn to come back to Doriath. He would prefer to remain on the plains and turn into a statue than turn and come back without Arvellon. Everything but this. And Taranir refused to leave his side. Their exhausted horses stepped from one leg to another to not sink in the mud, their heads were lowered in tiredness.

Oropher knew they should turn back, for everyone's good. But the lone thought about leaving their soldiers in hands of the enemy...leaving Arvellon out there...he couldn't do it on his own and it was finally Taranir who forced Oropher's horse to move and they started to go back towards Doriath. Oropher didn't protest – he didn't stop his horse nor he renewed his mad run through the plains. They were going back with empty hands.

Only when there were going back, Oropher realised how far they strode away. They bid their horses to gallop to reach faster the verge of the forests and get away from any dangers on the plains. But for Oropher the way went on and on. Shapes of trees were but a small form from where they were. Only then Oropher realised how far he rode beyond the Girdle. And he forced his soldiers to follow him.

As soon as they crossed the verge of the woods they slowed their horses to walk. Truth be told it was Taranir who decided what they were doing as Oropher stayed a bit behind and let his horse follow blindly Taranir's one while he stared down on his own saddle.

At some point it finally stopped raining and when dark clouds were gone, a sun warmed up the land once more. It was late afternoon. Their horses ride now shoulder to shoulder, with their own pace and shuffling ungracefully as their steeds were beyond tired. Neither Oropher or Taranir cared. They just rode next to each other in silence.

Oropher stared down at his horse's shoulders moving in walk. Emotions that not long ago were so vivid now seemed pointless. All his tries were for nothing, he still failed. And freezing cold biting further his soul made him feel it only more. He knew the bitter taste of defeat from the past – when he lost few duels with Orthon, when he lost to Egnaspen, to Galadhon, when he had to turn back his soldiers during the war...but leaving Arvellon behind was more mercilless than any of those alone and all of them combined, and it pained even more.

Arvellon was gone. Only this single thought was burned in his frozen heart – a mark of deafeat that will never fade. Oropher didn't manage to find his cousin and now Arvellon was gone. He was neither dead or alive, but he was painfully gone. A single sword is all that remained of him.

Their ride to the Tower was too long and he had too much time alone with his own thoughts. Taranir tried to talk to him from time to time, but Oropher either said something back shortly or didn't reply at all. Each step was taking him further away from Arvellon and he didn' even know where he was taken. For less than a moment Oropher wondered if Arvellon was truly taken away, if any of his soldiers were taken. Maybe all of them lied on the clearing and in the forest around, but some of their bodies were too mangled to be even taken for ones and Oropher didn't recognise his cousin. He cut off from those thoughts, one thing was clear – Arvellon was gone and there was no body to bury.

A gate to the Tower opened wide before them wide. Taranir lead them though it and from time to time he glanced on side to look at Oropher who was still looking down on his own saddle letting his horse follow Taranir's lead.

They stopped on the same courtyard where they previously rode into like a strong tide. There was nothing left of their previous strenght. They were back, but since their last visit everything changed.

Oropher followed Taranir's lead and dismounted, in a blink on an eye realising that he didn't know what to do next. His mind was empty enough that he couldn't decide what to do. But there was someone who decided for him what he should do.

Before Oropher managed to even properly look around, he was grabbed so stronly and sternly that it pained him horribly, but Oropher knew he had to follow. Whoever forced him to go, didn't make him walk for long – in a moment Oropher was pushed to some empty room and the door banged close so loudly that it was a signal enough for everyone to not interrupt.

'Have anything to say?' Mablung said as he stood wrathful in front of him and barely held down his voice. 'Why your soldiers came back without you? Why they looked haggard and fouled up like trampled rags?'

It was Oropher who felt like a trampled rag. He probably even looked like this. All of them looked like this, because Oropher forced them to follow him into the maze.

'Your horses are devasted, your young soldiers have terror written on their faces and you nearly finished up Faron with this ride of yours!' Mablung continued and for once Oropher remained silent. He didn't even look up at his commander. 'You allowed your division to be divided. You continued a journey without a thought of their well-being or safety. You left the Girdle and each one of you could have been killed!'

Oropher kept his silence. He couldn't deny what Mablung just said, it was all the truth. And he had no excuse for what he had done. Nothing justified him for putting his soldiers in danger. A thought what could have happened was like another icy needle in his soul. All his experience and training didn't save him from submitting to overwhelming panic. He lead his soldiers astray and it could have ended in yet another tragedy.

'Taranir is taking command over your soldiers, I am temporarly taking back your rank.' Mablung said as he was already on his way out. 'You won't leave this building unless I will say so!'

With those last wrathful words he was gone, but Oropher stand still and remained in the room, still having no words to tell him back. There was nothing to tell back, no excuse would ever be good enough. Even the one that he tried to save their soldiers and Arvellon. Or maybe that was what he chose to believe in, that there was still a chance to save his cousin. Otherwise he would have to admit that Arvellon lost his life.

Mablung said that he won't leave the building. Right now there was no point of going anywhere, so Oropher didn't truly mind to be given such order.

He left the room and looked around. The building Mablung dragged him into was an infirmary, so without a second thought Oropher went to the small room where Celeborn was resting.

As soon as he walked in he closed the door after himself and leaned on them, sliding down to the ground in helplessness, covering his mouth with hand. Once more this horrible pain creeped into his heart and forced tears out of his eyes.

He lost Arvellon. There was no body to bury. But execept few clues, there was nothing that allowed to believe that he was still alive. Arvellon was just gone and Oropher knew he won't see his cousin ever again.

Those thoughts were immediately followed by hurt that grew only stronger when he realised that there was still a tiny thread of hope that Arvellon was alive and Oropher left him in the hands of cruel yrch. Truth be told...truth be told, and as much as Oropher wanted to deny it, if their soldiers were captured by the enemy, it would be better if all of them were already dead. Including Arvellon.

As soon as this thought appeared Oropher's throat tightened horribly and he did all he could to stop thinking what fate awaited Arvellon if he was still alive. All the nightmares that came into his mind, could happen to his cousin. Sooner or later he will die and in this situation Oropher couldn't think different but hope that Arvellon was already dead.

It was wrong. Terribly wrong to even allow such a thought to flourish. But could Oropher be blamed? He saw the elves held under captivity of yrch – he saw bodies impaled on sticks and held as a trophies, elves binded to trees and burned alive, terribly mutilated soldiers who begged to be given a peaceful passing to the other side. If that fate awaited their soldiers and Arvellon...Oropher supposed he won't ever sleep peacefully ever again.

With eyes clouded with tears he looked up at Celeborn who was still lying on the bed just as Oropher last saw him. Barely finding strength in himself, Oropher got up and shuffled towards the bed to sit on the edge of it. He looked at Celeborn's face that was still a bit pale, his wounds still a bit swollen and bruises visible, but he seemed at peace, truly resting. Nothing that Oropher felt right now.

In any other stressful and gruesome situation he tried to grip himself tightly and bring together, it was always like this – when Thala and her division didn't come back, when he saw Denethor being cut down by the enemy, even when Faron was gravely wounded on the fields. Despite his anger and fury that rised up while facing his losses, the burning grief spilling down his spirit, despite all of this he always found strenght to turn and lead his soldiers, to decide what to do. But now he couldn't find strenght to do so. He couldn't go on without Arvellon.

He sat there in silence and his tears fell down on the blanket in quiet drops. Celeborn was asleep and he couldn't hear what Oropher would say, but even then he didn't want to say what had happened. That such horrible thing happened. Not speaking that Oropher probably wouldn't be able to control his own voice. His throat was still tightened as if he had a chain around neck, his shoulders shivered since he didn't want to openly sob. Each time he tried to wipe out his tears it quickly proved to be pointless as only his hand and sleeve were wet within a moment.

Ice that gathered on his heart and spirit weightened terribly. Only more time in this grief was needed until it will start to crack open. Even the light from the candles was not enough to take him away from it and the room seemed darker than it really was.

Words couldn't leave his throat for nothing. He wanted at least to say that he needed Celeborn, that he had to wake up, but none of it left his mouth, so finally Oropher let go of saying anything. He covered Celeborn a bit more tightly with blanket minding his injured arm. With all his heart Oropher hoped that it will heal enough for Celeborn to use it with ease.

Not caring that he was still in his dirty armor and soaked clothes Oropher climbed on the bed, curling in the free space next to a wall so he won't disturb Celeborn. He closed his eyes and tried to rest, but truth be told he was afraid to fall asleep. He was afraid that his mind will show him everything he didn't want to see. Tears were still forming in his eyes and wet the blanket below his face. He didn't even try to stop it, it would be a mindless effort. Everything was an effort. Everything seemed hard and without a point. Every fight was lost.

Oropher remained in a state of half-sleep with moments of pain and weakness. Pain appeared like sudden storm and it felt like arrows piercing his heart, taking away his breath. Ice that covered his soul was getting only harder almost like a rock in the middle of winter. And it weighted mercilessly preventing him from even getting up. He had no control over anything and with this powerlessness came a wave of dangerous rage of a trapped animal.

For a long time there was no one who came into the room and Oropher was left on his own. He didn't know if it was Mablung's order or everyone believed that he needed time on his own. And Oropher didn't mind that he was alone. He had time with his own thoughts and he could suffer his loss in silence. No one had to be here to witness it.

Oropher finally managed to fall asleep and as he feared he dreamed of what he wanted to forget. But his dream made him live again the mad run through the forest and then through the plains. Emotions in his sleep were even more real and it was usually fear that overwhelmed everything else.

He didn't wake up all of sudden as it usually happened after a nightmare. Oropher simply opened his eyes as if nothing happened. Even after this sleep he felt unbelievably tired and overwhelmed enough that he didn't know how to begin to form himself once more, so he could come back to his old self.

Only after a moment Oropher realised that he woke up in another room and in a different bed than where he lied to sleep. First quick surprise was lost in irritation and he took up a pillow and came back to Celeborn laying beside him as he previously did. Each time he fell asleep they always took him to another room, but he stubbornly was going back to Celeborn. And soon, they stopped taking him away and only covered him with blanket.

Each time Oropher woke up he was just laying there staring at the wall on the other side of the room. He only moved slightly, so his muscles won't freeze like his heart, but even after the time that passed he still felt terribly tired and the sense of lost time was merciless. Only worse seemed the sense of lost purpose.

Each passing moment was like a point of no return. Right now there was only what happened before Arvellon was gone and after it. Nothing will ever be the same, no matter how much they will try to convience themselves. Oropher didn't even know how they will go on without Arvellon.

And Celeborn was still not waking up. He remained in his sleep and Oropher hoped that at least his cousin was resting and gathering strenght, since Oropher suspected that he was only loosing his own. Sometimes Oropher said to Celeborn few words, but he was mostly staring at burning cadles and he was listening to silence in the room.

Oropher started to count time with the changes of cups of water. One time the it was red or blue, another time it was grey. Someone was bringing it to him and then taking it back when he didn't touch any of it. A cup with water and something to eat was always lied on the small table in the corner of the room. Oropher was thirsty, but the cup was too far away to reach for it, so it just stood there and gathered dust until someone took it away.

In time, Oropher started to fell asleep much more often, but he was no longer hunted with nightmares. He dreamed about nothing. And he didn't know if it was not worse.

One time Oropher opened swollen eyes, and his vision finally focused after a long moment. Celeborn was still beside him and room was as always covered in half-shadow. But he and Celeborn were no longer alone.

He felt a delicate touch on his arm and he immediately rised gleaming green eyes at someone who was sitting on the edge of the bedding. He didn't expect anyone to come here. Everyone was busy with their duty, whatever it was right now. Oropher should be helping them, but right now he was not able to even help himself.

'Oropher?' Taranir asked softly, unmoved by his eyes shining with bolts. 'I brought you some water.'

Taranir, his dear friend. Always on duty, ready to clean up whatever he messed up. Always ready to lead the soldiers wherever he couldn't do it. His brave friend who always stood on his side, no matter what ever would be happening.

Oropher turned his eyes away. He felt in his stomach, dried up throat and lips that it was a long time since he drink or ate anything and he wanted to so badly. But he didn't want to get up. Not because he was not thirsty or even hungry, but because he had no strength to get up. And he didn't want Taranir to know it.

But his friend knew him probably better than he knew himself. Without a word Taranir gave blindly a cup of water to whoever stood behind him and then he get hold on Oropher, rising him up to sit and leaning his back on the wall behind. Only then Taranir got back a cup with water and gave it to Oropher who took it in both hands and sipped slowly. He had to cough at unpleasant feeling when water passed down his dried throat, but soon he could swallow normally.

'Here, I also brought you something to eat.' Taranir said as he opened a small bag and lied in front of Oropher some nuts and a bit of cheese with bread.

As Oropher cropped through it, he realised that not only Taranir was in the room, but someone else was there as well.

He looked up and his jade eyes fixed with those dark blue ones of Mablung. His commander was staring down at him and Oropher kept looking back at him, not truly knowing what to expect and if he should prepare for any argument.

'You are going back to Menegroth.' Mablung annouced, but Oropher took for nothing his stern words. 'That's an order and it's final.'

'I am not going anywhere without Celeborn.' he said and he looked down at the bag to pick up his favourite nuts.

'Don't even try to discuss it.' Mablung said as sternly as before and Oropher grimaced angrily, glancing back at him with shining eyes.

'Try and force me to go. See if you will manage to.' he growled viciously, rage that rose up in him for all this time was at the verge of release. He just needed to find someone to bring it upon.

Oropher saw Taranir glancing up at Mablung, who after a while finally sumbitted and left them, but clearly uncontent. And only when the door closed after their commander, Taranir tured back to Oropher.

'Mablung is in foul mood. Everyone is, truth be told.' Taranir muttered quietly. 'Delgaran immediately informed Mablung of what happened and why we send no missive back to Menegroth. And with all that was happening, Mablung had no time to send a bird to Menegroth as well to inform the King of what was happening in the Tower.' he sighted and then continued. 'As expected, the King didn't take it well. He showed his nager that the army is silent and it was him who finally send a falcon to the Tower.'

Taranir shook his head, but didn't continue this matter. Truth be told, Oropher didn't care what Elwe was thinking right now and what he wanted. But, as always, his reason didn't take his side and stated that Elwe as a King had to know what was happening with his soldiers. First Oropher failed with informing him, then Mablung. No wonder that Elwe was out of patience and even furious.

When Oropher felt a hand on his arm, he looked up at Taranir who was looking at him as well.

'You are sitting here for four days and barely moved. Do you want to scretch out muscles?'

Four days. That's how long Oropher was sitting here alone and staring at the candles, waiting for Celeborn to wake up. Four days of silent mourning.

But he didn't prostest at what Taranir proposed. He nodded delicately, knowing it will do him well to have a short walk. He scrambled ungracefully from the bed and Taranir was helping him get up, but before they went out of the room, Taranir took off armour that Oropher still had on himself. No wonder that his arms pulsed unpleasantly and body was horribly heavied since he wore those pieces of metal on himself for all those days.

All his armor was placed somewhere in the corner and then Taranir gave him a coat to wear on his mashed clothes. He didn't know where Taranir got that coat from, but his friend seemed to prepare everything and when they were ready, they left the room for a short walk.

'Where are the others?' Oropher asked when he walked arm to arm with Taranir. Their pace was slow and Oropher had to admit that it almost pained to move after so long time of laying with all the armor on himself.

'They are resting now. Not long ago they came from the settlements to get wagons.'

'Take me to them.' Oropher said. 'I just want to see them.'

'Alright.' Taranir said softly and soon lead them outside of the infirmary.

Oropher had to sqeeze his eyes at the sun beams of the sun that almost blinded him. It was a beautiful early afternoon – the sky was clear without much clouds and there was a soft wind that pleasantly cooled the body, from time to time there were sparrows or robins passing through one tree to another.

Despite that there was a great commotion happening on the Tower with neighting horses and sounds of moved equipment, there was strangely quiet all around. No one talked to each other, if only then to pass on some orders. And if any conversation was around then it was very quiet.

Mablung brought with himself at least two more divisions. It was clear they didn't get enough wagons from the settlements and they were building up new ones. There was no one around without work, everyone did their part.

Taranir lead him to the area of provisional tents – those were truly more fabrics rised up on sticks that protected from the sun. It was not cold at all so there was no need for tents and in case of the rain everyone will have a shelter inside one of the buildings.

Oropher stopped at the wide entrance and looked at his sleeping soldiers. All of them were brave and loyal to a fault. And Oropher used this loyalty and lead them astray – beyond the protection of the Girdle and beyond their own endurance. Mablung was right, he allowed his division to be divided and they could have payed with their lives for that. Back then Taranir made a right decision to send the rest of their team back to the Tower.

'All of you should go back to the city.' Oropher said. 'Since Mablung wanted me to go then there are some who are riding back to Menegroth.'

'He wanted only you to go back, with us escorting you.' Taranir said. 'And you know well that we won't leave you here. We are a team and we ride together.'

'It should be like this, but I mindlessly pulled you after myself with no thought.' Oropher said as he crossed his arms on chest, suddenly he realised that his voice sounded extremly bitter. 'I gave you no plan and no warning. We were like ducks to be shot at with ease.'

'We knew what we were doing. And we don't blame you for anything.' Taranir said with confidence. 'You had a strong purpose.'

'Nothing justifies me for putting all of you in danger. I failed as your leader.' Oropher said back as if he didn't hear what his friend just said. He glanced at his soldiers, one after another. 'How is Faron? Did it take a huge toll on him?'

'It did.' Taranir admitted as he sighted a bit. 'He is helping more with the horses. We managed to get draft ones to pull the wagons.'

Oropher nodded to those words. Right now they need not only more wagons, but also more horses. Their situation changed drastically.

Then his eyes fall on a three forms that lied asleep in the middle of the tent. He watched them for a moment before he finally shook his head.

'I don't want Halloth, Amrun and Tinnu to leave the Tower.' Oropher said fully convienced that this decision is right, but Taranir didn't agree with this.

'They are a great help out there.' he said immediately. 'Their support-'

'I don't care. I don't...care.' Oropher interrupted and then a terrible headache gripped him all of sudden. 'They will stay inside the safety of the Tower. I lost Bressil, Aglaron, their soldiers, I lost...Arvellon.' he said and turned to look at what was happening in the Tower. 'I don't want them anywhere in the woods.'

His decision was right – he won't endanger his young soldiers more than it was neccesary. In sudden wave of those thoughts, Oropher regretted he allowed them to leave Menegroth.

'How are the...preparations for our ride back?' Oropher asked trying to get his mind on the other track that where it was for all those days.

'We have good timing, soon we can expect an order to move out.'

'Do we have all the first-hand equipment?' he asked again, but this time Taranir eyes him suspiciously.

'You are not thinking about getting back to work, do you?' he answered with a question and Oropher was silent for a moment. He was still a commander on duty, no matter what happened.

'I have to. It's high time for me to do so.' he said, but he didn't manage to add something more when Taranir rised up in immediate protest.

'No, it's not high time for you to do anything.' he said. 'You are not thinking clearly and you are not alright.'

'My work will help me get on the right track and you took care of my duties for too long. And I am alright, I wasted enough time laying in this dark room.'

'You were laying there because you didn't have strenght to get up. And now you are telling me that you are alright?' Taranir said, but his voice was not angered. It seemed more as if he tried to conviece Oropher to something. 'And you forbid our young soldiers to leave the Tower bacause you don't want to endanger them. But your decision will only do more bad than good. You will hold them back each time you can? How they will become soldiers they want to be if you won't ever let them go?'

Oropher was silent, deep in his heart he knew Taranir was right. He had no right to hold his young soldiers back, they were a part of his team...but they were far less experienced.

'I let go of Arvellon and he...I don't want to loose them, I can't...they are too young.' Oropher finally said words in true form and honesty that appeared in his mind.It was truth, each of them had all the life before themselves, just as every soldier in Bressil's team.

Taranir embraced him with arm and lead a bit away from the tent. Oropher didn't prostest, he was too busy fighting terrible tightness that attacked his throat again as he once more recalled the vision of the clearing with all the bodies on it.

'You can't think about them that way, you know it.' Taranir said softly as he stood in front of Oropher. 'It's grief speaking through you. Right now it will affect your every decision.' he continued before Oropher denied what he just said. 'It is, Oropher, it is grief. Not yet overwhelming one, but you slowly start to loose your strenght.'

Oropher remained quiet, finding no words to say back. He couldn't deny it, because he felt the biting cold that froze his soul and heart even deeper. But he didn't want to admit it either.

'We were checking on you during those four days. We were not sure, but Faron sees more than us, he recognised immediately that your light is slowly fading.' Taranir continued softly. 'Leading healer only confirmed it and that's why Mablung wanted to send you back.'

'I won't fall in grief. I still have Celeborn to take care of, I need to take him back to Menegroth.' Oropher said with full confidence. What he was feeling for those day may have been a beginning of grief, but Oropher won't allow it to bite the last of him.

'It will be better for you to have more sun.' Taranir said finally. 'Neither Mablung or Egnaspen will allow you to come back to your duties, but I think you can help Faron with the horses.'

'Maybe I should...I don't know.' Oropher sighted deeply. 'I don't want to feel this sadness all around. I don't want to see them...taking care of the bodies, to continue my duty knowing that...I won't see Arvellon around.'

'You are not ready and it's alright.' Taranir said and he caressed Oropher's arms in soothing gesture. 'Come, I will take you back.'

As they started to slowly walk, Oropher tried to fight terrible sadness that spilled all over him. It was enough of tears on his part. It was finally time to force himself to heal. He tried to think of anything different and then he realised that not every one of his soldiers was resting in provisional tent.

'Where is Alagos?' he asked when he was sure he will be able to control his own voice.

'He joined Egnaspen's soldiers.' Taranir said. 'At Mablung's order, Egnaspen, Aenor and Celeblas took their divisions and they are riding after any trial they will find. Many trackers went with them, Alagos among them.'

It will change nothing now. The only consolation was that the enemy left territory of Doriath and none of the foul beasts lurked in the woods anymore. There will be no more casualties.

'How is Ciryion's division?' he finally asked after a moment when they walked in silence, but when Taranir thought about the answer, it was easy to guess that it was worse than before.

'Silef didn't survive, her organs didn't manage to hold together after such mutilation.' Taranir finally said. 'Peace to her spirit. May it be lead with light.'

She had a family on her own – her husband and two elfling were awaiting her return. As many others, they will wait in vain to see their loved one return.

'The others are stabile. Even Ciryion's wound stopped bleeding, but he is weak, he lost a lot of blood.'

Oropher nodded, only at this moment it came to him that what Taranir said earlier – that Egnaspen was here with Aenor and Celeblas. Of course Aenor would come here to check on his friend and he will watch over Ciryion when he will be taken to Menegroth. And no wonder that Egnaspen took Celeblas – his numorous division specialized in horseback archery and they were skilled in placing traps. And they were able to track down everything that was alive and some said that even this was not an obstacle for them.

'Mablung sent a missive to the King.' Oropher stated when they walked back into the infirmary. 'Do you know what he wrote there?'

'I only know that it was appropriately sealed. To be given straightly from the hands of the falconer to the King with no one in-between.'

Oropher nodded closing his mind immediately as tighly as he could to not hear the thoughts that started to rise up. Thoughts about his family as well and if...if they already knew.

And among all of those thoughts, faster Oropher suspected that they arrived to their destination. They stopped near the door of Celeborn's room and Oropher looked up at his friend.

'Keep an eye on our soldiers. You will take care of them well.'

'They are well. And they will be whole and safe.' Taranir said. 'I will tell you again, no one blames you for what happened. In your place...everyone would probably have done just the same.'

Oropher shook his head and sighted deeply. In his impulsive actions, Oropher usually endangered only himself, in the past he sometimes dragged Amdir into it. But now, he endangered all of his soldiers and it was not something to be forgiven. At least he won't ever forgive himself.

'Get some sleep if you want, maybe you can also rest at the other side of the informary. It's more...peaceful there.' Taranir said as he opened the door. And Oropher knew what his friend meant by his words – that Oropher won't have to see what was happening with the bodies. 'I will come by later. But remember' he said stopping Oropher from walking. 'Remember you can call for me anytime you want. Keep in mind our promise.'

'I do. Thank you.' Oropher managed to delicately smile to Taranir before he walked into the room and the door softly closed shut behind him.

He knew what they were all afraid of and maybe they were right a bit. Oropher was telling himself that he won't let the frost completly devourer him, but he couldn't decide upon that.

Once he will be touched by grief and he won't have a strong purpose then he will succumb to it.

They were afraid that his grief will be strong enough to take his will to live. They had right to be afraid, but Oropher had a purpose – he had Celeborn to take take of. He needed to see his cousin get better and wake up. He needed to see him healed in Menegroth and standing on his own legs. He didn't know what will be beyond that point, but right now Oropher held on tight to Celeborn and hopefully his purpose will be strong enough so he won't be lost.

Besides, Oropher still had apetite and he didn't refuse either food or water. Neither he longed for loneliness and it wouldn't bother him if someone was beside him. At the beginning it would have – when he couldn't hold back tears, when he had no control over anything. Back then he didn't want anyone to see him in such state. But now he wouldn't mind to have someone beside him.

Oropher took off his coat and threw it on a tiny chair in the corner. He took a small bedsid cabinet and pulled his closer to the end of the bed where he was resting for the last days. They used to leave all the food and cups of water on this cabinet – if it will be closer, then Oropher will reach to it with ease.

He climbed on the bed, knowing well that Celeborn was still laying asleep. He clearly sensed fresh medication and smudges that were surely placed on Celeborn's wounds when he was gone.

It seemed they even changed his own small pillow. Oropher layed head on it and closed his eyes, strangely feeling a bit lighter after talk with Taranir, but at the same time it was still overwhelmed by the sight of his tired soldiers. As much as he tried, still all the better things were quickly blinded by those worst ones.

His breath slowed down but he didn't manage to fall asleep. Instead he remained in a state of half-conciousness and his minds showed his a vision of the night sky full of stars. He wandered through it, unperturbed by anything, but still even a slightest sound would have brought him back to reality.

How will you tell this to your family?

Oropher opened his eyes abruptly when those words blasted out like a powerful thunder, scorching the last of his peace and pulsing painfully in his skull. Terrible headache gripped him and didn't want to let go. With a grimace and pumping heart he closed his eyes once more and desperatly rised a high wall to separate a tiny space in his mind where he can have peace.

It was a while before the headache let go of him. And this time Oropher felt he was slipping away from to the calm night with stars and he didn't fight it. But when he opened his eyes he knew he didn't sleep for long. And he immediately sensed there were more elves around in the room than usually.

'...of stocks should be enough. As for now we don't have many wounded who require this particular medication.'

It was the same healer from before who spoke and he clearly heard assistants around buzzling and moving around, scent of hearbs was vivid and clear as well, so they were doing something with Celeborn's wounds.

He looked up at the gathered elves and it was just as he thought and two or three assistants were doing their work, while head healer was overseeing this and spoke to no one other but Mablung who was also present in the room. And when his commander saw him awake and listening, he looked down at him.

'Celeborn woke up.' he said and Oropher almost jumped up to sit, but he was still not able to do so and only managed to rise himself on elbows.

'What?!' he almost called out loudly. 'Then why-?'

'It was only for a brief moment.' the healer said. 'And he was still in much pain. We helped him go back to sleep. But the fact that he woke up is a huge step for the better.'

'Let's talk outside.' Mablung said quietly and the elleth nodded, following the General out of the room. Oropher had no doubs that they will speak about him as well.

Oropher patiently waited for the assistants to be done. He didn't got in the way as much as he could and in turn assistants didn't seem bothered by his presence.

He noticed a cup of water and plate with food on a bedsid. He rose up to sit and gathered a small tray. This time, water was spieced with some herbs, but Oropher couldn't recognise exactly which ones. And beside this he got some toasts with strawberry mousse.

Arvellon loved strawberries, it was his favourite fruit. With impatience, he always awaited time of the season when strawberries will flourish and he knew the exact time when strawberries were perfectly sweet. Oropher remembered well all the places that Arvellon showed him where bushes of strawberries rose next to each other with inceredible density. Each season, they used to go with Celeborn and Galathil to the forest of Region and they had some fresh strawberries with cream and sugar. It didn't seem that long ago, but from the point where he was now all of this seemed far away memories.

When assistants were done with their work, they gathered what they needed and left the room. And Oropher placed back a tray on its place, realising that a taste of strawberries will never be the same for him again.

He looked at Celeborn's face. If it truly pained him so much, then it was for the better that he will remain in deep sleep. Oropher hoped that in his rest, Celeborn was at peace and he didn't fell pain nor that he was haunted with nightmares.

When he layed down once more it was quick when he lost himself to dreams. Maybe those were the herbs in the water that made him feel more at ease and allowed him to fall asleep much sooner. But his dreams were not peaceful and the wall he built before crumbled to dust.

Once more he saw the clearing with bodies. Bloody mud stinked impossibly warmed up by the sun, everything sinked in it as if it was all a bog and half-buried bodies were were getting only deeper in it. Corpses of horses were often so mutilated it was hard to see where was the head, ribs on the outside, spines bitten throgugh and freshly eaten insides were a grim sight enough.

Then all of sudden he was in Menegroth among familiar corridors. He looked around at the torches, at decorations and paintings that were on the walls. He noticed he was standing in the middle of the corridor and when he looked straight ahead there was Arvellon on the second end. His cousin turned to him and smiled in a greeting.

Arvellon, you are back! He barely managed to say, blessed relief spilling away from him the last of sorrow and fear. Of course it was alright, everything was alright because Arvellon was here.

He didn't even manage to make a single step towards his cousin, when cruel hands cought him, aroung chest, grabbing his arms, holding his hair tightly and he was brutally pulled back, away from Arvellon to the dark corridor behind him.

Arvellon will never be back, you fool!

As soon as those wrathful words were said, Oropher opened his eyes, very tired despite that he just woke up. While facing such nightmares, Oropher hoped that he had sleep with no dreams. But having no dreams was a sign of sickness and, in his situation, grief that for all those days and night was ever present beside him. He rised his head, quickly realising that his pillow was wet, cheeks as well. He must have been crying in his sleep.

Then, he felt that there was someone beside him, very close. Oropher rised up more to see who it was. In sudden wave of half-anger and panic he thought it will be Rivalt he will see. Rivalt arrived with Mablung as a member of his division and he must be somewhere around in the Tower, and now he was here beside him-

But it was Alagos, curled up behind him in a tiny space that was left. His one arm was around Oropher with head laying on his waist. He seemed to be sleeping as he was not perturbed at all that Oropher moved and he remained as he was. And Oropher stared at his friend for a moment.

Alagos was back and he was alright. With those thoughts in mind Oropher lied back on his pillow and reached out to hold Alagos's hand that embraced him.

#oropher #celeborn #galathil #amdir #silmarillion #silmarillion fanfic #tolkien

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diveronatesting2 · 6 years ago

Photo

In fair Verona, our tale begins with HALCYON SANTOS, who is THIRTY years old. She is often called HIPPOLYTA by the CAPULETS and works as their CAPTAIN. She uses SHE/HER pronouns.

Halcyon is portrayed by ADRIA ARJONA and was written by ROSEY. She is currently OPEN.

#tags #taggggs #tag test #tagsies

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archiveddvrpg · 6 years ago

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In fair Verona, our tale begins with HALCYON SANTOS, who is THIRTY years old. She is often called HIPPOLYTA by the CAPULETS and works as their CAPTAIN. She uses SHE/HER pronouns.

As a child, many swore that she had been kissed by Aphrodite herself. Painters wished to render her likeness on every canvas, photographers vied for her face to be printed upon every newspaper and magazine, people fell at her feet like stars falling from the sky. The Santos knew that their child was BLESSED and they adored her for it as much as everyone else did. Under their unconditional love, she flourished and grew, becoming something fierce, wild, and empowered. She was a young GODDESS that had blessed the Santos household, the Santos name, and everyone knew it. But this did not rot her as it would have many other children; it did not cause the purity of her soul to decay into something decrepit and spoiled. Halcyon was not to turn from a ripe, prized fruit into something rotten. For there was something good inside of her that realized that, yes, she had been blessed by God – but with such a blessing came a cross to bear along with it. Her parents had lectured her many times about the responsibility of catering to those who worshiped her, how the Santos name always meant serving those who were less fortunate. The Santos, they had told her, were to be considered nothing less than saints – and saints always SACRIFICED. But for all their lectures and sermons, they never told her how painstaking her sacrifice would have to be. Though she loved her parents, adored them like any good child should, she cannot deny that they betrayed her. They put her on a pedestal, then shackled her to it. They made her a TROPHY then put her in a case – never to be touched, only distantly glorified and, in later years, forgotten. Perhaps it was her fault for falling in love when she should have known that her duty to her family came before all. But could a person blame her? Her first love was as fair as she, but more reckless and impassioned – an INFERNO incarnate with hair as fiery as a flame. They were to be married, but when the time came she discovered that her parents had paid her fiancee off. There was nothing left of her lover, save for a hastily scrawled note, an abandoned white dress, and the faint scent of Chanel perfume. But she was not given the luxury of lingering over her broken heart. Her parents had paid a heavy price to break it, but it wasn’t without PURPOSE – within the next month she was married off to a man with a pocket deeper than the pained look that seemed perpetually etched onto her features. In one moment she was a goddess, an idol, and in the next she was a SHADOW, a broken altar with lackluster offerings. Her marriage was a more severe death sentence than any other judge could have handed out. Oh, how she had begged and pleaded with those who used love as a dirty gauze, to cloak her festering wound; but to no avail. It was not that he was cruel, it was not that he was neglectful – it was merely the fact that their marriage carried no life. The shackles that had bound her to him caused her to whither and waste away, they were causing her greatness to become nothing more than a MEMORY. No longer was she Halcyon Santos, whose future held no bounds – no, she was former Ms. Santos, the woman who became a trophy wife and a shut-in. It was a tale that was destined to end as most exceedingly mundane ones do: with nothing to show, save for a picture of a woman whose talent was wasted and whose beauty became more of a BURDEN. To think, that she had once had the world at her feet, offerings laden on her table, the stars at her fingertips so that she might rearrange them whichever way. It was not a satisfying LEGACY to Halcyon, perpetuating the story of a picturesque trophy wife. Thankfully, it did not turn out to be her legacy at all, for the gods clearly meant for her to be something greater. Her husband had angered the Capulets, foolishly believing that blackmail might be a means of making them bow to his will. She watched as they framed his car accident, patiently waiting for them to come to her – and when they did, Halcyon made them take her to Cosimo, who welcomed her with open arms. Bloodied arms, to be sure, but open and welcoming nonetheless. Why should he turn down such a tantamount woman? His instinctive trust in her proved to be reliable, for she has risen through their ranks like an ANGEL with newfound wings. Charming and winning over captains, soldiers and emissaries alike, with an aptitude for physical prowess that is to be reckoned with. The war, however, is demanding more than the usual charisma and wit that has allowed her to breeze through any and all missions -- the time to shed blood with little to no discretion has been called for. But, she has already bent a knee to one man -- why oh why would they think she would do so easily once again?

Halcyon is portrayed by ADRIA ARJONA and was written by ROSEY. She is TAKEN by CARA.

#lsrpg #literate rp #mafia rp #crime rp #rpg #t #tw #w #halcyon santos

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calvarineharrod · 8 years ago

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#30DayWritingChallenge

I recently did the 30 day writing challenge. It made me think, ponder and dig deep into the different facets of my emotional and spiritual self. Sometimes you don’t really know yourself until you answer these questions. This my quest for soul search and I finally answered the questions that I was life-long scared to address.

Writing challenge:

Day 1: Things that make me happy: Braai Beautiful shoes Coke Zero My niece laughing Steers burger and chips Garden salad Deep conversations Troy, my dog Makeup trials The beach Drakensburg Mountains meditation Elevation church Podcasts Beautifully scented rooms

Day 2: Something that someone told me which I’ll never forget: I’m cheeky I have a beautiful soul. I have a big f*****g mouth and think I know too much.

Day 3: Pet peeves: Dirty feet Piled dishes in the sink Arrogant people Impatient drivers

Day 4: People who inspire me: Oprah - live your truth, be present in the moment, strive for excellence. Steven furtick: God can’t bless who you pretend to be. Be yourself. Lisa Bevere - God has uniquely made you and that is your greatest strength. Joyce Meyer - obedience is key to worshiping God. Forgive quickly.

Day 5: Places I want to visit: Cape Town Thailand Sydney India Zanzibar Bali

Day 6: Ways to win my heart: Kind-hearted Loves God Funny Courteous Ambitious

Day 7: Songs I love at the moment: Mercy shawn Mendes 24k Magic Kiss it better Rihanna Bad things camilla cabello Usher Crash Justin Bieber - cold water Ed sheeran - shape of you Closer - chain smokers This girl - Kungs vs cooking on three burners John legend - love me now

Day 8: Something I struggle with: Self-confidence, being single and procrastination.

Day 9: Words of wisdom that speak to me: Be the best version of yourself. Stay true to you and trust your instinct. You are uniquely loved and nothing can replace you. Don’t consume yourself with what others like or think. Don’t set deadlines for yourself. Be spontaneous. Your goals must be uniquely designed for you. What people think of you is none of your business. Be rational in stressful situations. Live life to the fullest and don’t wait for tomorrow to do something. Don’t attend every argument you’re invited to. Dornt allow every voice to have access to you. You are not a garbage truck. Don’t allow people to throw their toxic habits and gossip onto you. Be stingy with your time. Don’t procrastinate . Stay calm.

Day 10: What do I feel strongly about:

Women abuse - a man who has been put on a pedestal and not educated on how to treat a woman will spend his entire life mistreating one. Also when women don’t know their worth, men use reverse psychology to make women believe that no one will love them. So these girls stay in abusive relationships.

Modesty: boyfriends must not be given husband benefits. He must earn it. Likewise, girls clothe yourselves with dignity and respect. Don’t show off everything to gain attention. Be mindful of your behaviour. Don’t compromise and give men the bait to mistreat you. Give them something to respect. Being vulgar is not classy at all.

Christianity - I am entitled to my views about my relationship with God. I will not force it on anyone or dethrone it. I will defend it and not tolerate someone slandering the God that I worship.

Abortion - I believe in life after death and life before birth. Women behave loosely and then can’t deal with the consequences of being pregnant. Wait to get married before you want to have kids. Don’t go on a killing spree and abort your kids. Give them a chance at life.

Racism - how to test yourself to see if you’re racist? Ask yourself, will I accept my child marrying a person of another race. Will I feel comfortable with it. Will I be completely happy if my child had to marry a black, brown or even white person.

Day 11: Something your always think “what if” about: What if I don’t get married and never experience that feeling of loving someone and being loved.

Day 12: Blessings in my life: Family to love Job to work Church to freely worship. Shelter, Food, water and electricity Healthy body and mind

Day 13: What am I excited about? Honestly, nothing. I am looking forward to seeing what God is going to do through me. I know that he has great plans and nothing is impossible with God

Day 14: Favourite movies I’ll never get tired of watching: Blue streak White chicks The Notebook War Room The Breakup The devil wears Prada Dreamgirls Rush Hour Slum dog millionaire Why did I get married Mean girls Pitch perfect Notting Hill Love actually

Day 15: Bullet point your entire day: Woke up Brushed and bathed Attended work Came home Watched tv Ate Watched YouTube videos Read a few bible verses Went to bed

Day 17: Post your zodiac sign and whether it suits you. Pisces Don’t believe in it, don’t read it, don’t care.

Day 18: Discuss 30 facts about yourself: GO! Born in Chatsworth Youngest Granddaughter on both sides Received English award twice Love Indian food Jumped off Moses mabhida stadium Never travelled overseas Watched RHCP live Doesn’t eat mussels, crab or fish. Born again Christian Loves home decor and interior design Hates cats. Loves peaches and litchis Secretly fancy guys with nose rings. Want a tattoo but too scared to get one Have 6 piercings (for now) Hates clutch control. Doesn’t read fiction books at all. Got saved at 15. Baptised at 18 Loves any clothing in black Hates liquorice Doesn’t like bacon. Thinks Mohawks and Man-buns are stupid I’m Indian yet have never worn a sari. Had chronic acne and have to take meds for it. I have a strong instinct and good at figuring people out. All time Fave perfume is juicy couture All time Fave tv show is friends All time Fave singer is Mariah Carey. All time Fave hobby is reading Favourite season is Autumn Naturally I have very curly/frizzy hair. Day 19: Discuss your first love. I’ve never had one. Crushes, yes. Both never loved anyone to the point that it consumed my thoughts.

Day 20: Celebrity crushes: Hugh Jackman Ryan Gosling Morris Chestnut Dwayne Johnson David Beckham J. Cole Chris Hemsworth

Day 21: Lessons you want your children to learn from you: Love God Have compassion and unconditional love for yourself and people Be true to yourself and trust your gut feeling Be strong in who you are and defend yourself. Be loyal. Do things that your want to do, don’t compromise . Have good taste in music Be calm, meditate, don’t be stressed and overwhelmed. Know when to walk away. Don’t let people’s opinions define you. Make yourself happy, don’t live to make others happy.

Day 22: Put your music on shuffle and post 10 songs: Hillsong - From the inside out Emeli Sande - Clown Jagged Edge - I Gotta Be Israel Houghton & New Breed - More and More Kool & The Gang - Get down on it Kanye West - Father Stretch my hands (part 1) Hillsong - Heartbeats Ed Sheeran - Afire Love Anomaly - Lecrae Bruno Mars - When I was your man

Day 23: Write a letter to someone: A letter to my future husband:

I always wondered what you’d be like, your face, your eyes, your personality. To be totally honest, Over time, my type of the ideal guy has changed and I know for sure that the man I wanted at 15 is totally different from the man I want now, at 25. People ask me all the time, when am I gonna get married or find someone special? My response is always delayed and very nonchalant: I don’t know. Just so you know, I’m a wifey kinda girl. I love easily and love hard. I know that you are somewhere and I totally believe in Gods timing. By the way, I pray to God for you, about you and hope He leads you to me. I don’t know when, how and where, but I’m blindly writing this letter with the intention of finding you someday, my love. I’m loyal, trustworthy and find it irresistible when a guy is a gentleman. Just so you know, Chivalry is better than having a 6pack and your love for Jesus must be greater than your love for me.

In ending, I pray that our paths cross and that our love will be eternal. Sincerely, you no.1 lady.

Day 24: Write about a lesson you learnt the hard way: I appreciate peace especially since We grew up in an abusive household, not having much and rented out a little house., my dad has a drinking problem and parents used to fight, it was a tumultuous time. We had nothing worth much so I now know value things that I never had. I know what it’s like to work hard and own my stuff so I don’t depend on a guy or people to provide for me and hear hurtful words. I know not to have expectations in people because they will always disappoint, I’ve learnt that people will speak so fast behind your back and pretend to be loyal, I’ve learnt that work some colleagues will remain as that, work colleagues. You cannot try to change some one who doesn’t see a problem with their actions. I’ve learnt that it’s okay to outgrow friendships and relationships. I’ve learnt that it’s okay to walk away from conversations that make you feel awkward, pushes you to mean and degraded . To keep quiet and not retaliate towards every argument. Clowns will be clowns. I’ve learnt that girls are treated so much more differently than boys so we have to be fierce in our approach and not settle for being trophies, I’ve learnt to have compassion and tip extra. I’ve learnt that people treat you different and disrespect you when you are single. I’ve learnt that people are going through a lot and that’s usually the reason for their bad attitude and response towards life . I’ve learnt that God can only work with the amount of space your give him. I’ve learnt the meaning of surrender. I’ve learnt that God does speak, we just need to listen. I’ve learnt that you don’t have to please everyone and that’s ok. I’ve learnt that you must value and appreciate the people who love you for you.

Day 25: Think of a random word, search it on google and write something inspired by the 11th image: Repertoire. A quintet of musicians are playing brass instruments. I am a huge fan of jazz music so this random word perfectly describes the genre of music. This word also reminds me of Kendrick Lamar’s verse of No more parties in LA.

Day 26: An area in your life that you’d like to improve: Discipline. I wish That I could be more harder on myself to achieve more. I tend to be complacent because I’m very committed to my job, I have lots of responsibilities at home and can’t afford to live out certain dreams of what I want to do. I wish I didn’t procrastinate so much. I wish that I can be more disciplined in studying and not waiting for pressure to force me to learn. I wish that I was more disciplined with my eating habits. I wish I had more courage to enjoy life and take risks instead of caring what people think.

Day 27: Conversely, write about something that you’re doing well at: I think my mindset of thinking positively is great. I love the fact that I remain calm is very stressful situations. I tend not to get I overwhelmed and think rationally. I’m very hopeful and depend on miracles.

Day 28: Things that make you laugh: Memes posted by 9gag and Daquan. Kevin hart, Wanda Sykes Blame it on Kway DC young fly Alan Carr Angela and Marcus from “why did I get married” Charlemagne tha God Michael Blackson

Day 29: Goals for the next 30 days: Eat better Pray more often Get over my sympathy parties Read my bible more Relax a little Work harder and meet deadlines Drink more green tea Laugh more Treat myself better Stop trying to make others feel better at the expense of my sanity. Stop trying to not offend people and stifle my feelings. Realise my value Stop lowering my standards of doing things Watch less tv Write more Drive more Live in the moment, appreciate every moment Stay true to myself and be comfortable in my own skin Don’t feel uncomfortable to say no. Stand firm and defend myself. Be honest when asked my opinion. Less social media Mind my own business and help when asked Don’t meddle. Block negativity Don’t gossip about anyone Be cleaner and tidier Be more assertive in my approach Get disciplined enough to study Be consistent in writing a blog

Day 30: Highs and lows for the month: Highs- my birthday, opportunity to be more creative at work. Living a less stressed life. Being firm and happily single. Lows: stress at work, occasional low moments, which I am working on. Sudden bouts of sadness, fighting and arguing at home amongst family members. Loneliness is dangerous and make you do stupid, irresponsible things.

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theconservativebrief · 7 years ago

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Though the 2018 MTV Video Music Awards weren’t completely devoid of spectacle, the ceremony ended up being a mix of the baffling and the unmemorable. Aside from some of the performances, the ups and downs were precipitous, as the stacked list of nominees yielded fairly lukewarm wins.

Overall, it was what the ceremony lacked — a sense of cohesion or drama, somebody to properly shepherd an Aretha Franklin tribute, and any of the musical beef that’s made the show so exciting in past years — that stood out. The final Aerosmith-Post Malone performance, complete with pre-punched holes in the fake Marshall speakers onstage, served as a strange cherry on top of the cake.

Here are six winners and two losers from the night.

During the preshow, one-time VMA MVPs the Backstreet Boys started off the night by singing their recent single “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart” on top of New York City’s Radio City Music Hall sign in a performance that seemed a little cramped at best.

During the ceremony, they came down from the sign to present the award for Song of the Year, singing snippets from each nominee in one of the cuter segments of the telecast. During the bit, A.J. McLean noted that one of the nominees, Camila Cabello’s “Havana,” was his daughter’s favorite song, inducing awws from the audience while serving as a general reminder of how much time has passed since the Backstreet Boys were at the peak of their popularity.

Despite being reminded that we all must die eventually, it was still nice to see the Backstreet Boys in good health and good humor, even if they didn’t get to properly perform during the main ceremony.

Jennifer Lopez at the 2018 VMAs. MTV

Not long after Shawn Mendes gave the first performance of the show, each subsequent moment began to bleed into the next in a dull haze — Tiffany Haddish made fun of Fifth Harmony during a bit with Kevin Hart, Nicki Minaj won the award for Best Hip-Hop Video, and a terrifying zygote named Bazzi took the stage and brought with him the promise of darkness and that this would all be over soon.

Thank god, then, that Jennifer Lopez was present to inject a jolt of life into the proceedings. As the recipient of this year’s Video Vanguard Award, J. Lo was on hand to perform a medley of some of her greatest hits, and though she started a little shaky with “Waiting for Tonight,” she soon found her groove and brought out the showmanship that garnered her the honor in the first place.

She hit her moves, settling in with “On the Floor” and giving energetic renditions of her peak dance hits like “Love Don’t Cost a Thing” and “Jenny From the Block.” And with rapid-fire set changes including cameos from DJ Khaled and Ja Rule, she was the first performer to bring the promise of something exciting.

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Lopez made us remember that she’s a true entertainer while underscoring that everything else about the 2018 VMAs was missing the charisma, uniqueness, nerve, and talent that she has in spades.

Bafflingly, most of the cutaway reaction shots during the ceremony featured either empty seats or people looking half-enthused at best. The major exception to the rule was Ja Rule, who was at the show to perform “I’m Real” and “Ain’t It Funny” with Lopez.

Every shot of Ja Rule in the audience showed him grooving along to the performances and generally just looking happy to be in the room. Whether or not that good-natured display is enough to earn back the goodwill he lost over last year’s Fyre Festival debacle (which resulted in eight lawsuits) is unclear, but at least somebody at the VMAs was having a good time.

Shawn Mendes was specifically designed and created to induce crushes. The 6-foot-2, aggressively pleasant Canadian has slowly been shifting his image from “bubblegum teenage dream” to “sensitive and sensual crooner.” At no point during the VMAs was that more evident than during his performance of “In My Blood,” complete with a wet T-shirt contest for one:

Shawn Mendes got wet at the VMAs. MTV

The performance was laced with a little awkwardness (you could tell that Mendes was slightly uncomfortable and nervous), but it showed off the vocals that have made him a stan-worthy star. He couldn’t totally hide his earnest charm — something that feels a little more natural and believable than the sexy persona he’s trying to adopt. Not that his fans will have any problem with the latter.

Lopez and Mendes gave good performances, but if you were watching at home, it was a frustrating experience. There were pans away from tight choreographed pieces and wide shots of more intimate moments. It’s unclear who, if anyone, was calling the shots from the production booth.

While J. Lo’s energy was enough to sustain the momentum during her performance, the lack of organization was especially evident in the “Push Artist” segments, where new and upcoming artists were given a verse or two to sing their catchy hooks. Poor Hayley Kiyoko, a singer who grew up idolizing and incorporating boy-band choreography — uninspired camerawork flattened her performance into static pulp fit for the food court at the mall.

And there was this strange moment where a barely mic’d Mendes presented Lopez with her Video Vanguard Award, with all sorts of commotion going on in the background and a woman almost crossing into the shot:

What is even happening here? MTV

No one is expecting exquisite cinematography from the VMA crew, but if MTV wants to tout performances (since these awards don’t hold the clout of Grammys), it should do a better job of showcasing them.

Even though Cardi B opened the show by pretending to breastfeed, we never would have expected that the VMAs would be such a big night for moms. Throughout the evening, several mom shoutouts lent a sweetly sentimental tone to the telecast.

During her acceptance speech for Best New Artist, Cardi B noted that people had called her decision to have a baby a potential death knell for her career. “You know, I had a baby, I carried a baby,” she said, defiant. “I am still winning awards!”

Cardi B kicked off the show by miming breastfeeding. Michael Loccisano/Getty Images for MTV

And while accepting the Video Vanguard Award, Lopez also spoke about having her children, calling them her “two little angels” and crediting them with changing her life. She also thanked her mother, Lupe, “the original dancing queen.”

The theme of motherhood continued with Ariana Grande’s performance of “God Is a Woman,” in which she brought her mother and grandmother onstage; and with Camila Cabello, who took home Artist of the Year and Video of the Year after bringing her mother as her date to the awards ceremony.

Madonna turned her tribute to Aretha Franklin into a tribute to Madonna. Michael Loccisano/Getty Images for MTV

Aretha Franklin died less than a week before the VMAs, and many wondered how the show would honor the legendary Queen of Soul. It seems that since Franklin’s death ultimately overshadowed the 60th birthday of another seminal artist, Madonna, the VMAs decided to take out two birds with one stone — by inviting Madonna to pay tribute to Franklin while also presenting the Video of the Year Award.

Conceptually, that must have sounded like a tantalizing idea, but in practice, Madonna ended up rambling on about how hard it was for her to become the pop icon she now is. The implication was that she found inspiration in Franklin, and she did mention that she loved Franklin’s Lady Soul album, but ultimately, Madonna’s tribute to Franklin turned into a tribute to Madonna by Madonna. It came off tacky and disorganized, leaving many viewers with the belief that skipping a Franklin tribute would have been better than Madge’s slapdash one.

Camila Cabello wins Video of the Year. Theo Wargo/Getty Images

Camila Cabello, the autonomous former member of Fifth Harmony who defected from the now-defunct group’s other four harmonies, won two of the biggest awards of the night for her body of work and her hit song “Havana”: Video of the Year and Artist of the Year.

While Cabello and her fans will no doubt be pleased, it felt as if her trophies came at the expense of artists like Drake, Cardi B, and Ariana Grande, who went into the night with a lot more buzz and clout — something you might expect from an “artist of the year” — and videos like Childish Gambino’s “This Is America,” which was much more searing and unforgettable than the video for “Havana.”

Camila Cabello did NOT deserve that fucking award. Cardi B and Drake worked their ASS off this year and gave us bops after bops smh. This award show is forever TRASH. I’m seriously blocking Camila lmao bye #VMAS pic.twitter.com/wtglqqVxI7

— Rashid (@rashidblessed) August 21, 2018

Considering those strong contenders, the videos they’ve created, and their greater command over the public’s interest in the last year, Cabello’s wins were slightly puzzling. Though the VMAs aren’t exactly the highest merit a musician can receive, and it’s not as if Cabello has taken home a Pulitzer, it won’t be surprising if the conversation surrounding Cabello in the coming days is less about celebrating her wins and more about whom she beat in taking home two of the biggest awards of the night.

Original Source -> VMAs 2018: 6 winners and 2 losers from a mostly lackluster show

via The Conservative Brief

#IFTTT #The Conservative Brief

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