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sortasirius · 4 years

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Dean, the Soldier, the Nurturer

Hey, it’s been awhile! But y’all should know by now that I am never not thinking about Dean Winchester, so another meta a month after the show ends shouldn’t be surprising lmao.

I’ve been thinking recently about Dean being a parent to Sam, combined with his father raising him as a soldier, the two halves that make up who he is.

Dean becoming a parent to Sam is not something that he asked for, it’s not something that he wanted to do, but it is something that he thrived at. We see all the time how naturally Dean cared for Sam, from him carrying Sam out a burning house, to giving him a Christmas the only way he knew how. He, oftentimes, was Sam’s only parent, his only source of companionship, support, authority, especially when John would leave them for weeks at a time, whether to hunt or to just get wasted.

He spent so much of his life, his own childhood, making sure that Sam was looked after, that he had food, that he was safe, that he was okay at school. He learned from a young age that taking even a minute for himself could end up being dangerous for Sam, and that his needs were always going to be farther down the list than Sam’s. But he never, not once, resented Sam for it. He took on this responsibility of raising a child as a child, with no one to turn to, with resolve. It’s not what he wanted, we may never really know what his childhood dreams were, but I think he looks at Sam and sees his greatest achievement, the man that he raised as a good person and a good hunter.

On the other hand, Dean is also raised as a solider. He is raised to understand that he has two priorities: Sam and killing. He’s good at it too, shaped from childhood to be good at killing with no remorse, never questioning why, that’s what John wanted him to be, so that is how he molded him.

Dean is split in half: he is soft like a mother, a parent who wants his child to do well, who will always put his needs of his child above his own, yet he’s also a soldier, a killer, shaped and molded by the trauma of the hand he’s been dealt.

For such a long time, he hides the softness of the nurturer, because softness, in the eyes if a hunter, is the same as weakness. He hides the details that make up part of who he is behind sarcasm, hypersexuality, trash-talking, pool hustling, bar fights, killing. He almost never lets anyone in to see them, only allowing people to catch glimpses when he comforts them, or allows himself to be comforted.

Who is he? He is a combination of a soldier and a nurturer, but he was taught, for so much of his life, to hide the nurturer in favor of the soldier. The soldier is the thing that matters, the soldier is what will keep them alive, the soldier is the thing that garnered rare approval from his father.

As Dean grows, as he changes, as he learns to live a life outside of the gaze of his father, he lets the softness shine through. He cooks, he cleans, he cares for, he nerds out: he allows himself to be soft because he knows he won’t be punished for it. Hunting is not his entire life anymore, the family that he’s been able to build is. He lets himself love a little more freely, lets himself see Sam as a person and not a child, lets himself love Jack, and lets himself fall for Cas. He still keeps that last one at a distance, but he lets himself fall, even if he resolves to never say anything about it.

Is he still one of the most badass hunters in the world? Hell yes. The soldier is still a part of who he is, but it balances itself with the rest of him, a balancing of love with the violence in his past, of his job. He still loves it, it’s a part of him, but it isn’t everything to him anymore, he doesn’t feel the need to perform for others the way that he used to.

That’s the beauty that I think he misses in himself, the looks in the mirror and he still sees the soldier, he still sees the person who can kill without a second thought, the person who follows orders and doesn’t have an original thought, the person who doesn’t believe he’s worth anything.

But his family, Cas, they see that in him. They see who he is past the mask, they see the gentleness, hand in hand with the strength, not outside of it.

I’ve said before that Cas does a lot of selfless things in his speech to Dean, but the most important thing he does for Dean is to tell him how impossibly loved he is, how his love has not gone unnoticed or unrecognized, and that his love is returned in spades.

Dean has never been able to wrap his head around how beloved he is: beloved by Sam, beloved by Jack, beloved by their friends, especially beloved by Cas. He thinks that his love is shot out into an empty space, that it is never returned, but it is, Cas tells him, he shows him that. That his love is valuable, not toxic, not poison, it is something that people desire, in Cas’ case, that they crave.

Cas loves Dean for exactly who he is: the soldier, the nurturer, the perfect combination of the two. His balance of learning how to be a parent while growing up himself, of learning how to still be a soldier and live outside of that violence as well, to embrace the softness of the nurturer as well as the edge of the soldier is what makes him so viscerally complex. Cas loves that about him, it’s part of why he is beautiful to Cas: it’s not just the way he looks, it’s the way that he is, and letting Dean know that he sees both halves of him, the soldier, the nurturer, the killer, the parent, the fighter, the lover, that’s what brings Cas happiness, he speaks his truth and brings this truth to Dean. It’s not only the truth of how he feels, but the truth about Dean himself, the truth that he is not just one thing; he is beautiful in his complexity.

#my meta #spn #dean #anyway i miss him #destiel

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evolutionsvoid · 3 years

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Readers of my work should know that I have constantly brought up the fact the Underworld is not some endless labyrinth of fire and brimstone. So often people think that this land is just like the purgatory it shares its name with, but that is quite far from the truth! That is why I always make a point to talk about their unique biomes and rich habitats, to help spread information and get people to think of this land in a different light. However, this entry is a bit different. Though I have been saying this for a good long while, and will continue to do so, I must point out that never did I say that they didn't have fire and lava. They totally do, it just isn't as prevalent as many people believe. Indeed, there are regions of the Underworld that have rivers of magma and temperatures so hot that I can't even visit them without bursting into flames! These are places only the demons and shades can inhabit, as many surface dwellers could not withstand the sheer heat! These two species, however, are not the only life found in these natural infernos! It is incredible to see (from a safe distance)! What swims through the molten streams, what basks upon the white-hot shores! A common sight you will find in these fiery places are the groups of Flastrix that lay near the burning rivers, soaking up the intense heat as if it was simple sunbathing! The Flastrix are peculiar creatures, especially when you try to determine what they are. With armored plates, tough hides and spiky growths, many are quick to call them reptiles. See how they bask in the heat and warmth, just like any other lizard! However, studies have shown that these beasts may actually be more related to amphibians, rather than reptiles. Despite lacking many of the characteristics associated with these creatures, the few connections they have are strong and hard to ignore. Some believe they are earlier members of this group, or perhaps a primordial offshoot. Regardless, the Flastrix dwell in the Underworld, and are frequently found in these smoldering regions. Obviously they lack the moist skin amphibians are known for, instead sporting hard plates and a leathery hide. Short limbs let them climb across the jagged rock, and this tough skin keeps them from getting carved up from it! The long head can give the impression of a beak, but it bears more resemblance to a highly modified salamander skull. But what really catches folks' attention is the tall flat sail that sprouts from their back. This impressive structure is supported by elongated vertebrate and tough cords of cartilage, allowing it to stick straight up, but still have some flexibility to it. Stretched between these posts is a thin skin that seems to flow with bright colors, like liquid fire trapped within a pane of glass! When you watch them bask near the molten shores, you will see how the colors of these sails swell and boil, rapidly changing and dancing within the sweltering air. Surely this show is just an illusion, or perhaps created by mere pigments, much like a chameleon! This is not the case, as the answer is much more fascinating. When living in a world of fire, some must wonder why the Flastrix bothers to sit and soak up the heat. These places are always hot, so why would they need to waste time to take it in? This is because the heat isn't just for the Flastrix! While the sails are made with skin, they are not the only component. Squished between two thin layers is a jelly-like substance, flattened to such a degree that is barely thicker than a piece of paper! It is in this gel that something incredible happens! It appears this layer is actually home to some living reaction that we cannot fully perceive (or at least not yet)! Something within this gel soaks up the extreme heat and uses it to fuel itself, which then creates a byproduct that is directed towards the Flastrix. It seems they gain nutrients from this system, allowing themselves to be fed by mere heat! So by warming themselves up, they get a meal, as well as a rush of energy! However, this is not enough to sustain them. As a dryad, I know what they are going through. This passive method of feeding can sustain a being, but only if they are ones that don't do a whole lot. Normal plants do just fine with photosynthesis, but once you add in moving and fancy organs, it isn't enough. For the Flastrix, they must add to this nutrition by the tried and true method: eating stuff. When not soaking up heat, they are hunting for tasty bugs and worms to feed on. Some of these critters can be found in the hot regions, while others need a cooler place to live. This causes the Flastrix to regularly wander away from the fiery rivers, in search of tasty prey. Eventually, though, they will return, because they will need a recharge!

Nutrition isn't the only thing they gain by basking in the extreme heat. While it takes a whole lot of heat for the process to run, the end result is still pretty toasty! A boiling hot, gooey substance is created and stored in special organs, unleashed in times of need. Though the beasts that roam the fiery lands are not intimidated by hot spit, a lot of creatures outside of this realm are not equipped to handle it. When roaming to cooler regions of the Underworld, the Flastrix will barf up this substance whenever they are threatened. What comes out is essentially magma snot, which clings to an opponent and burns hotter than a flame! Sounds pretty terrifying to me, though that just might be my plant side talking! This weapon is quite useful, as they travel to these cooler areas not just for eating, but also for laying their eggs. It is a good way to keep predators at bay, but it is not bottomless. After frequent use, its temperature will drop and the ammo will be depleted. They must return to the lava shores to charge it back up again. For the people of the Underworld, the Flastrix is a rather unassuming creature that gets lot of attention. It seems their ability to feed off heat and flame has garnered interest, and it is the reason it is well-studied by the denizens of these regions. Some think they have a connection to Pyrogohna, the Goddess of Fire. Perhaps these creatures received a blessing from her, and are now fueled by her eternal fire. Certain groups are convinced that the unlocking the way to harness such a "gift" is key to reaching the Gods Below. If one can find a way to make their bodies grow and thrive off of the beloved flame, then they may be closer to descending (Remember, in the Underworld up is bad and down is good) and achieving their true potential. So far, none of this has bore any fruit, but that isn't to say it is a dead end! I personally don't think this will lead to the creation of some higher (or, lower) being, but I think incredible knowledge can be harvested from it. How does this process work, what is responsible for it? Can we recreate this same reaction ourselves, or is it only for nature to wield? Chlora Myron Dryad Natural Historian --------------------------------------------- About time the Underworld got some fiery monsters! This fellow here is based off of...uh...it uh.....hmmmmmmm (quick Google search) the Platyhystrix! Totally didn't forget what this was supposed to be!

#monster #creature #amphibian #platyhystrix #art #drawing

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1vintage · 4 years

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Ocean Vuong on Metaphor

below is a transcript of an Instagram story from Ocean Vuong, available here in his story highlights under Metaphor.

Q: How do you make sure your metaphors have real depth?

metaphors should have two things: (1) sensory (visual, texture, sound, etc) connector between origin image and the transforming image as well as (2) a clear logical connector between both images.

if you have only one of either, best to forgo the metaphor, otherwise it will seem forced or read like “writing” if that makes sense.

a lot of ya’ll asked for examples re:metaphor. I can explain better if I had 15 minutes of class time (apply to UMASS!). But essentially, metaphors that go awry can signal a hurried desire to be “literary” or “poetic” (ie “writing”), which can lose traction/trust with a reader. in other words, a metaphor is a detour—but that detour better lead to discoveries that alter/amplify the meaning of what is already there, so that a reader sees you as a servant of possibility rather than someone trying to prove that they are a “writer.” One is performative, the other exploratory. In this way, the metaphor acts as a virtual medium, ejecting the text’s optical realism into an “elsewhere”. But this elsewhere should inform the original upon our return. otherwise the journey would feel like an ejection from a crash rather than a curated journey toward more complex meaning.

example:

“The road curves like a cat’s tail.”

This is a weak metaphor because the transforming image (tail) does not amplify/alter the original. The transfer of meaning flattens and dies. Logic is weak or moot: A cat’s tail does not really change the nature of the road. You can certainly add to this with a few more expository sentences which might rescue the logic—but by then you’re just doing cpr on your metaphor.

Sensory, too, is weak: a cat’s tail has little optical resemblance to a road other than being curved (roads are not furry, for one.)

So this is 0 for 2 and should be scrapped. (Just my opinion though! Not a rule!)

okay so what about:

“The road runs between two groves of pine, like the first stroke of a buzzcut.”

this is better. the optical sensory of the transforming image (a clipper thru a head of hair) matches well with the original.

but the logic feels arbitrary. again it doesn’t substantially alter the original.

in the end this is just an “interesting image” but not strong enough to keep I’d say.

Now here’s one from Sharon Olds:

“The hair on my father’s arms like blades of molasses.”

Sensory connector: check. A man’s dark hair indeed can look like blades (also suggestive of grass) of molasses.

Logical connector: check. the father is both sharp and sweet. Something once soft and sticky about him (connotations of youth) sweets, has now hardened the confection no longer fresh etc.

It’s an ambitious metaphor that is packed with resonance. In other words, it does worlds of work and actually deepens the more you dit with it. A metaphor that actually invites you to put the book down, think on it, absorb it, before returning. a good metaphor uses detours to add power to the text. poor metaphors distract you from the text and leave you bereft, laid to the side.

lastly, the prior examples are technically “similes” but I believe similes reside under the umbrella of metaphor. although a simile is a demarcation, ie: this is “like” that. but this is “not”, ontologically, that.

however, I think something happens in the act of reading wherein we collapse the “bridge” and the mind automatically forges synergy between the two images, so that all similes, once read, “act” like metaphors in the mind.

but again this is all subjective. you might have a better way of going about it.

Another very ambitious metaphor is this one from Eduardo C. Corral:

“Moss intensifies up the tree, like applause.”

This is a masterful metaphor, risky and requires a lot of faith, restraint, and experience to pull it off.

Difficult mainly because we now see a surrealist “distortion” of the sensory realm: origin IMAGE (moss) is paired with transforming SOUND (applause).

There is now a leap in comparable elements. But the adherence to our two vital factors are still present.

Sensory: moss, though silent, grows slowly (the word “intensifies” does major work here becuz it foreshadows the transforming element). Applause, too, grows gradually, before dying down.

Logic: the growth of the moss suggests spring, lushness, life, resilience, and connotes anticipatory hope, much like applause. In turn, applause modifies the nature of moss and imbues, at least this moss, with a sense of accomplishment, closure, it’s refreshment a cause for celebration.

God I love words.

I’ve gotten so many responses from folks the past few days asking for a deeper dive into my personal theory on metaphor.

So I'm taking a moment here to do a more in-depth mini essay since my answer to the Q/A the other day was off the cuff (I was typing while walking to my haircut appointment).

What I’m proposing, of course, is merely a THEORY, not a gospel, so please take whatever is useful to you and ignore what isn’t.

This essay will be in 25 slides. I will save this in my IG highlights after 24 hrs.

Before I begin I want to encourage everyone to forge your own theories and praxi for your work, especially if you’re a BIPOC artist.

Often, we are perceived by established powers as merely “performers,” suitable for a (brief) stint on stage—but not thinkers and creators with our own autonomy, intelligence, and capacity to question the framework in our fields.

It is not lost on me, as a yellow body in America, with the false connotations therein, where I’m often seen as diminutive, quiet, accommodating, agreeable, submissive, that I am not expected to think against the grain, to have my own theories on how I practice my art and my life.

I became a writer knowing I am entering a field (fine arts) where there are few faces like my own (and with many missing), a field where we are expected to succeed only when we pick up a violin or a cello in order to serve Euro-Centric “masterpieces.”

For so long, to be an Asian American “prodigy” in art was to be a fine-tuned instrument for Mozart, Bach, and Beethoven.

Because it means the instrument that was once in the service of their “work” has now begun to speak, has decided, despite being inconceivable to them, to sing its own songs.

I want you, I need you, to sing with me. I want to hear what you sound like when it’s just us, and you sound so much like yourself that I recognize you even in the darkest rooms, even when I recognize nothing else. And I know your name is “little brother” or “big sister,” or “light bean,” or “my-echo-returned-to-me-intact.” And I smile.

In the dark I smile.

Art has no rules—yes—but it does have methods, which vary for each individual. The following are some of my own methods and how I came to them.

I’m very happy ya’ll are so into figurative language! It’s my favorite literary device because it reveals a second IDEA behind an object or abstraction via comparison.

When done well, it creates what I call the “DNA of seeing.” That is, a strong metaphor “Greek for “to carry over”) can enact the autobiography of sight. For example, what does it say about a person who sees the stars in the night sky—as exit wounds?

What does it say about their history, their worldview, their relationship to beauty and violence? All this can be garnered in the metaphor itself—without context—when the comparative elements have strong multifaceted bonds.

How we see the world reveals who we are. And metaphors explicate that sight.

My personal feeling is that the strongest metaphors do not require context for clarity. However, this does not mean that weaker metaphors that DO require context are useless or wrong.

Weak metaphors use context to achieve CLARITY.

Strong metaphors use context to SUPPORT what’s already clear.

BOTH are viable in ANY literary text.

But for the sake of this deeper exploration into metaphors and their gradients, I will attempt to identify the latter.

I feel it is important for a writer to understand the STRENGTHS of the devices they use, even when WEAKER versions of said devices can achieve the same goal via different means.

Sometimes we want a life raft, sometimes we want a steam boat—but we should know which is which (for us).

My focus then, will be specifically the ornamental or overt metaphor. That is, metaphors that occur inside the line—as opposed to conceptual, thematic, extended metaphors, or Homeric simile (which is a whole different animal).

My thinking here begins with the (debated) theory that similes reside under metaphors. That is, (non-Homeric) similes, behave cognitively, like metaphors.

This DOES NOT mean that similes do not matter (far from it), as we’ll see later on, but that the compared elements, once read, begin to merge in the mind, resulting in a metaphoric OCCURRENCE via a simileac vehicle.

By the time Husserl “discovered” this, however, Tibetan Buddhists scholars have already been practicing Phenomenology as something called Lojong, or “mind training,” for over half a millennia.

In Lojong, the world and its objects are pure perception. That is, a fly looks at a tree and sees, due to its compound eyes, hundreds of trees, while we see only one. For Buddhists, neither fly nor human is “correct” because a fixed truth is not present. Reality is only real according to one’s bodily medium.

In other words, we are in a “simulation” and because there is no true gain in acquiring something that is only an illusion, it is better to observe and learn from phenomena as guests passing through this world with respect to things—rather than to possess them.

The reason I bring this up is because Buddhist philosophy is the main influence of 8th century Chinese and 15th-17th century Japanese poetics, which fundamentally inform my understanding of metaphor.

While I appreciate Aristotle’s take on metaphor and rhetoric in his Poetics, particularly his thesis that strong metaphors move from species to genus, it is not a robust influence on my thinking.

After all, like sex and water, metaphors have been enjoyed by humans across the world long before Aristotle-- and evidently long after. In fact, Buddhist teachings, which widely employ metaphor and analogy, predates Aristotle by roughly 150 years.

Now, to better see how Buddhist Phenomenology informs the transformation of images into metaphor, let’s look at this poem by Moritake.

“The fallen blossom flies back to its branch. No, a butterfly.”

When considering (western-dominated) discourse surrounding analogues using “like” or “is”, is this image a metaphor or a simile?

It is technically neither. The construction of this poem does not employ metaphor or simile.

And yet, to my eye, a metaphor, although not present, does indeed HAPPEN.

What’s more, the poem, which is essentially a single metaphor, is complete.

No further context is needed for its clarity. If context is needed for a metaphor, then the metaphor is (IMO) weak—but that doesn’t mean the writing, as a whole, is bad. Weak metaphors and good context bring us home safe and sound.

Okay, so what is happening here?

By the time I read “butterfly,” my mind corrects the blossom so that the latter image retroactively changes/informs the former. We see the blossom float up, then re-see it as a butterfly. The metaphoric figuration is complete with or without “like” or “is.”

Buddhism explains this by saying that, although a text IS thought, it does not THINK. We, the readers, must think upon it. The text, then, only curates thinking.

Words, in this way, begin on the page but LIVE in the mind which, due to limited and subjective scope of human perception, shift seemingly fixed elements into something entirely new.

The key here is proximity. Similes provide buffers to mediate impact between two elements, but they do not rule over how images coincide upon reading. One the page, text is fossil; in the mind, text is life.

“The apparition of these faces in the crowd: Petals on a wet, black bough.”

Like Maritake, Pound’s poem technically has no metaphor or simile. However, he adds the vital colon after “crowd,” which arguably works as an “equal sign”, thereby implying metaphor. But the reason why he did not use “are” or “is” is telling.

Pound understood, like Maritake, that the metaphor would occur in the mind, regardless of connecting verbiage due to the images’ close proximity. We would come to know this as “association.”

Even if the colon was replaced by the word “like,” the transformation, though a bit slower, would still occur.

In fact, when I first studied Pound years ago, I had trouble recalling whether this poem was fashioned as a simile or not—mainly because the faces change to fully into blossoms each time I try to recall the poem.

Now, let’s look at a simile that, to me, metaphorizes in the same way as the examples above, in the line we saw before from Eduardo C. Corral:

“Jade moss on the tree intensifies, like applause.”

The origin/tenor image (moss) is connected to the transforming element (applause). This metaphor suggests, not an optical relationship, but a BEHAVIORAL one.

Both moss and applause are MASSES that accumulate via singularities: grains of moss and pairs of hands clapping to form a larger whole.

By comparing these two, Corral successfully suggests that moss grows at the RATE of applause, creating a masterful time lapse effect. Applause speeds up the moss growth, connoting rejuvenation, joy and refreshment. That something as mundane as moss deserves, even earns, jubilance, also offers a potent statement of alterity, that the smallest flourishing deserves celebration, which in turn suggests a subtle yet powerful political critique of hegemony.

The poet, through the metaphor, has recalibrated the traditional modes of value placed on the object (moss).

And no other context is needed for that.

Like Maritake and Pound, metaphor has OCCURRED here—but without “metaphor”.

HOWEVER, the simile is still VITAL. Why?

Because the transforming element is abstract (applause) and looks nothing like moss. We don’t want moss to BE applause, we want the nature of applause to inform, imbue, moss.

The line, I feel, would be quite poor if it was formed sans simile:

��Jade moss is applause on the tree.”

The “is” forces transposition, which is here akin to slamming two things together without mediation. We also lose the comparison of behavior, and are asked to see that moss BECOME applause, which doesn’t have the same meaning as the original.

So, although the simile fuses into metaphor (via association) in the mind, such a metaphor would NOT have been possible without the simile.

Similes matter greatly—as tools towards metaphor. Why?

Because (thank god) our minds are free to roam.

To summarize, one of the central strategies (and, to an extent, purposes) of the Japanese Haiku is to juxtapose two elements to test their synergy. This impulse is grounded in Shinto and Buddhist concepts of impermanence and structural malleability. That is, all things, even ideas and images, are subject to constant change—and such change is the most pervasive nature of perception.

The Haiku then becomes the perfect medium to test such changes. This principle is of central importance to me because it is rooted in non-dualistic (or non-binary) thinking.

The poem becomes the theatre in which fixed elements can be transformed, their borders subject to being dissolved, shifting towards something entirely new—to “create”, which is the Greek root to the word “poet.” The metaphor, then, is more like a chemical, whose elements (like hydrogen and oxygen), placed side by side, becomes water.

In this way, Buddhism’s influence on my work and, specifically, my use and understanding of metaphor, is a foundational QUEER praxis for alterity.

YOU have look deeply and find lasting relationships between things in a disparate world.

In this sense, the practice of metaphor is also, I believe, the practice of compassion. How do I study a thing so that I might add to its life by introducing it to something else?

At its best, the metaphor is what we, as a species, have always done, at OUR best: which is to point at something or someone so different from us, so far from our own origins and say, “Yes, there IS a bond between us. And if I work long enough, hard enough, I can prove it to you—with this thing called language, this thing that weighs nothing but means everything to me.”

In the end, it is less about how you set up your metaphors (you will eventually find a way that suits it and you) but more about how you recognize your world. THAT is not easy to teach—it comes with patient practice, with a committed wonder for a world that at times might be too painful to look at. But you must and you should.

Good metaphors, in the end, come from writers who are committed to looking beyond what is already there, towards another possibility.

This calls that you see your life and your work as inexhaustible sites of discovery, and that you tend to them with care.

That’s it. That’s the true secret to a strong metaphor: care.

That is, only so much can be held on the work/mind with each attempt to consume, and that no “work” can be possessed in its entirety, which I find happily congruent with Lojong.

What a wonderful anti-imperialist and forgiving way to engage with our planet and its phenomena. Thank you, Mrs. Moss!

And thank YOU for sticking around through my little seminar.

I hope this has been helpful. Again, this is just my 2(5) cents! Now I’m going to sleep for four days.

In the meantime, me-ta-phors be with you.

—O

#ocean vuong #on writing #long post #metaphor #u

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fr-economics · 3 years

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A Brief History of Neoliberalism #2

Here's the second post in which I summarize and discuss David Harvey's A Brief History of Neoliberalism. In this post, you'll learn:

how a specific group of people plotted to advance neoliberal theory and ideology

how the U.S. created the Iraqi and Chilean governments to benefit the wealthy

the historical events that led to the adoption of neoliberal policies

how the Darkest Timeline emerged, as the 1% started to consolidate political and economic power

Please feel free to ask any questions. This post is longer than the previous one and this material is a lot to take in.

Chapter 1: Freedom’s Just Another Word...

The founding figures of neoliberalism specifically aimed for neoliberal thought to become dominant. In order to do this, they advanced a “conceptual apparatus,” as Harvey puts it, that appeals to our intuitions, instincts, values, and desires.

They aligned their theory closely with "political ideals of human dignity and individual freedom." These were, of course, threatened "by all forms of state intervention that substituted collective judgements for those of individuals free to choose.”

So who were these founders? In 1947, Austrian political philosopher Friedrich von Hayek and a group of advocates (including Ludvig von Mises and Milton Friedman) created the Mont Pelerin Society. They called themselves neoliberals after liberalism, in the traditional European sense, because of their (supposed) commitment to personal freedom, and neoclassical economics from the 19th century.

In the 1970s, advocates of neoliberalism aimed to garner financial and political support, such as in think tanks and academia (most notably, the University of Chicago). The theory also gained credibility "by the award of the Nobel Prize in economics to Hayek in 1974 and Friedman in 1976."

The Creation of Neoliberal States

According to Harvey, a neoliberal state is "a state apparatus whose fundamental mission [is] to facilitate conditions for profitable capital accumulation on the part of both domestic and foreign capital."

The promotion of "freedom" was used as a key justification for invading Iraq by President Bush. However, Bush had no intention of actually promoting the well-being of the Iraqi people. In 2003, Paul Bremer, head of the Coalition Provisional Authority, promulgated orders for "full privatization of public enterprises, full ownership rights by foreign firms of Iraqi businesses, elimination of nearly all trade barriers" and more. However, the labor market was strictly regulated. Strikes were forbidden in key sectors and the right to unionize restricted.

Some argued these orders violated the Geneva Conventions, "since an occupying power is mandated to guard the assets of an occupied country and not sell them off." However, "they would become legal if confirmed by a ‘sovereign’ government." The interim government appointed by the US was given the power to only confirm the existing laws, not edit them for the benefit of the Iraqi people.

We've seen this creation of a neoliberal state under the "coercive influence of the U.S." before. This famously happened for the first time in Chile in 1973, when Augusto Pinochet enacted a coup against the democratically elected government of Salvador Allende. This coup was backed not only by "domestic business elites threatened by Allende’s drive towards socialism" but also by U.S. corporations and the CIA.

This coup violently repressed and dismantled leftist social movements and popular organizations, such as community health centers. Pinochet then brought Chicago-trained economists into the government. Since the '50s, the U.S. had funded training of Chilean economists there "as part of a Cold War programme to counteract left-wing tendencies in Latin America." These economists "privatized public assets" and "opened up natural resources to private and unregulated exploitation." They also facilitated direct foreign investment.

Why the Neoliberal Turn?

After WWII, the aim of the "restructuring of state forms and of international relations" was to "prevent a return to the catastrophic conditions that had so threatened the capitalist order in the great slump of the 1930s." The new post-WWII states all accepted that "the state should focus on full employment, economic growth, and the welfare of its citizens, and that state power should be freely deployed, alongside of or, if necessary, intervening in or even substituting for market processes to achieve these ends.”

Keynesian policies were widely deployed to meet these goals. States regulated industry and constructed welfare systems, including healthcare, education, etc. State-led planning and even ownership of specific sectors were not uncommon. "This form of political-economic organization is now usually referred to as ‘embedded liberalism'," and it delivered high rates of economic growth in the '50s and '60s.

However, by the end of the '60s, problems emerged. Unemployed and inflation surged, causing "stagflation" well into the '70s.

One potential solution was to "deepen state control and regulation of the economy." "The left assembled considerable popular power behind such programmes," even in the U.S., where even Republican President Nixon oversaw a wave of regulatory reform, including creating the EPA. There was an "emergence of a socialist alternative to the social compromise between capital and labour" and "popular forces were agitating for widespread reforms and state interventions." This was obviously a threat to ruling elites.

Elites were also threatened by reduced economic growth in the ‘70s. U.S. control of wealth by the 1% plunged during this decade. Implementation of neoliberal policies in the ‘70s, such as deregulation under President Carter, helped the income and wealth of the 1% so much that some writers "have concluded that neoliberalization was from the very beginning a project to achieve the restoration of class power." "...Increasing social inequality [has] in fact been such a persistent feature of neoliberalization as to be regarded as structural to the whole project."

However, keen observers of American politics in the past couple of decades will note that there's often a tension or outright clash between actual neoliberal theory and what neoliberal politicians implement. There is even a tension within neoliberalism itself. For example, distrust of the state's intervention sits alongside the need for a coercive state that will enforce private property rights. Harvey says, "when neoliberal principles clash with the need to restore or sustain elite power, then the principles are either abandoned or become so twisted as to be unrecognizable."

Harvey concludes that the "theoretical utopianism" of neoliberal theory, meaning all that talk about human freedom and individual liberty, "primarily worked as a system of justification and legitimation for whatever needed to be done to achieve" the restoration of class power after the crisis of the 70s.

The Reagan Administration

Reagan's presidency was preceded by "the Volcker shock" in 1979. Paul Volcker, chairman of the US Federal Reserve Bank under President Carter, promoted "a policy designed to quell inflation no matter what the consequences might be for employment." This was in contrast to Keynesian policies that aimed for full employment. By steeply raising interest rates, Volcker jumpstarted a recession "that would empty factories and break unions in the US and drive debtor countries to the brink of insolvency."

Reagan himself, starting with the 1981 air traffic controllers' strike, began an "all-out assault on the powers of organized labour at the very moment when the Volcker-inspired recession was generating high levels of unemployment (10% or more)." This began the long decline in wages, and was accompanied by massive deregulation in many industries and huge tax cuts for corporations and the wealthy—the top personal tax rate was reduced from 70% to 28%.

A series of events had begun in the '70s which came to a head in the '80s. The OPEC oil crisis of 1973 led to Middle Eastern oil-producing states being pressured militarily by the U.S. to funnel their wealth through New York investment banks. These banks needed new outlets for this influx of funds, and turned their predatory gaze towards foreign governments.

Previously, the U.S. exerted military pressure on various nations to meet its own financial needs, and primarily exploited raw material resources or cultivated specific markets. However, the New York investment banks became more active internationally by lending capital to foreign governments. Developing nations were "encouraged to borrow heavily... at rates that were advantageous to the New York bankers."

However, since the loans were in U.S. dollars, any rise in U.S. interest rates "could easily push vulnerable countries into default," leaving the banks exposed to huge losses. This was proved when the Volcker shock drove Mexico into default in 1982. Reagan's administration oversaw the pioneering of structural adjustment, in which the IMF, World Bank, and other lenders rolled over debt in return for the debtor countries implementing neoliberal reforms, such as cuts in welfare, privatization, and reduction of labor protections.

Remember that tension between neoliberal theory and practice, though? If free market principles were truly implemented, then the lenders would be on the hook for the loss if their borrowers default. They took the risk of lending, so it's their problem. However, in this case, borrowers are forced by the U.S. to repay their debts no matter the consequences for the well-being of their people.

The Meaning of Class Power

"While neoliberalization may have been about the restoration of class power, it has not necessarily meant the restoration of economic power to the same people." There are several trends under neoliberalism that reorganized what it meant to be part of the upper class.

First is the fusion of ownership and management of companies, for example, CEOs being paid in stock options. Stock values are then prioritized rather than production. Second is the reduction of the gap between capital earning dividends/interest and production/manufacturing. Large corporations became more financial in their orientation. An example of this is car companies opening departments to finance car purchases, instead of simply making cars. Mergers helped spur this trend, creating larger and larger diversified conglomerates.

There were also new innovations in financial services, creating "new kinds of financial markets based on securitization, derivatives, and all manner of futures trading." "Neoliberalization has meant, in short, the financialization of everything." Finance's tentacles became embedded in all areas of the economy as well as the state, and companies became more profitable not through gains in manufacturing, but through increased financial services.

All of these changes allowed "new processes of class formation to emerge," for example, the creation of tech millionaires and billionaires who got newly rich on new technologies, as well as newly acquired wealth through creation of conglomerates.

#ABHON #economics #real world #ABHON post

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nouveauweird · 4 years

Text

A Short Essay on Metaphor by Ocean Vuong

The following is a transcription of the instagram stories shared by Ocean Vuong on the subject of metaphor, which I found quite moving, and hope others can take something valuable from it as well. You can find the originals on his instagram highlights.

Each paragraph below is transcribed from one instagram story slide.

[ The first part is Vuong’s answer to the initial question that sparked the discussion, he went on to elaborate some more, but in his longer discussion several days later he reused some of the same examples so I will only be featuring the longer, 25 slide, “mini essay”. ]

QUESTION: How do you make sure your metaphors have real depth?

VUONG: metaphors should have two things: sensory (visual, texture, sound, etc) connector between origin image and the transforming image as well as a clear logical connector between images if you only have one of either, best to forego the metaphor. otherwise it will seem forced or read like “writing” if that makes sense.

[ elaborated discussion ]

I’ve gotten so many responses from folks the the past few days asking for a deeper dive into my personal theory on metaphor. So I’m taking a moment here to do a more in-depth mini essay since my answer the Q/A the other day was off the cuff (I was typing while walking to my hair cut appointment). What I’m proposing, of course, is merely a THEORY, not a gospel, so please take whatever is useful to you and ignore what isn’t. ...

Before I begin I want to encourage everyone to forge your own theories and praxis for your work, especially if you’re a BIPOC artist. Often we are perceived by established powers as merely “performers” suitable for a (brief) stint on stage-- but not thinkers and creators with our own autonomy, intelligence, and capacity to question the framework in our fields.

It is not lost on me as a yellow body in America, with the false connotations therein, where I’m often seen as diminutive, quiet, accommodating, agreeable, submissive, that I am not expected to think against the grain, to have my own theories on how I practice my art and my life. I became a writer knowing I am entering a field (fine arts) where there are few faces like my own (and with many missing), a field where we are expected to succeed only when we pick up a violin or a cello in order to serve Euro-Centric “masterpieces”. For so long, to be an Asian American “prodigy” in art was to be a fine-tuned instrument for Mozart, Bach, and Beethoven.

It is no surprise, then, that if you, as a BIPOC artist, dare to come up with your own ideas, to say “no” to what they shove/have been shoving down your throat for so long, you will be infantilized, seen as foolish, moronic, stupid, disobedient, uneducated and untamed. Because it means the instrument that was once in service of their “work” has now begun to speak, has decided, despite being inconceivable to them, to sing its own songs. I want you, I need you, to sing with me. I want to hear what you sound like when it’s just us, and you sound so much like yourself that I recognize you even in the darkest rooms, even when I recognize nothing else. And I know your name is “little brother” or “big sister” or “light beam,” or “my-echo-returned-to-me-intact.” And I smile. In the dark I smile.

Art has no rules-- yes-- but it does have methods, which vary for each individual. the following are some of my own methods and how I came to them. I’m very happy y’all are so into figurative language! It’s my favorite literary device because it reveals a second IDEA behind an object or abstraction via comparison. When done well, it creates what I call the “DNA of seeing.” That is, a strong metaphor “Greek for “to carry over”) can enact the autobiography of sight. For example, what does it say about a person who sees the stars in the night sky-- as exit wounds? What does it say about their history, their worldview, their relationship to beauty and violence? All this can be garnered in the metaphor itself-- without context-- when the comparative elements have strong multifaceted bonds. How we see the world reveals who we are. And metaphors explicate that sight.

My personal feeling is that the strongest metaphors do not require context for clarity. However, this does not mean that weaker metaphors that DO require context are useless or wrong. Weak metaphors use context to achieve CLARITY. Strong metaphors use context to SUPPORT what’s already clear. BOTH are viable in ANY literary text. But for the sake of this deeper exploration into metaphors and their gradients, I will attempt to identify the latter.

I feel it is important for a writer to understand the STRENGTS of the devices they use, even when WEAKER versions of said devices can achieve the same goal via different means. Sometimes we want a life raft, sometimes we want a steam boat-- but we should know which is which (for us). My focus then, will be specifically the ornamental or overt metaphor. That is, metaphors that occur inside the line-- as opposed to conceptual, thematic, extended metaphors, or Homeric simile (which is a whole different animal).

My thinking here begins with the (debated) theory that similes reside under metaphors. That is, (non-Homeric) similes, behave cognitively, like metaphors. This DOES NOT mean that similes do not matter (far from it), as we’ll see later on, but that the compared elements, once read, begin to merge in the mind, resulting in a metaphoric OCCURENCE via a simileac vehicle.

This thinking is not entirely my own, but one informed by my interest in Phenomenology. Founded by Edmund Husserl in the early 20th century and later expanded by Heidegger, Phenomenology is, in short, interested in how objects or phenomena are perceived in the mind, which renewed interest in subjectivity across Europe, as opposed to the Enlightenment’s quest for ultimate, finite truths. By the time Husserl “discovered” this, however, Tibetan Buddhists scholars have already been practicing Phenomenology as something called Lojong, or “mind training”, for over half a millennia.

Whereas Husserl believes, in part, that a finite truth does exist but that the myopic nature of human perception hinders us from seeing all of it, Tibetan Lojong purports that no finite “truth” exists at all. In Lojong, the world and its objects are pure perception. That is, a fly looks at a tree and sees, due to its compound eyes, hundreds of trees, while we see only one. For Buddhists, neither fly nor human is “correct” because a fixed truth is not present. Reality is only real according to one’s bodily medium.

I’m keenly interested in Lojong’s approach because it inheritably advocates for an anti-colonial gaze of the world. If objects in the real are not tenable, there is no reason they should be captured, conquered or pillaged. In other words, we are in a “simulation” and because there is no true gain in acquiring something that is only an illusion, it is better to observe and learn from phenomena as guests passing through this world with respect to things-- rather than to possess them.

The reason I bring this up is because Buddhist philosophy is the main influence of 8th century Chinese and 15th-17th century Japanese poetics, which fundamentally inform my understanding of metaphor. While I appreciate Aristotle’s take on metaphor and rhetoric in his Poetics, particularly his thesis that strong metaphors move from species to genus, it is not a robust influence on my thinking. After all, like sex and water, metaphors have been enjoyed by humans across the world long before Aristotle-- and evidently long after. In fact, Buddhist teachings, which widely employ metaphor and analogy, predates Aristotle by roughly 150 years.

Now, to better see how Buddhist Phenomenology informs the transformation of images into metaphor, let’s look at this poem by Moritake. “The fallen blossom flies back to its branch. No, a butterfly.” When considering (western-dominated) discourse surrounding analogues using “like” or “is”, is this image a metaphor or a simile? It is technically neither. The construction of this poem does not employ metaphor or simile. And yet, to my eye, a metaphor, although not present, does indeed HAPPEN.

What’s more, the poem, which is essentially a single metaphor, is complete. No further context is needed for its clarity. If context is needed for a metaphor, then the metaphor is (IMO) weak-- but that doesn’t mean the writing, as a whole, is bad. Weak metaphors and good context bring us home safe and sound. Okay, so what is happening here? By the time I read “butterfly,” my mind corrects the blossom so that the latter image retroactively changes/informs the former. We see the blossom float up, then re-see it as a butterfly. The metaphoric figuration is complete with or without “like” or “is”.

Buddhism explains this by saying that, although a text IS thought, it does not THINK. We, the readers, must think upon it. The text, then, only curates thinking. Words, in this way, begin on the page but LIVE in the mind which, due to limited and subjective scope of human perception, shift seemingly fixed elements into something entirely new. The key here is proximity. Similes provide buffers to mediate impact between two elements, but they do not rule over how images coincide upon reading. One the page, text is fossil; in the mind, text is life.

Nearly 5000 years after Maritake, Ezra Pound, via Fenolosa, reads Maritake’s poem and writes what becomes the seminal poem on Imagism in 1912, which was subsequently highly influential to early Modernists: “The apparition of these faces in the crowd: Petals on a wet, black bough.” Like Maritake, Pound’s poem technically has no metaphor or simile. However, he adds the vital colon after “crowd,” which arguably works as an “equal sign”, thereby implying metaphor. But the reason why he did not use “are” or “is” is telling.

Pound understood, like Maritake, that the metaphor would occur in the mind, regardless of connecting verbiage due to the images’ close proximity. We would come to know this as “association”. Even if the colon was replaced by the word “like,” the transformation, though a bit slower, would still occur. In fact, when I first studied Pound years ago, I had trouble recalling whether this poem was fashioned as a simile or not-- mainly because the faces change to fully into blossoms each time I try to recall the poem.

Now let’s look at a simile that, to me, metaphorizes in the same way as the examples above, in [a] line ... from Eduardo C. Corral: “Jade moss on the tree intensifies, like applause.” The origin/tenor image (moss) is connected to the transforming element (applause). This metaphor suggests, not an optical relationship, but a BEHAVIORAL one. Both moss and applause are MASSES that accumulate via singularities: grains of moss and pairs of hands clapping to form a larger whole.

You might disagree, but when I read Corral’s line, I don’t SEE an audience clapping BESIDE the moss. I see moss growing quickly to the sound of clapping. Although the simile is employed, the fusion of both elements completes the action in my mind’s eye. Like Maritake and Pound, metaphor has OCCURRED here-- but without “metaphor”. HOWEVER, the simile is still VITAL. Why?

Because the transforming element is abstract (applause) and looks nothing like moss. We don’t want moss to BE applause, we want the nature of applause to inform, imbue, moss. The line, I feel, would be quite poor if it was formed sans simile: “Jade moss is applause on the tree.” The “is” forces transposition, which is here akin to slamming two things together without mediation. We also lose the comparison of behavior, and are asked to see that moss BECOME applause, which doesn’t have the same meaning as the original. So, although the simile fuses into metaphor (via association) in the mind, such a metaphor would NOT have been possible without the simile. Similes matter greatly-- as tools towards metaphor. Why? Because (thank god) our minds are free to roam.

To summarize, one of the central strategies (and, to an extent, purposes) of the Japanese Haiku is to juxtapose two elements to test their synergy. This impulse is grounded in Shinto and Buddhist concepts of impermanence and structural malleability. That is, all things, even ideas and images, are subject to constant change-- and such change is the most pervasive nature of perception.

The Haiku then becomes the perfect medium to test such changes. This principle is of central importance to me because it is rooted in non-dualistic (or non-binary) thinking. The poem becomes the theatre in which fixed elements can be transformed, their borders subject to being dissolved, shifting towards something entirely new-- to “create”, which is the Greek root to the word “poet”. The metaphor, then, is more like a chemical, whose elements (like hydrogen and oxygen), placed side by side, becomes water. In this way, Buddhism’s influence on my work and, specifically, my use and understanding of metaphor, is a foundational QUEER praxis for alterity.

The reason why I emphasize the malleability of simile’s impact is that, although syntax and diction can aide a metaphor towards its more luminous embodiment, the ultimate key to its success is you, the observer. YOU have look deeply and find lasting relationships between things in a disparate world. In this sense, the practice of metaphor is also, I believe, the practice of compassion. How do I study a thing so that I might add to its life by introducing it to something else? At its best, the metaphor is what we, as a species, have always done, at OUR best: which is to point at something or someone so different from us, so far from our own origins and say, “Yes, there IS a bond between us. And if I work long enough, hard enough, I can prove it to you-- with this thing called language, this thing that weighs nothing but means everything to me.”

In the end, it is less about how you set up your metaphors (you will eventually find a way that suits it and you) but more about how you recognize your world. THAT is not easy to teach-- it comes with patient practice, with a committed wonder for a world that at times might be too painful to look at. But you must and you should. Good metaphors, in the end, come from writers who are committed to looking beyond what is already there, towards another possibility. This calls that you see your life and your work as inexhaustible sites of discovery, and that you tend to them with care. That’s it. That’s the true secret to a strong metaphor: care.

Lastly, I want to recommend the work of BIPOC poet and theorist, Thylias Moss, who discovered the Limited Fork Theory, a theory which suggests that the mind engages with the world, and especially with ideas, including text and art, the way the tines of a fork engage with a plate of food. That is, only so much can be held on the work/mind with each attempt to consume, and that no “work” can be possessed in its entirety, which I find happily congruent with Lojong. What a wonderful anti-imperialist and forgiving way to engage with our planet and its phenomena. Thank you, Mrs. Moss!

And thank YOU for sticking around through my little seminar. I hope this has been helpful. Again, this is just my 2(5) cents! Now I’m going to sleep for four days. In the meantime, me-ta-phors be with you. [concludes with a pixel gif of Obiwan Kenobi with a blue light saber]

#writeblr #poetry #writing community #metaphor #amwriting #ocean vuong #my posts.#long post.#( i thought his quote of 'like applause' said applesauce )

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snowydaffodils · 4 years

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Hogwarts!AU: Kim Namjoon - Gryffindor!

Kim Namjoon counted the days to his eleventh birthday, just so he can finally receive his hogwarts letter the second it arrived.

His father, a muggle lawyer, and his mum, a pureblooded Slytherin and a high-ranking official in the Ministry of Magic, always held the highest esteem for education. Naturally, Namjoon grew up to be knowledgable in both worlds.

As a kid, he was always so proud of the books his family owned. There were magical books on one side, some that moved on its own (one was even chained because it kept growling), and also muggle books on the other.

His excitement for Hogwarts is mainly based on the gigantic library he had only ever heard about.

Like this kid was the only one who was actually excited to study.

He's a big fan of the Minister of Magic - Hermione Granger - and wholeheartedly supported her campaigns for equal rights for all magical creatures.

In his first year, Namjoon was so astounded by the beauty of the Hogwarts castle that he leaned a little too far from the boat and fell to the lake.

Hagrid had to drag him out of the lake and back on his boat after Jung Hoseok screamed in horror.

McGonagall did a quick drying spell when he finally stepped into the castle just so he wouldn't embarrass himself during sorting.

But then he was sorted to Gryffindor, and people were confused. But when they finally got to know him, they finally understood why.

Rumors about his mum being the direct advisor of Hermione Granger and Harry Potter didn't go unnoticed, so the crowd had suspected him to be sorted into Ravenclaw.

He thought he was an obvious Ravenclaw, himself.

Jung Hoeeok, who he made friends with on the train, was sorted to Ravenclaw and Namjoon was already smiling ear-to-ear because he was so certain they were going to be sorted together.

Madam Hooch always had one eye out for him during flying classes. He's so clumsy that Madam Hooch made him fly no higher than three meters high, because no, she shall not risk a kid's death in her class. The broom just wouldn't listen to him!

Kim Namjoon's perception on justice and his knowledgeable traits made the Sorting Hat mumble to itself for five minutes straight, arguing for and against Ravenclaw and Gryffindor before eventually yelling Gryffindor in the proudest way possible.

He excelled in all his classes (all but flying) - it was a no-brainer to him. Namjoon could theoretically perfect every spell and charm to exist. That is, if he doesn't break his wand or accidentally slipped while performing a spell and thus ruining his magic coordination.

Namjoon kind of envies natural Jung Hoseok, who Madam Hooch was keen on recommending to the Ravenclaw quidditch captain effective immediately after the first flying class.

But soon he became Hoseok's number #1 supporter, and later added more names on his supporting board (namely Jimin, Taehyung, and Jeon Jungkook).

Is in the chess club and debate club since first year.

Got into rap music in second year when Hoseok brought an MP3 player to the train and showed some music to the group.

When Hoseok found out that MP3 players don't work in Hogwarts, Namjoon made an alternative that works under magic, instead.

He could've sworn Hoseok shed a tear.

"...Thanks, mate."

Kim Namjoon, who thinks that Hagrid's hut is the most comfortable place ever, loved dragging Jung Hoseok and Kim Seokjin down to the hut (sometimes Min Yoongi as well if he actually caught him out of bed), to have a cup of hot chocolate and listen to Hagrid's many tales of Hogwarts' students.

"You're welcome."

Later on, he dragged his juniors, Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook as well, and the hut became their studious escape.

His Hagrid's hut trips may or may not include curious questions about Hermione Granger and her two friends (yes, he knew of Harry Potter, but couldn't care less about him. Hermione was his star) and their adventures in Hogwarts.

He also loves befriending the magical creatures that Hagrid introduced him to, and is later on able to excel his Care on Magical Creatures subject without opening the monstrous book (although his mum had one at home and had made a non-monstrous copy).

All his peers respected him for: first, his extremely good grades; second, his unrivalled arguments on most values and campaigns that he promoted to his peers (and many students supported his campaigns because of his many speeches); and third, his membership as one of the notorious six at that time and later on seven that kind of ruled Hogwarts (also, maybe his good looks helped).

Also, by third year, he had broken three different wands.

By third year, Kim Namjoon had an unwavering leader charisma.

Some students made a rumour that Namjoon made a blood pact with some demon - gaining intelligence in exchange for living in clumsiness.

Kim Seokjin may be the oldest of the group of friends, and was prefect before him, but he listens to Namjoon like a house elf (albeit with a lot of nagging as he do as he's told).

Obviously, Kim Namjoon became a prefect in his fifth year, and later on Gryffindor's head boy.

Nobody had to ask if he was chosen for the role. He didn't need to even mail his friends on the news.

He just received seven owls all congratulating him on his newest achievement that summer before fifth year.

The same thing happened when he was chosen as Head Boy.

Somehow, even the usually indifferent Yoongi sent him a short note.

Yoongi somehow convinced Namjoon to let him use the prefect bathroom using his prefect benefits.

"The Slytherin boys' bathroom? You'd think they know where to shit."

"Oh."

He was the prefect that gives points for every single kind deed he sees, and gives massive deductions to bullies, no matter the house.

Also, the prefect that still breaks rules, especially to go out at night and stargaze.

Astronomy scores on top of his year.

Ravenclaws all look out for him in academic competition.

His elegance and eloquence (also his various choice of words that he use when he talks, especially on a formal occasion) made many others look up to him.

One of them was Jungkook, who eyed him with so much adoration when Namjoon helped him with the way to class on his first day.

He loves writing poems, then sending some of his works to the Daily Prophet.

By the end of fifth year, they offered to publish a book of compilation from all the poems he wrote.

Holds cyphers in the room of requirement with the rest of the gang, sometimes putting up posters that Jungkook designed and garnered up quite an audience.

Outstanding grades in all his OWLs and NEWTs.

Got a pretty good position in the ministry and eventually climbed up and worked close to Hermione Granger.

When he was on comfortable speaking terms with the Minister of Magic (a.k.a he wasn't frozen or stuttering), Hermione thought she was back in Hogwarts and was taking her NEWTs exams from the questions he keeps asking.

A teaching position in Hogwarts also intrigues him.

Prepares all the accommodation for his group of friends to watch the Quidditch World Cup.

Was sent by the Ministry to hold the International Wizarding Competition of Magical Skills (basically a non-leathal Triwizard Tournament) for the first Hogwarts' participation and the first time in Hogwarts during Jungkook's seventh year.

Somehow was able to find ways to let the group of friends watch the tournament after Seokjin's begging to watch Jungkook in action.

"Namjoon, please! It's Kookie! I can't miss it for the world! Besides, look at Jimin and Taehyung - they're bawling like mandrakes! Come on, just this once!"

Seokjin said that through a Howler.

Namjoon just sighed.

But Namjoon, the one who brought all sorts of justice and right equity to the wizarding world.

Stands tall on his stances and never wavered through his post.

Is the most active Ministry member, and folks could see all the results of his work clearly.

Kim Namjoon, who will fight for his ideals, without a single fear.

Kim Namjoon, courageous, full of chivalry, and is a man of justice.

Kim Namjoon, a candidate for the Minister of Magic.

#kim namjoon #namjoon #hogwarts au #namjoon hogwarts au #rm #rm hogwarts au #rm fanfic #namjoon fanfic #bts rm #bts #namjoon bullet points #rm bullet points #fanfic #kpop

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lordbeyron · 4 years

Text

By Any Other Name

Tyrellius Duskfury exhaled sharply out of his nose. His mask hid well the disapproving scowl on his face, as he escorted Lady Silentspear into Everblaze Manor. While the Demon Hunter didn't see in the same way as his elven kin, he could still perceive his surroundings well. Better than most, thanks to his prime bound demon. Observers saw the world through many different lenses. And now, so did he. Everblaze Manor was… gaudy. Crimson drapery with golden filigree, the grandiose portrait frames and statue busts lining the corridors-- most of which depicted Lord Everblaze himself, of course-- the vaulted ceiling crowded with dimly lit chandeliers... all of it shiney and extravagant! The manor was a monument to the Magister's narcissism, most assuredly. Tyrellius found himself glad, for once, that he'd gouged his real eyes out to spare them the true pain of seeing all this naturally.

Tydori, on the other hand, didn’t seem fazed in the slightest. A rather slender woman, she walked the halls of the Manor with such grace and reverence, any passer-by could have mistaken her for master of the domain. If not for the garish horns protruding from her raven hair, perhaps. She dressed the part nonetheless; an elegant black dress with red and gold trim. A blindfold to match. Simple, but all the same displayed a fealty to the High Kingdom. And that wasn’t an accident. For months, since stepping into the spotlight of the Council, she’s long represented the side of Quel’Thalas often left too forgotten by those living in the luxury of Silvermoon. Soldiers and citizens, all who have made often-overlooked sacrifices. She needed no extravagant dress or peacocky attire. Hers was a platform of simplicity and fealty. And she wore it well in both the literal and figurative sense.

That’s why they were here, Tyrellius could only surmise; Lady Silentspear’s controversial propositions had tipped the Sun Council itself on its head. Outraged at her “radical” ideas for reformation, she was dismissed… much to the ire of the people whom she represented. Protests, riots, anger in all its forms from civil to ugly all erupted throughout Silvermoon. Unintended by Tydori, of course, but Tyrellius knew she wouldn’t have been invited to a Councilor’s estate if noise hadn’t been made on her behalf. Though, he never expected Lord Bey’ron Everblaze, of all the Councilors, to be the one who would reach out first. An odd move, even for him. Despite the support she’d garnered from her fellow elves, to any politician she was a poison; was Lord Everblaze truly so powerful-- or arrogant-- to host her like this without losing face?

The pair of demon hunters stepped into a large room; dimly lit, but that was no issue for them. Bookshelves lined the walls. And where there weren’t bookshelves, there were more paintings-- scenery in this room, rather than portraits. In the center of the room were three luxurious chaise lounges, all circled about an elegant table of food and wine. No guards. No attendants. The room was as empty as a tomb. Magic permeated the air throughout, causing Tyrellius’ ears to flicker with unease. Was this a trick? He wasn’t fond of the idea before, and grew less so by the second. His hands settled onto the hilts of his weapons as he stepped out ahead of Tydori to better examine the lounge. Nothing looked too unusual, save a few remnant portal signatures slowly dissipating into the ambient arcana. He approached the sitting area, Tydori waiting as patiently and quietly as she always did for her trusted hand to inspect the scene. The food, while delivered via magical means, was real. Fresh, too. Grapes from a vineyard, sliced meats and cheeses… and red wine in a small cask-- their host’s vintage, it seemed. Tyrellius grunted, before nodding to Tydori. All seemed well enough… for the moment.

“How long are we to wait here for him, before we get on with our lives?” he asked, no shortage of bile in his tone.

Tydori approached, and placed a hand on Tyrellius’ shoulder. Wordless, yet it said all he needed to hear. He exhaled a sigh, ears wilting as he dipped his head.

“... I know. I’m sorry. I’m just on edge. I’ve heard… things… about this Magister.”

“--Good things, I hope.”

A pair of bookshelves across the room opened up, revealing Magister Everblaze. He smirked at his guests as he entered the room, and bowed his head.

“Lady Tydori Silentspear. I’m so pleased you accepted my invitation today.” he grinned, approaching the sitting area.

Tydori bowed her head politely, her ruby lips curling into a polite smile. Tyrellius, however, simply crossed his arms. Bey’ron raised his brow curiously, at the rather mixed reception.

“... I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long. I know you Illidari are used to a certain hastiness, hmm?”

“--I’m sure you mean punctuality, Milord.” Tyrellius corrected, unabashedly.

“Mm… certainly so.” Bey’ron grinned at him, before motioning to the chaise lounges. “Why don’t we sit, hmm? Please make yourselves comfortable.”

Tydori once again dipped her head, before lowering herself into one of the seats. Bey’ron did the same, settling into his preferred chair. Tyrellius remained standing, arms crossed as he stared at the Magister. He’d seen him before, once or twice in passing; always dressed in lavish robes, and wearing that cocky smirk. His entire person soaked in arcana-- and a streak of fel magic inherent to most Blood Elves. Yet now, the Magister’s attire was simple. Almost humble for him. Unusual, considering everything he’d seen so far of Lord Everblaze’s lifestyle. Was it a ploy of some kind to relate to Lady Silentspear? Or a gaff at her expense? Perhaps neither; perhaps Lord Everblaze didn’t find this meeting worth dressing up for. Insulting, no matter the case. Tyrellius was normally reserved and accepting, but… something about Bey’ron rubbed him the wrong way. He kept still, statuesque, mask hiding the glare on his face. But Bey’ron seemed to know it was there… and smirked at Tyrellius as if he didn’t care. As if he welcomed it.

“I admit, I’ve been greatly impressed by your resilience through all this, Lady Silentspear. Your Councilorship has not been the smoothest, has it?” the Magister began, folding his hands atop one another in his lap. “And yet, you endure. You persevere. I find your tenacity inspiring, I must say.”

“--With all due respect, is this a joke, Milord?” Tyrellius chimed in. “You know as well as I do that Milady Silentspear has been dismissed from the Council by you and your fellow Councilors, hasn’t she?”

“Ah, I’m glad you asked. That’s not entirely accurate.” Bey’ron got his turn to correct. “Councilorship isn’t just granted and revoked by declaration alone. There’s a lengthy process to both. The Council’s intention is unaltered, presently, but she’s not been stripped of the honorific just yet.”

He turned his attention to Lady Silentspear, and dipped his head.

“That, frankly, is what I’ve invited you here to discuss, Lady Silentspear. I’m curious what it is you want. What you hope to achieve. If our goals align… perhaps we can attain them together, hmm?”

“Milady Silentspear’s goals are quite clear, I believe.” Tyrellius spoke up once more. “She outlined them succinctly in the draft of her most recent proposition. One which you and the Council--”

“--Forgive me, Master Duskfury, was it?” Bey’ron’s voice raised, eyes narrowing at the Illidari as his smirk vanished. “I’d thank you to hold your commentary, hmm? I was addressing Lady Silentspear.”

Tyrellius exhaled sharply once more, shaking his head.

“I speak on her behalf, Lord Everblaze.” he explained. “A side effect of the sacrifice she made, and the pact she formed… Milady Silentspear doesn’t speak any language but one, now. Not one that elves inherently understand.”

Rather than appear surprised, as Tyrellius expected the Magister to, Bey’ron simply chuckled lightly. His emerald eyes flickered, settling once more on Lady Silentspear, as his fingers steepled in his lap.

“Worry not, Master Duskfury. This is something I anticipated.” he grinned. “I know Lady Silentspear hasn’t been one to address anyone publicly. And her propositions were all delivered by Council Orators, never by herself. It wasn’t hard to piece together her vocal limitations. I assure you… I’m quite capable of carrying out a conversation with her on my own. Reza kil xi nath (We won’t be needing you).”

Tydori’s ears flickered, as Bey’ron switched fluidly to the Demonic tongue. She turned, looking to Tyrellius, who appeared equally surprised. His brow knit behind his mask, as he exhaled a grunt of disapproval.

“Hmph… You’re a warlock then.” he derisively accused.

“Oh, please, Master Duskfury. That’s such a savage nomenclature, don’t you think? I’m not some ritualistic demon-worshipper, like an Orcish warlock.” he grinned. “No, I’m a Magister. My interests and pursuits into the Fel and Demonology have all been scholarly, I assure you.”

“Zi nar falak tu zu kanil (You’re full of surprises, Lord Everblaze).”

Both turned to Tydori, as she finally spoke aloud. Her felfire gaze glowed a bit brighter, shining through her blindfold as she peered at Bey’ron. The Magister dipped his head, and replied to her, in kind.

“Gek toro ix vesk taniz (Our paths aren’t so different).” he assured her with a nod, before speaking in his native Thalassian once more. “If it pleases you, we can converse freely like this, hmm? No need for your translator.”

“(He’ll stay. But I’ll speak for myself, now.)” Tydori replied. “(I admit… it’s nice to have a direct conversation again.)”

“One of the many ways I’m sure we’ll work well together, hmm?” Bey’ron grinned. “So please, tell me… what is your ultimate goal in these propositions you’re creating? You seem to have public interests at the forefront of your agenda.”

“(Of course. I’m an Illidari, Magister Everblaze. We’re but one group of many sin’dorei who are criminally under-represented in the Spire.)” Tydori elaborated. “(By design, the Sun Council is a nepotistic exclusive group, suited to serve the nobility best, and everyone else sparingly. That has to change.)”

“On that, I think we agree. But it won’t change overnight, Milady. You’re talking about altering the foundation of the Sun Council itself. That will take time.” Bey’ron advised, before plucking a glass of wine from the table. “What is your plan, precisely? Brute-forcing propositions won’t work, I’m afraid. You must realize that now, hmm?”

“(I… do, yes.)” the Illidari exhaled a light sigh. “(Perhaps I was too… ‘hasty’, as you put it.)”

Tyrellius scoffed lightly.

“(But that’s only because this goal is an important one. Our Kingdom has changed greatly over the last few years. Old mindsets no longer suit our needs.)” she elaborated, her tone brimming with conviction. “(Modernizing organizations like the Sun Council are the first steps towards building a better Quel’thalas. For everyone. Not just the nobility.)”

“Mm. Then we should do so mindfully.”

Bey’ron nodded in agreement, before taking a sip of wine from his glass. He eyed Tydori for a moment, silently, before leaning towards her.

“You know… I wasn’t always a noble. My beginnings were humble, if you can believe it. I had to build up my name. It wasn’t already pristine and revered, like the one you inherited.”

His lips curled, eyes flickering a bit brighter.

“Or… should I say stole?”

Tydori reached for a glass as Bey’ron spoke-- pausing to look up at him at his last accusatory word. Her brow raised; not in confusion, but light panic. Tyrellius stepped forward, hands slipping up to his sides.

“--I insist you show Milady Silentspear respect, Lord Everblaze!” he growled. “You’ll not slander her so in my presence!”

“Oh? Is this all for show, then? Or does your pet not know, Lady Silentspear?” Bey’ron grinned. “I have a theory on who you really are… maybe you’ll confirm it for me, hmm?”

Without hesitation, Tyrellius drew his blade and pointed it threateningly at Bey’ron. His eyes ignited in felflames, glowing brightly behind his cloth mask.

“That’s enough out of you, you arrogant, slimy--”

“(Tyrellius.)” Tydori interjected. “(Stand down.)”

Tyrellius turned, brow raised at Tydori. He could sense it-- her demeanor had changed from one of silent confidence to quiet shame. Her shoulders sank, chin dipping as she leaned back in her seat. Like a child caught stealing treats, she folded her hands before her. The strength in her aura, too, diminished. Something was amiss. Slowly, he sheathed his blade, looking between the two Councilors warily. Bey’ron only chuckled.

“He doesn’t, then… a pity. Do you wish to tell him, or should I?”

Tydori remained quiet.

“... So be it.” the Magister smirked. “Lady Tydori Silentspear went to Outland and fought as part of the Sunfury. But she never became an Illidari. She died in Netherstorm, defending a Manaforge from Aldor forces. Isn’t that right?”

Tydori still kept quiet and still; her silence still rather telling.

“This woman, to which you’ve pledged your fealty, Master Duskfury… I suspect is actually Tanori Flaresorrow, Lady Silentspear’s trusted seneschal and close personal friend. My theory is that upon her Mistress’ death, she joined the Illidari… and then stole Lady Silentspear’s identity once your kind were accepted back into Quel’thalas. A name like hers carried such weight - a shame to see it wasted. Am I right?”

Tyrellius shook his head in disbelief. He turned to the other Illidari fully, leaning down at her. He could feel it; her heart rate increasing, beating hard in her chest. Her cheeks grew flush with embarrassment or shame. She didn’t need to say anything to confirm what Bey’ron claimed.

“... By the Sun…” he muttered, defeatedly.

“(That’s not why I did it.)” Tydori-- rather, Tanori admitted. “(I swore I would do everything I could to uphold her family name and its values. Nothing I’ve done has been outside her intent and wishes! Turn me in if you wish, Lord Everblaze, but know that Tydori had nothing to do with this! I won’t see you drag her name through the mud!)”

“--Oh… you misunderstand, my dear.” Bey’ron shook his head, idly swirling the wine in his glass. “I’m not going to turn you in. You’ve turned Lady Silentspear’s name into a beacon, and the citizens are rallying around it. That has uses. You have uses.”

“--Bastard! This is why you brought her here? To blackmail her?” Tyrellius snarled.

“On the contrary… I meant everything I’ve said thus far. Our goals may align well here. And my keeping this little secret is… let’s call it a show of good faith, hmm?”

A dozen thoughts swarmed Tyrellius’ mind all at once. His hand gripped the hilt of his blade once more, as he stared with disdain at Bey’ron. Tydori had been a long time friend… he never knew she’d lied about any of this. But was it so bad? He knew her intentions were pure. Would it be worth continuing to serve her? Or would the lies pull him apart from the inside out? What of Bey’ron? Tyrellius knew he could kill him, here and now. But… no, that would only make things worse. His staff knew he was meeting Tydori and him today. Turning up a corpse of their master right after? It wouldn’t be hard to piece it together.

“... Leverage, then.” he grunted.

“Call it what you will.” Bey’ron shrugged, before taking another sip of his wine. “My offer stands; reintroducing Lady Silentspear into the Council, and helping her gradually bring about positive change, is still very much in line with my own agenda. Details aside, we can help one another out. With your support of the citizenry and my clout in the Council Chambers? I’m confident we can see certain improvements made. Effectively, too.”

“(I won’t manipulate our people like that!)” Tanori frowned.

“--More than you already have, you mean? With your lies? With your silent consent of their aggression?” the Magister chuffed. “You’ve made it decently far on your own merit, my dear, but you won’t get much further without someone helping you. No matter how you look at it… that’s what I’m offering.”

With that, the Magister stood up. Tyrellius stepped forward, ready to intervene or apprehend him if he tried anything… but Bey’ron simply smirked at him again. Gloating over him. Mocking him, like a dog at the end of its leash. He knew there was nothing Tyrellius could do. Not without only harming himself, or his mistress. Lightly, Bey’ron bowed his head to Tanori, and turned to depart.

“I’ll give you a few days to think it over, hmm?” he offered his parting words. “Feel free to linger, if you wish. See yourselves out at your leisure. We’ll be in touch, to be sure.”

With that, Lord Everblaze departed in the same manner by which he’d entered. The bookcase doors closed behind him, leaving the two Illidari alone once more in the elegant lounge. Tanori was silent for a moment longer; less in a quiet dignity, and more out of speechlessness. Tyrellius grunted, as he looked her over. His blood felt like it was boiling-- to be lied to for so long! If he had known, he could have protected her better, or helped conceal it. But now, this Magister had her locked in his grip, and there was no easy way out. Tanori seemed to feel the same way.

“(... I’m sorry, Tyrellius.)” she muttered, quietly. “(I should have told you.)”

“It’s too late for that now, Milady.” he replied, with a grunt. “Instead, we need to figure out what we can do about this.”

Tanori shook her head, before looking up at Tyrellius. Even behind her blindfold, he could see her eyes were dim. Extinguished.

“(What choice do we have?)”

~*~

#Bey'ron Everblaze #Tydori Silentspear #The Sun Council #Tyrellius Duskfury #Warcraft #Blood Elves #Silvermoon #Politics #Quel'Thalas #Illidari #Character Story

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pyrewriter · 4 years

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Ascension

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Ogethres had declared both my brother and I Vandals, allowing us to skip the rank of Wretch which was something most Eliksni could only dream of. Our allotted ether would be more than doubled, allowing us to grow marginally larger but our strength and status within the guild would increase greatly. Vandals were the lowest rank Eliksni that were granted enough ether for their bodies to grow it's sub arms which allowed for a wide range of increased capabilities. I would not be growing a pair of sub arms however. After the declaration Ogethres and Pyrrhaks had asked that Brykis and I join them in the Arkon's chambers.

There was something in Ogethres's eyes "Ellrymksyt, Pyrrhaks and I think it time you are told something" he let out a somehow self ashamed clicking as he spoke. "Do know why you different from others?" he asked hesitantly.

"I am not of Eliksni blood" I started with a blunt chattering, earning myself a surprised look from both my uncle Ogethres and father Pyrrhaks. My brother Brykis put a hand on my shoulder as I continued, "Yet, I stand as Vandal, son of Barron, I earn rank with brother, like all Eliksni".

Pyrrhaks looked us over "How-" he began to ask.

"Sekos-4" I answered knowing what father would ask next, "Ogethres my Arkon, you allowed me, keep data that intrigued, but serve no purpose to guild. Some, visual, moving pictures, learned from and put together, always knew was different, surprised at first". My gaze fell to my hands, they had five protrusions instead of the three of other Eliksni though I bound them together to make them three. I did not have stumps where my sub arms would grow on other Eliksni though my equipment still bore apertures where they would grow. I looked to my brother and met his eyes ,all of them, and he gave a supportive nod. I turned to my uncle and father "Body human,but mind, heart, people, Eliksni" I stated with a proud trill.

Brykis pulled us shoulder to shoulder "Since Sprog, has been Brother, told first and helped come to terms, Brothers, nothing change that". My brother spoke only the truth, I had told him that I doubted I was Eliksni after looking more and more into otherwise useless data I had kept from expeditions. I had my suspicions at the time that our father and uncle knew but was too scared to ask such a thing. After a while the problem I had made for myself simply dissolved itself as none within the guild had shown any form of discontent toward me and it did not appear to be forced. With no logical reason for my mind to dwell on the matter it faded and I fully intended to live as any other Eliksni regardless of whether or not the matter came up.

Ogethres and Pyrrhaks were silent but they had a relieved and proud glow in their eyes, then ,for the first time in memory, they wrapped around us in an embrace. We stayed enthralled in the moment of that embrace for a long time, it felt like it was something that they had wanted to do for years and this was their way of making up for lost time. When they finally released us they regained their composure and our father spoke first, "There something else, want to tell, congratulatory honors". Pyrrhaks looked to our uncle and Arkon as though turning over his right to speak.

"As Arkon I grant special privilege, Brykis, Ellrimksyt, may forge own armor, use skills, craft master pieces, modify as you see fit" Ogethres told us. To be granted forge rights is an honor coveted by all but granted to only those who have proven themselves among the greatest the granting Arkon or Kell has seen. Brykis and myself bent the knee and bowed our heads, thanking him for being so gracious, though he was our uncle and Pyrrhaks our father they were still our superiors. Ogethres chittered in a chuckling manner, "Rise honored sons of Barron Pyrrhaks, go, craft that which you earn, return when complete, your ascension will be grand".My brother and I rose and bowed our heads once more before leaving the Arkon's chambers together. Before one was truly a Vandal they first had to molt and grow their sub arms then they would be fitted into their new gear.

Brykis was first and I stayed with him as he molted and grew which gave me time to think about my lack of sub arms. Molting was a lengthy, draining, and sometimes painful process if unassisted. As for my lack of extra arms it would be of no matter, trivial and not a factor from day to day and minor hindrance at the worst of times. I was next and though I did not molt like my brother I did go through immense pain as the increase in ether intake forced my body to grow at an accelerated rate. My bones grew first, I could feel them becoming denser while they expanded in length and width as they forced their way through obstructing muscle, stretching connective sinew. Said muscle grew quickly to compensate for my body's increasing skeletal structure but it could not quite match the rate which often resulted in tears. Were it not for the constant flow of ether to fuel these changes any Eliksni would die or at the very least lose consciousness but with the flow we remain conscious. All together it took both of us five days to achieve forms worthy of being called Vandals and another two days of rest before either of us could move.

When we could move and were able to use our new bodies we walked straight to the forges to begin our work. A Forge Captains greeted us "Brykis and Ellrimksyt, we were expecting, enter, you granted forge rights, we assist if needed" she explained as she guided us to what would be our work areas. She did not wear standard Captains attire, there was little plating, she had tools hanging from various sashes and belts, bandages covered her arms and legs. We bowed our heads in thanks, "No need for thanks, you two, done much for forge, you earn forge rights" she told us before bowing her head to us and returning to work.

The forges were sweltering, and rank with the thick choking fumes of smelting, the sound of hammers clanging followed by the gurgling of quenching surrounded us. Ogethres had warned us ahead of time and we had entered with only our leggings on but the heat as we worked was nonetheless immense. Most was as simple as making minor size or shape adjustments like the grieves, gauntlets, and pauldron but they still remained of Eliksni design. I was forced to forgo much of the standard Eliksni design as run of the mill Vandal equipment ,though reliable, would not fit a human properly. But I planned to use our forge rights to their fullest when creating my armor and helping Brykis with his.

Neither the standard House Dusk breastplate that rested on the shoulders nor the large cuisse that was bound to and protected the upper part of the legs were worth trying to modify. Instead I salvaged an old House Winter Vandal plate as it would offer greater protection and would be simpler to modify than starting from scratch. As for upper leg protection I created a short set of tassets rather than using a single large solid plate to grant me greater mobility without sacrificing protection. Brykis had run into the same similar problem of finding House Dusk armor lacking or uncomfortable early on as well. Because of this the two of us decided to create matching sets with the main difference ,for the sake of knowing who's set was who's, we used an old House King Vandal plate.

To forge, fit, and finalize our armor with the ether life support was time consuming but retrofitting the consolidated system into old housing was easy, though it left empty space. Rather than further modifying what we had we simply left them hollow, making our Vandal's plate lighter. It was not until we were satisfied with our work and the Forge Captains appraised and approved our work that we left the forges days later. "Work exquisite, master pieces two of a kind, will serve well, go now, will notify Arkon and your Captain" the same Forge Captain that greeted us said, shooing us out almost excited.

Naturally our new ,not to mention unique, equipment garnered stares from those around us as we made our way to the Arkon Chambers. Both our father and uncle met us half way and picked us up in an embrace as their greeting. "Brykis, Ellrimksyt, have not seen in days, heard finished, came to see, armor looks good" Ogethres chortled, giving us pats on the chest as he put us down. "Ready?" he asked with an anticipating tone, my brother and I looked to each other then to Pyrrhaks and finally Ogethres and nodded. With a wave of one of his sub arms he motioned for us all to follow. Together the four of us walked back to the Ceremony hall where our ascension to Vandals and Barron would be completed.

The sight of the guild Arkon moving outside of his chambers to anywhere other than his workshop was enough to signal anyone who saw to head for the ceremony hall. Usually word spread throughout the guild and within only a few minutes the guild would be gathered in the hall for whatever was happening. But it was a short distance from the forges to the hall so not many saw. "All, gather in Ceremony Hall, this day we honor newest Vandals and Barron" the voice of our uncle and Arkon resonated within the hall itself and undoubtedly through the guild. Minutes later the hall was once again packed wall to wall with everyone not out on mission.

The lights pinned into the walls faded until the hall was draped in darkness until ceremonial torches were lit, providing a dim glow. Servitors floated in from the entrance, their purple aura serving to further illuminate the hall and add the reflections off the armor of those below to create a dazzling display above. Then as the servitors hovered high Ogethres began the ceremony, "Today two become VANDAL, one becomes BARRON" he bellowed with pride. "Pyrrhaks my Barron, you bring greatness, your sons, Brykis, Ellrimksyt, bare armor made with forge rights, earned by your feats, become Vandals". At his words the servitors doting the ceiling moved aside to allow only one to float to us with a Captain's helm flanked by a Vandal's on each side caught in it's kinetic grasp.

Immediately I recognized the servitor, it was Sekos-4, there was no mistaking it and why would it be any other. As Sekos reached us we took the helms now ours, Pyrrhaks taking his first, then Brykis, then myself and together the three of us donned the helms that etch our ascension in history. Dregs, Wretches, Vandals, Captain, and Barrons threw their fists in the air with a thunderous roar of celebration. The Dregs, Wretches and a fair number of Vandals chanting "Ellrimksyt, Brykis" with revelry in their words. The rest chanted "Pyrrhaks, Barron of ace sons" to praise him for his accomplishments and those he had raised with him.

The celebration was tragically short lived however as every servitor snapped it's attention to the entrance to the ceremony hall. Their ominously aggressive noises indicated a proximity alarm had been tripped inside the compound.

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#destiny #eliksni #fallen #fanfic #eliksni fanfic #Ellrimksyt #Chapter 2

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mamusings · 4 years

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Supernatural Season 2 thoughts

Continuing with my rewatch. This season kicks up several gears on season 1. Overall the storytelling is much better. There is a less formulaic approach to the even the MOTW episodes. Its inventive: you get one from the perspective of the ghost (Roadkill), two that layer in the boys run ins with the law. The first 4th wall breaker (Hollywood babylon), first alt reality (What is and what should never be) and I think the first straight up comic one (Tall Tales). This works much better. S1 episodes give you: a kill, work out the lore, find the creature and kill it right back. Instead of s1 espousing the lore and developing the brothers as a team, we now get to explore the show's moral compas and the complexity of what brotherhood means within it. I think Hollywood Babylon riffs off ditching the initial importance placed on accuracy in how Spn presented itself in it's own storyline. Yep we like story telling thank you, realism isnt really the point. The monsters and sub plots more clearly refract on the season themes and plot.

Supporting characters are another aspect of the shows blooming. They are a much more varied and interesting bunch. Gordon helps explore a key issue for the show - the distinction between being a hunter and a killer. Its significant he appears twice - it's a big issue. The psychics Andy and Ava are fun. Bank heist dude Ronald garners the right mix of derision and respect - I'm not sure spn homages to freaks and geeks hit the right note most of the time. And theres the Roadhouse crew and Bobby who really help flesh out what can become an overly confined universe.

The first third explores grief. You get the contrast in Sam and Dean's personalities in how they try to deal with John's death. But you also get the sense of them learning from each other as the season progresses. Dean tries talking. Sam tries keeping busy. Both grow while staying themselves. Nice. You also get a switch from s1 dominance of Dean's concern for Sam, with Sam's concern about Dean's increasingly high octane behaviour here and it's a nice switch. With grief you get guilt. Sam's is the easier too little too late regrets. Dean's is the motherload of guilt that John sacrificed himself for him. Given the shows dominant theology is Christian I find it hugely interesting that the focus here is on the receiver of the sacrifice. The overwhelming guilt Dean feels underpins the opening episodes, gets hammered home in Crossroads and then comes back for an even bigger bite when Dean does the same to Sam in the finale. Bobby's anger with Dean and Sam's devastation leaves me little doubt that as much as we all love that Sam is back, Dean did wrong here. Although maybe Dean's guilt comes from his low self worth. Sam might cope very differently?? But I do think the zombie episode declarations of 'what is dead should stay dead' make the point that thus wheeling and dealing with death cant be good. I personally find the idea that moral rules dont apply to Sam and Dean because of love is a weak one. I think fandom does spn a disservice by reducing something really complicated here into 'well they are soul mates'. Loving someone is not an excuse to chuck the rules out the window. But maybe the show itself descends into a moral free for all with no underpinning message and the blame lies there? I'm not sure. In a way that is what I'm trying to figure out with these commentaries.

What works better in explaining why Dean does to Sam what John did to him is the other big theme of season 2: the idea that right and wrong isnt black and white. This is the focus of lots of episodes some of which explore whether hunters are just killers. And others that explore at what stage something becomes evil and why. Both these questions are crucial in relation to Sam's destiny and how each of them should respond to that destiny. The first half of the season sees Dean trying out his fathers black/white approach and the hardening off of himself he thinks he needs to achieve in order to kill Sam should that becomes necessary. Its the mid season finale that finally answers that one for Dean. Sam goes proper bad, Dean doesn't kill him. Along the way, with Sam's prompting, Dean questions not only his father but also the morality he had assumed of his hunting so far. How Dean outgrows John is a huge theme for me. I find it fascinating because he remains the same kind of man as John. Tough, difficult etc he diesnt become Sam. What he changes ir accepts are that what he prizes isnt what John prizes, but rather the people he loves and he learns that this isnt a failing or a weakness. But it's a long long road.

Sam wrestles with the fact that he may turn evil trying to find ways to hope and ways to cope. He takes a leaf out of the Dean playbook at gets drunk. He prays. He looks for a safety net getting Dean's to promise to off him. Dean promises to save him, but the message in Heart is that sometimes the only way to save someone is to kill them. However, the other message is solving things one step at a time, making the right play for the circumstances and not drawing one arbitrary line somewhere - be it between people and non-people or even that evil acts make you irredeemably evil. Slippery stuff, but that's what makes it interesting.

One thing I really like in this season is how the brothers begin to influence each other. They are still a study in contrasts, but they try out each others approaches and they've learned to value what the other brings to the table. As Sam says in the opener they have just started to be brothers again. Their relationship is so supportive that the comic Tall Tales reminding us how much they wind each other up is a needed counterpart lest things get just too damn sweet. The disturbing siblings at the centre of 2 episodes is also sends the message that it ain't all roses too. Andy has an actual evil twin. The ending of Playthings with the sisters is filled with creepy foreboding is particular to this episode. One sister gives her life up for the other and it feels wrong. Of course its foreshadowing other famous brothers but let's leave that alone just now.

In terms of Sam and Dean, their brotherhood seems to have kicked the S1 Sam and Dean team up into formidable. Their run-ins with law enforcement moves our perception of them beyond boys hunting into being increasingly impressed as they outwit cops and feds. It also moves their interactions with outsiders beyond gratitude from victims towards validation from peers and this feels important. There's the seamless teamwork with code words and all. But more importantly trust and loyalty - Sam is unswayed under police questioning in The Usual Suspects. Folsom Prison Blues most explicitly highlights Dean's almost fanatical sense of loyalty and paying your dues.

This pays off in the final two parter. As strong as All Hell Breaks Lose 2 is, part 1 is a yawn fest. But what is interesting is that while Sam does his best to found a team, Azazel can just pluck them off one by one by appeals to each person's individual self interest. The only one of the psychics who gets that the only way to win is to stick together is Sam. In my view Sam learned this from Dean. Dean is always playing the stronger together card. At this point in the show, brotherhood is about solidarity, trust and loyalty. That's actually the message here far more than love. Of course they love each other. But that alone wouldn't have got them this far. What gets them here is sticking together. When Dean finally surpasses John in killing Azazel he gets his moment of John unqualified approval and love. But right after comes the key dialogue of the season. Sam says 'you did it' and Dean replies 'I didnt do it alone'. That seems to me to highlight what's been going on so far. Learning not to do it alone. Learning to lean on and accept others. That's where the Winchester boys outgrow their upbringing and themselves.

Addendum: the angel episode House of the Holy deserves a mention. Its so finely balanced between being about angels and not when viewed on it's own. Its only on rewatching that the effects and props leave you in no doubt that even if F. Gregory isn't an angel this episode is about angels. Its curious as to why it's in season 2 rather than maybe in s3 - no angel appears until season 4. I refuse to count Gabriel in s3 as an angel appearance as he's for many seasons yet still just the trickster. So why? Maybe it's to help us understand the significance for Sam? Angels give Sam hope - making it even more awful for him that he is the object of their suspicion. Or is it about the need for faith, which tellingly Dean hadn't got.

#supernatural #spn #sam #dean #winchester

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sinceileftyoublog · 4 years

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Dogleg Interview: Buckle Up, Motherfucker

BY JORDAN MAINZER

Earlier this year, Michigan punk four-piece Dogleg released one of the most blistering, endlessly playable debuts of the year in Melee, which, yes, is a Super Smash Bros. game. At this point, much has been written about the band, from their beyond wild live shows to their Pokemon-referencing and video game-playing prowess. Lost in the shuffle is that 2020 was poised to be their year to gain even more of a national following. Released on March 13th, right as the COVID-19 pandemic hit, Melee was supposed to be supported by three cancelled tours--SXSW, an opening slot for Microwave, and an opening slot for Joyce Manor--and an appearance at this year’s cancelled Pitchfork Music Festival. Listening to the songs on the record, you can only imagine how they translate: the jerky momentum of “Bueno”, build-up of “Prom Hell”, gang vocals of “Fox”, clear-vocal anthem of “Wrist”, and odd groove of “Ender”. The band agrees that playing live is what makes them Dogleg: “Our live shows is what made us the forefront of the DIY music scene for as long as we were with such little released music,” bassist Chase Macinski told me over the phone in April.

The band’s self-titled debut EP--at the time, the band was simply a solo project of lead vocalist and rhythm guitarist Alex Stoitsiadis--was released in 2015. Full-band follow-up Remember Alderaan? (Macinski, drummer Parker Grissom) came out in 2016. In the four years between EP2 and LP1, Dogleg took their time writing what would become Melee but wasted no time debuting unreleased songs as they were finished. It was not just their energy, but their steady stream of new material that garnered the band a growing fan base, local and beyond, and eventually a deal with venerable indie punk label Triple Crown Records. “Fox” and “Kawasaki Backflip” were released as singles last November and February, respectively, and the generated hype garnered them rave reviews from publications like Pitchfork that, 10-20 years ago, probably would have scoffed at them.

Dogleg’s bigger moment--they’ve certainly had plenty of already big ones--may be on hold. Macinski continues his day job as a janitor in Southfield, about 20 minutes northwest of Detroit, while Stoitsiadis has played around with live-streamed acoustic and solo electric sets. While the group approach to writing that allowed the band to flourish when making Remember Alderaan? and Melee may not be possible without a completely reopen Michigan, and while Dogleg won’t be able to feed off of crowds for a bit, I have no doubt they’ll come back when they can with an even greater drive.

Read my interview with Macinski below.

Since I Left You: To what extent can Melee be fully appreciated without the context of the Dogleg live show?

Chase Macinski: I think you get a feeling for it. You understand it. But you still haven’t experienced it. We have been playing these songs for a long time. “Headfirst” for example, we basically had that song written by the time Remember Alderaan? came out in 2016. But we didn’t want to include it on the EP because it was close but not finished. Two weeks later, I’m pretty sure we wrapped it up, and then we were like, “Cool. We have the first song for the new album.” At that point, we thought it was time to make an album. We were playing it ever since it’s been done. As we were writing songs for the album, we were incorporating them into our live shows. A year ago, when the album wasn’t even out, half our set was still this album. Locals who saw us on the most recent tour we got to go on did catch that experience but didn’t get the whole context of the album, you know?

SILY: "Headfirst”, especially, is the most maximal song on the record.

CM: Oh yeah.

SILY: At the same time, when I read reviews of your music that say things like, “Dogleg plays loud,” or “Dogleg has energy,” it seems to leave out the complexity of the arrangements. The stop-starts, the drum fills, the crescendos. There’s a lot going on in the music, beyond it obviously being loud and fast. Can you talk about achieving a balance between raw energy and composition?

CM: We want to build up a lot of tension when we play, and we keep that in mind when we’re writing songs. We definitely try to think of, “What’s really hype? What builds up a lot of energy? What gives us butterflies in our stomach and makes us really jazzed up to hear this or anxious?” For the live shows, since we focus so much on those details, the start-stops and crescendos, it fills itself in pretty easily since we’re all focused on that and on the same page in terms of execution, that it just happens, and on the other side of that, we’re trying to be as energetic and involved and engaging with the music as possible. What we do in theory helps us out in practice, if that makes sense.

SILY: How did you approach the sequencing on Melee?

CM: We took it very seriously. It took us a lot of time to figure out what order the songs should be in. I immediately said we should start the album with “Kawasaki Backflip”, and I got some backlash on that. The other two contenders for the first track were “Fox” and “Prom Hell”. “Prom Hell” had more of an argument than “Fox” did. My attitude was, “‘Kawasaki’ starts off like a roller coaster, and that intro guitar riff is just like, ‘Buckle up, motherfucker.’ Let’s go for a ride.’” I really thought it had that tension immediately out the gate and blasted you with what could be a middle ground for the entire album, where I thought “Prom Hell” didn’t really address or show you what you can fully expect on this. For the first track, you might think something differently. After that, it was a lot of, “Okay, how does one song end and another begin?” We thought a lot about what key songs were in, what note songs ended on, how they ended, what the band was doing, what they sounded like, and then we thought about the same thing for how songs begin. “How does this one start? Does it start full-band, just guitar, drum fill?” We wanted to make sure we weren’t being too repetitive and created a sense of flow that could make one song go into the other. We even incorporated those moments where we were very specific about the time change between “Kawasaki” and “Bueno”. We were very specific about when “Kawasaki” ended and how much time passed between that and for you to hear the drums of “Bueno”. We wanted it to be an exact timing just for enough tension to be built up.

SILY: Were there any considerations to the thematic sequencing of the songs?

CM: No, not really, other than when we wrote “Ender” and decided to call it “Ender”, we knew it would be the last song. Otherwise, there wasn’t thematic sequencing because the lyrical content and the themes through the lyrics throughout the album were Alex’s thing. We write a song, and when the whole band writes the song, it’s an instrumental. Then, Alex comes up with a melody, and we all pitch in with what the lyrics might sound like, and Alex writes all the words. I’ve contributed when he’s got writer’s block and have helped him out a bit there, but for the most part, all of the themes for the lyrics he puts in.

SILY: There’s a line on “Kawasaki Backflip” that does seem like an appropriate introductory mantra to the record: “We can destroy this together.”

CM: Yeah, I mean, I think that’s a pretty powerful statement as an introductory song on the album. “Kawasaki”’s that “buckle up” song, as well, so the instrumental aspects definitely lead into that idea of “get ready for what you’re about to experience.”

SILY: A song like “Cannonball” is a bit more swaying instead of clearly uptempo. When you go into write as a unit, do those differences occur naturally, or are they forced with any sort of intention?

CM: “Cannonball” I would say occurred naturally because we wrote the song as we were practicing one day. In between songs we were practicing and making noise, I played that main verse riff, that A to C progression. I was just bored, not thinking, and playing my bass, waiting for Alex and Parker to be like, “Okay, let’s play another song.” While I was doing that, Alex was like, “Yo, what’s that?” I was like, “I don’t know, I was just messing around.” We started building on that and took that swaying feeling for what it was, and the lyrics to add to that--I think “Cannonball” was maybe the 4th, maybe 5th song on the album, so we didn’t have any idea what would be on it at that point. We knew it was a Dogleg song.

SILY: On “Ender”, are those actual strings in the outro?

CM: Yes, those are our friends who go to music school in Chicago. We know them from the School of Rock music program we all did when we were in middle school and high school. They were home for summer vacation and had their instruments, and we asked, “Yo, can we record y’alls playing violin”...I forget the other instrument. [Editor’s note: It’s double bass.] Those are actual strings. Honestly, I thought they played the parts so well, I made a comment that, “I don’t think people will think this is real because it sounds so genuine and good.”

SILY: I actually assumed it was a synthesizer.

CM: It’s legit. They’re just really good at playing their instruments. The horns are real as well.

SILY: What’s the story behind the cover art?

CM: The cover art is Alex’s aunt’s artwork. She’s a really great artist, and we’ve used her designs in the past. If you’ve ever seen the dog pack t-shirt, where it’s the bunch of dogs in watercolor--it’s also the artwork of our first EP--she also did that. She just really likes drawing dogs. We’ve never really commissioned something from her--she’s always already made something that we’ve thought is really cool, and then Alex asks her whether we can use it for the band, and she says, “Yeah, sure go ahead.” One day we were playing a show in 2017, way before we had half the songs on the album written, before “Fox” was even an idea. [Alex] was scrolling through his aunt’s Instagram and came across that picture. I saw it out of the corner of my eye and was like, “What is that?” He just goes, “It’s just something my aunt made.” I was like, “That is a fucking phenomenal piece of art. We have to use that for our album artwork.” He was like, “Okay.” He asked, we got permission. We made no edits to it. I don’t know when it was drawn or made, but when I saw it, I immediately knew it was perfect.

SILY: Is she a fan of the band?

CM: Yeah, she likes the band. She thinks it’s really cool.

SILY: Have any of these songs evolved, from the song structure to the performance, as the fans get to know both the recorded and live versions?

CM: We play the songs faster live, that’s for sure. Before we did any recording for the album, we had to decide on a tempo we wanted to play them at for the album. But since the songs were written, it’s just whatever tempo we’re feeling. For Melee, none of the song structures have really changed. But for the Dogleg self-titled EP, a lot of those songs, we play very differently live. Alex did that all by himself, recording, drums, bass, vocals, guitar. When we got incorporated in the band, that’s when we had the ability to put our spin on it. We changed and added those stop-and-go’s, different solos. No major changes to structure, but they feel more like Dogleg songs you’d expect to hear today.

SILY: Have you written anything during quarantine?

CM: Alex has been making some riffs, but we haven’t written any music. Alex says it’s pretty difficult for him at the moment. The songwriting process for every song on Melee and every song on Remember Alderaan? has been a band experience: Someone comes to the table with a riff, melody, one piece of the puzzle, and then the entire band fleshes it out. It’s pretty difficult for us to write music at the moment when we can’t get together.

SILY: Is there anything else next for you? Are you releasing any more music videos?

CM: We have some ideas. Nothing fleshed out yet. The last thing we did was the “Wartortle” video. We also have the Eureka [Records] sessions, which were all filmed before Michigan was put under lock down. We have some guitar play-throughs that will get out eventually, where it’s Alex playing along with the songs.

SILY: Is there anything you’ve been listening to, watching, or reading during or before quarantine that’s inspired you, comforted you, or caught your attention?

CM: I’ve been listening to a lot of music that I’ve listened to in the past. Once I graduated college and was really active in the temporary jobs I had and on the road, I stopped using Spotify for a long time even though I still had my account. My senior year, my Spotify minutes were huge: You listen to music when you study, do homework, whatever. Once I graduated, I couldn’t listen to music while doing things. A year ago, I was working at a hospital on a research project, and you’re not allowed to listen to music during work. I had like 15% of the music usage I did the previous year. So I’ve been revisiting a lot of old music. I’ve been listening to a band called Colossal. I forget the name of the album--it’s the only one I have in my car. The first track is called “The Dusk of Us” so it’s the first thing that comes to my mind. [Editor’s note: It’s Welcome the Problems.] Phenomenal album, really nice. I’ve listened to that a lot. My roommate has an extra PC, so I’ve been playing a lot of PC games, which I haven’t done in a long time because I don’t have a PC that can keep up. I’ve been playing [Civilization VI] with friends over Discord, which is nice, because I haven’t talked to them in a while. I haven’t really been reading anything, and I’ve been trying to watch movies I’ve been expected to watch for a while. Yesterday I watched The Matrix for the first time.

Melee by Dogleg

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plumoh · 5 years

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[NatsuYuu] left inside

Word count: 1594

Summary: The Natsume clan is powerful, but unlike the other clans.

Note: AO3 link. Day 5 - identity for @natsumeweek!

One-shot: left inside

“Would that be all?”

“Yes. They have not asked for anything else.”

“Good. Thank you Hinoe, you can go.”

Hinoe bows her head and leaves quietly through the sliding doors, a trail of sweet floral scent lingering behind her. She rarely displays such a subdued and formal behavior, even when they are away from prying eyes, so the issue at hand is worrying her more than she lets on.

Takashi sighs and looks out the window. He has view on the courtyard separating the living and working quarters; there are a few people gathered around one of a marble table speaking in low voices, and others glancing inside one of the rooms once in a while. The residence is old, creaking with every heavy step on the wood, but it is his family's heritage.

The clan has survived for nearly a century—it will not fall on his watch.

“That's quite pretentious of them to make such a bold request,” Nyanko-sensei comments, lazily sprawled on a cushion and eyeing him.

He doesn't sound very concerned, though.

“I guess they want to secure an alliance,” Takashi replies. He looks back on the papers scattered on his desk. “Grandmother will never accept the request, though.”

“Of course she won't. Reiko will go herself before those greedy punks get their hands on the clan members.”

She will probably scare them away and give a piece of her mind to the head of the clan, Takashi muses, his pen scratching a signature at the bottom of a page. He skims through the contracts and the offers only for peace of mind, since Reiko repeatedly told him to systematically refuse anything that comes their way; if families or other people truly wanted to have a chat with them, they'd come themselves at the residence with only a shiki warning them a day or two in advance. The Natsume clan is starting to enter the circle of old families, but it has made a name for itself entirely thanks to Reiko's strong resolve and stance on anything dear to her. They rose faster than anyone could have anticipated, and their natural strength garnered interest. She protects them all with her will alone, while Takashi stays in her shadow.

Takashi gets up for some fresh air, outside the residence, and naturally Nyanko-sensei follows him despite his grumbling and complaints.

***

Spring is the season for recruiting new members and for clans to gather to prove they are still in the business, or to show off their newest acquisitions. It's an opportunity to strengthen political relationships and to arrange some secret meetings to prevent a specific clan to grow any further.

The Natsume clan doesn't like to involve themselves in this kind of affairs, but it can't always be avoided. Reiko tries to be in charge of those conversations, and lets Takashi roam around to glean information from unsuspecting youkais.

“Alone again tonight, Takashi-kun?”

Takashi keeps sipping his juice as he turns around to face the newcomer, who never addresses people without that fake smile of his. Nyanko-sensei doesn't hide his displeasure by grunting and keeping a trained eye on him.

“Seiji-san,” Takashi greets after putting down his glass. “I thought you would already be attending important meetings by now.”

“I'm afraid your grandmother has taken the stage yet again,” Seiji answers with genuine mirth. “She will never cease to impress me.”

“She isn't one for etiquette, as you know.”

Seiji keeps smiling, even when Nyanko-sensei starts to complain louder about the food being bland. Takashi pays no mind to the cat, focusing on the recently appointed head of the Matoba clan—they are most likely drawing attention from bystanders, given their respective status.

“How about talking in a less crowded place?” Seiji suggests. “I believe having unwanted ears and eyes spying on us is detrimental to productive discussions.”

He gestures towards the exit of the banquet room, where there are plenty of available rooms, and Takashi nods to follow him.

It is certainly because they are the next generation of the exorcist business that they started talking in the first place; when both of their parents were still alive, when nobody was planning on using either of them for their own profit. Takashi has always had mixed feelings about Matoba Seiji, but he can't deny that having his support, or at the very least being his friendly acquaintance, is enough to drive away the mob. Only the greediest exorcists, those unafraid of even the Matobas, try to affiliate themselves with the Natsumes.

“I'm glad that Natsume-san doesn't seem to lose any of her powers. Without her, your clan would be much more vulnerable.”

And at times like these, Takashi really wants to tell Seiji to mind his own business.

“Did you want to talk about something other than the future of my clan?” his voice is harsher than intended, but Seiji isn't fazed at all.

“I heard about the multiple alliances other families have offered. The other day I believe the Kanedas have even suggested training some of your young members? They are all desperate to secure their place in the exorcist world.”

Seiji leans against the wall, never breaking eye contact with Takashi. There is something odd in his behavior.

“It seems that they expect Natsume-san to lose grip on the hold she has in the political scene, so they want to make sure they can get what will be left of the Natsumes' power.”

“My grandmother isn't the only one who is keeping this clan on its feet,” Takashi cuts in.

Seiji's face changes, his expression taking on more pensive and somber features while Takashi tries his hardest not to back down. It was bound to happen at one point in their conversation.

“Takashi-kun, you can't always rely on youkais.” Seiji sounds tired. “You are an exorcist. If you keep believing that you can treat humans and youkais the same, the other clans will sooner or later try to trample you once you become head clan.”

That's pretty far in the future, Takashi thinks, the image of his indestructible grandmother springing forth. Reiko will be around for as long as she physically can, because there is no way she will go before uncovering the tragedy that befell her daughter and son-in-law.

So he simply shakes his head, ignoring the way Seiji's visible eye hardens before so much stubbornness.

“Exorcist may be what we're called, but I don't consider us as such. The youkais are our friends, I've told you that. Nobody in my clan will treat them as mere tools.”

Takashi forgot Nyanko-sensei's presence with how silent he has been, and when he bursts out laughing, it surprises both humans.

“I will eat anyone who poses a threat, anyway.” His pupils take a greener shade, a thin veil of light enveloping his body. “I like a few snacks between my meals.”

It's not the first time Nyanko-sensei speaks out of line, especially to Seiji. Even if he's not bound by any contract, everyone considers him Takashi's shiki, including the clan members. Seiji knows it, too, and he doesn't miss the underlying message addressed to him. Takashi curls his hands into fists, waiting for the moment he will have defend his beliefs, but Seiji sighs, clearly at a loss.

“I suppose there is no use changing your mind. It's almost regrettable, because I am certain we could have brought the best for the exorcist world together. Don't waste your strength, Takashi-kun.”

Takashi pauses. “We don't share the same views, Seiji-san, that's true. We aim at different objectives, but in the end, we want to make the world a better place. I think we can achieve that in our own way.”

How many times did they argue about this? How long will they stay amiable to each other until their paths diverge, and they inevitably end up enemies? They have years of common past, years of shared secrets said between lines. Not seeing eye to eye can only last for so long.

Seiji gives the slightest nod. “I hope you won't regret your choices, then. I know, at least, that you are smart enough to refuse the alliances.” Then, he smiles. “Your clan is one of a kind, to put it mildly. Enjoy your evening.”

He turns on his heels and leaves. Takashi's shoulders droop and he exhales, slowly, just as Nyanko-sensei huffs and waves a paw at him.

“I guess that means the Matoba kid won't be on your side anymore.”

Takashi wants to believe otherwise, but it would be childish of him not to see what is right in front of him. The Matoba clan seeks power and has always looked for ways to extend its influence, so if the Natsumes can't be an ally, they might become a thorn in their side—especially if Takashi keeps helping youkais and Reiko keeps everyone at arm's length.

“I've lived and seen many exorcist clans, but yours is really a pain. I had to end up in the most unconventional one and suffer with you all. I demand fried shrimps.”

Takashi looks down to stare at Nyanko-sensei. That nickname never suited him, indeed.

“Come on Sensei, we're going to make things move a bit.”

At first the youkai didn't seem to understand, but he takes one look at Takashi's face telling so many futures and hopes, and changes into his beast form. Takashi climbs on his back with ease and they head towards the meeting rooms.

The exorcists need to be reminded that the Natsume clan isn't solely led by Natsume Reiko.

#natsumeweek #natsuyuu #natsume yuujinchou #natsume takashi #matoba seiji #madara #my fanfic #i like the idea of natsume & matoba being kinda friends not friends in an exorcist AU #they still have diff views so of course they can't get along well #and reiko would lead an entire clan with her bare hands

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failes-xtra-bits · 5 years

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REVIEW 1-5 (CON'T)

chapter 4 opens with Damen laying on his stomach cursing the doctor for poking at his back.

It was three days since the lashing. Damen did not clearly remember being taken down off the flogging post and returned to his room.

He did remember being supported by two of the guards, here, in this room, while Radel stared at his back in horror.

‘The Prince really . . . did this.’

‘Who else?’ Damen said.(DAMEN!!!! Didnt you JUST get a beating? )Radel had stepped forward, and slapped Damen across the face; it was a hard slap, and the man wore three rings on each finger.

‘What did you do to him?’ Radel demanded.

This question had struck Damen as funny. It must have shown on his face, because a second much harder slap followed the first.

‘Don’t let him die yet,’ was the last thing Laurent had said.The Prince’s word was law. And so, for the small price of the skin off his back(ha!), there were a number of compromises.

I won't go into detail here we know he got a more comfortable room, yadda yadda.

The concern for his back also struck him as funny(poor man is in Denial).He was bathed frequently, his skin softly sponged with water drawn from a tub. Afterwards, the servants disposed of the water, which, on the first day, was red("It wasnt that bad"Damen?Really?).

The biggest change to come out of this was Damen starting to form a relationship with the guards and garnering sympathy from the servants.

Even the taller guard, Orlant, who had threatened Damen after the ring fight, seemed to have somewhat warmed to him. Inspecting Damen’s back, Orlant had—not without some pride—proclaimed the Prince a cast-iron bitch(YASSS BITCHES!) and clapped Damen cheerfully on the shoulder, turning him momentarily ashen.

So Damen decided to get to know them and provide knowledge about his culture. In the meantime, The Regent🤮returns and pays Damen a visit. He speaks with Damen, asking a series of questions. The most relevant question he asked was how Damen would handle disobedience in a soldier. We all know this leads to the public audience.

Damen recognised the two men accompanying the Regent as Councillor Guion and Councillor Audin. Each wore the same heavy medallion on a thick linked chain: their chain of office.

‘Witness with your own eyes,’said the Regent.

‘This is Kastor’s gift to the Prince. The Akielon slave,’ said Audin, in surprise. A moment later he fished out a square of silk and lifted it to his nose, as if to screen his sensibilities from affront. ‘What happened to his back? That’s barbaric.’ It was, thought Damen, the first time he had heard the word ‘barbaric’ used to describe anything other than himself or his country.

‘This is what Laurent thinks of our careful negotiations with Akielos,’ said the Regent. ‘I ordered him to treat Kastor’s gift respectfully. Instead, he had the slave flogged almost to death.’

‘I knew the Prince was willful. I never thought him this destructive, this wild,’ said Audin, in a shocked, silk-muffled voice.

‘There’s nothing wild about it. This is a piece of intentional provocation, aimed at myself, and at Akielos. Laurent would like nothing better than for our treaty with Kastor to founder. He mouths platitudes in public, and in private—this.’

‘You see, Audin,’said Guion. ‘It’s as the Regent warned us.’

‘The flaw is deep in Laurent’s nature. I thought he’d outgrow it. Instead, he grows steadily worse.Something must be done to discipline him.’

‘These actions cannot be supported,’ agreed Audin. ‘But what can be done? You cannot rewrite a man’s nature in ten months.’

‘Laurent disobeyed my order. No one knows that better than the slave. Perhaps we should ask himwhat should be done with my nephew.’

Damen did not imagine he was serious, but the Regent came forward, and stood directly in front of him.

‘Look up, slave,’ the Regent said.

It was around this time that I started getting an inkling that something wasnt quite right. There was something going on just under the surface, but I digress.

Flogging's not possible. But Laurent has grown so unmanageable in recent years, I wonder what would help him.

What a shame that soldiers and princes are held to a different accounting.’

‘Ten months before his ascension . . . is it really a wise time to chastise your nephew?’ Audin spoke from behind the silk.

‘Shall I let him run wild, wrecking treaties, destroying lives? Warmongering? This is my fault. I have been too lenient.’

‘You have my support,’said Guion.

Audin was nodding slowly. ‘The Council will stand behind you, when they hear word of this. But perhaps we should discuss these matters elsewhere?’

So y'all know the deal. They came and dolled Damen up worse than a Las Vegas showgirl and took him in front of a public audience.

'What did you tell the Regent?’ Radel demanded. The last time Radel had looked at him like that, he’d lifted his hand and hit Damen, hard. ‘You heard me. What did you tell him about the lashing?’

‘What should I have told him?’ Damen gazed back at him calmly.

‘What you should have done,’said Radel, ‘is shown loyalty to your Prince. In ten months—’

‘—he will be King,’said Damen. ‘Until then, aren’t we subject to the rule of his uncle?’

There was a long, cold pause.

‘I see it has not taken you long to learn how to make your way here,’ Radel said.

Damen said, ‘What has happened?’

‘You have been summoned to court,’said Radel.

So we know what's coming Laurent and The Regent🤮spar verbally. We realize just how diabolical Larents mind is as Damen described it "He was good at talking"(grudging respect).

Laurent, realising it, opened his mouth to speak, but the Regent cut him off.

‘No. You’ve had your chance to make apologies, or give reasonable excuses. You chose instead to show unrepentant arrogance. You do not yet have the right to spit in the face of kings. At your age,your brother was leading armies and bringing glory to his country. What have you achieved in the same time(I'm just realizing what a slap this statement would have been to Laurent)? When you shirked your responsibilities at court, I ignored it.

So to speed things along we know that the Regent strips Laurent of all his holdings leaving him basically without any means to raise armies and adequate defense.

‘Be grateful I retain Acquitart,’ said Laurent, ‘which by law you cannot take away and which besides has no accompanying troops and little strategic importance?’

‘Do you think it pleases me to discipline my own nephew? No uncle acts with a heavier heart.Shoulder your responsibilities—ride to Delfeur—show me you have even a drop of your brother’s blood(more goading)and I will joyfully restore it all.’

‘I think there is an old caretaker at Acquitart. Shall I ride to the border with him? We could share armour.’

‘Don’t be facile. If you agreed to fulfil your duty you would not lack for men.’

‘Why would I waste my time on the border when, at Kastor’s whim, you roll over?’

For the first time, the Regent looked angry. ‘You claim this is a matter of national pride, but you are unwilling to lift a finger to serve your own country. The truth is that you acted out of petty malice, and now you’re smarting at discipline. This is on your own head. Embrace the slave in apology, and we are done.’

Embrace the slave?

Anticipation among the gathered courtiers winched tighter.

Damen was urged onto his feet by his handler. Expecting Laurent to baulk at his uncle’s order, Damen was startled when, after a lingering look at his uncle, Laurent approached, with soft, obedient grace. He hooked a finger in the chain that stretched across Damen’s chest, and drew him forward by it. Damen, feeling the sustained pull at twin points, came as he was bid. With cool detachment, Laurent’s fingers gathered rubies, inclining Damen’s head down far enough to kiss him on the cheek. The kiss was insubstantial: not a single mote of gold paint transferred itself to Laurent’s lips in the process.

‘You look like a whore.’ The soft words barely stirred the air by Damen’s ear, inaudible to anyone else. Laurent murmured: ‘Filthy painted slut. Did you spread for my uncle the way you did for Kastor?’Damen recoiled violently, and gold paint(Bwahaha!!!! Scandalized Damen)smeared. He was staring at Laurent from two paces away, revolted.

Laurent lifted the back of his hand to his cheek, now streaked with gold, then turned back to the Regent with a wide-eyed expression of injured innocence. ‘Witness the slave’s behaviour for yourself. Uncle, you wrong me cruelly. The slave’s punishment on the cross was deserved: you can see for yourself how arrogant and rebellious he is. Why do you punish your own blood when the fault lies with Akielos?’

Move, and counter move. He gathers Damen and leaves.

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softhaos · 6 years

Text

FATE TRANSCENDS TIME

pairing – kim jongin x reader

genre – angst, very minimal fluff, soulmate au

description – set in a world where everyone is born with a running timer tattooed on their wrist that stops ticking once you’ve found your soulmate. it’s possible to reset the timer regardless whether you’ve found your soulmate yet or not. resetting your timer will result in death but will give you the chance to find your soulmate in a different life. you’re considering resetting your clock even if it means giving up jongin in this lifetime.

warning – none

word count – 1.6k

author’s note – did i get inspired by the wonderful dating news for this story yes i did and you can say what you want but there’s no denying that they’re a powerful couple anyway i like reducing myself to a crippling mess, am trying hard to get into writing satisfactory angst and i think i managed to achieve both of them (i lied, it’s questionable tbh) nonetheless i hope you’ll enjoy reading uwu

The stars blazing through the night sky pale in comparison to him. It’s way too cold to be standing outside at this ungodly hour yet here you are with scarves wrapped around your necks and covering your ears and hands shivering due to the frost.

The stars blazing through the night sky illuminate his handsome face and even with his brows furrowed in confusion, he looks beautiful. He stares at you in disbelief, lips slightly parted as he tries to understand your true intentions.

The stars blazing through the night sky bring the best and the worst out of him. He looks beautiful, but that doesn’t hide the bags under his eyes nor the acne scars on his bare skin. Your heart and resolve crumble little by little when he says with a cracked voice and crooked smile, “You’re joking, aren’t you?”

You wordlessly stare at him, hoping that he’d get the hint. When he realizes that he won’t get a verbal response anytime soon, he inhales deeply and runs his fingers through his jet black hair as he tries to process the situation at hand.

“No. No, y-you’re joking, definitely.” his voice is barely audible but you catch each and every syllable. He stares to the ground, more murmurs of irritation and denial slipping past his lips. The sudden urge to lift his chin up lingers in your mind, but before you can act without thinking, his head shoots up.

“Tell me you were just joking about resetting your timer,” he begs and that’s when the last remnants of your heart shatter completely.

“I’m sorry,” you say as you muster up a faint smile.

Jongin fixates his eyes on you longer, trying to comprehend your thought process. “Is it because our relationship has been made public? Is the backlash troubling you? Have people been bothering you–”

“It’s not that! I just–” you take a moment to recollect your thoughts and stabilize your voice, “– the entire fiasco is a lot to take in. I’m not sure if I could ever adapt.”

Though it’s been one month since the public announcement of Jongin dating you for a good year – of Jongin having found his soulmate a year ago – your life has taken a complete 180° turn: You suddenly have a bodyguard, can’t go out of the house unaccompanied and have to be careful about which words you throw out. Neither you nor Jongin expected the massive support from the public, yet the constant attention you garner from the media is something you could never get used to.

“Adapt to what exactly?” Jongin asks.

You shift your weight from one leg to the other. “Everything. Look, it’s already been hard going on dates before we came out clean. It’s just that– I mean– as much as I want to stay, I can’t keep up with this lifestyle until I die. I just– I can’t live like this!” the words leave your mouth faster than your brain can process while Jongin is taken aback judging by his wide eyes at your sudden confession.

As soon as the realization dawns on you, your legs give up on you. But Jongin is fast and he pulls you into his embrace before you can slump to the ground. Although his arms wrapped around you still feel like the comfort you needed the most, not even his hands threaded in your hair or his signature scent that you associate with his warmth can stop your ugly sobs.

“I want to stay, but I can’t,” you cry as the first tears flow down your cheeks. Jongin’s scarf muffles your sounds and you cling onto his jacket while he remains silent and continues with his gestures.

There’s something oddly domestic about the position you're in despite the given situation. A fracture of this reminds you of the time you spent together when nobody even knew you existed in his life. Yet at the same time, it's terrifying. The way he comforts you despite your ulterior motive seems as if he’s picking up the pieces and patching your heart back together but simultaneously crushing the already small shards into nothingness.

Once you’ve calmed down and the tears no longer fall from your face, Jongin says softly, “If you need to reset it, do it.”

Those words are the last words you expected him to say.

“Are you serious?” you look up at him, sniffling once.

“Hey, you were the one who brought it up in the first place, don’t ask me,” he chuckles lightheartedly and caresses your cheek. He pauses, takes a good look at your puffy face and smiles weakly when you stare right back at him.

“If you really feel like you–” he hesitates, but swallows the lump in his throat as he cups your cheek with a trembling hand,“–if you really feel like this isn’t the time where we’re supposed to be together, then reset it.” His voice is a little bit rough at the edges, barely stable, but he manages.

“Are you sure you’ll be fine right now?” you ask, causing him to flash you yet another, perhaps brighter and more convincing smile.

“I’m a big boy, Y/N. Sure, I’ll miss you, but I can handle it. My timer won’t be affected so at least I know that at one point, I already found you.” Jongin retracts his hand from your cheek and instead, grabs your own and runs his fingers over the ink on your wrist that’s not covered by your jacket. “Besides, you never asked for an idol as a soulmate and I know you’ve been struggling because of my job. I want you to be happy and carefree,” he mutters while rubbing the same spot over and over again.

The gesture plants a smile on your face.

“Yeah, what was I thinking? You’ll do great,” you say out loud, though it’s more directed to yourself – as if you were the one who needs to be convinced that everything is going to be all right.

Upon hearing that, Jongin looks up and cracks a subtle chuckle. He opens his mouth to add on to something several times but refrains himself from speaking those words out loud. Under normal circumstances, you would press him to say what he wanted to say. This time, you stay put and invite yourself back into his warm embrace. You don't know how long you've been standing out in the cold in that position, but it feels like an eternity that you don't want to break out of.

It goes without saying that you had to let go sooner or later. Jongin is the first to realize that.

“I guess I should go. It’s way too late already," he finally says. You nod silently and slowly peel off him before you accompany him to your front porch.

Dismissing any further verbal exchange, he smiles at you fondly one last time before he turns his back to you. However, the silence only seems to last three footsteps long until you speak up, “Hey, Jongin?”

Jongin stops in his tracks and looks back to you with expectant eyes.

“Thank you.”

It was then when a switch in his mind flipped. In the blink of an eye, he's suddenly standing right in front of you and the next thing you know, his lips land on yours.

The kiss in itself is slow and sweet, yet you can sense the yearning and regret that fills Jongin up to the brim. He's being careful, trying not to push your boundaries and trying to refrain himself from doing something incredibly stupid. You instinctively wrap your arms around his neck once he pulls you closer towards him.

It's in the kisses like these where the realization hits you the hardest; the depth of his affection for you and vice versa is displayed the clearest in this kind of deep, sensual kisses. Your mouths don't part until both of you are out of breath and the warmth has spread all across your bodies.

As he tries to regain his breath, Jongin presses his forehead against yours and for a while, you stay in that position. Your heart beats furiously against your ribcage up to the point where it might actually jump out and overflow while Jongin's lashes flutter shut, relishing the last sweet moment you two share.

“See you later, Y/N,” his voice is barely above a whisper, but the soft and caring undertone laced in it makes you believe that everything will definitely end well.

With that, Jongin takes a step back, grabs your hand and presses a delicate kiss on your timer before he intertwines your fingers one final time. At this point, you're both smiling genuinely and gone is any sign of desperation and ailing.

“Yeah, see you soon," you whisper in return and then, he lets go.

The stars blazing through the night sky shine down on him as he digs his fists into his pockets and walks further away from your house until you can’t see his silhouette anymore. Your fingers subconsciously brush the tattoo on your wrist and you fondly look at the numbers inked on your skin. A genuine smile makes its way up your face and you sigh when you lift your gaze up to the sky. You don’t know when you will be reborn, but you are certain that the stars will still be there when you graze the earth in another lifetime.

You can’t wait to meet him again.

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theliberaltony · 5 years

Link

via Politics – FiveThirtyEight

Welcome to Pollapalooza, our weekly polling roundup.

Poll of the week

The 2018 election saw some remarkable performances by Democrats — including, prominently, in the red state of Texas, where Democrat Beto O’Rourke came close to defeating Republican Sen. Ted Cruz. But in Florida, which is usually considered a swing state, Republicans Rick Scott and Ron DeSantis won the Senate and gubernatorial races (albeit by razor-thin margins), respectively, even as the national political environment favored Democrats by almost 9 percentage points. This gave rise to a narrative among political observers that Florida may now be further out of Democrats’ reach than Texas is. But this … has never made a lot of sense to me, and a new poll has given my side of the argument some ammunition.

This week, Quinnipiac University released a survey of Florida voters that included six possible 2020 general-election matchups between President Trump and different Democratic candidates. It found Trump trailing his Democratic opponent in each case, with margins ranging from 1 to 9 percentage points. As luck would have it, Quinnipiac three weeks ago asked Texas voters about those six general-election matchups. In that poll, five of the six Democrats trailed Trump — only former Vice President Joe Biden beat him (by 4 points).

Now, to be clear, I’m not asking you to put a lot of stock in those individual matchup results — as my colleague Perry Bacon Jr. wrote in this space last week, polls of general-election matchups at this point in the election cycle aren’t terribly predictive of the eventual results. However, we can compare the results of the Texas and Florida polls with a recent national Quinnipiac survey that asked about five of the matchups to get a sense of how much more Republican each state is than the nation as a whole.

And as you can see in the table below, if we compare Quinnipiac’s Florida poll to the pollster’s national survey, it implies that the Sunshine State is about 4 points more Republican-leaning than the nation. Meanwhile, the Texas poll suggests that the Lone Star State is about 10 points more Republican-leaning than the country. So according to Quinnipiac at least (and to be fair, it’s just one pollster’s read on the landscape), Florida is still left of Texas in the national partisan pecking order.

Florida is still bluer than Texas

How five presidential candidates performed against Trump in hypothetical general-election matchups in Florida and Texas vs. nationally

Trump vs. National (June 6-10) Florida (June 12-17) Florida Difference Biden D+13 D+9 R+4 Sanders D+9 D+6 R+3 Warren D+7 D+4 R+3 Harris D+8 D+1 R+7 Buttigieg D+5 D+1 R+4 Average R+4 Trump vs. National (June 6-10) Texas (May 29-June 4) texas Difference Biden D+13 D+4 R+9 Sanders D+9 R+3 R+12 Warren D+7 R+1 R+8 Harris D+8 R+4 R+12 Buttigieg D+5 R+2 R+7 Average R+10

Source: Quinnipiac University

I think the reason people have rushed to re-shade Florida from purple to red has to do with misplaced perceptions. Florida went blue in the 2008 and 2012 presidential elections and red in 2016, leading many to think of it as a bellwether state. But in each of those years, the Democratic presidential candidate did worse in Florida than they did in the national popular vote, so the state was actually a bit red relative to the country as a whole. The results in 2018 were consistent with that.

It’s not that I don’t agree that Florida is a Republican-leaning state — I do think it is light red. But I fear that people are overcompensating for (wrongly) considering it perfectly purple before 2018 by now considering it stubbornly Republican. And while Texas appears to be drifting toward the middle, for now at least, both polling and election results suggest that it is still redder than Florida.

Other polling bites

For all the ink spilled about the rules for qualifying for the Democratic presidential debates, a Politico/Morning Consult poll reveals that most Democrats are tuning out the griping. Sixty-one percent of voters who plan to participate in the Democratic primaries said they haven’t heard much, if anything, about some candidates’ criticisms of the debate rules. Instead, many seem content to trust the Democratic National Committee — 54 percent said the DNC is doing a “very” or “somewhat” fair job at running the debates, 33 percent didn’t know or had no opinion, and 13 percent thought the process was being handled “somewhat” or “very” unfairly.

Most Democratic presidential candidates — and most Americans — support “Medicare for All,” but there’s a lot of ambiguity in what that term means. According to a poll conducted by Global Strategy Group, 60 percent think it refers to a “plan that lets anyone buy Medicare instead of their current private insurance, if they want to,” while 40 percent believe it “makes everyone get rid of their current private insurance and switch over to Medicare.”

In reaction to the May 31 shooting in Virginia Beach, Gov. Ralph Northam called a special session of the Virginia legislature to enact gun control legislation. And a new Public Policy Polling survey sponsored by a pro-gun control group found that among Virginians in four key Republican-held legislative districts, 62 percent of respondents supported a ban on semi-automatic assault rifles, and 63 percent favored a ban on high-capacity magazines (one of which was used in the Virginia Beach shooting).

In hopes of eating into Biden’s polling lead, some campaign rivals have tried to attack Biden over his support for the 1994 crime bill that many now argue contributed to the problem of mass incarceration in the U.S. However, a HuffPost/YouGov survey reveals why that might not work: Many Democrats simply don’t seem to know much about the law. Forty-one percent said they are “not very” or “not at all” familiar with the crime bill, and 58 percent said they were not sure which 2020 candidates supported it.

Chances are the “song of the summer” has already been released, so Ipsos is asking Americans what they think it will be. Out of 13 options, Lil Nas X and Billy Ray Cyrus’s “Old Town Road” came in first place, with 20 percent of respondents naming it; in second was “ME!” by Taylor Swift and Brendon Urie, garnering 10 percent of the vote.

Across the pond, YouGov asked members of the United Kingdom’s Conservative Party what they would be willing to risk in order to realize the country’s exit from the European Union. Respondents said they were willing to endure significant damage to the U.K. economy (61 percent to 29 percent) and even the destruction of the Conservative Party itself (54 percent to 36 percent). However, there was a line that Tories were unwilling to cross. Respondents said 51 percent to 39 percent that they were not willing to achieve Brexit if it meant electing Labour Party leader Jeremy Corbyn as prime minister.

Trump approval

According to FiveThirtyEight’s presidential approval tracker, 42.5 percent of Americans approve of the job Trump is doing as president, while 53.1 percent disapprove (a net approval rating of -10.6 points). At this time last week, 42.3 percent approved and 52.9 percent disapproved (for a net approval rating of -10.6 points). One month ago, Trump had an approval rating of 41.8 percent and a disapproval rating of 53.3 percent, for a net approval rating of -11.5 points.

Generic ballot

In our average of polls of the generic congressional ballot, Democrats currently lead by 6.2 percentage points (46.0 percent to 39.8 percent). A week ago, Democrats led Republicans by 6.2 points (46.1 percent to 39.9 percent). At this time last month, voters preferred Democrats by 5.0 points (45.4 percent to 40.4 percent).

Check out all the polls we’ve been collecting ahead of the 2020 elections.

#IFTTT #Politics – FiveThirtyEight #politics #538 #Nathaniel Rakich

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mecharina · 6 years

Text

A letter to Southern Grimvault

I guess this is my ‘Good-bye to WS’ post.

After the initial announcement of the game’s shut down two weeks ago, I haven’t had any idea how to properly express my feelings about Wildstar being close down. Seeing other people’s posts here and lurking on the many groups in discord of the news, I just felt a giant wave of sadness come over me and I couldn’t properly express that.

But I guess I’ve gathered my thoughts enough to where I’m writing this, so. It’s mostly for me, just to come in terms with everything. So take it as you will if you do read it.

P.S. It’s Long. P.P.S I’m not good at writing, so pardon for any odd phrasing or grammar lol

I used to farm the area for heartichoke (and later bloodbriar when it became more profitable) late at night w/ my mechari (To my best son, Romulus). It was a very routine thing I did when I didn’t (at the time) have a guild to partake in activities with.

Passing through Conqueror Square, around 10-11 pm PST, when the only physical activity you could see in Illium was at best, 2-4 people, was a normal sight for me as I headed to the transporters. (Rapid transport? I’m stingy) It was the end of a day for most, but the beginning for me as it was my goal, through this repeated and really obsolete method at the time, to gain more plat.

When loaded in, I put my mini-map on maximum size so I would be able to discern which crops to farm and others to stay away. (I didn’t use a mod to pin point which was which. I never had felt the need to.) Minimized all quests windows, locking them into place so I didn’t accidentally click on them when I was moving around. I ignored nchat for the most part, but did take the occasional peek when curious.

All the while, I would be listening to the movie “The Grand Budapest Hotel”. Why that particular movie to this map? I really have no idea, to be frank. I don’t own a physical copy of the movie. And I’m more of a fan of Wes Anderson’s Fantastic Mr. Fox really. But this was the movie that always played in the background as I farmed. Eventually, the movie came synonymous with this map. It was just automatic for me to put it on-- late at night, with my earphones plugged in. Any extra noise in game, except the sfx for moving around in the world, would be the only thing I would be listening to for next 2-3 hours.

As the third party host site played the movie in the background, I farmed in S. Grimvault. I definitely do not have the lines memorized by heart for this movie despite me listening to it on repeat. But I’ve connected parts in the movie as to what areas in the map I would be located at the time. The first lines, “It is an extremely common mistake: people think the writer’s imagination is always at work...” would indicate myself being near Vigilant Incursion, just before the Strain Wall event on Dommie side. I’d run up the hill and make my way around the perimeter, closes to the wall as I looked over whether or not there was something I wanted to farm there.

“Ten? Are you joking? That’s more than I’d pay an actual dealer -- and you wouldn’t know chiarascuro from chicken giblets,” line would usually be before or about around the Charlie Company Crash area, Exile side. To “Don’t flirt with her.” approximately around the entrance to Northern Grimvault between the two Exile and Dominion outposts. If the line was heard before I past the area, meant I made good time, or if a little after, meant I needed to pick up the pace. (Why it mattered whether I hurried along with farming had no real consequence, of course I didn’t want to spend the ENTIRE night there.)

The lines were sorta like markers for me, the starting point being at the Dominion drop in, all the way around through Exile side of S.Grimvault and through the perimeter of the Strain infested areas before coming back around to Vigilant Incursion. Given this was the path I always took when farming, I took to noticing and exploring things. Only natural for me. Since no one was ever really there, save the occasional leveling player or a bot attacking at monsters. (I swore the first time I saw a bot, I thought legitimately it was a real person... In the back of my mind I kinda did hope it was a real person. Goes to show how lonesome of a person I was then lol).

I know I could have just searched google and typed up things like “Locations of Elite Bosses in S.Grimvault” or “What areas do Champion Bosses spawn in S. Grimvault” but my intention was never to fulfill the achievement quota when I was there. Finding and fighting bosses was a side quest I gave myself when farming. (The extra gold never hurt.) And they became part of the farming routine as I gathered and found more of these bosses and where they were located. (I only ever tackled fighting the rock and strain champion bosses, the charging rhino creature and the Eldan bot were some I couldn’t last long enough to win against.)

The entire routine itself, this farming in Southern Grimvault, was something I did look forward to in the late evenings. I would probably be done around 2-3 am, willing if I didn’t stay longer. Eventually, all the prior set up just became a blur, like, you’ve done it plenty of times, so much so it goes by like ‘that.’ At this point, as I farmed, I thought about things, stuff pertaining to WS in-game, lore, or character development.

One thought I repeatedly went back to in terms of WS was the economy, that if more people played, and how heartichoke and bloodbriar would soar as hot ticket items on the market. I imagined myself to be one of those stuck-up vets (at farming) who knew all the good spots and places to gather said items, being a little greedy and garnering enough plat through this practice to reach the milestone of 1000 plat. ( A personal goal <o/ )

Or story ideas for my characters, coincidentally most of them concerned Rom because I always played him during these times. How he’d go to the market the next day, after rigorously spending the day/night prior harvesting these crops, how he’d haggle with merchants and make a pretty plat. How he’d send Kalua to university in Cassus, or help fund/support his brother Remus’s endeavors with the Torine. Just little plot/character ideas that came into mind at the time.

By the time I hear the credits roll in the background, I’m back near Vigilant Incursion. Upon arriving, I make a quick visit to the renown vendor, sell my extra loot and organize decor/items I’ve gotten and head back to Illium. Most times I’d head back into housing, but recent (recent as in months before when I still farm regularly) I’d just be in Illium and log off. I’d call it a night and that would be the end of it.

I suppose, why I’m writing PARTICULARLY about this personal routine rather than the times I’ve RP’d or done raiding, or gone through the story of WS, or even the drawings I’ve done for the game... is that-

That I thought I’d always be able to come back to it.

When I felt sad, or down, or wanted to relax after a long day, late nights farming in Southern Grimvault always gave me a peace of mind. The map was vast enough that I could spend 2-3 hours, while listening to a movie, to farm, explore, and goof around. I’d be able to process myself through this simple action of swinging giant claws at a plant or garnering a couple gold from a boss.

But now that this is something that won’t happen anymore, it’s a bit sad to think that I won’t be able to enjoy that routine. Of course there will be other things, but specifically this and the things I’ve experienced through Wildstar, a whole lot of it...

I am going to miss it. I knew it was going to be gone at some point, but I wasn’t afraid to hope a little. Just a bit more, another day, another month, a year, even longer, for content that may have come to bring it back to its feet. But in the end it didn’t. And come Nov. 28th, the game will shut down and WS will be gone. It’s my first mmo, and I guess I’ll never really get over the deal that it is over...

But as everyone has said at this point, the memories of the game, making friends, enjoying the content, how long you’ve been playing either at the beginning or near the end. It’s something to keep despite all the sadness about the news. All of that, I’m really happy to have been through, being able to meet new people, doing things, having fun.

So, I’ll close this off saying:

Thank you, Southern Grimvault. Thanks for being a map that let me feel like an explorer and enjoying the aesthetics you had to offer with your golden fields of towering exanite to your strain infested pulsating caves.

Thanks everyone, for all the content you create and your passion that kept the game alive through the years.

And to Wildstar for its crazy sciency magical space cow-boy world that I took great enjoyment in.

The giant 10 foot robot appreciates it.

#wildstar #wsrp #ws #carbine studios #mechari #post #well this went longer than I thought of originally #but I'm glad I finally got my thoughts down properly #the one thing i want to do is definitely finish Exile Main quest side #myart

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