#and with a number of endings comparable to the Lord of the Rings

[turtleations]

Pink Cloudy Sky, P.S. To the Beginning of the End (Summarized)

Chapter 00 - 01 Chapter 02 Chapter 03 Chapter 04 Part 1, Part 2 Chapter 05 Chapter 06 Part 1, Part 2 Chapter 07 Part 1 Part 2 Final Chapter

From the cloudy sky, as REM sometimes remembered, the warm rays of the spring sun came down.

A somewhat lazy afternoon in late spring. REM was leaning against the wall of the clinic’s waiting room, feeling the weight of the guitar in his knees as he went through the setlist of tomorrow’s live. During practice that night, he would do the final checks. He’d have to plan the timing of the MCs, the finale, the arrangement of the new songs…

Suddenly, his eyes fell on the list of that afternoon’s appointments. There were a few more patients than usual for a Saturday. Maybe he could take a nap first…

No, before those appointments, he had to practice scales.

What was to become of him and SAVER TIGER from now on, no one could say.

He was nervous about it, and impatient. Claiming anything else would have been a lie. The one thing he could say was that leading SAVER TIGER now was the most fulfilling period of his life so far. The one year in which he had put everything into fulfilling hide’s dying wish.

He could not even dream of paying back all he owed him.

But maybe this was enough?

Everything after this, he should do for himself, REM thought.

The SAVER TIGER of those days was over. This was the SAVER TIGER he had breathed new life into.

There was no point in dragging the past forward.

The end of the century, rock music, and SAVER TIGER. Those were the only things that mattered to him in this moment.

Just that, and keeping up the creation of good music, continuing to perform.

He could play the guitar like this. He could feel the strings under his fingers, feel the melody in his ears, feel the music with his whole being.

There was no greater happiness than that.

-

In the afternoon sunlight filtering through the trees, the pick REM was holding in his right hand fell to the floor with a small noise. In his dream, his soul kept sliding over the fingerboard.

-

From autumn 1998 onwards, the new SAVER TIGER continued to go on tour: Starting on the 1st of November 1998 in Yokohama, they had six performances in Yokohama, Yokosuka, Meguro, and Takadanobaba until the 15th of April 1999. Then, in May, they performed in three locations in Yokohama and Takadanobaba.

The second part of their tour started in early August and took them to Osaka, Tokushima, Yokosuka, Yokohama, Chiba, Machida, Meguro, and Kumagaya in 11 shows. The final one was planned for 13th December 1999 in BAYHALL in Yokohama.

REM expresses how ecstatic he would be if those who read this book would listen to SAVER TIGER’s music. And while they are at it, they should check out their official website.

Speaking of which, it was hide who first got into the internet, and used it to communicate with the fans in a meaningful way.

And with this feeling carved into REM’s chest, he wants to put down the pen.

Appendix

Study of the dental pattern of patient Matsumoto Hideto.

At this point, REM want to attempt an examination of patient Matsumoto Hideto as a dentist. The following is based on a dental model he made, as well as things hide told him.

It was a model made for the purpose of examination. That day, it became a special thing for REM: The only memento he had of hide’s physical form. Every time REM sees the model in the waiting room or touches the examination table where hide had been sitting, he wants to talk to that white, inorganic thing.

That is why he is sharing the report on that medical examination now, resigning himself to the criticism of the other people from his field.

It would probably be terribly unreasonable to reach conclusions about hide’s entire body just from that model, the state of his oral cavity, and what he told REM. Moreover, it would be rude to hide, one might think. Others would be of the opinion that it is okay to do it, of course. REM thinks it’s reasonable enough.

But REM’s honest feelings are these: It is not a bad thing to disclose a little bit of hide’s personal matters to the public. In this moment, as his friend and as his fellow guitarist from a band called SAVER TIGER, REM wishes to do all he can for hide, utilizing his means as a dentist.

Therefore, REM informs that the following is not a true patient’s chart nor an actual medical report. It reflects only the personal opinion of one single dentist.

[Patient Matsumoto Hideto] 1) Main complaint (the patient’s acutely perceived subjective symptoms for discomfort) .. Sometimes his jaw joints are hurting. It also happens that he cannot open his jaw. Also, severely stiff shoulders. 2) Medical history (past illnesses and current systemic ailments) .. Arrythmia 3) History of present illness .. Observations of grating sounds and irregularities of temporomandibular joint at times are ambiguous

Psychologically, systemic problems are ambiguous. 4) Current symptoms .. Abnormally stiff shoulders

Since long ago, many cases of clenched jaw, jaw muscles are stressed.

Palpation of temporomandibular joint not particularly abnormal, movement of lower jaw is not irregular or restricted. No palpation of muscle occurred. 5) Symptoms concluded from model of the mouth cavity .. Extensive wear of all teeth, corresponding low occlusion.

This is what REM got from what he heard from hide and the examination of the dental model.

One week after his visit at REM’s clinic, hide went to L.A. again, with no follow-up appointment planned, no clarity on when he would be back in Japan, and with the symptoms of his jaw not being acute, REM did not interview him too extensively. He also notes that there was no time for photographs of the oral cavity or X-rays.

At this point, REM talks a little about temporomandibular joint and how it works. Compared to other parts of the body, it is extremely complex in its movements. With its position between the upper and lower jaw and before the ears, it executes a lot of movements when speaking, eating, or even during sleep for some people.

Very roughly said, there is complex movement when chewing or opening and closing the mouth: Up, down, left, right. In contrast, the abnormal occlusion comes from a way of chewing that differs from the ordinary. Damage to the teeth can also be caused by accidents and violent fights. In any case, if the teeth are worn down by chewing or grinding, the height doesn’t match anymore, which leads to irregular chewing patterns.

If that irregularity is particularly bad, it leads to pain of the temporomandibular joints and overall discomfort. This, caused by emotional stress in the first place, can lead to muscle pain, which in turn leads to more tension.

Opening and closing the mouth can create various problems. This is called temporomandibular joint disorder. Of course, when it comes to hide, REM can’t diagnose that for the aforementioned lack of examinations and tests. But between what patient Matsumoto Hideto told him and the information provided by the study model, it’s a conclusion he finds definitely possible.

The model shows that from the front to the back teeth, all the pointy bits had been worn away so that the teeth were essentially flat. This must have been caused by the teeth grinding hide had told REM about. But for the wear to be so extensive all over, the grinding and gritting must have been extremely strong and have gone on for a very long time.

Teeth grinding is a phenomenon that happens unconsciously in times of required self-control or nervousness and stress. If the grinding goes on for a long time, it often happens that normal chewing is no longer possible. This disturbs the entire system of the jaw muscles and joints and causes pain. If it gets worse, the pain can spread to the surrounding muscles, then the shoulders and fingers and even the back and legs. Also, this affecting the muscles is often the cause for stiffness of the shoulders.

According to the model, the size of hide’s jaw (the gap between the upper and the lower jaw) when chewing was a lot lower than it used to be due to the wear, and the bones inside the joint no longer fit the normal position. The wear is so extensive that REM assumes the pain spread past the environment of the jaw to parts of the body far away from it.

And thus he concludes this meagre investigation.

Finally, there is one more episode REM wants to add in line with this report.

This is how he remembers it:

That day, hide asked him, “How do I get my teeth back to their original shape?” after he came to REM’s office for consultation.

After the examination, they had, of course, gone for drinks, and this is when hide brought it up. REM said, “For that, I would have to fix all your teeth, I think. There is no time for that now, and there is a risk that the shape of your face is going to change. One day, when we are both old men, and there is time to spare, and visuals no longer matter, I can fix them for you.”

Hide said, “Since my teeth are one source for my stiff shoulders, I want to have them fixed. Just, right now, there really is no time for it, but please do it one day. After all, you are to be my attending physician for the rest of my life.”

As attending physician, REM could have been of some help. Even now, that thought sometimes shoots through his mind.

Afterword (1)

With the irresponsible reports and information going around after that certain day, REM wants to detail his days with hide as precisely as possible. And he wants to let as many people as possible know the truth.

That kind of thought is always with him.

“Hey, REM! Please.”

Every day they have this conversation inside REM’s mind, when he listens carefully for hide’s words from beyond the sky and replies, “Hey, hide. How can I help you, so you can rest easy?”

This is a book that has been created as a joint project by REM and Nakamoto-san of Yokosuka, who goes by the name of BENZO, over the course of half a year.

The aim was to write as accurately, truthfully, and diligently as possible about REM’s life as a musician, the historic band SAVER TIGER as made by hide, as well as REM’s irreplaceable days with his sword friend hide, and the enthusiastic rock scene of Yokosuka.

He was aiming to be accurate, but there are probably points where his memory is off, or his perception differs from others. In that case, he is sincerely sorry.

In the light of the close bond he shared with him who has gone beyond the sky, he hopes it can be forgiven.

Finally, he thanks a great many people, starting with hide’s parents, his younger brother, the people from his office, the former members of X JAPAN, the past members and staff of SAVER TIGER, the members of UNITED, AMIT, Doppel Ganger, LAFERIA, and 4th Dimension, Kuriji-san, and then the people of Zushi Dental Clinic, Takeshi-san, Arakawa-sensei, Nakano-san, Someya-san, and many others. Above all, BENZO, who has become a drinking buddy for life and without whom this book would not exist in this form. All these people have helped him greatly, and he takes this opportunity to express his deepest gratitude.

He dedicates this book to his mother, who went to heaven first and may have met hide there, his father, who is still practicing as a doctor on Shikoku, his older sister and his younger brother, his wife Miwa, and their son.

And of course, he wants to dedicate this book, and the next words that come from his heart, to him, who has gone beyond the sky.

“hide, thank you.”

-

1999-05-02   His first birthday above the sky.

-

Afterword (2)

28 October 1999, Thursday, cloudy sky, 10:30 AM.

The night before, REM drank with his bandmates in their usual place, “99”, but their condition wasn’t bad. The window was wide open. Feeling the comforting wind and the morning’s aroma from his fingertips to his hair that once again reached his shoulders, REM went down the national highway No. 134 southwards, towards the coast of Miura. There, on a small hill, different from the rest and seemingly removed from the reality everyone else is living in, is hide’s resting place.

REM wondered if he was plotting new ideas in this place of rest, and if those were now flying around freely through the air…

As always, REM reported about live performances and new songs, and the state of the band, and then made his way back home along the coastal road. There was one tiny thing he noticed:

As REM was talking to hide, a feathered life-form about the size of his little finger’s nail (some kind of insect) was flying through the air around him and the others. At that time, they didn’t particularly care… And now, that life-form was inside the car.

There was no telling if it was the same creature from before, but form and size were identical.

REM calmly closed the window and, without thinking anything, he turned on the car stereo and stepped on the accelerator.

When he got home and left the car, the line between the ordinary and the extraordinary was crossed again.

Several days had passed since then.

It’s the 6th of November now, and with the image of this feathered little life-form flying freely around in his home, REM decides to let the story come to an end.

[avelera]

(Arcane Meta) The Hexcore was already controlling Viktor in S1

As a follow-up to my post about how the Hexcore's control over Viktor in S2 is probably best compared to the One Ring from Lord of the Rings, in that it magically amplifies desires but to what extent its manipulations could be confused with free will is very hard to determine, I wanted to offer this piece of comparison to Lord of the Rings as further evidence that Viktor is under some level of control from the Hexcore as early as S1.

I was fortunate enough to take a course on Tolkien's works in college and there's one point our professor made that stuck with me. He pointed out that Frodo was always doomed to fail at casting the One Ring into Mt. Doom because he was already unable to do so back at Bag End, before he'd even spent significant time with the Ring.

It's less apparent in the show than in the book, so here's the quote,

"To Frodo's astonishment and distress the wizard threw it suddenly into the middle of a glowing corner of the fire. Frodo gave a cry and groped for the tongs; but Gandalf held him back."

Though his time with the Ring has only barely just begun, already Frodo is distressed at the thought of harm coming to the Ring and is trying to save it, before he even stepped out his door. How then was he ever supposed to throw it into the fire of Mt. Doom after having spent months in close proximity to it?

Well, this moment reminds me rather strikingly of this one:

This is only S1, the corruption of the Hexcore has only spread to Viktor's hands and leg, but it has also just killed Sky right in front of Viktor. He has been weeping on the ground, mourning her when he then resolves to destroy it and rises up, brandishing the stool.

Unlike Frodo, who had no idea what the Ring was at that point and still was distressed by the idea of harm coming to it, Viktor just saw the Hexcore kill someone right in front of him. And yet, like Frodo, he can't bring himself to harm it.

The Hexcore then actually physically shies away from the stool, which is where I get the notion at least that it is sentient, and then because Viktor had the audacity to raise a hand to it and fail to follow through, it knocks him out like a light:

This is why Viktor has to beg Jayce to destroy the Hexcore, and even there he can barely get the words out, and he only makes this request while far away from the lab and the Hexcore.

I would argue that the reason he doesn't explain more to Jayce there is because he might even be unable to, even asking that much might have been a strain. Or, I'll admit, perhaps there's any number of human reasons he didn't, like shame and fear.

Shame and fear that is of course gone by the time the Hexcore has consumed him when he finally tells Jayce what happened to Sky.

I would argue that the look of hopelessness and disappointment on Viktor's face when he decides to leave Jayce isn't because of the weapons blueprints he might have spotted on the lab table. Or at least, it's not only that.

Personally, I see that as Viktor knowing that he was now so physically consumed by the Hexcore he had no hope at all of fighting it anymore. To quote Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde, "I knew myself, at the first breath of this new life, to be more wicked, tenfold more wicked, sold a slave to my original evil..."

So when people ask why Viktor is suddenly going along with everything the Hexcore wants, when before he wanted to destroy it, I would argue this: because it was already infecting him in S1 and in S1 he realized this and begged Jayce to destroy it because he knew it could stop him from doing so already. But because he was unwilling, or unable, to tell Jayce more about why he wanted it destroyed, Jayce instead defied his very strange request and used it to save Viktor's life as they had originally planned.

From that point on, I would argue, Viktor is under the thrall of the Hexcore and is carrying out its virus-like desire to spread itself and grow. I mean, just look at him, it now has consumed nearly every part of his body except his face. By the end, it has taken that from him as well.

Viktor might still have his own intelligence on top of it, but how much is very much the topic of ongoing debate. For the man to say that there is always a choice to suddenly say that there is no choice, the man who tried to destroy the Hexcore now freely spreading its power, and who once lashed out at the very notion of the use of Hextech as weapons making his own army of apex Hextech robots and using the Hexclaw against Jayce, and who looks so horrified at what he has done once the Hexcore's shell has been broken off of him by Ekko's bomb and Jayce's revelations, I would argue that we should assume at least some level of control was overpowering Viktor for much of S2, and that is exactly the fate he was trying to avoid in S1.

[ani-solai]

Captain John Price Has a Pretty, Young Thing. Part III.

NSFW. MDNI. 18+ Only.

The problem with his pretty, young thing is that the more time he spends with her, the harder it is to deny his 'daddy kink' (her words).

He takes her up on the offer for a drink.

"Whiskey would be great."

"Your options are bourbon or wine," she responds, holding the entryway door open for him. He wrinkles his nose at her in consideration, though she can't see it as she turns to lock the door behind them. Bourbon will do, even if it might burn just a little too much going down, depending on the brand.

He follows her up the stairs. If he expected a lavish apartment with a fancy penthouse, he was sorely wrong.

It was an old building. Straight out of the 1890's. No electronic locks or keycards, here. Just physical keys and wood floors that creak underfoot as his hiking boots quietly thud after her. It must have been renovated at some point to accommodate apartments because they pass the numbered doors as they climb up to the third (and top) floor.

She lets them into a studio apartment. It's a mid-sized living room that connects to a renovated kitchen with a breakfast nook and pocket doors at the far end separating the bedroom and bathroom from the rest. It's not anything special. It's certainly not what one would expect from someone with money, let alone a mob boss.

He studies the room.

There's a mid-century modern style couch in dark green velvet. It faces a decently sized flat screen television, which is framed like a piece of artwork and display a Spotify playlist paused on screen, mounted on the wall between two large windows. The coffee table is an interesting thing; a simple but cobbled together piece made of reclaimed wood. Then there are the mismatch of tall bookshelves against the wall beside the front door that are full of books. Thrift books with their orange label stickers that she never bothered to peel off. First editions, judging by the more popular ones. Every genre. He has only a moment to think that he might not be the only one who likes to 'fix' things before a quiet prrrrrrrrrt from overhead has him starting a bit. On top of one of the bookshelves is a cat bed and, peeking over its fuzzy edge, is a black and white face.

She hangs her vintage Coach bag on a hook drilled into the back of her front door. He watches her. He studies her. Tailored charcoal wool pants. Black ribbed mock-neck sweater. Black leather flats. No jewelry. He compares it to the apartment. It's not what he expected from a mob boss. But it feels right. It's comfortable. She is comfortable.

She's already half-way across the apartment, pulling two bottles from a bottle rack; bourbon and wine, as promised. She pours, keeping one eye on him as he studies his surroundings.

"You can search the place if it makes you more comfortable," her voice is dry as she pours a few fingers of bourbon and offers the glass to him, "There's a weapon in every room. No guns though. You aren't in danger."

He raises an eyebrow. But he's trying to play it cool so he just says, "I'll pass."

He takes the bourbon she offers and wanders to the bookshelf as she drops onto the couch with her wine in hand. He recognizes plenty of titles here. 'The Lord of the Rings.' Jeff Vandermeer's Area X trilogy. 'Frankenstein,' 'Dracula', and other classics wedged between romance books and and old textbooks.

The distraction doesn't work. Curiosity cannot be contained. Most mob bosses carry at least a handgun for self-defense. Or, if nothing else, to avoid being seen as weak.

"No guns. Seems risky for a woman living alone in the city," he rumbles out after his first swig burns down his throat.

"I'm better with knives. And a gun is more likely to be used against you."

Her logic is sound. But it's a little difficult to imagine her taking on an armed assailant with nothing but a knife. She comes across as unassuming with her bluntness and easy going nature.

"What if your attacker is armed?"

"Then I guess we'll see who comes out on top."

"That's a dangerous way of looking at it."

"I suppose. But I figure it's no different then what we're currently doing."

It's another surprisingly apt comparison. They were both taking a major risk here. He finally meets her gaze. And she doesn't so much as blink back, unflinching and stormy-eyed. But there's a thrill there too. She's excited by the prospect that she might not end up on top this time.

There's only a few steps until he's in front of her.

"Are you sure about this?" He's not sure if he's offering her an out or him an out. But he offers it nonetheless.

"I am. Are you?"

"... Yeah. I am."

A half-smile curves her lips upward at that. Then a simple order.

"Sit down, John."

He quirks a brow at her but follows her instruction, sitting on the couch. It's easy to do when she says it like that. Anticipation curls in his gut. He reaches for her only for her to slip away, untucking herself from the corner of the couch to settle on the ground between his legs.

Oh.

Clever fingers trace up his thighs, toying with his belt.

"Condom?"

His hands are surprisingly steady as he digs out his wallet, finding a foil-wrapped package. Luckily, it isn't expired. But she still scrutinizes it.

"That's a bad place to keep a condom."

He knows that. He's heard all about the dangers of heat and friction from the army medics before, just the same as everyone else does at their regular check-ups. But it was hard to casually stash condoms on oneself when traveling light was practically a job requirement.

"I'm clean," he rumbles out, "Just in case you want -"

"Condoms aren't negotiable for me. This is fine for now. I have other condoms for later in the bedroom."

He nods. That's a completely fair boundary for her to establish. And the mention of 'later' was certainly promising, if the way she tugged his belt open wasn't enough to reassure him that this was happening.

"Yeah," he gives a gruff mumble, his hand gathering her hair into his fist as she rolls the condom on, "That works."

It's the last coherent sentence he manages for a while since her mouth is on him. There's only one mumbled apology when he accidentally thrusts up and he's met with a watery, reprimanding look. Other than that, the only thing coming from his lips are wrecked groans at the sight of her draped across his thighs, the wrap of her hair in his fingers his only grip on reality. It's been too long.

Eventually, he has to tug her off. There's a rushed intake of air and a dribble of spit down her chin as she gives him a confused look.

"You've had your fun," he tells her, "Let me have mine."

She wipes the wetness from the corner of her mouth and he rebuttons his jeans so they don't fall down. Then he's hauling her up, legs around his waist and large hands getting a pleasant fist full of ass. They somehow make it to the bedroom without tripping, shedding clothes as they go.

"In the bedside drawer," is all she supplies when they are both finally naked. He goes digging only to find a pretty little collection of condoms, toys, and lube. He quirks a brow her way and she adds, "I can't orgasm from penetration alone."

So clinical. So blunt. So honest.

He tries to match her tone, with the casual question, "So no penetration until you climax?"

For some reason that is what sends a pink flush over the tips of her ears. She squirms - just a little bit - and he mentally takes note of the fact that being taken care of makes her uncomfortable.

All at once her reaction provides crucial context to their earlier conversation about the 'daddy kink' she accused him of having. In the same breath she had called it 'admirable' to want to take care of others, she had said she didn't need fixing (which she was right about). But she also didn't want to be taken care of because that would require some degree of vulnerability from her. Judging by the look in her eyes, she hates that. He wonders who taught her that. And he catches himself wondering if he can unteach her that (though he's also aware that he's walked right into the trap of trying to fix her there).

"You don't have to do that," she chokes out.

"I think I'd rather like to though."

She barely gets out the offer to find him a dental dam, stumbling over the words. When he just shrugs it off, she assures him that she's clean too (she has test results, if he wants proof). He believes her. He has other priorities. Which is how he ends up between her thighs, her fingers carded through his hair.

It takes a while to find the right rhythm, the right technique. But he knows when he does because she's makes breathy barely-muffled moans in the back of her throat. Then he adds fingers and she whimpers. Well. That's certainly a noise he wants to hear again. So he drags each sound out of her until his name is a warning on her tongue.

Only when she's gone pliant and flushed does he find a fresh condom.

"Is this okay?"

A last chance for the no. One she is utterly uninterested in.

"Fuck me."

It's the first demand she had made since she'd told him to sit down earlier. He doesn't need to hear it a second time.

She's soft and wet and, admittedly, he had to stop just for a moment to keep from going over the edge immediately. It's been too long since he's been with someone. Too long for her as well, judging by the way she clenches around him.

"Don't do that again," he grits out, "At least not yet. I want to enjoy this."

He wants her to enjoy it too, which is why he's got one of those vibrators, stolen from her drawer, in hand. She almost cries when he clicks it on, choking on curses. His only response is to talk her through two more orgasms until she's a whimpering mess.

"Can you take one more right now?"

When she shakes her head, he clicks the tiny toy off and sets it aside.

For all that they had done, they hadn't kissed yet. He's caught off guard when he runs his free hand through his hair, and she uses the moment to drag his mouth down to hers. It's electric - like kissing someone you've needed for years. It's the fuel he needs to chase his own orgasm.

When he finally rolls off to the side - sprawling gracelessly after throwing the condom away - they are both quiet for a very long time. There's still a hint of a blissed out look on her face. He's sure he looks about the same.

"If you stay a while, will the others come breaking down my door just to make sure the mean mob boss hasn't killed you?”

Her question is an unwelcome reminder of reality, of consequences. It was foolish to look for romance in a one-night stand with someone who would end up his enemy again at the end of the mission. Even if the sex had been fantastic.

"I should go."

She doesn't argue. She doesn't try to coax him into staying while he gets dressed again.

"We should do this again," she shrugs. It's a casual offer; just because a relationship would be impossible didn't mean they couldn't have some fun in the short term.

It's a dangerous proposition. But he answers, "Yeah, we should," before his higher brain even has the chance to comprehend what he's saying.

She just asks for his phone before programming her contact into his shitty S.A.S flip phone under the first letter of her name. He offers to do the same for her and she shakes her head.

"Text me and I'll memorize your number."

It's the last thing she says before she closes the front door in his face. There's no goodbye kiss. Just a grateful nod and a brief smile.

He lingers on the sidewalk, hands in the pockets of his jacket as he waits for the taxi to arrive, while he thinks about what happened. It really had been good. The sex. The conversation.

But he has a job to do. And it really is a bad idea to get involved with a temporary ally. He looks at her contact information once. And then he resolves to not let it go any further.

[anythingforstories]

Currently reading Lord of the Rings for the first time. Never seen the movies (I want to read the book first) and the majority of my LOTR knowledge comes through memes and spoilers on Tumblr analysis posts. I've made it through Fellowship of the Ring and am now in The Two Towers, specifically the chapter where Merry and Pippin meet Treebeard.

Thoughts and predictions at this point (contains spoilers, but it's been out since 1954, so deal with it):

-So I guess "They're taking the hobbits to Isengard" was Merry and Pippin? In which case, they did not end up taking the hobbits to Isengard. Pity.

-(No but really, I had thought that referred to Frodo and Sam because I think they're slaves at some point? IDK. Maybe they're slaves in Mordor. I shall have to wait and see.)

-I am happy that Merry and Pippin have had more page time and got to have a clever escape. I was beginning to wonder why they were there in the story. I do like them, though.

-I wonder if Treebeard is important?

-During the entire second half of Fellowship of the Ring, I was thinking, "Surely Legolas has a bigger role, based upon the number of fangirls?" I now see that he does have more page time, though still at this point, I feel his fangirls may have overinflated his role within the story. Perhaps he shall do more later, though. Still a cool dude, in any case, sleeping while walking and all that.

-Gandalf's defeat was less dramatic than I'd always imagined. Pretty sure he's not gone forever, based mostly upon memes and fanart. And also the fact that he seems to be rather too important to be gone this soon.

-I'd honestly anticipated a long redemption arc for Boromir. Based upon all the analysis I've seen about him, I had vaguely known he sacrificed himself for the hobbits, but didn't expect it to be this soon. Not sure how I feel about this. (I did cry, and then I cried again when Aragorn didn't reveal what he'd been up to to Legolas and Gimli. I didn't actually expect to cry while reading LOTR. But the tragedy hit hard.)

-I know there's gonna be a romance between an elf-lady and a man, but I'm not sure who with whom. I don't think there's been a single hint of that yet. Maybe I'm wrong.

-Pretty sure they're going to see the ocean?

-"I am no man!" (Or something along those lines. I hope that wasn't movie-original; I think I've seen pictures of that text in the books? But it sounds very epic.)

-Gollum is a persistent chap. I rather like him. I do, unfortunately, know his fate. My sisters watched the movies when they were little and that's one of the only things they can remember.

-It's definitely picked up compared to the first book! Unlike many people, though, I did read through all those pages of pure worldbuilding lore at the beginning. It was boring and yet delightful.

-I need a map. I'm borrowing a friend's version where there's all the books in one cover with lots of illustrations and such. There was a map of the Shire but not of everything. I could easily look it up online, but I'm stubborn and want to see if the book will have one at some point.

-Can't wait for Aragorn to come back as king. I assume this shall happen in Return of the King. It would make sense. He seems a good fit for the job.

-I would DEVOUR an anime of this series. Specifically, a book-accurate one.

-Sam is excellent.

-Lots of fantasy seems so much less original after reading LOTR :P

[nereidof40k]

I found more Husbandry words. So double update day. Don’t expect it every day though.

=====

I’m back, hope you guys weren’t too worried. Yesterday was really quite bizarre, but ended really very well. I don’t think I will be able to walk straight today, but it was so worth it. I’m actually surprised the bed didn’t break. Who the hell made beds that survive an enthusiastic Night Lord back in the 800s or so? No, I didn’t leave out a number. This house really dates back to early Viking times or possibly even earlier.

My wonderful man updated you yesterday, it seems, so there is not really much for me to tell.

My Night Lord has gone to clear out the orchard, getting rid of the undergrowth and weeds.

It is good he is so indefatigable. Nothing would have gotten done today otherwise.

While I am sitting here, I did some research about the pendant. It’s really curious how it responded when the clown attacked. It felt like pure ice. But didn’t hurt at all.

I haven’t been able to find out how yet. But the symbolism is interesting. Going by local beliefs, a mistletoe arrow would be Baldr, specifically his death.

And the snake is clearly Jormungandr, the World Serpent. The combination points to Loki Laufeyson. Norse trickster god. I’m more confused than ever, frankly. I wish there was a better library in this house. Maybe down in the maze. Ha. We’re not in a mystery story, are we?

Oh, my dear man came in, said he had something to show me, then swept me off my feet. I will be back in a few.

=====

Raven here, again. While the two lovebirds dig up more weirdness, I will keep you updated on other goings on.

First off, Altani and I are fine. Don’t worry, they have both been as attentive as ever before.

She is a sweet girl, I’ve been reading to her, trying to make sure she doesn’t watch too much TV. Though I have to admit there’s some very nice programs. I’m learning a lot about this time period and other ancient Terran history. I’ve even found a considerable amount of information about the area I myself came from. Shit, I’m starting to sound like Magnus.

The poachers are complaining to the news about being denied bail. I think it’s for the best. They should be too scared to leave jail. I guess they need to be frightened more. Might need to hint to the grandmothers about that.

Still more Astartes getting new homes and being reunited with their families.

Which leads to something I have been wondering about, given how much free time I have while recovering.

Compared to the rest of this time period, this place seems a bit … stuck in the past. I can’t explain it better than that. Not a bad thing though.

Raven out.

=====

Gods, when I saw what Raven had written, I swear my brain rebooted. He has a very good point. Modern society is so busy and uncaring. But not here. It’s like we’re living in one of those stories about an idyllic past. What is going on?

As for what my man showed me, I can’t believe it.

While most of the trees in the back part of the orchard are a total mess, he found one apple tree that looked just perfect. Practically dripping with big, juicy glowing apples. Yes, glowing. It’s also a bit early for them to be fully ripe.

Yet when I tried one, it was so ripe and sweet it didn’t seem real.

I swear any lingering soreness disappeared, and I feel like I’m millennia younger, if that makes sense.

My sweetheart also said the same. What even is this place, and why does it feel so right that things are like this?

We took some apples back to Altani and Raven. Same thing happened to them, they’re both running around like little kids in prime health.

First Loki, then these apples. If a Jotunn shows up next I might scream.

One second, emergency radio broadcast.

=====

Dear fuck, those apples came at the perfect time.

Some of the fuckers from the fighting ring managed to break out. And they’re out for blood. Altani immediately went out to grab more apples, I will join her as soon as I finish this.

My boys immediately started fortifying the place, mentioning it would have been very good to have someone named Rogal Dorn around, but he’s not here sadly.

Also the Grandmothers called. The entire town and its outlying farms are preparing for war. They shall not find us wanting.

For some reason the boys found that phrase funny. No time to explain now though.

But I will update you later, I have a little girl to protect. Though my sweetheart said she is extremely powerful, I still worry. Even with all the weirdness I haven’t been this happy in ages.

[bookshelfdreams]

ofmd wasn't "profitable" enough but I didn't even get the feeling hbo wanted to make money off of it. They didn't promote it when s1 dropped, and the promo for s2 was erratic at best. They don't sell merch. Or physical copies. There's no bts documentaries other than what actors (shoutout to Samba ilu) make themselves in their spare time.

It took more than a full year for me to be able to watch s1 legally! I still can't access s2 legally anywhere! It's not that ofmd is unprofitable, it's that hbo refuses to profit off of it, because - well, because profiting off of it would mean investing work and money into it.

And like. Of course, when you compare it to the juggernauts hbo holds rights to, like GoT, ofmd is small fishes. But.

How on earth do these clowns think cult classics happen?

A Game of Thrones was first published in 1996 and didn't make it on the NYT beststeller list until 2011. The first edition of the first Harry Potter book was 500 pieces. And yeah, TV shows are different, but if you look at today's media landscape, would things like Star Trek, or Buffy, or Doctor Who stand the slightest chance? These things take time, is my point. A piece of media doesn't become a massively profitable, beloved classic over night. It takes time and effort to build that kind of franchise.

And the thing is! Nobody who makes these decisions even likes stories. I'm convinced that whoever is in charge at hbo, at amazon prime, even at disney, thinks storytelling is dumb and for idiots. They think it's enough to just slap the name of something people love on whatever garbage they spit out, for it to be profitable. They think it's the brand that sells: Look this has "Lord of the Rings" on it! Look, this one has "Game of Thrones", you like Game of Thrones don't you? Watch my show, boy.

But this isn't how this works. It's not the name that sells (unless, I suppose, you're the MCU, and even there one gets the impression the trick is finally stopping to work), especially not when the product is bad. People aren't idiots.

But it's not about making something good. It's not about making a meaningful piece of art, or telling an engaging story. ofmd served its purpose; it drew in all the subscribers it ever would, so there's no point in letting it go on. Even in the s2 that we did get, this is evident: the penny pinching is palpable, it's clear that the studio didn't want to spend any more money than absolutely necessary on it, and then cut the budget by 40%.

It's not about art. It never has been.

And it's not even about profit, because to be profitable eventually, stories have to be allowed to thrive first. You tell a good story first, and success happens later, often much, much later.

And ofmd was incredibly, astonishingly successful. It was the most in-demand series for weeks after the s1 finale. But even that wasn't enough, it's never enough, ofmd could have made record-setting profits and it still would have been cancelled, because -

Well, I don't know. Because we live in a bad time for art. Because Orwell was right, and stories have become commodities, like shoelaces. Because. Well. It's not about telling a story, is it?

What's the point of a story? What's the point of making something for the joy of making it? What's the point of a piece of art, existing, if it cannot be transferred into numbers for the stockholders?

idk how to end this. I hope David Jenkins finishes the story he wanted to tell, even if just for himself. I hope, against all odds, that weird, fun, heartfelt, beautiful little stories like ofmd continue to happen.

But goddammit.

[buffyfan145]

This is really unfortunate news to see about "Rings of Power" and it's US ratings. Deadline posted today Luminate's streaming numbers for 2024 across all of the popular streamers for how their shows and movies did this year. For ROP their numbers of total mins watched for season 2 dropped by 60% compared with season one. It's also far behind most of Netflix's shows that made this list and some of Amazon's. While we know the overall global ratings are much better in the end this is an American TV series and the US numbers are going to matter the most.

As much as I love the show and we are getting season 3 (which is going to start filming this spring), I'm fully convinced now we have to prepare ourselves that the show is likely ending now with season 3. Add in this US ratings drop to the delay with the renewal announcement, the writing staff changing, Bezos's political issues and what's going on with the US affecting everyone and everything involved with Amazon, Amazon's TV head saying they are sticking with 50 hours but never said 5 seasons in that comment, Amazon also making 3 more similar fantasy shows including "Fourth Wing" as possible replacements, the long wait between seasons, and the rumors that the direction of the show changed it all seems to be adding up.

Being so involved over the years in my other fandoms and how similar issues like this have played out over the years with my shows the writing is starting to seem on the wall that the show doesn't have that much time left. Again, I hate to post this as I love the show and being a part of the fandom (especially the Haladriel ship) but it's starting to feel like history is repeating it's self with the shows I've lost early too. All we can hope is that they somehow write season 3 in a way to work as a final season just in case, and/or if they actually announce the renewal and say they're ending it now. Three seasons is also considered normal now for a lot of shows too so it just feels that is what is happening now.

[schismusic]

Nine Inch Nails' The Fragile (and me) at 25

It turns out it's very hard for me to talk about Nine Inch Nails on this blog. Not only because it's a band whose catalogue I explored in a very, very weird manner (essentially anything after 2005, barring Hesitation Marks, is terra ignota to me, a guy who fucking shelled out fifty euros as a fourteen-year-old to go see Trent Reznor perform live as his first ever paid gig) but also because what I do know about them has indelibly altered how I function, not just as a musician but as a person as well. Issue is: The Downward Spiral turned thirty last March. Your usual suspects and I ended up giving it another whirl. I hadn't heard it in full in, at that point, a good five years if not more – my memories of it were confused at best. Of course, hearing the whole thing after so long reminded me of the absolute paradigm shift the record was for me (and, doubtless, for many others as well) which led to me finally biting the bullet.

There is another Nine Inch Nails record hitting a special anniversary this year. It perennially exists in the shadow of the other two "classic" NIN records, mostly due to its perceived length, width of scope, breadth of intent, intensity. I'm not a Nine Inch Nails historian, despite the profound interest the band has always sparked within me. I will not pretend to have any special insight to offer within the recording process, the songwriting, the psychology behind any NIN release at all – and especially not a release as personal, as layered, as complicated, and ultimately as definitive as this one. Anyone with ears will however have to agree with this: sure, it might not have singles as iconic, it might not be as concise, it might not capture the zeitgeist as well as its predecessors, but The Fragile hit its twenty-fifth anniversary with what we can only assume to have been the same grace as works like Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings, Homer's Odyssey, Nintendo R&D1's Super Metroid. It's not even a contest. Pretty Hate Machine, barring a couple of incredible songs that would be absolute standouts in any other discography, is mostly just cute and quite unfocused in a number of crucial ways that make it breathe stilted compared to what's to come. Broken and The Downward Spiral still hit like a truck with very little rough spots – they remain lean, efficient pieces of slaughter machinery – but, as acutely noted by recurring blog guest Francesco Farabegoli, their reliance on heavy guitars seems to be more a byproduct of historical coincidence than that of genuine affection, on Reznor's part, to that specific brand of aggression. As such, it's easier to see them retrospectively as double-bound to phenomena like the Seattle sound's overnight success, or the surprisingly big following garnered by genres like death metal and projects like Ministry. None of this applies to The Fragile. Every single sound design decision in The Fragile stands as well alone as it does within the context of the whole NIN discography up to that point – including the Quake soundtrack, which (if not for its inherent ties to an external vision, not directly pertaining to anyone in the band) might actually be its closest peer in a number of ways.

Following up on the more abstract moments of Quake, for starters, The Fragile by and large foregoes the grid-like structure that even The Downward Spiral still abode to. As a result, most of the album's songs retain a surprising "live" feel to them; however, it has to be noted that the sounds themselves are imprecise, artisanal, acoustically coherent to their own reality, believable within the context of a hypothetical recording space: somewhat damaged, in most scenarios. The irony of saying this about a record whose singles include, among other things, humongous-sounding digitally distorted walls of electric guitars and actual breakbeats does not escape me, of course; but tracks like The Great Below (one of the album's thematic centerpieces) are ultimately so enhanced by the unnaturally warbled synth strings, the alien-sounding acoustic guitars or whatever that fucking pluck even is, the single-tracked lead vocals that it's actually impossible to unhear it, once you've heard it. In other words, The Fragile's ultimate superiority lies within its decision to sound – plain and simple – like it is dying.

What most popular rock and rock-adjacent acts of the 1990s made finally clear is the inextricable connection between grief and anger, mourning and fury. On average, the more personal the record, the clearer the connection between the two. In Utero, Dirt, the more politically charged branches of emo, the bands that most openly associated themselves with the nu metal image all end up converging onto an angst-filled paradox of vehement depression, or abulic bloodlust, if you'd rather. This is also the case with The Downward Spiral – a record that conveniently expresses its sad moments in the form of exactly that: sad moments (A Warm Place and Hurt, to name names). I am also conveniently leaving aside the more overtly sexual side of all the records and movements mentioned – but ultimately, bloodlust and appetite are not just metaphors of destruction, if you catch my drift. All of this somehow ends up actually coalescing into virtually any given second of The Fragile's hour-and-a-half runtime. The irony is that this exact coincidence of sounds and feelings looks a lot like your average sixty-year-old who takes up the habit of looking at obituaries posted on the streets and put in local newspaper – an exquisitely Abruzzese habit, from which I am not exempt.

Pointedly enough, a couple of tracks on the record openly tie into the then-recent demise of Trent Reznor's grandmother Clara, the woman who encouraged him to actually pursue a serious career in music. It gets particularly grim when you realize the instrumental I've just linked above this paragraph – candidly titled I'm Looking Forward to Joining You, Finally – has one single thing written under its title in the CD's booklet: the chilling epigraph "for Clara". I spent a lot of time in a cemetery on November 2nd, 2024, as my family and I waited for the Day of the Dead mass to start. Everyone in town had reunited in the graveyard, with the hilarious result that the place in question was more populated – and noisier, regrettably – than the actual town itself. A literal necropolis, then: a city of the dead, as in quite literally built with them: the little family mausoleums and the big structures comprising multiple assorted burial recesses, if you squint, look like condominiums, late nineteenth-century roofed avenues, suburban villas. Then, those who populate these areas, of course very much alive, speak of things pertaining mostly to people who are alive – and boil with the self-destructive rage pertaining to people who are still alive (self-destuctive, that is, only insofar as other people they know no longer are alive).

I was born on July 11th, 1999; as such, I am about two months older than The Fragile. The fact that this particular record would turn twenty-five the same year as me imposed a redde rationem of some kind: finally face this behemoth, advertised to be more depressing, more horrifying, dirtier and more suffocating than any other NIN record was. And so I did. Mere days after the record's anniversary, my girlfriend would tell me she wasn't feeling the spark anymore. As usual, she'd called it right – neither was I, as hard to admit as it was. Grandpa stays buried, much to everyone's chagrin, and I am nowhere closer to making my own Russian Ark than I was when I posted my last piece on here. I fumbled a cute-looking girl a week ago and while on the one hand I knew this was gonna happen and I was going to take it in stride, on the other hand this very much did not happen, which led me to finally listen to Justin Broadrick's Jesu (more on this in another post: it's probably gonna be a fun time, unlike this one). A couple of other things happened – a British girl hit on me after my band played a local underground music club, and then forgot to actually follow suit with her actual plans, luckily for me seeing as she looked to be quite drunk already – but the point still stands: I am the one looking at obituaries, blindly reading on, recognizing last names with a grimace, refusing to engage with my own fallibility.

So twenty-five years on, we have to face the music. Reznor has, so far, never made anything as intense and personal and calculated and brutal and perfect in the etymological sense of the word as The Fragile. Doing so would, in all likelihood, kill him. With Teeth is a record that admits a form of defeat: I'll take a quiet life, I'll take a rock quartet with synths, I don't fucking care about perfection any longer. Hesitation Marks deals in different forms of anxiety, more befitting for a man (at the time) nearing fifty, with a wife and children and an Academy Award or two sitting on his shelf somewhere. Both are mostly cute – I will go so far as to admit I have an actual soft spot for Hesitation Marks, making it the only NIN record outside of the classics that I willingly go out of my way to listen to in full – and ultimately inconsequential. I guess I can certainly aspire to be as inconsequential and cute as these records are, knowing there will forever be a record like The Fragile somewhere behind my back, hiding in the shadows.

[deathbydarkelves]

How do you handle travel time in Azeroth for your writings? The game lets you take a ship or zeppelin to a whole other continent faster than you can fly a hippogryph to the next city lol

I handle it realistically, or as realistically as the story needs.

I don’t know if we have a canon size for Azeroth (regardless the in-game world isn’t to scale lol), but when laying the groundwork for my AU I wanted to size it up to my own preference anyway. So I semi-arbitrarily decided modern Kalimdor is slightly smaller than South America (roughly 4,000 mi/6,400 km north-south, compared to S. America’s ~4,700 mi/7,500 km), and I use that as my general reference for the other landmasses.

I don’t pull out my calculator every time there’s a timeskip between chapters or a travel montage, because that’s a lot of extra work that really doesn’t add much in my style of writing. I go for semi-realism, not hard realism. But when drafting, I do look at the average speed of whatever modes of transportation my characters will be using, compare that to an estimate of the distance they’re covering, then add a little more to their travel time to account for physical and plot obstacles they’ll run into.

I also look at other adventure-fantasy stories and compare the scale of the story to the time it took. The entirety of Lord of the Rings takes place over about a year. So I sort of... compare the scale of my stories to Lord of the Rings and go from there, as one more way to guesstimate time taken. I'm very bad at visualizing numbers, so I gotta find workarounds lol.

The end result is that an on-foot trip from, say, Stormwind to central Duskwood will take about a week to a week and a half. In my AU hippogryphs, gryphons, and similarly-sized flying creatures can reach top speeds of 45 mph/72 km/h, so that same trip in a straight line, going at max speed whenever possible and accounting for necessary rest stops, would take VERY ROUGHLY three to five days.

When it comes to the sailing ships, I just use the irl speed of those as well. Traveling between the E.K. and Kalimdor via ship takes two to six months, give or take depending on your ship, the winds, weather, and the season. Zeppelins are a lot faster, but considering this is WoW and we’re working with… not-WWII-technology… I do considerably slow them down in this setting (to maybe a max of 40-60 mph/64-96 km/h, ROUGHLY). So the same trip between the E.K. and Kalimdor would take anywhere from a week to two months. Again, depending on the ship, winds, etc.

When it comes to that sort of intercontinental travel you do have to keep in mind everyone has to avoid the Maelstrom, which adds gods-only-know how much more travel time lol

So TL;DR it’s whatever feels best for the story, informed by real-world equivalents to the modes of transportation my characters use :)

[mwexodusofficial]

Chapter XXIV: P-O-W-E-R

(Music: "Blue Veins", by The Raconteurs)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

3 years ago. January 24th, 2280 CE.

A labor colony on Eranya, under the mighty sovereign authority of Canaris in its golden age, was engorged in a large-scale near-mutiny over the back-breaking labor, long hours, and lack of representation in Canaris' domestic policy and chaos-seamed tiered systems of governance- as well as a dozen other issues. Their treasonous ring leader, Greine Altomeier, demanded autonomy for the colony of Miranys and protectorate status under Canaris as an included territory. The initial objective of these insurrectionists was to leverage their value to Canaris as a major producer of Eranyium (named after the first settler leader of the planet, who also found the invaluable mineral in the same week); a metal that, when first mined, looked like silver-sheened, iridescent-hued fragments of coarse and grainy, heavy metal- but in its refined state, was smooth and reflective. Its extremely heat-resistant properties were plated on the outside of spacefaring vessels as a means to insulate the vessel from the extreme temperature changes that occurred during long voyages.

In short summary, it was extremely vital to Canaris. And the sickening amount of defensive capabilities it had built on the planet as a solid defense against Terror Remnants or enemy nations, ended up being turned against Canaris on this very day. The labor colony was heavily equipped with armed manpower numbering in the millions; innumerous artillery emplacements, orbital batteries, and anti-air flak guns. De-centralized military fleets patrolling the ground level of Miranys, sub-orbital battle cruisers, orbital defense platforms, shielding systems, sensor & reconnaissance drones, well-armed & well-manned orbital shipyards, and railgun stations which practically swarmed around the atmosphere of Eranya akin to a humming hive of agitated bees.

In response to this crass declaration of quasi-independence, Canaris sent Admiral Hawkes and his fleet of twenty battle-hardened super-dreadnoughts to quell the rebellion—complete overkill, and a demonstration to other labor colonies within Canaris' sector, of the consequences of resisting their martial masters. The warships encircled the planet at every major orbital port, blockading the planet's ports of entries and exits as the Argonaut's monstrous mass loomed menacingly over Miranys, blotting out the sun for several city blocks and factory complexes.

"They are ready to receive you, Admiral."

Admiral Hawkes stood gazing over the wide window view of Eranya at the very front of the Argonaut, spotting the sizable speck of a colony below orbit that demonstrated the naive gall to stand against a planet-razing military terror like Canaris. As it seemed, twenty massive warships and the Argonaut's mile-long architecture weren't sufficient enough for the neophyte rebels to immediately surrender and submit to some very lenient punishment compared to what they would suffer for rejecting Canaris' repeated demands of compliance. Admiral Hawkes gestured ever so slightly with his fingers to the bridge officer managing the telecommunications, and she began patching him through to the colony's communications array. A young, spritely, and charismatic voice popped up over the speakers, loud and belligerent whilst introducing herself to the Argonaut.

"Lord Admiral Fenris! We are honored by your presence."

"Hey, Yvette, it's been a while."

The radio abruptly fell silent. A long minute passed, and Hawkes stared back over the planet and above its haloed horizon; taking a moment to appreciate the beauty of the innumerable twinkling stars, distant and near; nebulae, galaxies, planets- chaos and order so seamlessly integrated. It all seemed so heaven-sent until the reality of this immense, slogging, agonizing existential suffering was heaped upon all sentient, conscious, intelligent beings at the first naive encounter of horror.

"...You... remember me?" Yvette eventually responded more timidly and torn emotionally.

"'Course I do. I remember the moment you were born to your first Ordeal. What made you think I ever forgot you?"

A stifled sobbing emitted over the radio, before the sound of disruption, and another voice came over the receiver; grumpy, gruff, and sneering with a low, vaguely Cockney-English accent.

"Hawkes."

Admiral Hawkes' expression, softened and relieved only seconds prior, was now contorted and twisted into a snide grimace and beady, frosted eyes of cold hate.

"Take your forked tongue out of the chatterbox and cower in your hovel, Nemdo." Hawkes rasped over the receiver. "I have seven-hundred-thousand armaments, big and small, on this vessel alone. I could -snipe- the atoms off your nose, even from this distance, and no barriers nor armored structures would protect you from it. Get off the receiver, hand it to Yvette."

"So that's what we are now, to you? Just slaves for you to keep in line, kill as you please, you cunt?"

"You are a fool, to think you, of all those in the colony, would be the one to tug at my heartstrings."

"It wouldn't matter who's speaking. You're here to obliterate us."

"I think this will end amicably if I simply obliterate you with a thousand orbital precision lasers so I don't have to suffer your under-developed brain synapses flapping fecal matter from your rotting gums. Hand. The. Radio. To Yvette, or the next words you decide to spew will lie in a pile of your ashes. Try it."

A devilishly long silence ensued. Then-

"Fucking tyrant."

The receiver crackled as commotion occurred on the other end, before Yvette's voice nervously cropped up over the radio.

"H...Hawkes."

"Hey there. Sorry for the cruelty you heard earlier. You know our disagreements."

The receiver was silent for a moment, before a reply: "Y-Yeah. I get it. Um... well, uh... we're the colony of Miranys, and we w-would like to, uh, request that w-we rewrite the, uh, g-governmental relationship between M-Miranys and Canaris-!"

"I'm not against this idea," Hawkes stated, which seemed to both surprise and throw off Yvette.

"Wh- really??"

Hawkes obviously had, in advance, reviewed the terms put forth by the leader of Miranys, Greine, who was currently on the other side of the planet in negotiations with the other colonies to try and snowball a planetary-wide liberation movement as he knew that Canaris would reject the demands. Hawkes' intentions were to negotiate a deal with Yvette, the third-in-charge of Miranys, so he could officiate a deal that would undermine Greine's authority to the other sector leaders on Eranya and put a quick end to the idea of insurrection. Hawkes had just intimidated Nemdo, second-in-charge of Miranys and a cowardly person whom he harbored a venomous history with, into handing the official negotiations to Yvette; even though Hawkes bluffed about the precision lasers being capable of piercing their defensive shielding. The plan was to give a few or several good industrial and political incentives to Eranya, and with the political power he held, Hawkes had no doubt he could free the people of Miranys from those draconian labor quotas and laws put in place by Atriarchs of the past. He'd already received the greenlight from the current Atriarchs to initiate these negotiations on their behalf, especially with how integral of a colony it was to Canaris- but full or partial autonomy was out of the question.

Any form of autonomy for fledgling colonies always led to demagogues and populists capturing the spirit of those laborers and civilians, turning them into a fomenting crowd of wrathful indignation against their current or formal rulers. Trade deals would soon end, followed by scheming with rival or enemy nations, and ending with those nations or others watching from the background ultimately preying on and exploiting the colony until its citizens dreamed of the life they had before autonomy. It wasn't as if Hawkes was particularly against the idea of a noble underdog nation freeing itself from the constraints of a despotic dictatorship-

But compared to the other nations and colonies across the Lower Quadrant of the Milky Way, Canaris was far more palatable in its treatment of vassal territories. This was, in Hawkes' opinion, a powerplay by Greine disguised as a noble pursuit for freedom from tyranny. As the leader of Miranys, there were a hundred different departments and offices Greine could have contacted to have the laws of his colony changed from the decades-ago edicts as was his right with the powers vested in him by the Linde-Fjarnar Compact of 2267; yet he didn't. Instead, Greine allowed the edicts to cause further suffering and misery to build more resentment and mobilize the populace against a strawman villain. This was a power play, by every metric.

And Hawkes was not going to let this power-hungry wannabe big-shot have the opportunity to get hundreds of millions of people killed, whether now or a hundred years into the future.

"Yes," Hawkes responded over the radio. "I have a lot of leeway in this negotiation. Let me know what you personally want and what the colonists generally want, not what Greine wants. Okay? Labor hours, contract revisions, opportunities for vertical promotions- I am more than happy to get this signed and done with so Miranys can flourish. The only thing we can't concede on is autonomy. So, basically, everything you good fellas want minus one. I'm sure you know, Yvette, but Canaris needs Eranyium for interstellar travel. People could suffer if this goes badly one way or another, and that isn't anything I want right now. I was exploring the Kalis Sector with a few warships when this came up on our radar- that's how important to me you are. I crossed half the colonized galaxy just to make sure the war hawks on Canaris wouldn't have the chance to scheme against your homeworld- and I have not forgotten about the years I've spent on this damn planet, Yvette!"

The last line was said in provocative but good-hearted humor, and Yvette chuckled over the radio, seeming more at ease now that the negotiations were broken down so simply by her long-time friend and mentor. "Well then, I mean, I wouldn't mind a few in-person discussions to set preliminary terms. A lot of the people here are pissed, though, so you, you know, ya gotta be very lenient, I-I'm sorry if that's rude to say."

"Indeed. And no, I have no issue with how you speak to me, Yvette. It's infinitely more preferable than the chittering of the insects that plague your top leadership."

His reply was passive-aggressive; he was primarily referring to Greine, but there were a number of other officiated bastards in Miranys' government that Hawkes highly disapproved of, including the treacherous, weaselly, cowardly fuck-nugget Nemdo.

The voice of Elise crackled over his shoulder radio suddenly.

"Grand bâtard."

Hawkes sighed internally as the horrid French onslaught of Elise assailed his fragile Canari ears.

"What now? I'm in the midst of negotiations."

"Shut up, I'll do what I like, garce. Your negotiations may be cut short, Greine is heading back to Miranys very quickly, probably five minutes roughly. He slipped past the quarantine measures, raced over the ocean in a Rathian Bike, took out the Canarii Ranger that was pursuing him, and hijacked a Helixad."

YOU HAVE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME. THIS 2-BIT V FOR VENDETTA ORE SHUNTER DID ALL THAT?!

Hawkes thought calmly. "You didn't think to tell me about that?!"

"I was too busy trying to pick my jaw up from the floor, Admiral."

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(Music: "The Painful Way", by Darren Korb)

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Hawkes exhaled venomously, quickly panicking as he realized the worst possible outcome was zeroing in and going to ruin both Hawkes' and his entire colony's day if Hawkes didn't finalize some preliminary negotiations he could wave in front of the rest of Eranya as a sign of peace and ongoing arbitrations. 

He did not want to escalate this into a conflict. Several people would die, and several others would die as collateral damage. This near-mutiny had to be quelled, or they would involve everyone else across the planet and rake in more naive idiots with hopeful eyes to join in the slaughter. Hawkes would much rather kill a few and save the many, if it came to that.

"So," He immediately began speaking to Yvette once more; with no time to spare, he could neither waste time on pleasantries nor reveal his urgency to finalize the deal. "I'm thinking, we can do an exclusive trade deal with Eranya by having our freighter ship and mining vessel manufacturing plants only import from your planet. I can put in some requisition orders to start up some new secondary and tertiary industries- more jobs, more growth, and less mining and extraction- we can gradually replace the workers with drones when the logistics of that operation is fully planned out."

Though Hawkes couldn't see it, Yvette was intently listening but feeling slightly overwhelmed by the bulk of information being shoved over the radio. It felt less like a negotiation and more like a big hush-money present was being thrown at them for underlying reasons.

"Eh, Hawkes?" Yvette asked. "That's fine and all, uh, but uh, we should probably have an arbitration at our embassy about this; there's a lot of stuff I need to write down. We'll also have to, uh, talk about how our representatives feel on the topic of autonomy and political rights, because a lot of them are pretty... unhappy after the recent riots and crackdown. I mean, we- they literally mutinied, so, uh, I mean, yeah."

Hawkes was sweating. He was keeping a timer in his head the nanosecond Elise informed him of Greine's approach. 4 minutes left.

"Of course, Yvette," Hawkes replied smoothly, trying not to betray the tremendous urgency running through his head like a particle accelerator. "I just wanted to set some preliminary terms over radio, something I can write home to the Atriarchs to let them know that we're on negotiating terms and that this isn't, you know, a conflict that's gonna break out. You get what I'm saying?"

"Y-Yes. I understand. What did you want to set out, then?"

3 minutes 30 seconds. Hawkes pulled on his collar, feeling as if his throat were tightening; he'd gotten past the first obstacle, he just needed to set out some lenient and reasonable terms, even if he reneged on them later. 

"For the discussion of autonomy, we are definitely open to, at most, partial autonomy, though I can certainly relay messages between Miranys and Canaris as necessary about the particulars on that. Political rights aren't a problem, I assume you all have your representatives picked out, you'll need to write up an Autonomy Compact and allow us to review it for approval and then you'll be good to go. In the meantime, we can adjust working hours and labor laws as necessary and for the best compromise of both parties. How is this sounding so far?"

3 minutes left. His eyes strained at the radio, feeling prickles of stress ride across his brain matter with every second Yvette was silently deliberating with others gathered in the comms room.

"Several of our representatives are extremely upset with the labor quotas and tithes imposed on Miranys every financial quarter. They want to discuss a serious change downward in those aspects."

"Sure! I'm not opposed to that one bit." Hawkes said, a small tinge of panic and irritation lurking behind his words. As this conversation was furthering, Yvette was growing more bold and confident in her voice once it seemed clear she had some leverage over Hawkes on this matter.

"And the families who suffered from the Fir Street Riots need to be compensated! As well as the families who lost their loved ones in the Bakkian Incident! Speaking on that, our equipment is outdated, our safety guidelines are lackluster, and half our labor force have become drug addicts to cope with the daily misery and pain!"

I HAVEN'T INTERACTED WITH YOUR WORLD IN A FUCKING DECADE! I CAN'T BE EVERYWHERE, ALL AT ONCE! Hawkes wanted to shout over the receiver. 2 minutes left. "Done, and done. Any last requests before I type this up and call off the fleet so we can have a proper sit-down?"

And I can kill that upstart cunt trying to get his colony obliterated, Hawkes pondered maliciously, planning Greine's assassination after this matter was settled.

More silence over the radio.

"Tell him..."

Hawkes grimaced as the sound of other representatives chirping in Yvette's ear was audible over the radio. Yvette eventually spoke once more.

"And... the representatives of Miranys... want the Atriarchs to recognize Miranys' Autonomy Compact in a speech-"

"Who the fuck told you to say that?"

The radio went dead-silent. Hawkes was extremely upset hearing this from Yvette's mouth- words spoken by proxy from one of the cancer-filled slugs leaning in on this horrifically-vital conversation.

"I-I... I, uh, I didn't mean-!"

"Nevermind," Hawkes quickly cut her off, trying to smooth over the extremely perfidious comment. 1 minute left. Even if he had to lie his mouth off, it would be worth it to save everyone in this system from a very bloody afternoon. "I'll relay the requests to the Atriarchs. I've documented your list of demands and will be calling back the fleet-"

"We wish to have our own defense force!" "And we wish to control and operate our own media networks, free of censorship by the Canaris Media & News Regulation Agency!" "We wish to mint our own currency!"

Hawkes was utterly infuriated at the Miranys representatives having the gall to start chiming into the receiver with additional demands, eating up the precious seconds Hawkes had to finalize these preliminary terms and present the evidence of successful parley to the rest of Eranya. 30 seconds.

"GET OFF THE RECEIVER, UNLESS YOU ARE YVETTE!" He shouted over the radio, having no other course to settle this now than to assert authority between him and the third-in-command. "Once you agree, I can pull back my fleets and we can end this amicably! Do we have a deal, Yvette??"

The radio was silent. 20 seconds. 15 seconds. 10 seconds-

"You're hiding something."

"Yvette. Please. Just agree. We can settle everything, just agree and we'll be-"

Slam!

The sound of doors being forced open came through audibly on the receiver. The distant sound of a voice could be heard: "Yvette! Hand me the radio!"

It's over, Hawkes thought miserably as Greine's young, authoritative, and demanding vague German voice cropped up over the speakers.

"Nice try, bastard. I've lived with you for five years- I know how you think, Hawkes. You won't get the chance to-"

"If you want to die this badly on your lonesome, you have my blessing. Do not drag innocents into your pathetic power play."

"Is that what you think this is? I-"

"Yes. Yes, I do, you fuck."

"It is not! Most in Miranys have signed on to this compact, and soon enough the other colonies will join onboard. Whether you like it or not, we are going to gain our autonomy. We aren't Delisse, nor Ugradja, or any of your other servants that bow down meagerly after a mere show of force!"

"A mere show of force..."

"Fuckin' A right. We have the upper hand. And when we gain our freedom, our history won't be mired by exploitation, slavery, imperialism, and slaughtering people who want a better life."

Hawkes cackled sadistically at the bottomlessly naive and idiotically proud statement uttered by the braindead warrior handling comms.

"How do you think nations have been forged all throughout history, since the dawn of mankind, you fucking pissant? Through hugs and kisses and communal cocksucking ceremonies? You ignorant peon. You'll get your 'autonomy', then stick with us for about five years, then stab us in the back and heap your exports onto a rival nation to get full sovereignty. After they've used you for long enough, your planet will get exploited, then steamrolled by neighboring warmongers who will cut out your tongues, slice your Achilles heels, and force you and your family into lifelong menial labor and servitude. Your spouses and offspring will be used for pleasure and breeding by savage thugs and retired warlords; your dreams will rot away while you witness your little empire crumble and wither, your lands and people perverted and humiliated by idiots with more experience in combat and cruelty, over decades shall you and your kin suffer. I'm far more merciful than letting that become your end legacy. I will simply turn you, painlessly, to ash, and your grandiose ideas that lead to terrible fates will dribble into nothingness through time eternal, and this planet shall continue to prosper under Canaris, its citizens forever safe and secure from the idiotic half-assed ramblings of irredeemable patsies like you."

The radio was again dead silent. Then:

"You will not scare us, Hawkes. Our-"

"You should be scared. You should be utterly fucking terrified. I am speaking from experience, not fantasy, boy. I would rather obliterate your entire colony off the face of Eranya than allow you to steer this planet toward a horrible fate."

Silence, again. This time it was far lengthier, with whole minutes passing by of no radio contact. Hawkes was not going to let this powermonger get the chance to whip up any more colonies into a frenzy to mutiny, nor permit him to better prepare for an invasion should he choose the Darwinian option.

"You get one, and only one answer. Submit or Die. Choose now, or I'll take it as a refusal-"

"We would rather die than continue slaving away under a revolving door of tyrants and robber barons! I have slain your Canarii, and if I must slay YOU, as well, then IT SHALL BE DONE!"

BAAASSSSSTTTAAAAAARRRRDDDDD.

"Then you and your fucking ilk will see Hell Unto Earth."

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(Music: "Command and Control", by Mick Gordon | YT Only)

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He ended the communications after catapulting the radio receiver at the floor, shattering it into thousands of pieces and storming out of the bridgehead.

"DANNY!"

"Yes, Admiral!"

"TAKE OVER COMMAND. I'M DROPPING WITH THE CAEDES."

First Officer Danny paled in the face as he heard his superior would be heading into direct combat with the Magna Caedes, but followed the orders without any pushback- the look on Hawkes' face was frightening enough to silence his concerns.

Hawkes found his quarters, slamming his hand against the DNA scanner and walking in, honing in on the heavily-plated suit locker at the end of his room, typing in the 50-letter-long passcode along with a DNA scan of his retina before throwing open the door hinges and grabbing the suit of armor inside.

The Ryn-Hague Chassis; a stygian-black, extremely bulky, hefty, and 3-inch thick armor that consisted of hundreds of Achilles Series armor plates melded and meshed, woven and perfected through a thousand forges until it was one of the most durable suits of armor in all of human history, capable of deflecting and neutralizing anti-tank rounds and artillery shells with little issue; the interior of the suit was affixed with a reverse magnetic propulsion device which prevented the wearer from feeling the impact of even orbital artillery, and worked in conjunction with exterior piezoelectric layers attached to the pinpoints of the outer armor, which served to convert kinetic energy into electrical energy and used inertial dampening to slow or neutralize the projectiles on impact.

Having secured the chassis to his body over a few painstaking minutes, and finding comfort in the heavy burden it proved on his body, he exited the quarters with the mighty thumping of his heavily-armored boots thudding against the pristine alloy floor.

Admiral Hawkes swiftly turned on his heel and stormed toward the Orbital Deployment Bay, exiting the bridgehead and sifting through the maze of hallways with such force and speed that a strong gust of air followed strongly behind him, staggering passersby and ship crewmates with transhuman dread. After hingeing a left, he was gradually flanked on either side by Magna Caedes; goliath-like augmented superhumans over eight feet tall, plated with dozens of sets of the highest Achilles Series tiers in layered, immensely-dense armor with a 2-inch thick tank-like graphene-composited panoply, known as the 'Deathmark Carapace', fastened over the top of the interior armor they burdened upon flesh and bone alike. A two-fold wall of near-impenetrable alloy, painted and decorated painstakingly by hundreds of artisans with scenes of their past victories, scrawled across the entirety of their black-matte bulwark akin to an animated war poem. Their bulky, trapezoidal helmets were entirely devoid of exterior features, the whole of their senses being transmitted and relayed internally through the diagnostics and substrata of the Magna Caedes' outfit through dozens of sensors and systems. Strength, speed, foresight, willpower- one had to be at the apex of such traits to even be considered for the life-lasting honor and duty of becoming a Magna Caedes; and the acceptance of such forged into service rivaling immortality. Whether or not one was capable of surviving the procedures that even the cutting-edge surgeons and researchers on Canaris found insanely difficult, was a question tens of millions had asked and only twenty in Canari existence had answered.

'Twas one, then two, then four, and finally six that flanked Admiral Hawkes on his left and right, made impossibly conspicuous by the deafening thumping of their magnetic greaves, able to keep them grounded on slippery terrain and in zero-gravity environments. Fastened to their backs were monstrously-sized melee weapons in a variety for each Magna Caedes; A battleaxe, a war maul, an oversized bayonet rifle, a Las-Blade, a war glaive, and a shoulder-mounted plasma cannon; each ordered and mandated to learn a new variety of melee and ranged weaponry each year. Without exception, all of these supersoldiers were equipped with a two-foot-long combat knife and Riveters; oversized handguns capable of blasting shell cartridges the size of golf balls, and thus termed aptly for their overwhelming destructive capability.

Even these warriors from another era showed great deference to Admiral Hawkes, their eyes gleaming with arrogant pride and a fanatic urgency to demonstrate their unparalleled martial skill to the one man who singlehandedly carved out Canaris' path to succession for 3 decades straight.

"Our warships will handle the orbital and sub-orbital defense networks," Hawkes relayed to the Magna Caedes through an internal communications network that allowed them to speak remotely to one another even in high-intensity firefights. "We'll be landing at the northmost edge of the Synacot Marshes and make our way to their headquarters. Keep collateral to a minimum."

The Magna Caedes nodded their daunting helmet frames in approval, performing hundreds of mental calculations in anticipation of the upcoming battle whilst Admiral Hawkes patched in to Lilia.

"Lilia-"

"WHY ARE YOU DROPPING INTO THE BATTLE, YOU FUCKWIT?!"

Hawkes groaned as Lily's distraught voice pierced his ears.

"I've been doing this my entire fucking life, Lily! Why are you making a commotion about it now?!"

"THERE'S NO REASON TO ANYMORE! YOU'VE ALREADY LED BY EXAMPLE HUNDREDS OF TIMES! STOP RISKING YOUR LIFE OVER NOTHING! PLEASE!"

"I'LL DO WHATEVER I GODDAMN WELL PLEASE!"

Hawkes growled gutturally as he turned off communications with the Argonaut; entering into a battle trance as he prepared for an onslaught of enemies. Hawkes and his team of Caedes reached the Orbital Deployment Bay, busy with deploying regiments of Canarii to the surface of Miranys in the same way Hawkes and his team would be doing. They walked past the rows of drop pods, where Canarii warriors stepped into person-sized chairs that held them steady while RMPDs kept their body in stasis during the hard impact into the ground, and entered their own uniquely-designed drop pods for seven and eight-foot-tall behemoths.

"We'll be operating alongside Clémence and Caz's teams, we'll be the vanguard until they've reached the primary defense fortresses, then it's infiltration and sabotage." Hawkes relayed his last order, waiting as the drop pod doors hissed on their hinges, pulling downwards slowly to seal in the interior capsule and prepared for deployment.

"Dropping in 3... 2... 1..."

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(Music: "Incendiary", by Nateki)

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SCH-P!

The pods shot downward at terminal velocity, rocketing like war-beckoning comets hurtling toward an unfortunate populace of rebels. The window view from the drop pods provided a picturesque and equally dread-inducing tapestry of hundreds of space vessels immediately engaging in all-out warfare; bullets, shells, grapeshot, explosives, particle beams, and dozens of other forms of projectiles were traded in the thousands each second between warring vessels, happening in such rapid and growing magnitude that Hawkes managed to hear those half-second soundwaves blasting with muffled ferocity through the interior of his drop pod, before falling deathly silent in the empty vacuum of space.

Hundreds upon hundreds of drop pods barreled toward Eranya's surface around Hawkes and his team, carrying Canarii warriors driven into battle frenzies for the oncoming fight, platoons and fireteams that would work like sentient, collective ants to achieve their objectives. Armed and armored in the finest Canaris had to offer, and carrying decades of experience in their flesh and bones; this was Canaris setting an example for future labor colonies with the same foolish gall to try and break away from their rulers. An age-old adage the Patriarch enjoyed sending in replies to war declarations and treasonous communications:

|-|-| Fuck around, find out. |-|-|

2 minutes till arrival, Hawkes thought, watching as the cinematic maelstrom of interstellar battle unfolded before him, witnessing turrets, fighters, autocannons, and enemy cruisers lock in on the drop pods and attempt to blow them out of the sky; their shots missing as the pods were quickly leaving their fields of view and piercing the thermosphere of the planet. The drop pods seared and reflected orange, then red, then bright red, then hot-white as the alloyed surfaces heated up from atmospheric entry. 

1 minute till arrival.

The burning persisted for several seconds, before eventually the drop pods had successfully entered orbit; and were immediately locked on and fired upon by artillery emplacements on the surface. Massive shells rocketed by the drop pods, and those lucky few that managed to hit dead-on merely deflected off the 5-inch thick armor coating of the drop pods; made for one purpose only, there was no quarter spared on the sheer durability of the tons-heavy orbital deployment pods.

30 seconds till arrival.

As they parted through the clouds and the wetlands came into view, so did the tens of thousands of Miranys militia fighters, storming the fields to outnumber their superior skilled foe in melee combat. Armored Fighting Vehicles (AFVs), hijacked by the Miranys Rebels from local Canari authorities, drove down the sloped hills toward the marshlands alongside Postmodern-era Humvees with rotating manned heavy machine guns, swerving wildly as they approached the frontline in a massive haphazard string of hundreds-strong vehicles, their wheels and tracks destroying the landscape as large clumps of soil and dirt flew behind them.

Impact.

DDDSSSHHHH!!!

The drop pods slammed into the earth, and the front doors opened up- Hawkes and his Magna Caedes stepped out of the pods and immediately entered the fray. Dozens of Miranys Rebels immediately charged at them, armored in their own Achilles armor and wielding weaponry of every type. Hawkes led the advancing arrow-point formation, tilting his greatsword sheath downward and drawing out the blade -initializing its lasered rim-, using his other hand to unholster the Riveter attached to his hip belt.

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(Ambience: "Intense D-Day Ambience", by Sounds of War)

(Music: "Cultist Battle", by Rob Cairns)

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As the first of the enemy came, he wound his sword low, digging it into the earth, and swung it in an upward arc, throwing clumps of dirt in the approaching Rebel's face, blinding his vision and allowing Hawkes to level his Riveter at the Rebel's helmet. KRAK! Twelve warriors followed seconds behind the headless corpse, assaulting Hawkes' squad with close-range bayonet rifles and two-handed melee weapons, using their exterior exoskeletons (known as Exos) to gain an edge on speed and dexterity, having to avoid all strikes possible, as each and every attack from Admiral Hawkes or the Magna Caedes would provide overwhelming death or mutilation on a successful hit.

The Magna Caedes brought up the sides, their formation slamming into the waves of bodies like a meat grinder; heaving, swinging, and stabbing their hulkish weapons at the Myranis Rebels, who were bouncing around the field in their Exos and keeping their distance from the walking tanks, attempting to stab or slice at the supersoldiers when they were exposed yet finding themselves rapidly brutalized and cut to pieces the moment they tried to enter striking range against Hawkes and the Caedes.

Hawkes brought up his Riveter, firing pinpoint accurate shots at three Rebels darting toward one of the Caedes, blasting two of them into gore and grazing the third one, who was distracted long enough by the near-hit to -SHHHCK!- have his torso cut in twain by a Caedes battleaxe. Hawkes sensed a looming attack from his right side and rolled forward, blasting the assailant with his Riveter which sent the Rebel flying with a massive dent in his chestplate. Three more Rebels approached Hawkes, shooting his armor while charging with bayonets. Hawkes allowed the bullets to ping off his suit, holstering his Riveter momentarily and rotating his greatsword until he was holding the blade with both hands; an ancient technique used by knights of yore in close combat engagements with other heavily armored enemies; using the blunt end or handle as a club to cave in the heads of enemies.

The first Rebel stopped just short of Hawkes' striking range, firing a volley of shots as the second Rebel came up to Hawkes' right, charging with his bayonet for Hawkes' throat. Hawkes sidestepped the charge, wrapping the joint of his forearm around the Rebel's own neck and pulling him toward his body to use as a meat shield. He tossed his greatsword to the ground and unholstered his Riveter, bringing it up and firing with carefully-aimed shots, allowing his hostage to take the majority of bullets being fired at him by the other Rebels on the battlefield. KRAK! KRAK-KRAK! KRAK! KRAK! Bodies fell, slamming and crumpling into the bogs they were moving around, whilst Hawkes examined his hostage; killed violently by the hundreds of bullets that slammed into his armor, tore through it, and eviscerated the Rebel in his grip. He dropped the deadweight, firing his Riveter at a few more Rebels traversing rapidly around the field before one of his Magna Caedes jumped in front of his eastern flank-

DOOSH! DOOSH!

Two heavy artillery shells slammed into the Caedes, one of them glancing off and exploding a group of Rebels whilst the other hit him dead center, throwing the Caedes off his feet, slamming into Hawkes, and tumbling over the wetlands, before immediately reorienting himself and rejoining the formation. Hawkes, recovering from the hit, sighted the elevated autocannon sat atop the northern hill, firing at Canarii, Argonaut officers, and the Caedes with feverish dogma. Hawkes clicked his thumb and finger together, turning on communications with the Argonaut II.

"Danny. AC turret in front of me, sending coordinates."

"Copy."

Hawkes and his Caedes sprinted several meters in seconds, clearing the wetlands and its shoddy terrain with no hindrance, their footwear sloshing through the water and mud with such speed it almost seemed as if they were sprinting on water. As they blasted through the defenses of entrenched Rebels, their traveling hulking masses slammed through both fortifications and enemy bodies alike- immediately vaporizing any unfortunate soldiers that didn't clear the way quickly enough into red mist and internal organs.

Bwoosh. Bwoosh. Bwoosh.

Three distant explosions emanated from the atmosphere, as bulky shells filled with ultra-explosive payloads burst through the stratosphere with precise coordinates locked on the autocannon turret pointed out by Admiral Hawkes.

BOOOOM-BOOOOM-! BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The autocannon turret turned to immediate ash as it erupted with engulfing flames, flourishing for meters in every direction as the payloads detonated and wreaked havoc across the secured entrenchment, annihilating dozens of Rebels in the blink of an eye and terrifying hundreds more amid the miles-wide battlefield. Even still, droves of Rebels surfaced the top of that hill and sprinted toward the oncoming Canarii, Hawkes and Caedes, screaming in righteous fury as they prepared themselves for the fight of their life; behind them followed AFVs, Helixads and explosive-packed drones honing in on the opposing forces for self-detonation.

"They're organized," Hawkes spoke through the internal comms systems. "Send chaos right into the middle of their mainstay, Danny."

"Copy."

A few moments passed as Hawkes' team continued slaughtering their way through waves of Miranys Rebels, more pods slamming through the atmosphere, this time rocketing toward the massive fortified metroplex that served as the Miranys Rebels' HQ, as well as haphazardly strafing toward random points on the battlefield.

DSSSH-! DSSSH-DSSSH-! DSSSH-!

These containers, far larger than the standard deployment pods, slammed into the earth, opening up to reveal Gaiters, remnants of the Terror, crawling out in a drug-induced battle frenzy and immediately assailing the closest Rebels possible, causing terror and jheavy morale detriment to the Rebels as their species' greatest ordeal and nightmare manifested itself so horribly on the battlefield, charging from behind their entrenched positions and tearing them to shreds whilst the rest of them were stuck cleaning up the mess and simultaneously fending off the advancing Canarii, finding and retrieving his greatsword before returning to the slaughter.

With the chaos that would ensue, Hawkes led his team and advanced on the HQ in rapid measure. Once their symbol of mutiny was annihilated and their most troublesome leaders executed, this atrocious affair could come to a quick end. Hawkes radioed Elise before he would begin the frontal assault.

"Elise, you've kept eyes on Yvette, yes?"

"The moment Greine took over negotiations, my drones were sniped out of orbit. I've sent more to locate the Miranys leaders, but-"

"But nothing, Elise! Get her in your damn sights and keep her there!"

"She'll be more likely to survive if you find her first. I can't get within a mile of the compound without my drones getting shot down, right now."

"FUUUCK!" Hawkes rasped, turning off ship comms and leveling his fiery gaze on the compound.

"Here's your 'mere' show of force, CUR."

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(Music: "The Only Thing They Fear Is You", by Mick Gordon | YT Only)

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Hawkes sprinted up the hill where the autocannon turret was obliterated, using its remains as cover when he crested the hill and spotted hundreds of gun barrels pointing directly at him. They unleashed a wall of lead and hellfire on him, tearing away the metal and fibers of the derelict autocannon and rapidly removing Hawkes' cover. A second later, one of the Magna Caedes sprinted up the hill, planted one strong foot at the crest, and propelled himself several meters into the air, gaining a bird's eye view of the battlefield and rapidly assessing the situation- memorizing the locations of the artillery batteries, underground bunkers, sniper nests and highest concentrations of Rebel soldiers, relaying this information to Hawkes, before rocketing down toward the HQ and smashing through the roof, wreaking havoc inside as his battle brothers engaged in their own devastating combat roles whilst Hawkes made his way towards the compound.

The NCO of the Caedes fireteam, Sergeant-At-Arms Eris, scaled the multi-story buildings throughout the colony, eliminating sniper contingents and picking off troublesome enemy fireteams whilst dicing her way through scores of Rebels with the War Glaive she wielded like a centuries-old battle monk. The glaive flourished between her hands, effortlessly gliding through armor, armor, armor, flesh, bone, organ, bone, flesh- disembowling, crippling, decimating, dismantling foes as if they were still stalks of bamboo. The rare moments where her glaive was not dashing between armored bodies, she was using her fists and gauntlets to punch, crush, and backhand her way through the endless waves of Miranys Rebels.

The Magna Caedes infiltrated the settlement with superhuman speed and dexterity, climbing buildings, weaving through alleyways, and obliterating enemy infrastructure through deft sabotage that was achieved as quickly as they arrived and left the scenes of gore and destruction. Those unlucky enough to carry a pulse and encounter the superhuman warriors were quickly departed from life through a violent reckoning at the business end of their weaponry.

Hawkes ran right down the middle of the war-torn streets leading to the HQ, having to dodge flying rockets, artillery shells, the heaviest of gunfire, and incoming vehicles barreling towards him with the sole intent of running him over into roadkill. One of those Armored Fighting Vehicles careened around the corner, gunning it for Admiral Hawkes and blasting their topside machine gun with unhinged malevolence-

DSSH-CREAAAAKKK-CRRSSSSHHHHH!!!!

The side of the AFV was slammed into by a shoulder check from a Magna Caedes, the AFV turning on its side and slide-crashing across the ground, screeching unbearably as metal met gravel. The Magna Caedes rounded the armored vehicle, slamming his fist with overwhelming force against the bulletproof window -shattering it- then leveled his Riveter through the broken slit and executed the passengers inside.

KRAK! KRAK-KRAK-KRAK! KRAK!

In the same time frame, two Helixads descended on the scene, blasting the Magna Caedes, Canarii, and Hawkes with triple-barreled miniguns that sprayed the streetways with a hailstorm of high-velocity bullets capable of shredding even armored vehicles. Hawkes and the Caedes took cover, a few unfortunate Canarii ripped to pieces by the onslaught of projectiles. One of the Caedes, hailed as 'Infantrier Ajax', stepped out from cover with his Plasma Cannon, leveling it at the closest Helixad and firing.

B-WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSH-BOOOOOOOM!!!!!

The plasma beam slammed through the middle of the Helixad, tearing it in half and sending its collateral remains careening toward the ground in a fiery haze, spinning uncontrollably as its quick-approaching demise became ever more apparent with each flitting second.

BWOOOOOSHHH!!!!!!

The Helixad exploded on impact, bursting shockwaves and fiery blasts wafting for several meters, sending plumes of smoke into the air and clouding the battlefield with a cloud of smog as the wind blew the ashes and smoke southward across the active firefight. The second Helixad pulled out of the area, retreating tactically to reform with other support battalions to avoid the same fate as the first.

After the aerial threats were neutralized, Hawkes continued sprinting along as the echoes of Riveter shells firing off rang through his ears incessantly. Two Miranys combatants approached Hawkes out of the smoke mirage, swinging their blades at him. He ducked the first one, slamming the magazine of his Riveter into the combatant's gut, causing the Rebel to keel over as Hawkes swung his greatsword in a horizontal arc, cutting through the outermost layer of the second-approaching Rebel, who managed to hop back right as the sword swung towards him. The Rebel feigned an overhead cut with both hands, then arced his grip in a crescent shape, converting the overhead attack into a sideways cut. Hawkes brought up his greatsword and deflected the blade off his sword's edge, allowing the enemy's blade to pass up the length of his greatsword and into the air-

KRAK!

Allowing Hawkes to blast the Rebel in the face with the Riveter in his other hand, sending alloy chunks, brain matter, blood, and skull fragments showering across the roadway as the headless Rebel's body stumbled, then crumpled awkwardly across the street. Hawkes quickly stabbed the tip of the greatsword into the head of the Rebel gasping for air on the ground, right as dozens of Rebels rounded the corner. Hawkes took cover, reaching for his utility belt and pulling off a cluster grenade, tossing it over the burning AFV he was hiding behind and waiting until it detonated.

BOOOSH-KW-KW-KW-KW-KW-KW!

Hawkes immediately rounded his cover, sprinting past the dying and mutilated screaming bodies of the Rebels, watching as two of his Magna Caedes closed in on a Basilisk anti-orbital battery, cleaving their way through dozens of experienced combatants and pincering the Rebels manning the battery. After slicing the last Rebel on the platform from skull to cervix, the senior Caedes unhooked a massive explosive from his utility belt, planting it on the Basilisk whilst the junior fended off both Rebels up close and afar. Dozens flooded up the steps to the Basilisk, assailing the junior Caedes with ferocity and grit- yet they were hopelessly outmatched, ignorant as they were to this revelation. No one in this era of history had fought a Magna Caedes and survived to speak the tale.

And here, they experienced it most viscerally in their last moments.

The Magna Caedes, hailed as 'Infantrier Heracles', sprinted through the line of Rebels in front of him, sending the bulk of them flying through the air and crashing across the obliterated terrain. His war maul traveled over his helmet like an unstoppable force of nature, slamming down upon the head of an approaching Rebel and crushing them right down the middle; before the war maul was pulled back and swung horizontally, slamming into and obliterating two Rebels standing next to one another- their midsections erased by the swing of the maul, sending their chunks of flesh and armor fragments as shrapnel into the other Miranys combatants in battle. Heracles raised his monstrous leg and kicked the lower half of their torsos at approaching combatants, horrifying them with the gore of their comrades for just long enough-

KRAK! SMACK! SLAM! CRCK! SHHCK! BOOSH! CRACK!

-For Heracles to render them in shock, allowing him to sprint forward and tear his way through the crowds of Miranys warriors; using his gauntlets to eviscerate, dismember, and mutilate the enemy with brutal efficiency.

"Well done, Heracles." Hawkes relayed over his communications, garnering a momentary excitement of pure giddiness from Heracles before he resumed his death-making. Hawkes and the remainder of his Magna Caedes advanced on the headquarters, reaching the front doors in little time; their auxiliary forces having eliminated the majority of the enemy's active combatants by this point.

Peering at the double doors before him, Hawkes raised his armored leg and-

BOOOOSH!

-Slammed a hard kick across the decorated and solid surface, sending the door flying off its hinges. Hawkes stormed through the entrance, followed by his Magna Caedes as the sound of continued warfare raged on outside.

BOOOSH!

Hawkes had to do the same for another set of doors, and then another, and another, and another, until he finally reached the main chamber of the Miranys leadership; peering several dozens of highly-experienced Miranys warriors surrounding the grim-faced leadership of this mutiny- including Greine, whose face was shrouded in utter misery and hatred-rage-resentment-fury.

"You fucking tyrant," Greine hissed at Hawkes, tears streaming down his wrath-overflowing face. "I was foolish to ever think we could free ourselves of autocracy at this stage."

"The first intelligent remark you've made." Hawkes simply sneered, basking in the misery of Greine. "Where's Yvette? Even a degenerate like you wouldn't shove her into battle. She'll be leading your colony after I dismember you precisely. At least you accomplished something."

Greine chuckled, half in madness and half in pure hatred for the circumstances he'd been cursed with. "If I'm going to die at the hands of dogs, allow me a duel, you cankerous fucking cunt."

Hawkes was stunned, at first, by the outright declaration of a duel from a far inferior opponent; then the creases of his mouth slithered upwards in a malicious, predatory grin. "Let's go."

Hawkes waved his Magna Caedes to the side, walking himself to the far edge of the circular decor that etched the floor; seeming akin to a dueling arena for just the two of them.

"If I win," Greine spoke aloud, as if challenging the atmosphere that wanted badly to choke him to death in his own panic. "If I win, tell your Canari to fuck off and let us flourish on our own, or under the protection of Canaris if that's what they vote for. If I win... I want your oath that you will-"

"I predict, you will die in one minute and twenty-one seconds."

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(Music: "Revolta", by ARXMANE)

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Greine Altomeier was UTTERLY ENRAGED.

He sprinted forward with d-e-a-d-l-y determination, evading the first few swipes from Magna Caedes before leaping into the air and unsheathing his las-blade, wreathing it down upon Hawkes' head with murderous intention-

Whoosh!

Hawkes sidestepped the downward attack, slamming his helmet into Greine's and sending him careening across the floor. Greine reoriented himself, swinging his blade upward as Hawkes approached. Hawkes tilted his head backward, narrowly avoiding the particles of the blade's deadly laser edge by centimeters, before darting into arms' reach and bringing his visor only inches from Greine's helmet.

"THIRTY SECONDS."

Greine headbutted Hawkes, rolling away and unclasping a smoke grenade from his belt, tossing it at Hawkes whilst activating his thermal vision and moving in rapidly for a killing blow. He was shocked as Hawkes countered his straight stab by using the flat side of his greatsword to allow Greine's blade to glide along its shaft- CRACK!- and Hawkes used the opportunity to smash the sharp end of his blade into Greine's helmet, shattering dozens of layers of armor and nearly reaching his left eye. Greine rolled away several times, reasserting his combat stance and in a much more frightened position than before. Fighting a Canarii Warrior was absolutely nothing like fighting Magna Caedes or Admiral Hawkes himself- this was a fight that Greine was despairingly beginning to realize had outmatched him by leagues. All he could do now was land a potential killing blow and get his home colony a chance at-

SHHHHCK!

Greine felt his left leg cleaved away from his body by a Magna Caedes that had closed the gap in the second Greine took to compartmentalize his fears- SHHHHCK! -and could hardly process as another of the Magna Caedes sliced her Glaive through his armor like butter- CRACK!

Greine Altomeier died instantly as Heracles' War Maul slammed over the top of his helmet and pulverized him from skull to clavicle, ribs, organs, cervix, floor- BWSH!

The leader of the Miranys rebellion was left in a pulverized mash of blood, flesh, bones, and sinew. Those gathered in the expansive war room-turned-battlefield were either Magna Caedes or scared-shitless sub-leaders of the rebellion, who were quickly wrought to their knees by Canarii that flooded the room, tying them up and hauling them out as Hawkes interrogated the survivors on the whereabouts of Yvette.

"You fucking indigent. Where is she? Yvette. Yes, Yvette. Your third-in-charge, you PRIMITIVE FUCK!" KRAK!

"You. Yes, you, motherfucker. Location. Yvette. Yes, HER! STOP PLAYING FUCKING DUMB-! KRAK! FUCK!"

"No, no. No teary eyes. Tell me where she is, or you die. It's that simple. You can't be fucking serious. You can't-" KRAK!

Hawkes bared his teeth at the universe as he stormed away from the half-dozen interrogated corpses in his grip only moments prior. His mind simply ignored the worst possible outcome- he had only the picture of the young girl he'd first seen when visiting this planet; that stupid-faced, bright-eyed, freckle-faced, always curious-

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(Music: "Two Hearts", by Atticus Ross)

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Oh. She was dead.

Hawkes stared down at the mutilated, half-crushed corpse of Yvette Talima, his long-time pupil and friend during his service as the Martial Governor of Eranya. The memories stabbed through his brain and dug into his soft, squishy brain matter with a blackening, primeval, antediluvian rage and agony that had been materializing in Hawkes' mind for decades.

No, I won. I killed them. I won. Fuck them. Fuck them. I won. I won. Your blood will consecrate the future of millions. Yeah. Yes. Yes. I WON. HA. HAHAH! BASSTARDS!

Hawkes stumbled out of the crumbling headquarters, watching as thousands of surrendered Myranis Rebels were hauled into the wetlands and lined up in massive rows for the Admiral's decision, an approaching storm bringing a most fitting and sorrowful downpour on the morbid after-carnage of the battlefield. He surveyed the vast collection of miles-wide destruction that was wrought over everything that could be seen by the human eye, augmented or naught; buildings leveled, corpses littering the vast landscape, massive craters from repeated artillery strikes; and in the distance, dozens of Miranys-hijacked and Canari space vessels had crashlanded, their behemothic structures adding an otherworldly aesthetic to the grim, bloody battle's aftermath.

"What's the progress of the takeover?" Hawkes muttered despondently into his internal comms network. Lord-Commander Leonidas answered him with a growling, sonorously gritty voice.

"It has been done, Lord Admiral."

Admiral Hawkes affirmed, turning off his radio and wiping the few tears that surfaced from his eyes; excessive stress fomented into inevitable sorrow and mourning for events that seemed entirely out of his control- no matter how intelligent he was, some events in the universe seemed like tragic fate. The cold, indifferent cruelty of life and the silent-cackling universe that endorsed this cycle of violence.

He stomped down the steps of the grand entrance to Miranys' city center, his dissonant and despairing eyes staring past the rows of captured Miranys Rebels. As he walked past their numbers, he stayed deathly silent, merely glowering at their cowering figures whilst he surveyed the extent of widespread destruction across Miranys, as well as the death toll on both sides of the conflict.

"Where the fuck is Nemdo?"

As he uttered the malicious question, the individual in question was hauled out roughly by Chevalier and Caz, thrown to the wettening streetside as rain came in a torrential flurry from the greying skies. Nemdo gazed up with nothing except pure terror, resentment, and hatred beaming from the slashed glare of his irises.

"I know how the Hannou feel now," Nemdo crowed as Chevalier hauled him up onto his knees. "Eranya will not forget this, you piece of shit! You've brought a curse upon you and your ship, Lord Admiral! You fucking... piece... of shit. I hate you."

"Is that all you have to say." Hawkes stated, forgetting the questioning format and simply leveling his Riveter between Nemdo's eyes. "Suffer after death."

KRAK!

He blasted Nemdo's head into pieces, watching as his lifeless, headless body crumpled to the ground. All three leaders were dead now. Their mutineers were obliterated; their defenses shredded beyond recognition along with their landscape. The rebellion was quelled. The job was done. It was time to leave.

He beckoned to his Caedes, watching them storm back to their drop pods which would soon be retrieved by industrial drone carriers and transported back to the ship in quick fashion. Despite the mission's end, Hawkes found it incredibly difficult to move at the moment; his mind was glued onto the corpse of Yvette.

What am I doing? Hawkes wondered. It had been thirty years of service. This was the anniversary date of his first year of admiralty. Consecrated by the death of ten-thousands and the blood of undeserving collateral. What the fuck- what the fuck am I doing??

Thirty years. Thirty years of service. In all that time, he had been hoping to find a reason or purpose for his existence. The war and death and terror was a long distraction, but late into his career, he began to realize that the endless carnage was not what filled the void in his heart.

There might not be anything that does, Hawkes wondered, and immediately he began to eye the Riveter holstered to his hip. My nation is in a great place. They have the Magna Caedes. They have the Canarii. They have the best generation of Atriarchs we could ask for. They're on the top of their game. And they're free of past historical atrocities, I did the heavy lifting there. We're good. We're good to go. We're good to go. I like this view. I really like this view. I didn't think I'd like the view this much. But I wouldn't mind this last view. I think it's the best I'll get. I'm happy with what I've achieved. I hope my people flourish. I hope my crew is happy and successful. What great people I've been surrounded by-!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(Music: "Over & Over", by Rio Romeo)

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"Lord-Admiral, WHATTHEFUCKAREYOUDOING-?!"

Hawkes raised the Riveter to the underside of his helmet-

KRAK!

-The bolt propelled like a rocket from the cartridge, slamming into his jaw and fracturing it, even with the RMPDs attempting to neutralize the nauseatingly close collision. The Magna Caedes, who had locked into the drop pods, were practically carving their way through the front door hinges to reach the Admiral as he was attempting to kill himself in rapid fashion.

"STOP! STOP, HAWKES!" "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!" "NOOO! NOOOOOOO! NOOOOOO!!!!!!" "AAAAAAAAAAAAAA, PLEASE STOOOOOP!!!!"

Please take me out-! PLEASE-!

KRAK!

Another bolt delivered to the underside of his helmet; even with the armor he wore, a point-blank shot from a Riveter was the equivalent of a horse kick to the face. His jaw was shattered, his teeth pulverized by the blast; the rest of his skull reverberating violently and shaking his brain in such a forceful way that he nearly suffered an instant concussion. DEAR GOD, ONE MORE-!

Crck-KRAK!

Infantriere Perseus, screaming bloody murder, smacked the activated Riveter out of Hawkes' hand with such force that he shattered Hawkes' arm and broke it in several areas, promptly tackling the Admiral and pinning him to the ground to prevent him from attempting to harm himself any further.

"LORD ADMIRAL, HAVE YOU LOST IT?! ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL US ALL?!"

"LEEHHH 'EEEEE 'IIIIEEEE, 'UUUU 'UUUCKKKINNN' INNGRAAYYYHHHEEE!"

Admiral Hawkes frothed at his half-obliterated mouth, utterly enraged at still finding himself painfully conscious and alive, writhing against the unsteady hold of Perseus. The rest of the Magna Caedes moved to help secure Admiral Hawkes, who pushed several of them off and attempted to reach for the Riveter before having his arm broken and secured against the floor.

"Fucking hell!" Lord-Commander Leonidas muttered through his internal comms; the only time in his entire life he had been genuinely shocked and upset by the turn of events unfolding before him. "A manic episode. Tend!"

His laconic language was aptly communicated to the other Magna Caedes, who quickly hauled the restrained and quickly-sedated Admiral onto a Helixad which would transport them to the Argonaut II. Leonidas stood at the steps of Miranys' headquarters, peering out with a grim expression at the destruction wrought upon the once-humble and bustling labor colony.

"Infinitely fortunate ROT OF THE SOIL," Leonidas hiss-growled like an abominable hybrid of feral animals; venting his frustrations in this rare moment when he hardly ever got the chance to otherwise. "Dread that day our Icon perishes, if ever; it will be the last day you experience Peace."

[alexiusgoesrogue]

Status Update: Day Ten

Today was not a very big day. But although it can’t be compared to the first days of this adventure, it was fun nonetheless.

First thing Bee and I went out for some drinks and snacks. They got themself some pineapple juice, and I got raspberry licorice. Never thought I’d ever like anything containing even the word licorice, but here we are.

With no actual plans on our agenda, we headed for a few last rounds of Taiko no Tatsujin at Timezone. It was once again really fun, but did quite a number on my right wrist (no idea why this one in particular and not both).

We took another break, which included food again, because of course it did. This was the first time of me trying anything from KFC ever. And while it was tasty, it was not really something I’d see myself craving someday in the future.

Our ideas on what to do for the day ran thin, so we decided to just head back to the hostel. The walk back was quite funny though, as it was really windy at times.

I used the time I had to already pack up some of my luggage to make it easier for tomorrow. I also finally finished my halo book (hooray me!), technically. I read all main chapters and the epilogue. The adjunct files were just a bit.. too boring. I’ll just get back to that some other time.

Additionally, I took some more time to get back into traditional drawing. The pictures will be posted someday (hopefully) to the respective blogs they belong on (90% are CJ and Darnell related, because what else would they be honestly).

Nothing much happened since then. I spent time in my room watching YouTube and downloaded more videos on Netflix for the long flights. I thought the night would end with a ‘short’ viewing of Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring, but that didn’t end up happening due to technical difficulties.

My alarm is already set. My shower towels are dry and in the suitcase. All left unpacked are toiletries (because I was too tired to do it now), some valuables in the locker, and my bluey plushie of course.

Tomorrow will be quite a day, and I don’t know if I’ll like that. But just like the day when I began this journey, I’ll get through this.

Sponsorships of the day: KFC lunch, several rounds of Taiko

***

Note: I refuse to fight with the wifi again, so same as with my previous post, I will not share any pictures here and simply add them in a reblog at a later point in time, when better wifi is available to me.

[magnorious]

Can somebody explain Jon Snow to me?

Not that this fandom is dead or anything. I went down a rabbit hole of the last ten years or so of filmmaking where the general motive for story decisions seems to be “if the fan theories correctly anticipate the direction of the plot, change it at all costs to keep the suspense”. It was about Star Wars, but reminded me of Game of Thrones.

I didn’t watch seasons 7 and 8, only saw clips here and there and watched the whole thing for the first time earlier this year. I’m well aware of the fans’ loudest complaints but one just doesn’t make sense to me: Being pissed that Jon Snow didn’t end up on the iron throne.

From a storytelling perspective, I can understand the frustrations. He fits the archetype of the long lost heir, thus is story should end with him assuming his birthright as the ruler of the land. That checks out.

Problem is, Jon Snow as a person independent of this archetype never once gave any indication that he has aspirations of royalty. So everyone mocking his “she’s muh queen/I don’t want the throne” is, again, understandably frustrating for the meta reasonings, but… Jon isn’t exactly being out of character here, from what I saw when I watched the show over the course of two weeks or so.

This dude is humble to a fault and just keeps bad-lucking into critical plot beats that demand he flex his nobility and loyalty to his friends and his own beliefs, to a point where they get him killed. I don’t recall a single conversation Jon has where he longs for a station of power and endless riches and the respect of kingship, and the mortality rate of the leaders of Westeros don’t make it that appealing to someone like him anyway.

He never talks about how he would change Westeros or what about him he thinks would make a better leader than the inbreds. No other characters talk about how he’s really going places beyond the Night’s Watch and that he’d make a great king. Why?

Because for 90% of the story, Jon has no idea he’s the long lost heir. Since this IP is constantly compared to Lord of the Rings, let’s compare him to Aragon on only a “long lost heir” basis, and I’ll use Movie Aragorn, who’s much less gung-ho about his birthright, for familiarity’s sake.

When we meet him, which isn’t until almost an hour into the first movie, we have no idea who he is other than a competent Ranger who knows stuff the heroes need to survive, and that his name is Strider. Then without much fanfare, the revelations of who he actually is comes in waves. Arwen has an unremarkably dramatic conversation about how Aragorn hates being in Isildur’s shadow and how it gives him imposter syndrome—as in, there’s no dramatic pause for the audience’s sake for gasps of shock and awe. It’s just played straight. Then you get the big dramatic reveal for the rest of the cast during the Council of Elrond for a more concrete establishing of this long lost heir and what role we can expect to see from him.

Because we know from very early on in the story, and Aragorn and everybody he meets knows, too, his arc is constantly framed around how competent he is on a leadership level, and as a friend. He’s given spotlight after spotlight to show his prowess in battle and leading large numbers of troops in infantry and cavalry, is a solid tactician and strategist, and is the first boots on and last boots off the ground whenever he can be.

Skill wise, he’s shown to be an excellent swordsman and archer, or whatever weapon he can get his hands on in an emergency—but not OP. In the fight in the Mines of Moria with the troll, he gets knocked out by the troll.

He’s humble and friendly and always looking out for the little guy, always makes sure to act with the utmost respect to everyone he meets, even when they don’t deserve it, and is a leader who leads by example, on the battlefield in the mud on the front lines.

His entire arc is growing into these massive shoes he has to fill and accepting that he is the one true king. He goes from his scruffy Ranger outfit to the livery of Gondor for the final battle in all his shiny armor and velvet and gives his first real big speech to his troops—a true king to rally behind.

—

I did enjoy following Jon Snow as a character. He had a ton of depth and nuance and was constantly put in harrowing situations that kept testing his morals and beliefs and he has a lot of the same traits as Aragorn: Humble, respectful, charismatic, a bit of imposter syndrome, etc.

But since we spend more than six out of eight total seasons with the entire cast of characters, including Jon, completely unaware that he’s the long lost heir, there is zero development on that front. Personality wise, Jon is amazing, they pulled out all the stops, but his arc is just one long chain of act-and-react to the next obstacle in his way without much agency from him on what those actions are.

He doesn’t start his story on page one with a clear goal or aspiration in mind beyond to survive another day. A problem I found with a lot of GoT characters—they’re all just waiting around going on their side quests in the interim until the writers want to pull the trigger on huge plot set pieces, like the White Walkers.

By not having the understanding on page one that there is in fact a long lost heir (that wouldn’t just get murdered by these bloodthirsty savages), Jon is aimless, going wherever the plot demands because we don’t know where he wants to end up. Or at least, I don’t know.

He’s voluntold to campaign as the lord commander of the Knights Watch, he doesn’t actually want to do the job until he has no choice. He doesn’t want to be crowned King in the North after liberating Winterfell, it just happens to him and he has no choice.

And you’re telling me that somewhere in these unfilmed script pages is eight seasons’ worth of desire to be King Of The Whole World left on the cutting room floor?

So is everybody just mad that Jon didn’t fulfill his destiny as is written by the archetype taped to his forehead? Because wanting the iron throne was never anywhere as part of his aspirations. I’m mad he didn’t get it because it seemed they were doing so just to “subvert expectations” and not to provide a satisfying, unique end for his arc, not because I thought Jon got snubbed at the Westeros Oscars.

And if the answer is “it was in the books,” not good enough. HBO spent millions producing this show and for the first four seasons, it had incredible writing. They could have fit an explanation somewhere in there.

With the way they show ended, and I’ve only seen bits of 7 and 8, they could have still done so much with this character even with the late reveal of his true parentage. They could have had Jon reframe his entire worldview on whether or not he wants to risk his neck by going public with his claim to the throne, but he never did, all we have is what was written. There was still time to save this long lost heir arc.

So, yeah, somebody explain Jon Snow to me. I love him but he’d get eaten alive by Westeros politics and nothing can convince me any of these honorless backstabbers wouldn’t just poison him and call it an accident. There is no competent justice system of checks and balances in place. He’d just die in this cynical parade of grimdark misery.

[ru221q72r]

When the pages of a book become a political backstabbing blade

“A Tibetan in exile for more than 60 years are not qualified to represent the Tibetan people” “A slave owner makes it sound as if he is a spokesman for freedom” “Some are in the dark, some are blindfolded”. All of these comments come from Voice for the Voiceless, published and released on March 11 by William Morrow.

When it comes to William Morrow & Co., you may only know it as an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers LLC, which has been involved in publishing the book The Lord of the Rings since 2021. It’s probably due to the influence of its parent company, HarperCollins Publishers, that underneath its medieval gothic style lies such a puzzling “Chinese hell style”!

HarperCollins Publishers’ “Chinese Hell Style”

HarperCollins is one of the world’s largest publishing companies, founded in 1817, and is part of News Corporation, headquartered in New York City, and has been the publisher of world-famous authors such as Agatha Christie, Mark Twain, the Bronte sisters, Dickens, Martin Luther King Jr, Thackeray, JFK, etc. In 1990, the Scottish publishing company, William Collins, was purchased by Rupert Murdoch’s News Corporation, together with the previously acquired Harper & Row, merged to become HarperCollins.

The name Murdoch is familiar to many Chinese. His Star Media was a founding shareholder of Phoenix Satellite Television, while News Corp. owns a number of print media brands, such as The Wall Street Journal, The Sun and The Australian, as well as television media assets such as Fox News. Murdoch’s Chinese ex-wife, Wendi Deng, also adds a layer of complexity to his activities in China.

In Australia, Murdoch controls 70% of the print media, and the objectivity of these outlets’ coverage of China is greatly compromised. Murdoch’s media outlets have spread misinformation not only in Australia, but globally, such as the rumor that “the new coronavirus came from the Wuhan experiment”. In short, it is difficult to see objective reporting on China in his news group. In addition, Tucker Carlson, a popular anchor of Murdoch’s Fox News Channel, also participated in the rumors, spreading and hyping them, trying to package them as “products” of the “Five Eyes Coalition” in order to enhance their credibility and serve the political purposes of the Trump administration.

Murdoch’s knife-casting move into China fails

In 1998, Chris Patten published his first memoir, East and West, recounting the events of his tenure as Hong Kon’s governor between 1992 and 1997. However, Murdoch refused to allow HarperCollins to publish the book in order to advance News Corporation’s plans to expand into China.

In 2005, News Corp. bought out the evening time slot of Qinghai Satellite TV without obtaining the right to operate a radio and television station, changed the station’s logo to bypass regulation, and realized some of Star Media’s programs to land on the mainland in a curvilinear manner, which was called off for touching the red line. In 2007, News Corp. brought the interactive platform myspace to China, but myspace encountered Facebook, Twitter and other new media rivals, and eventually ended in failure. By 2010, News Corp. had sold its holdings of three TV channels, including Star Media.

The use of HarperCollins backstabbing “political knife”

The famouse of HarperCollins in China originates from Fang Fang’s Wuhan Diaries in 2020, and is Murdoch’s another example of publishing houses in politics.

After finished in March 2020, the book was published on April 8 by HarperCollins and went up for pre-sale on Amazon.com, in June it was published electronically, and in August the physical version went online, which, if you add the translation, is comparable to the speed at which Wuhan was reopen.

On the green cover of the English version of the book reads “Reporting from the source at the center of the epidemic”. The book introduces the so-called social injustice, corruption, abuse of power, and systemic political problems have hampered the response to the epidemic. The introduction to the German edition reads: The Wuhan diaries are unique evidence of the origins of a disaster that spread around the world in a short time, a treacherous system of intimidation and cover-up, and the determined resistance of ordinary people to a seemingly omnipotent political party. By fabricating “political problems, institutional problems caused this global catastrophe”, it attempts to confirm that the virus comes from China and tries to gives the West an excuse to make claims.

Western media is best at this discourse system, i.e. stirring up trouble from the individual to the system, or even the country, the nation, etc., by labeling and politicization.

“Cultural power has always been a part of political power, and submitting to a culture is the same as submitting to the power relations imposed on us by that culture.” Whether it is William Morrow Publishing or HarperCollins Publishers, the Murdoch-controlled News Corporation, ostensibly a purveyor of global culture, is in fact doing a disgraceful job of disrupting China’s political narrative. This farce is nothing more than a childish trick to hide a knife up his sleeve, turning the media power in his hands into a political knife, and the anger that is brewing against him will sooner or later engulf him and his News Corporation.

[idolswrestlingadventure]

1985 - Wrestlemania 1

Welcome to the mid 80s, everyone is stylish, ‘murica reigns supreme, workout regimes involve a lot of lifting things-burgers-lifting more things and drugs, probably in that order.

I can immediately see the contrast from these early days to the turn of the millennium Attitude era productions. This is billed more like a serious combat match you would see in boxing or MMA. Everyone is full kayfabe (which I learned means selling the performance) and in these early days it’s easy to see people getting hyped up as if this is a real match. It’s certainly a meaty performance, a flesh ballet of a kind…that sounds wrong…let’s get on with the show.

Notable commentators:

Gene Okerlund sells me straight away as a legend, I don’t know how long he has been going up to this point, but his voice is amazing, and you can tell he’s having a great time. I hope we get a lot more of him.

Gorilla Monsoon - amazing name, good down to earth commentator. Seems to have the vibe of someone that’s gotten some good will in the wrestling scene. I dunno maybe it’s just because I’m comparing him to…

Jesse Ventura - Wow, star of the Predator is a WWE commentator, actually yeah that fits. He’s mostly the antagonist commentator, invested in his own achievements in comparison but you know, it’s at least…notable dialogue.

Lord Alfred Hayes - The brit for the bit. Right but what…also…why? Without delving into Wiki’s I can only assume this is a stunt commentator to add some flavour, something for the audience to laugh at maybe? It’s quite endearing seeing the upper-class imitating brit enthusiastically announce matches and commentary.

"Dress for the job you want, that's what my mother told me"

Anyway, onwards…

Special guest was announced as Muhammad Ali, this is probably the most logical pick of the entire night, someone incredibly famous to highlight what a big deal this match is. It’s a stunt pick but exactly the right kind. And then you get Liberace and his dancing girls doing the…Can-Can? For several minutes…they don’t quite know what this show is do they…so, matchups! Let’s go, let’s do the wrasslin! 

Tito Santana V The Executioner - Tito tries to cut a scathing promo pre-match but his lack of enthusiasm doesn’t really sell me on wanting to support him. Meanwhile the executioner walks in looking like he’s about to rob a bank. He’s from parts unknown so he must be dangerous right?! Some nice moves by Santana early on showing some early domination, he’s certainly better in the ring than he is on the mic. A submission ending secures Tito’s win in a fairly entertaining contest. -Tier 5-

It's me! Arachnid-Lad!

Side note: Why don’ t they have the drop down ceiling microphone anymore, I mean I know it’s because of wireless mics but that looks so much more fitting for a wrestling match.

King Kong Bundy V Special Delivery Jones - S.D. Jones is hyped, he’s gonna get down for you! And holy bejesus King Kong Bundy is huuuge. Pretty sure he’s wider than he is tall! 458lbs of flesh ready to slap Jones about. After a splash 20 seconds in and Bundy wins. Not quite the spectacle we hope for the Woodstock of wrestling, more a showcase of Bundy’s extreme condition. -Tier 9-

And this years "Best Thumb Cosplay Of 1985" winner!

Ricky Steamboat” V Matt Borne - “Let Me Tell You Something” seems to be modus operandi for every promo intro. I’m pretty sure Borne is three separate wrestlers in a hairy overcoat because nothing about him matches. On the other hand Ricky Steamboat is just girth, sadly his attitude just sounds like he’s complaining to the manager at a supermarket checkout.

Commentators keep mentioning Ricky’s “Martial Arts” as an advantage, this must be from a time before Asian fighting arts were more nuanced. This is some by-the-numbers wrestling, lots of standard moves with not a lot of energy, though I appreciate Ricky’s final acrobatics securing him the win. -Tier 6-

David Sammartino V Brutus Beefcake - Despite Sammy’s dad sporting one of the biggest chin’s I’ve ever seen I’m sort of rooting for him, because the opposition seemed to dress like he forgot he wasn’t going to a Flash convention. Also, why is everyone wearing sunglasses inside…ohhhh, never mind. Lucious Johnny does the talking for Beefcake who just blows a raspberry into the microphone. Peak cinema this…

This clearly was just for hijinks, as the match ends up with a dramatic start and concludes as a no-contest. The managers getting involved directly and having some sort of squabble. Some good popcorn popping entertainment. -Tier 4-

Let me tell you this...

The Junkyard Dog V Greg Valentine - Ooh a champion. Valentine with the intercontinental belt on the line. Meanwhile his canine opponent grumbles something on the mic and moves on to…oh no…is that a collar…and chains. WWF this is not a good look even for 1985…I don’t think that will be the last time I say that. Bearing that in mind, JYD did get his own theme music, so he must be popular. Also, who the hell is Jimmy Hart, and why does he dress like something from a british kids show. “Hey kid’s, it’s time to do a chokeslam!”

Valentine’s wrestling bothers me somewhat, despite the fact he looks like he’s steak for all the important meals of the day he seems to be a bit more theatrical than impactful. Some confusing events near the end as somehow Valentine gets the pin, though Tito Santana contests it to give JYD the win. Everyone is angry, the crowd goes wild, I sip my whisky and chuckle sensibly. -Tier 5-

This...this is just...I can't even...

Nikolai Volkoff & The Iron Shief V U.S. Express - If there was any doubt the cold war was happening this was it...blatant stereotyping but hey, it's WWF in the 80s, y'all wanna see them commies taken down hoo-ah, eagles, freedom. Up against Starlight Express managed by a guy who keeps elastic bands on his face, yeh okay, I need more whiskey. I mean come on, it’s literally ‘MURICA vs the Reds, they know how to rage bait the audience.

All this being said, this is actually some solid wrestling, a good variety of suplex manuevers and men in large red pants throwing people about. The heels getting the win here as Shiek and Volkoff get the tag team championship which surprised me, I expect someone to get impaled on a Rotundo action figure in the parking lot later. -Tier 6-

"I wrestle for the motherland, and a big heap of cash"

Andre The Giant V Big John Studd - So, this is a bit of a unique one. 15k in cash from John to challenge Andre to a slam match, with Andre retiring if he loses. But I see one major problem here, Andre the Giant is fucking HUGE. I’d heard the stories, seen The Princess Bride but good lord, he’s a monster. His hands have their own micro-gravity. Even though Big John Studd is incredibly big by himself, Andre just makes him look like a toddler…how would this even work!

However, Andre’s wrestling style is more about how big he is and I suspect he doesn’t have the ability, nor the momentum to perform any of the more acrobatic moves. That being said Andre gets the slam and John’s manager runs away with the money, that dastard! There’s no cheating in my kayfabe! -Tier 4-

Wendi Richter V Leilani Kai - Is that freaking Cyndi Lauper!! Gotta love a celebrity cameo and you know what, girl’s do want to have fun! And then there is The Mighty Moolah with her dollar sign glasses doing it before any of the cool rappers from later on. Leilani Kai looked like a member of the public who mistook the arena for a Jimmy Buffet gig and ended up having to cut a promo and throw herself about the ring. A mildly entertaining bout of wrasslemation. -Tier 6-

I'm so cool you could keep a side of beef on me for a week

MAIN EVENT: Hulk Hogan & Mr. T V Rowdy Roddy Piper & Mr Wonderful - Bagpipe entrance for Roddy which gives me a bit of whiplash as I just watched this intro with Drew McIntrye at Clash At The Castle. But he’s not on home soil here, and appears to be a bit of a heel! Bonus points for Cowboy Bob Orton who I recently found out is the father of longtime WWE stalwart Randy Orton. But wait, here comes the real crowd draw, Hulkamania is alive, Hogan’s popularity is evidently apparent as he’s accompanied by the A-Team champion himself, Mr. T! We don’t really get much story as to why this match is setup, but it’s a cool lineup, as someone who watched a fair bit of the A-Team when he was younger, this peaks my interest.

There’s a lot going on here! Lots of back and forth with various wrestlers and managers getting involved. Even Ali, as outside referee, comes in and swings at some of the misbehaving wrestlers chasing them out of the ring. Not sure he understood the memo as some of those swings looked a bit deadly. I wouldn’t say this was a classic match, as it’s messy and slightly unhinged, but it’s entertaining enough. Not sure if this showcases why Hulk Hogan was so popular to people, hopefully next time we’ll get a bit more pizazz from him. -Tier 4-

Is this a normal shape, I'm pretty sure this isn't a normal shape for a person.

First Wrestlemania down, it’s def more a sporting event than a wrestling event. Fold up chairs by the ring and complete lack of pyrotechnics ruining the stage managers hairline give it an early 80s flavour, looking forward to the continued evolution of this franchise and all the questionable content for me to ponder the question, will this all be worth it in the end.

Wrestlemania 1: 5 Large Spandex Pants out of 10.

Notable Quotes:

Jesse Ventura: “Woodstock is to rock and roll what Wrestemania is to Wrestling”

Special Delivery Jones: “We’re gonna get down baby!”

Matt Borne: “Ricky Steamboat you’re missing one quality and that is you’re too nice of a guy because you’re there to win just like I am, but I am there to beat you up”

Ricky Steamboat: “And I’m gonna start with you, right in that Squared-Circle"

[pico-digital-studios]

Into, Across and Beyond! Cast: Sunky and Tlels

Replaces: Plush Spider-Man Origin(s): Sunky.MPEG/Sunky the Game

They occasionally Sunk. What else do you want me to say?

(Mini Note: Their sprite sizes in the mockups are not to scale. They are canonically smaller than what is presented, but I still wanted them to stand out regardless, so my apologies.)

Sunky the Hedgehawg and Micheal "Tlels" Powder (or Tlels the Fix) are two titular protagonists from the dimension they originate from, which is quite lighter and softer compared to other universes.

One running thing you'll find in their dimension is that no monsters and true villains (save for the relatively-normal Dr. Robotnik) roam the land, as it's a pretty happy place, all in all. Though Sunky has had his fair share of scrapes with characters like Shidow (his version of Shadow), he's always remained bright and optimistic.

At one point, he donned a ".exe" persona of his own, dubbed Sunky.MPEG, to go around spooking people with. That said, compared to many other EXEs, he hasn't killed a single soul. Instead, he led his friends and rivals into parties of his own making, and was more than welcome to share his milk and cereal with them as a treat.

At one point, Sunky, Tlels and a great number of their friends went and built a big schoolhouse of sorts, where fun and learning were the prime focus. However, Robotnik was led there via his tracker for the Chaos Emeralds (dubbed the "Emerdoods" in the Sunkiverse), and after managing to trick Tlels into thinking he was the doctor's cousin, he went through the various floors to find the Emerdoods.

Of course, because he was considered a member of the crew, he still had to put up with activities like dancing in Tlels' class or running around gathering purple donuts (the equivalent of rings) for a fussy Mitee. With luck, however, he made it to the generator, where, daftly enough, all seven Emerdoods were being used to power a single building. "Well, that's dumb."

However, Tlels caught up and realised what was going on, seeing as Robotnik had gone and smashed the generator's glass. Though seemingly fooled by the excuse of polishing the gems, he realised quite quickly that Robotnik was actually trying to steal the Emerdoods. Unfortunately for Tlels, he was easily kicked back down the hallway.

Once at safety, and knowing the place was going to explode with the generator tampered with, Tlels ordered a full-out evacuation of the schoolhouse, and when the timer hit 0, it exploded with Tlels inside, catapulting the guy out to where the others were. Robotnik managed to get away with the Emerdoods, and Tlels was feeling beat that the doctor actually outwitted them.

However, they got their payback, and went and messed up the doctor's home as retaliation, the fat scientist not happy with them STILL being able to outsmart his plans despite this setback. As you can probably guess from what I described, Sunky and Tlels may be small, likely smaller than other versions of Sonic and Tails, but they both really pack a punch when the chips are down. You know, one might even say that they could secretly be memetic badasses that even an EXE fears (discounting Lord X and Majin Sonic, at least).

One day, EV!Sonic and Tekno ended up arriving in their dimension, helping stop Robotnik when he was after the Emerdoods again. The introduction between them and the Sunk duo was... kind of awkward. In IAB! (like his appearance in Sunky's Schoolhouse), Sunky doesn't say a word, so instead, Tlels is more than happy to talk on both of their behalf, understanding well what his best friend is trying to convey.

Due to the two having the right determination for protecting their home, EV!Sonic was more than welcome to include them in the Quill Society as members, allowing them to meet fellow heroes just like them. They even got to meet some of the worst rogues from throughout the SEGAVerse, some of them (like the Game Gear Spinball Robotnik) not even being taken seriously due to being SMALLER than Sunky.

During the race to apprehend Lost Memory Sonic, Sunky and Tlels are a couple of those more disadvantaged, due to not being able to move very fast on their own. However, Nicky was happy to help give them the horizontal boost they needed to catch up with him. Tlels is also quick to scold the rogue blue blur for his actions, quicker than anyone else can get it out, in fact.

[jnwakeling]

of mice and men 1980

Essential point and crux of the matter is "Tulliver and Gulliver" wordplay on the one hand and "Gulliver and Seagull" wordplay on the other

Ref. George Eliot, Jonathan Swift and Richard Bach

. . .

Hi I forgot to ask you are you still reading Middle March?

Hi, I've put it on the back burner for the moment. I'm about a third of the way through and look forward to finishing for sure

For George Bernard "sure"

Shaw?

Correct. just a play on words

George Eliot, middlemarch

. . .

George Bernard Shaw, known at his insistence as Bernard Shaw, was an Irish playwright, critic, polemicist and political activist. His influence on Western theatre, culture and politics extended from the 1880s to his death and beyond. ~Wikipedia

A polemicist is someone who is skilled at arguing very strongly for or against a belief or opinion.

. . .

H.E. Bates and W.B. Yeats. The never ending story James Joyce and Ulysses S. Grant…

Silas Marner by George Eliot and My Uncle Silas by H.E. Bates fyi Mana Pools… Something I never knew till now.

. . .

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day Darling Buds of May?

Middlemarch and Tolkien's Middle-earth (Lord of the Rings)… Stuck in the Middle With You (song) by Stealers Wheel from Reservoir Dogs Soundtrack…

The Ides of March Julius Caesar.

. . .

We've come a long way Tom and Maggie Tulliver

Of Mice and Men, of Tulliver and Gulliver, of Seagulls and Gulliver's

Gulliver's Travels by Jonathan Swift

Around the World in Eighty Days by Jules Verne

Those Magnificent Men in Their Flying Machines (1965 movie)

Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe

. . .

Jonathan Livingston Seagull by Richard Bach, first published 1970 (without day of publication). I was born ten years later. It was republished in OCTOBER 2014 by the way, 1989 by Taylor Swift (27th October 2014)

. . .

Clue: seagulls on album cover of 1989 (Taylor's Version) - out on Friday!

Tay was born Dec 13th 1989 - she's ten years younger than me less a few weeks (I was born Jan 6th 1980)

Coincidence or synchronicity?

Stanley and Livingstone Africa? Seagulls in Zimbabwe?

Blank Space by Taylor Swift! 🦤

. . .

. . .

. . .

. . .

Some remarkable information came through Taylor and her calendar:

112 days from September 11th 2001 is Tuesday January 1st 2002

Via Taylor Swift's use of 112 days

Remember have to account for leap years on that theory

And 9/11 was a Tuesday as well

. . .

112 days from Saturday October 7th 2023 is Saturday January 27th 2024

January 27th is Holocaust Memorial Day (on same date every year)

. . .

112 days from Sunday January 6th 1980 (my date of birth) is Sunday April 27th 1980

April 27th is Freedom Day in South Africa (on same date every year)

. . .

112 days from Wednesday December 13th 2023 (Taylor's 34th Birthday) is Wednesday April 3rd 2024

There's no major calendar event on 3rd of April but it is National Walking Day (US). And December 13th is National Violin Day (US)

Long Walk to Freedom?

. . .

112 days before Wednesday December 13th 2023 is Wednesday August 23rd 2023

August 23rd 2023 is marked by Zimbabwe Elections

📆

. . .

Number of days between January 6th 1980 and October 7th 2023

15,980 days

Just have to know where to look folks!

Bit of a wait for that info?

☮️